Professor Layton and the Study Session

-Part Oh God Already?—

Luke tapped his pen against the side of one of his many textbooks. He wasn't sure if this was the right textbook for the course, or even one of the textbooks from his course, but it was a gesture of study nonetheless.

"Troubles, my boy?" Layton asked, fluffing his newspaper in a truly gentlemanly way.

"Professor, I have another test tomorrow," Luke moaned.

"What course? Perhaps I could lend my assistance." Layton set the newspaper down on the table.

"Like last time?" Luke asked hesitantly.

"Of course!" Layton replied, beaming. Luke didn't want to break the mood, but Layton hadn't been the best of teachers last time. In fact, the whole experience had made him worry about Layton's students at the university.

"Um, I'm okay," Luke said. "I don't need help…" Except he did. He really, really, did.

"Are you sure? You look a little worried."

"Well, I guess," Luke said. As long as the professor didn't drink too much tea, maybe this would go better.

"Just tell us the name of the course, you little twat," Clive said irritably. Luke jumped.

"When did you get here?" he asked in his funny little English accent that changes depending on which country you're reading this in.

"I've been here all along," said Clive, thinking, I've been here since last time. I never left this table. I'm handcuffed to the chair.

But he didn't say it. He didn't think anyone had noticed and, quite frankly, it wasn't something he wanted to draw attention to.

"Ermm…" said Luke.

"Do you even remember the name of the course?" Clive questioned, raising his eyebrows sceptically.

"Ermm…" said Luke. He glanced at the nearest textbook. "Semiotics? Shit! No, that was—"

"Luke!" Layton scolded. "Watch your manners!"

"Er, right, s-sorry, professor," Luke said sheepishly.

"Good save," said Clive. "Are you quite sure it's semiotics?"

"I—I was just testing you! It's really, um—" Luke looked frantically for his other textbook— "Intercultural Communications, apparently."

"'Apparently'?" Layton repeated.

"I mean, obviously, not apparently," Luke amended.

"Sure you did," said Clive. "Sure."

"Aren't you supposed to be in jail right about now?" Luke snapped. "What with, you know, trying to murder half of London and all?"

"I had a good lawyer," Clive lied. In truth, he had received an awful, awful, spiky-headed buffoon of a lawyer. There had been a good deal of table pounding and pointing, but he had managed to sneak out of court in the midst of things, right around the time the fourth witness had been flirting with the prosecuting attorney. Again.

Luke narrowed his eyes. "I find that hard to believe."

"It's the truth," Clive replied, careful not to jingle his handcuffs too loudly.

"Well, then, Luke. Can you explain to me what intercultural communications are?" Layton asked, trying to move back to the topic at hand.

Luke stared at the professor dumbly. How was he supposed to explain something so mind-numbingly obvious?

"A field of study that focuses on the connection between culture and communication," said Clive.

"Clive! Luke is the one we're supposed to be testing, not you," Layton said.

"Well, he wasn't about to answer any time soon, was he?" Clive replied mildly. "I only wanted to speed the process along."

"What about migration, Luke? Can you tell me about that?" Layton said, ignoring the young man across from him and turning to his protégé.

"Women play a greater role in migration," said Luke.

It took Layton a great deal of time to process this. Clive, however, was faster. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know. I was hoping you'd tell me," Luke admitted. "It's written here in my notes, but I don't know why."

"And you didn't ask your teacher?" Layton inquired.

"My teacher was the one who wrote the notes," said Luke. Clive did a spectacular facepalm.

"What is the 'push-pull' theory?" Clive asked.

"It's, uh, the theory that there are factors that make people want to leave a country, while there are also factors that attract people to a new country. It's a theory about why people emigrate, I guess," said Luke.

"That is a vague and stupid answer," Clive replied. "If I were your professor, I'd have you flogged for your idiocy."

"I don't have professors, I have teachers. I'm still in elementary school," Luke protested.

"Oh, that's right. Well, then I'd hit you with a ruler," Clive corrected. And then he did.

"Ow!" said Luke. "Professor, he hit me!"

"No one likes a tattle-tale," said Layton.

"I—what?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I haven't had enough Belle Classic today. I'm afraid it contains my daily dose of empathy."

"How does that even work?" Luke hissed.

Layton gave a dismissive shrug. "I think it's something to do with the berries."

"What format is the test in? Do you know?" Clive asked, reaching out and snatching up the professor's newspaper with his free hand. CONVICT STILL AT LARGE was emblazoned across the first page in bold, blocked letters. He quickly put his teacup over the offending headline.

"Multiple choice," said Luke.

"Answer all 'c'," Clive and Layton instructed in unison. Clive smirked.

"Oh, dear. That was a call back from my own student days, I believe," Layton said, quickly tipping his hat over his eyes and coughing into his fist. "My apologies."

"It persisted through mine, as well," Clive agreed.

"That's silly!" Luke exclaimed, annoyed. "And, besides, everyone knows the answer is 'b', now!"

"Yes, well, apparently you're supposed to put punctuation inside the quotation marks, and you obviously don't do that," said Layton.

"What! When did I ever do that?" Luke said.

"In your last sentence, when you said that the answer is 'b.' See? I just did it correctly. You said it was 'b', I said it was 'b.'"

"That doesn't sound any different!"

"But it looks different, and that is what matters." Layton nodded.

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"No," Layton said wistfully. "No, it doesn't."

"At any rate, both are correct on modern-day word processors with grammar check functions," Clive said. "Though, you can hardly call those reliable."

"What's a word processor?" Luke asked.

"What's grammar?" questioned Layton.

Clive stifled the sob of a thousand exasperated literary majors. "Never mind."

And then they didn't.