edgelord-dl6 - Tumblr blog

[edgelord-dl6]

' i know your little secret. '

"...I have no little secrets..."

edgeworth...your face...fix your face...!

[edgelord-dl6]

why not have a nice juicy gelled cheese sandwich

"I suppose I c--..."

"...Gelled...?"

"...JUICY??!!"

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Edgeworth flinches-- rather, he leaps half an inch into the air, eyes searching the detective's face for any semblance of readable intention...

but there it is! and one doesn't need to be a social butterfly to know that it's happiness on Ray Barlowe's face. somehow, this is even more alarming than anger or surly impatience.

'Friends. You're friends...'

Miles blinks rapidly, staring first at Ray's smile, then past him and somewhere into the infinite cosmos, taking it all in. he's still at a loss for words when the detective produces a notebook. he's been planning this. why? to torment him?

it wasn't as though he disliked their...mutual acquaintance. on the contrary, he seemed, beyond all logical reasoning, almost pathetically, to seek out his good graces. he'd pulled strings to secure his freedom, after all. entertained his flights of fancy, begrudgingly. got roped into things like this, habitually...

"I--I can't promise anything, I'm-- very busy, you understand."

        Normally, a hand laid on his person is something to be swatted away or to be seized in a near wrist-breaking hold to warn against another such transgression. This time, however, the detective generously lets the faux pas slide, attention entirely elsewhere. His eyes widen, searching, processing.   “A-ha!”   He loudly smacks the wall he’s trapped Edgeworth against, just inches from the man’s head.   “So,  that’s  how it is!”   His expression morphs — not into a snarl, but a smile, open-lipped and authentic.

          “Friends. You’re friends, that’s what you mean.”   Taking a step back, he groans.   “Fuck, why’re you two so weird ‘bout this stuff. Just call a spade a spade instead of dancin’ ‘n’ prancin’ ‘round the matter.”   His smile gains a scheming edge.   “It’s  ‘bout this Saturday. You free?”   Without waiting for an affirmation, he simply decides Edgeworth would be, or that he’d make time for the occasion. Ray slides a hand into his jacket, retrieving a small, black notebook and a pen.   “Great. Lemme give you the time an’ address.”

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( not the two of them running into each other on their way to decorate the tree and silently resolving to say nothing about it... )

Just a bare tree at the precinct.... needing decorations...

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( stealing chess pawns off their chess board while he's not looking. )

"I think even a man like you could appreciate a good Assam blend, if you'd just give it a try..." he mutters busily, trudging back to his seat across the small table from his opponent, with a sad single teacup in hand. Edgeworth sighs as he sits, and surveys the board with a remarkably measured gaze...

"...What has happened here..."

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Can we talk about this. Can we please talk about this

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'trying to flirt on an empty stomach...'

'......trying to flirt on an empty stomach......?'

'TRYING TO FLIRT ON AN EMPTY STOMACH?!'

Miles makes saucer-sized eyes at blurred landscape out the window, lips pressed tight together, balled fists against the old leather cab seats. a taut spring...

is he reading that right? did Apollo realize what he'd said?? judging from the near IMMEDIATE light snoring, Edgeworth guesses 'no'. alas, only the tipsy, panicking prosecutor will be privvy to this knowledge. the driver, blessedly, had long since closed the plastic partition between them - probably looking to avoid awkward situations exactly like this one.

Miles breaks into a cold sweat. he suppose this is what happens when you play with fire, as they say. he's bound to get a stiff jaw at this rate - it's all he can do to wrench his mind into planning mode: he won't make anything of it. no, not tonight, not now, but...

...he chances a glance at his sleeping companion. in the glow of the passing streetlights, in the glow of that drunken half-confession, he feels his heart stir oddly. Apollo really is a brave person.

but if he's drunk enough to pass out in a cab, he's too drunk to be left alone! Miles makes a resolution that he's sure will not later bite him in the ass.

and after offering the driver an enormous tip that seems to whisper 'tell no one about this', Edgeworth whisks himself around the cab with a swish of his coat, and is hastily at Apollo's side. don't say anything - just be your stalwart, responsible self, hmm?

he puts a steadying hand to the young man's back while the car purrs to life behind them and rumbles away into the night. "Make something? N-No...no, not in your state, Justice."

"Let's get you upstairs. I'll--..." what was one supposed to do in this situation, again? "I will get you a glass of water, and something to, ehm, soak all of this up. Come on, now..."

his other hand finds Apollo's shoulder, and prepares for the literal uphill battle of shepherding a small, drunken, potentially amorous defense attorney up several flights of stairs...

