storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-01-11 01:31 am
storypaint) wrote2009-01-11 01:31 am
The Terror That Smokes in the Night (Don Paolo gen)
Title: The Terror That Smokes in the Night
Length: 624 words
Prompt: Professor Layton (Anon) Fan Meme: Don Paolo as Batman against Layton the Riddler and Luke the Joker.
Pairing: Paolo gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: He was vengeance-- the kind best served cold, unlike most soups. He was the night-- the type of night when you bumped into the coffee table because you swear it was in a different place when you left for work. He was, in fact, the mothereffing Batman.
He was vengeance-- the kind best served cold, unlike most soups. He was the night-- the type of night when you bumped into the coffee table because you swear it was in a different place when you left for work. He was, in fact, the mothereffing Batman.
"I have a riddle for you," the note said. "What has a bed but doesn't sleep?" In the corner of the page was a small round symbol of a top hat with an R written in the middle, most likely the riddler's mark. Over it a face was carelessly scrawled, with a bright red mouth, two round eyes, and a blue blob.
Don Pa-- Batman scowled at the paper in his hand. He turned to the side dramatically and looked down his nose at Commissioner Chemley. There was a lot of nose to look down and when he was done, the commissioner lifted an eyebrow. He watched the dark knight light a cigarette before he spoke.
"What do you think?"
"It's him again," Batman growled, reaching under the mask to scratch thoughtfully at his mustache.
"You always think it's him," Chemley said, rolling his eyes. He looked out the window regretfully. He wasn't sure why he always thought Batman would have the answers. Sure, the man was brilliant, but he had a bit of a hang-up.
"It always is," the caped one replied. "Just because we can't convict him--"
"We can't convict him because he always has wonderful alibis, Batman," Chemley pointed out. "Constantly on university archaelogy trips, presence confirmed by the apprentice and a dozen scientists."
"Professor Layton is our man, all right," Batman growled stubbornly, handing the page back. Chemley took it, sighing, and traced his fingers over the symbols in the corner.
"We've been seeing a lot of this graffiti lately," he said, "across the city. This hat one seems new, though."
"Layton wears a hat."
"Would he be so sure of himself as to put his emblem on something like this?" Chemley said, turning around in his chair and reaching down beside his desk. He came up with a brick, which he hefted in his hand. He showed one side of it to Batman.
"Every puzzle has an answer," was painted on the side of the brick in the same sloppy handwriting as the signature.
"What does that mean?"
"We don't know," Chemley said, rubbing his eyes and setting the brick on the desk. Batman rubbed his cigarette out in an empty spot on the brick. Chemley would have complained, except he was used to this. At least this time he'd thrown the spent cigarette in the trash.
"We haven't gotten any unusual ca--" Chemley began.
The phone rang and he picked it up.
"Where? Okay, right away," he said after a moment, slamming it back down. He looked up at the vigilante in his office, considered arresting him, and then decided it would be too much trouble. After all, Batman was pretty good with the petty thieves that wandered Gotham's streets. Poison Flora was locked in her tower, thanks to him. The Scarecrow-- Claire Crane, he thought her name was-- was back in custody.
If it weren't for this Layton obsession...
"The River Bank has been robbed," he said to the other man, and then his eyes widened in understanding. He scrabbled in the mess on his desk for the note. "What has a bed but doesn't sleep?" he said, pointing at the page.
Batman's mouth fell open. "A river," he growled. "I was... about to solve that."
"Of course," the inspector said, rising from his seat and heading for the door. "Are you coming?"
"I'll meet you," the other man growled, and before Chemley could turn around, he heard the window squeak. He sighed.
"I need to oil that," he muttered, pulling on his coat and striding out of his office to his car.
*
Bonus arts: http://i44.tinypic.com/2uy55zc.png
Length: 624 words
Prompt: Professor Layton (Anon) Fan Meme: Don Paolo as Batman against Layton the Riddler and Luke the Joker.
Pairing: Paolo gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: He was vengeance-- the kind best served cold, unlike most soups. He was the night-- the type of night when you bumped into the coffee table because you swear it was in a different place when you left for work. He was, in fact, the mothereffing Batman.
He was vengeance-- the kind best served cold, unlike most soups. He was the night-- the type of night when you bumped into the coffee table because you swear it was in a different place when you left for work. He was, in fact, the mothereffing Batman.
"I have a riddle for you," the note said. "What has a bed but doesn't sleep?" In the corner of the page was a small round symbol of a top hat with an R written in the middle, most likely the riddler's mark. Over it a face was carelessly scrawled, with a bright red mouth, two round eyes, and a blue blob.
Don Pa-- Batman scowled at the paper in his hand. He turned to the side dramatically and looked down his nose at Commissioner Chemley. There was a lot of nose to look down and when he was done, the commissioner lifted an eyebrow. He watched the dark knight light a cigarette before he spoke.
"What do you think?"
"It's him again," Batman growled, reaching under the mask to scratch thoughtfully at his mustache.
"You always think it's him," Chemley said, rolling his eyes. He looked out the window regretfully. He wasn't sure why he always thought Batman would have the answers. Sure, the man was brilliant, but he had a bit of a hang-up.
"It always is," the caped one replied. "Just because we can't convict him--"
"We can't convict him because he always has wonderful alibis, Batman," Chemley pointed out. "Constantly on university archaelogy trips, presence confirmed by the apprentice and a dozen scientists."
"Professor Layton is our man, all right," Batman growled stubbornly, handing the page back. Chemley took it, sighing, and traced his fingers over the symbols in the corner.
"We've been seeing a lot of this graffiti lately," he said, "across the city. This hat one seems new, though."
"Layton wears a hat."
"Would he be so sure of himself as to put his emblem on something like this?" Chemley said, turning around in his chair and reaching down beside his desk. He came up with a brick, which he hefted in his hand. He showed one side of it to Batman.
"Every puzzle has an answer," was painted on the side of the brick in the same sloppy handwriting as the signature.
"What does that mean?"
"We don't know," Chemley said, rubbing his eyes and setting the brick on the desk. Batman rubbed his cigarette out in an empty spot on the brick. Chemley would have complained, except he was used to this. At least this time he'd thrown the spent cigarette in the trash.
"We haven't gotten any unusual ca--" Chemley began.
The phone rang and he picked it up.
"Where? Okay, right away," he said after a moment, slamming it back down. He looked up at the vigilante in his office, considered arresting him, and then decided it would be too much trouble. After all, Batman was pretty good with the petty thieves that wandered Gotham's streets. Poison Flora was locked in her tower, thanks to him. The Scarecrow-- Claire Crane, he thought her name was-- was back in custody.
If it weren't for this Layton obsession...
"The River Bank has been robbed," he said to the other man, and then his eyes widened in understanding. He scrabbled in the mess on his desk for the note. "What has a bed but doesn't sleep?" he said, pointing at the page.
Batman's mouth fell open. "A river," he growled. "I was... about to solve that."
"Of course," the inspector said, rising from his seat and heading for the door. "Are you coming?"
"I'll meet you," the other man growled, and before Chemley could turn around, he heard the window squeak. He sighed.
"I need to oil that," he muttered, pulling on his coat and striding out of his office to his car.
*
Bonus arts: http://i44.tinypic.com/2uy55zc.png
