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HELLO, I’VE MOVED!

Hi, everyone! It’s been literal YEARS since I’ve been on this blog and I’m not sure how many of you are still following me, but I have recently taken an interest in revamping my Edgeworth blog. If you are at all still interested in writing with me, you can find me HERE!

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     This girl demonstrates the absolute barest understanding of the concept of personal space, Edgeworth thought as she leaned in close from over the top of his desk, her eyes wide and scrutinizing from where they hid behind her tousled brown bangs. To avoid Ema’s face coming into contact with his own, he leaned back considerably in his chair, sputtering in thinly-concealed surprise all the while. Miles had always considered himself a man with a significant reputation to uphold -- how on Earth was he supposed to accomplish something such as that with this high-schooler making him look like such a fool? He should have figured that the task of looking after the Chief Prosecutor’s younger sister might have involved her asking a few questions -- but this? She was beyond inquisitive and slowly creeping towards nosiness! To think that cool, collected Lana Skye, of all people, had encouraged such behavior . . . the very idea was laughable, to say the least. 

     The young prosecutor raised a questioning eyebrow, doing his best to keep his frustration from becoming too obvious; he’d always been something of a calm, calculating man, but in spite of this he was notoriously quick to anger and easy to annoy, and certainly had no qualms about letting others know when he believed them to be acting childishly. Still, he had to hold back -- at least, for now. Were this girl related to anyone but the Chief Prosecutor, he might not have been so inclined to pull punches, but today, he had to be willing to demonstrate some patience.

     He had to hand it to her, though, she had the proper disposition for forensic work. Assertive, analytical, an astute observer, and certainly not shy -- when she grew older and gained more experience, Edgeworth had to admit that he could see her doing quite well in such a field. It would only figure that Lana Skye’s sister would be so well-suited for work in criminal justice; though he would never admit to as much aloud, he’d always admired her talents as both a detective and a prosecutor, and did look up to her in several ways. She was colder lately, more withdrawn, but he couldn’t fault her for that -- so was he, after all. In any case, it seemed that she’d passed on her talents to Ema . . . who definitely wasn’t afraid to use them if the opportunity arose.

     “Hm . . . well, I wouldn’t necessarily go as far as to state that I have no concern for making a decent first impression,” he replied at last, finally deciding to humor her. “There is a definite correlation, yes, but one of the first things you will learn in your criminal justice studies one day, Miss Skye, is that correlation cannot be equated to causation. Just because there appears to be an apparent link between one’s personal style and the sort of impression they give, does not aptly prove that such a thing is always true. Now, if you were posed such a question in your field of work, how would you go about solving it? How might you assert that your evidence proves your point?”

     Perhaps he was testing her, but he couldn’t help it -- he was curious to see how she would answer, and anyway, he felt confident enough that she would be able to figure it out. In any case, this was the sort of training she would require if she ever did truly wish to go into forensics, so he supposed this would prove once and for all just how dedicated she was to her dreams. 

     “Yes -- alright, alright,” he conceded to her last statements, fighting the smirk threatening to twitch into place at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose there is some merit in making observational statements, to a certain extent.” Just so long as the subject matter is not my personal tastes . . . !

TᕼE ᔕᑕIEᑎTIᖴIᑕ ᖇOᑌTE! ミ☆

Edgeworth, no doubt, had her respects as a prosecutor. In fact, she considers him one of the greats—being so cool of wit and furrowed of brow, a prime example for all prosecutors. He, too, had her adoration, the adolescent often referring to him as hunk on account of his appealing intellect and noble mien. However, individuals of the legal-world had long ago lost their intimidating luster for the girl. Through childhood, the precinct had practically been her playground; her abundance in stories of playing mock-trial and pretend-investigation with detectives and prosectors alike were to be expected. The same went for her casual conduct. Therefore, in spite of the girl’s juvenile crush, Edgeworth would be spoken to as if a freshman like herself. Ema was scooting herself to the end of the sofa, now—leaning over the furnishing’s mahogany arm as if the man had the latest hallway-grade gossip. 

“Hmm..“ 

Even now, there had yet been recognition for the growing dissatisfaction in the man’s demeanor. The younger sibling of the Chief Prosecutor stared on with her disapproving gaze while her idol dealt with her [unintended] blows to his fragile pride. Apparently, she completely missed his momentarily lapse in professionalism. She was too far gone in her critiques for his attire and office, it seemed. Her note-pad and pencil, still, were held at the ready— further scrawl added to the shrunken pages as she glanced around. Again, she was muttering. There really was no filter for Ema, not when she ecstatic as she was.   

“Note to self: Mr.Edgeworth doesn’t find any correlation in his decorative sense and his work.. and doesn’t think anyone else will feel the same… Does that mean you’ve never heard that one phrase, the one that goes like, ‘appearances are the first impression’? Hm, not really gaucho-like of you..”