@edgelord-dl6 Continued Without Legacy Editor

" I think I'm... learning." Between savoring a taste in his mouth that was still pleasantly sweet and not bile, he loses a bit of the thread and murmurs to himself about what dinner should be. What was possibly perceived thoughtful silence, is lost as a facade when he snorts suddenly, ten minutes between when he last spoke, and apparently drifted off,and then made swiftly perked up and stiff, like an overblown balloon, of course.

" It's, not like I don't try to act natural..."

" But, uh, I guess I'm not doing myself favors, trying to flirt on an empty stomach." A pause makes him slip like a quarter on ice, straight back to sleep . An hour allows him a long enough rest to get through most of traffic without being conscious for it. LA traffic would soon release them; the highway is the last stretch before a few turns into the little nice-ish community of studio apartments. These neighborhoods, a shade prettier from the outside , but were never so spacious as any abode he was sure Miles was used to entering. The buzz hadn't left him, but by now, his body was beginning to remember the amount of water he'd downed between pretty iced drinks.It serves him long enough to step out of the taxi without falling nose first. It didn't prevent him from saying words without weighing their potential lean.

" Ah... You know, if... you didn't eat either, I can make something. It is my fault that we were out so late."

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surprising even herself, she hardly responds to the chaste little gift. he's done this before - in fact he pirouettes closer and closer with each passing day, needling into her space, leaping, infuriatingly, gracefully, over her iron fortifications... and always leaving without settling anything! leaving, always, with more questions than answers! more confusion!!

well, she's not going to let him get away with it anymore!

Franziska's hand juts out, closing around the collar of his shirt. she yanks him right back into her space, on her own terms.

she's done this before, too. and each time she fears -pathetically! - that he'll never make another wonderful, thrilling transgression against her again. well, enough of that, too! any man who fears her is not a man she'd waste her time with! and she has already wasted time!

she pushes him against the wall, getting right up into his pretty little face! "What is this? I mean it, you foolish, foppish--...r-rock and roll man! What are your intentions with me?!" Franziska embellishes this with a little shake, and continues, in a harsh whisper,

"You have foolishly danced around me like a flouncy little fool for MONTHS! Now I am tired of it! And I need to know! Because I-- I...!!"

with a hushed little shriek of frustration, Franziska grabs Klavier's cheeks between her palms and, lifting up on tiptoes, smashes her lips clumsily and earnestly and even perfectly against his.

he smells even better up close. infuriating!!!

it lasts for a panicked 3 seconds, before she pushes away from him so hard that she nearly stumbles, and makes to flee down the hallway - her heart pounding in her ears, which tingle uncomfortably from the rush of blood to her face...

“Aw, Dankeschön!” Klavier purred, smile growing.

Now, he could stop here and let them go their separate ways. However, the moment was far too good to let it go to waste: Franziska was right here, caught off guard, making expressions he had never seen her make before. He just had to use this opportunity for something!

“Ach, have I thanked you for saving me yet? Even if I had, I think you deserve a thank-you gift!”

It was the only warning Franziska got before he pressed a kiss to her forehead. A second later he moved out of her space, giving her room to breathe or run away (or punch him).

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he stiffens; the rise of his shoulders move his fluffy cravat in a manner that, hilariously, resembles a cat puffing out its fur in agitation. one hand juts out automatically, pressed to the detective's shoulder - a largely ineffectual gesture, but one that should, for any normal person, get the message across.

Miles blinks rapidly. his self-seriousness is going to cost him, but logic boy can't help being painfully honest!

"I suppose..." he starts, remarkably composed, thoughtful, even, "Given my shared history with Prosecutor Godot...it could be a simplification to call him 'just' a colleague--"

there's no innuendo in his words. that probably won't help him!

"...Are you going to tell me what this is about, Detective? Or would you rather breathe down my neck until one or both of us grows impatient?"

        “Your ‘colleague’. Really, that’s all?”   Disbelief, tinged with another hard to place emotion, darkens his voice, compressing it into a growl. Dissatisfied with the answer he’s been given, he doesn’t retreat from his superior’s personal space, instead he furthers his encroachment as he leans down, insistent.   “That’s all he is t’you?”   Edgeworth’s question drowns beneath the detective’s own.   “Your talks—they’re just ‘bout work?”

