There weren't many places in the world that Hershel Layton wasn't aware of. His colleagues -- both those sharing in his discipline of archaeology and others affiliated with Gressenheller University -- have recorded or at least spoken of the regions that Layton himself hadn't been to. It always fascinated him how expansive the world was, yet could seem so conjoined at the same time. For better or for worse, he would have to say, but that wasn't a call he felt he had any merit in making. Instead, he would take what accesses of knowledge and places he had now and do with them what he could. Most of them were areas that he would never touch down on with his own two feet, but that was alright so long as someone was there. Hopefully they were there doing the right thing, but from his perspective, the folks from Gressenheller had been. Not any worse than a few select others had gotten themselves up to, anyways…
One of these places that he loved listening about was the American city of New Orleans. One of his anthropological colleagues had found their way there to learn and engross themself within the culture of Louisiana's most vibrant city. The environment, the people, their histories and their futures… any information that they brought back from their on-site studies always received a look-through by the acclaimed professor. He always had the fleeting thought of it, but the more he learned, the more he desired to experience it firsthand. Who would he find there, and more importantly, what would they make of him? He hoped they would tolerate him, but he wouldn't feel offended if they pushed away the second London scientist who was digging into lives that he had no business in knowing. That was always a concern of his, no matter how many times his peers spoke of their generally well-off interactions with the locals of wherever they would visit.
What used to be passing thoughts and inquiries would eventually staple themselves into tangible reality. One morning, his housekeeper, Rosa, handed him his letters as she always did. Though, one of the letters stuck out to him. It was from his colleague who'd been working in New Orleans for their studies. In opening the letter, he would find their personal request for his assistance over across the Atlantic. They urged him that there was something very suspicious and potentially something very dangerous that was brewing in the underbelly of New Orleans. It was a troubled town, the letter stated, with local lives being inflicted. They had no one else to turn to for conducting a proper investigation… no one except Professor Hershel Layton. With haste, he wrote back to them and informed Dean Delmona that he would have to be absent for about a week's time. Preparing his class for the substitute and himself for the trip, Layton would embark on his journey to and through New Orleans.
After touching down and being within the city, Layton would meet with his colleague to gather more information as to what had been going on. There was some sort of group that had been stirring up trouble for those struggling financially. Luring them into committing crimes that they themselves would take the fall for if they were caught. The professor could question and inquire all he wanted, but he knew this exploitation had to be stopped somehow. He didn't believe he could dismantle the group himself, no, but he could act as a detective for a time before involving the police in any way. To him, their involvement was the last thing he wanted. He could pull their weight if that meant less people would be targeted by their biases. Discriminatory imprisonment would only make things worse, and that was something he wasn't going to allow to happen.
Layton's private investigation had been going well thus far. He'd managed to figure out a connection between those who were being targeted and why, and was even able to stop a confrontation amiss his sleuthing. Though through his searching, he landed himself within a tucked-away club. This was an assumed meeting spot for some, which drew his attention and had him enter the establishment earlier in the daytime. He looked around and inquired with some of the staff about a few key suspects that'd been brought to light for him. Most of them gave him dirty looks or didn't know what he was talking about. He peered around to be vindicated as such, but in that moment, what they said was true. He didn't have any merit to claim otherwise.
For the few moments he was there, Layton somehow felt… drawn to it. He'd seen some of the attendants dressed in drag, and that swelled something within him that he sometimes had, but never found good opportunities to explore. Well, with this club being in such close proximity, and with days still remaining to carry out the investigation… Layton dismissed himself from the club once there was nothing to find, but quickly searched around for a place to rent a dress. He'd gotten a very strange glare when requesting it, but the professor didn't flinch. Regardless, he received the red, feathered dress and returned to his hotel room. For an hour or so, he worked to make himself presentable, applying some blush and rosy red lipstick that he'd also picked up along the way. Once he was done, he stared at himself long and hard through the vanity mirror.
Layton blushed through the makeup. He, no… Honey Historia, yes, was gorgeous. Honey may have not had the same circumstances that Layton may have, but something the two of them shared was that they were going out to enjoy the evening. That was the first priority; any leads would be on the back burner for Layton later.
So there she stood outside the club, and she sighed, pressed her hand against the door, and pushed. Within the establishment, there was a complete vibe shift. There were many more people than there had been earlier, a lot of them in drag just like she was. Honey smiled, albeit feeling shy. There was always an air of that no matter where she was. Though she could overcome it! She was here to have herself a good night, and that she would achieve! Honey found herself drawing closer to where some music was being played. Her hips swayed along to the rhythm of the song, smiling at its symphony before closing her eyes and fully immersing herself in it. She giggled, and her heart fluttered.
This needed to happen a lot more often.