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Apollo's behaving himself, which is good. Edgeworth has always known him as responsible...though prone to sudden outbursts of nonsense - sort of like his boss. sort of like both of his bosses. although one couldn't quite call the first one's 'outburst' 'nonsense'.

in any case, he's glad he doesn't have to wrestle a whirlwind of swinging limbs into the open door of a cab. and despite the slight swaying and the excrutiatingly red forehead, Apollo seems intent on continuing the conversation... as well he should - it's about him.

still, Edgeworth can't help being tickled by the insistence. rather than his lookalike - a rabbit - Apollo's more like a hound on the chase.

after smiling privately out the window, the prosecutor turns to his seatmate. "What I mean is..." he searches for the words. he's not really in the business of giving people advice about this sort of thing, but his head is a bit airier tonight, "Trying hard to impress...I find it usually yields the opposite effect."

the only experience he can draw from is what now, many years later, brings a cringing dimple to his cheek: his years as a von Karma tryhard, sauntering along at Manfred's heels, desperate, in a way.

it wasn't romantic, but it felt...relevant.

Miles grimaces. he hates becoming sentimental, but the fool drinks anyway. "I suppose...allowing something more," he makes a vague gesture and his knuckle hits the window, "natural, to take precedence, is what tends to attract people. Something, er...true to one's self. That's...what I hear, at least."

now hold on, what right does a career bachelor have to speak on these terms?! by his own account, he has no idea what's made him so appealing to 'the masses' as he puts them.

...maybe he's talking about what he wants to see out of Apollo.

Miles grunts and sinks down a little in his seat, "I shouldn't be lecturing you on these sorts of things, given my own track record." he adds quickly, "Learning something new is an admirable thing in any case."

Elsewhere.

That meant nothing to him in this state.

If he were feeling a bit more empathetic and pressing of finer details, he might’ve made an interview of it. Though with even less of a clear goal than when he blurts, “ Really?” and then, nodding with ages of wisdom, that somehow he must understand the brooding and could already foresee the complex reasons for this man’s solitude. There were many just like Apollo tonight, thinking he could simplify most understanding if he just ordered another drink before the cash hits the bar. His raised two fingers are stuck stiffly into his pocket, rolling his eyes at being swiftly and smoothly denied. C'est La Vie, his smile says, while adjusting his feet to be perfectly flat on the floor, and his head above the waterline of the crowd. No need to lean too far forward and have his nose six inches too close to someone else’s.

The taxi slows down curtly for the duo waving it down in the street, recognizing at least one familiar face from the papers, which usually meant the tip was going to be worth a spill or two. The driver reads a sure need for silence after closing the privacy slide, as many high -profile clients did like to be chatty without an extra pair of ears in on it. Apollo speaks his address before they pull away, more clear and slow than he’d been with his alcohol orders.

“ So… what’d you mean by uh… ” He’s passed these city lights a hundred times. They still make him ogle at night.

“ Going about it the wrong way-?”

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"No--" she replies, recoiling slightly. she keeps him at an arm's length - though she allows him to get up - one fist curled around the fabric of the jacket that juts at his shoulder. "I've already decided."

and then she softens a bit - one can see it in the eyes, and the shoulders. her steely gaze flickers, her fist unclenches. it's her answer: she's not going to kill him, and, in fact, after a moment's thought, a kiss could've been exactly what she wanted out of him.

the thought is so striking that she blushes furiously and clamps shut those cold eyes. she looks half tormented and half thoughtful, like she's summing up the totality of the man she's straddling in the dirt ( she really is quite like her 'little brother' ... )

this is zero hour. he'd brought it upon himself but she'd finalized it. she can't handle innuendo and teasing - she speaks the language of direct action, and he'd been prodding at her one moment too long... but it worked. thanks to his nipping and yowling, she knew. it had to come to this. oddly enough, it spares her the embarrassment of being so unsure. oddly enough, it's refreshing. he is not quite like any man she's met before, this wild man...

her hands fall to his waist. her fingers toy with the belt loops of his riding pants. her previous anger is evaporating in the glow of his response...there's a clarity in her stare as she nods her head with all the grace of finalizing a contract.

"You should kiss me, in any case."

Bernadine snorts.

“ Plenty of - ! What are you-” Now, when there is a fist of one’s hair in someone else’s hand, one expects there to be pain, loss of dignity while scrabbling to fight back, and the memory of fights before that didn’t have the odds turned against him because he decided to grow out his blonde locks to make a mane for himself. Everything he did had a reason, motivation, and clear circumstances for every attack or retreat.

Nothing was more unclear to him than this prosecutor seizing him like he took the last bit of water left in the world, and she intended to suck it out of his throat before it got out of reach of her fangs. There’s pressure atop him that’s nearly as warm as the black saddle he’d been bouncing on minutes ago. Now he felt he’d switched places with the beast and now he was being mounted like a fresh stallion to be broken, panting after she’s left her iron-hot mark. Of course, now staring her in the face, the intent is fairly crystal, even if the birds have started singing another round, like the cartoonish kind that would’ve had him still staring at the sky.

He lays there.

“ Can’t… tell if you’re gonna go… praying mantis route…” Fingers find that gentle curve of her chin, the skin that’s maintained more perfectly than her record of wins. This would have the chalkboard muddled between them, at least at this moment of standstill. A hand opposite places on the ground, to have one solid hold to push upward from. She wasn’t that heavy to begin with.

“ Gonna let me have a real kiss before you decide?”

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Do Not Attempt to play bluffing games with the Wright Anything Agency

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"Mmgh..." he grunts in affirmation to her clear-headed chiding. he knows that, too. it's a reason he's so habitually trusted and/or adored by investigators - his late nights, his pin-neat filing and prompt deliveries, his absolute trust. but...but--

Nakamura had been waiting. Nakamura, steadfast and professional, whom someone had targeted directly under his nose...

Edgeworth sniffs in the cold. he thinks she wouldn't want him to think about that right now. and without thinking, he follows the path of her footprints. perfect - now he won't slip, if he's careful. he finally notices right as they reach their destination, the bright hallogen lights lifting his gaze--

his next noise of affirmation is gentler, and comes with a clearing of the throat, "No. I don't." at last he steps astride her, scuffing his business shoes on the sopping wet matting at the sliding door of the market. "I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I don't have many recipes under my belt..." and in that respect, he's happy to let her lead here, too.

immediately, childishly, he thinks i want to go with you, but out of his mouth comes, "Mmn. It will be more efficient if we split up, don't you think? Shall I secure the rice, and meet you by the vegetables?"

so this, too, is a mission. only Edgeworth doesn't quite realize he's about to be carrying 50 lbs around...

edgeworth. ➜ “It’s not just paperwork; your detectives and forensics need it done as soon as possible to do their jobs.” No scolding from her, just facts that she states with little rancor, the way a true forensics should be- impartial, cool-headed when placed in front of the defense and the prosecution. It does not change unless there is solid reason to do so. It is the backbone in the arguments both sides present in a court of law; without it, there would be no argument to begin with.

And yet she doesn’t turn around, or try to make Miles go back to his office. As a matter of fact, she feels oddly…giddy? Elation in the midst of guilt that he would willingly abandon his responsibilities for the night to go with her to do household chores. Not that she mentions it, as she carefully creates the path in the snow for Edgeworth to follow. He didn’t bring boots- what if the snow soaks through his shoes?

( Is this why their coworkers kept whispering about them back then? )

“Then you can have some again tonight.” She concludes rather smoothly, keeping that as a note for later. Ask him about it- it’s not like they have that professional boundary anymore, do they? “You don’t get a lot of time to cook for yourself, do you?” She never did back then and for a while there, even with the ample freetime she suddenly had, she refused to.

And then she remembered; there are worst places to be- better to leave with her morals in tact, then to stay where they’ll corrode as the system currently doing so itself.

“I need vegetables and chicken,” She says once they reach the entrance of the supermarket. She counts on her fingers, made invisible by her mittens. And then she peers up at Edgeworth in realization. “Oh. And RICE- I ran out. Do you want to split up or go together?”

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"I'm too-- Nnnggh...!" he grunts angrily and shoves at a cascade of papers that has lost its battle with gravity and fallen halfway onto his already precariously organized excuse for a work station, sending them sprawling, "I'm much too busy for any Halloween tomfoolery this year. There's a candy bowl by the door. Get out."

So he says, but with those dark bags under his glowering eyes and dissheveled hair, he looks a bit like he's in-costume already!

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he's early.

waiting around had become grating - the time of arrival looming over his head, announcing its presence with every excruciating tick of the antique clock his wayward sister had dropped off for one birthday or another. it would be better to show up early - flight times were so erratic, anyway - and let the brisk autumn air hit him in the face. that way he could focus on the task of shepherding Wright and his daughter away from any tether that lead back to danger.

he's always been private, but he hopes to god he's been especially so, lately. hopes he hasn't let something slip that would let something else slip that would give a certain someone access to his address, even one an 8 hour flight over the ocean away. as he waits, arm along the open door of his garish red mazda, he makes a list in his mind - trying to recollect every recent secretive conversation...

the arrival of his guests cuts the list short. they're early too. he watches them stumble out of the big glass doors and onto the sidewalk, and finds any potential holler of greeting dying in his throat. he's not one for hollering his hello's anyway, but...

Trucy's so tall and--

Wright looks like shit.

he'd heard it in his voice, over the phone. Wright had sounded tired lately. but seeing it was different. time was taking its toll. Trucy, certainly, was wise to it as well. children absorbed their environment like sponges, and Trucy was more...absorbent than most.

Edgeworth pushes away from his car. a long black coat billows about him in the sudden breeze. he's certain Trucy sees him, and raises a hand quickly before tucking it back into his pocket.

"Wright." he half-barks it, to speak above the wind, and to get the man's attention. "Trucy..."

a certain hardness in his face begins to dissipate once he's standing before them, the edges of his coat like some sort of protective circle. ...what a foolish notion.

"Willkommen...as they say."

"And, uh, Edgeworth? I think he knows."

Those were the words that had caused this last-minute flight, booked in a flurry of demands and concern with no way for Phoenix to turn it down. And it wasn't like he was going to turn it down, anyway, was he? As much as he hated how the prosecutor just dropped money on these international flights like it was nothing more than pennies, Trucy loved the opportunity to go see the sights, and to see Edgeworth.

And Phoenix had to admit, he wanted to see him, too. No matter how much he wished he didn't, he always did. More than he missed absolutely anything since he'd been disbarred, Phoenix missed the presence of Miles Edgeworth.

So here they are, shuffling towards Arrivals from the baggage claim in broad daylight, a sleeping teenager carried piggy-back style across the aching back of a man who looks like he doesn't want to be awake. She's way too big for this by now, but what's he going to do, say no? Their luggage drags behind them, haphazardly clutched in the hands that loop around Trucy's legs, bumping into his feet with every other step. Silhouetted against other people coming and going, they look more like some shambling monstrosity than a dad and his daughter and their ragged suitcases.

"Truce," he rasps as they step out into the daylight, his eyes squinting against the sun to scan for the prosecutor's car. Turning his head, Phoenix nudges his daughter's where it lulls snoring softly on his shoulder. "Trucy, wake up. I gotta put you down, back's killing me."

"Hm?" She lifts her head blearily and rubs her cheek against his stubbled one, pressing a doting kiss to it. "Okay. Is Miles here yet?" the young magician asks through a yawn, stretching an arm above her head. She's almost as tall as he is, these days, at least compared to how small she had been something like six years ago, and some change.

"Not yet. Flight landed a bit ahead of schedule."

"And let me guess," she starts, pinning her father with a knowing eye. "You didn't tell him it arrived early."

"I was a little busy carrying you," Phoenix protests, shoving his hands in the pockets of his ratty jeans. "Besides, you know him. He's chronically overscheduled, you think he'd be able to show up early?"

"For us? Yeah, I do," she says sweetly, hands clasped behind her back. Mischief sparkles in her eyes (as usual) and Phoenix can only snort. It's true that Edgeworth seems to have developed a soft-spot for Trucy over the years—who hasn't? She's the most charming kid on the planet.

"Just keep an eye out for him, yeah?"

"You got it."

phoenix wright starter for miles edgeworth || 7 year gap verse prompt: towards the end of the 7-year-gap, phoenix suspects kristoph gavin may know about his investigation into his involvement in phoenix's disbarrment, to which edgeworth insists he visits in europe for his safety. read my info & muse pages before interacting! minors dni

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as soon as I saw that dress, I wanted to paint Franziska in it (⌒▽⌒)☆

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she sucks in a breath and holds it. her pupils are swimming in her wide, suddenly glassy eyes. damn him...damn him to hell!!!

it's not fair that his skin is so smooth, and that his angular little nose is so perfect, and that his hair is so soft and bright, and that his smile is so well-shaped and gentle, and that his eyes are so deliciously, maddeningly, blue...

"I d-- I do..." she'd meant to hurl it right into his face, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and an utterly foolish thing to request - but instead it comes out tremblingly, in a whisper. her features scrunch in anger just a moment later, "How could I not?!" she blurts, "Foolish man...!"

The reaction was, in Klavier’s opinion, worth pulling more stunts like this one in the future. He filed that thought away for later.

Right now he had a question to answer. Something told him that the ‘I’m just fucking with you’ option was incorrect in many painful ways. It was only half-true anyway.

So, instead, he leveled his face with Franziska’s, softened his smile and said, “I want you to see me.”