That final statement of hers wasn’t written down, but rather, queried—aspiring scientist detaching from her notes to fix the ceiling with her curious looks once more. Of course, this could give the impression that her question was rhetorical, but in a matter of seconds, she’d focus her fiery scrutiny onto the other again. His outburst must’ve anchored her down from her day-dream, metaphorically speaking. Whether that was unfortunate or not was a matter of perspective, as Ema had nearly tumbled off to another reverie about Edgeworth the rancher. Consequently, that perspective depended on whether one enjoyed the thought of the prosecutor in chaps or not. Nonetheless, the girl was scowling at her idol like he were daft.

“Lana makes comments like this ALL the time, haven’t you noticed?! Whenever her and I are walking together she’ll mention how she thought someone had to much perfume, or too much of a cocky strut!” She forgot to mention how these critiques were made whenever the two sisters were alone and usually in the form of a quip. Regardless, Ema continued on her scolding. “A super star like you should know how to keep up with the program, scientifically speaking! That could be an important piece of scientific data, you know!”

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     Almost immediately, Edgeworth found himself wrestling with an impending feeling of both dread and regret. Why had he gone out of his way to come here to day, battling the unseasonable chill just to place himself willingly in the center of what was certain to be a painfully awkward situation? He knew all too well his skill level -- or lack thereof -- where matters of small talk and exchanging pleasantries were concerned. What was he doing, then, pushing himself so flagrantly outside his comfort zone, all for the purpose of -- of what, exactly? Entertaining Wright’s ridiculous idea that somehow the pains of the Hazakura Temple case could be glossed over with something as innocuous as a dinner? He couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take for him to formulate an excuse to leave, and retreat once again to the comfort of his own home, where he could live out his introverted life in an uninterrupted, blissful peace.

     Though, in spite of all his frustrations, he supposed he couldn’t necessarily blame Wright for wishing to mend the current state of things. The Hazakurain case had met as concrete a resolution as they were ever bound to receive, with the entire truth brought to light . . . but it was indeed a painful truth, and so though things had ended, they hadn’t exactly done so on a positive note. As much as Phoenix cared for Maya and Pearl Fey, it came as no surprise to Edgeworth that the defense attorney should want to do something to at least put them at rest, allow them to feel as though their lives had regained some semblance of normalcy. For all his complaints, Miles imagined he could do that much for them, too; he wasn’t so unreasonable as to protest something like that too much.

     “. . . Miss Fey,” he greeted at last, his tone of voice curt and aloof as always, but not without its own politeness. He and Maya had always had a cordial relationship, if slightly removed from one another. “Ah -- yes, of course. It’s a pleasure to see you, as well. I hope I’ve arrived on schedule.” Taking her advice, he ambled slowly into the room, glad of the heat that greeted him when he did, and even more so when the door fell shut behind him.

     “I see,” he responded to her statements regarding dinner, at least pleased that they intended to hurry things along. “That will be just fine. In the meantime, might I hang up my coat anywhere?” Just like Wright not to keep a coat rack in plain sight. “I imagine your cousin is here, as well, then?” he asked after a moment’s pause in order to fill the uncomfortable silence. “You . . . are both faring well as of late, I hope?” 

Aftershock | Miles Edgeworth && Maya Fey

      { ❣ } — The events that occurred at Hazakura Temple would be ones forever engraved in the minds of all who were involved. The incident did not claim one victim, but many — Maya, Pearl, Misty, Godot — and others, too; everyone who was involved basically. However, Maya must have suffered the most because of it. Maya, who had been deprived of a life with her mother… for the rest of her own now. Maya, who had become all too familiar with loss; her sister and then mother. Maya, who had been charged with murder and been in life-threatening situations many times before. Maya… who remained strong even after the world felt the need to put her down constantly. 

      It hadn’t been very long since the case was resolved so the incident was still very much fresh in her mind. She was still struggling to come to terms with everything that happened. However, if one saw her they might think that she had not suffered a day in her life; her smile was always radiant and her aura bright and energetic. Today was no different. Phoenix, Pearl, and her were sitting around on Phoenix’s couch, happily chatting about random things, staying away from the subject of Hazakura Temple, although the dinner’s purpose was to reunite and chat about what had happened. 

      Maya knew that her friends were worried about her, but she tried her best to dispel their fears about her. She had to stay strong; not only for herself, but for them. A knock on the door caused the trio to fall silent momentarily before Maya hopped up from her seat. “ I’ll get it~ ” She sang happily, skipping over towards the door and opening it with a wide grin. “ Mr. Edgeworth! It’s so good to see you. Come in before you freeze! ” A giggle escaped her as she noted his reddened ears and face.

      She shut the door behind him and lead him into the living room. “ You’re just in time. Dinner will be ready soon. ”

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hhggfhhh

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[TEXT]: It is no fault of mine that you can’t be bothered to observe common courtesy and stay within your own time zone, Larry! 

[TEXT]: “Thick and thin”, indeed. That’s rather a melodramatic way of putting it, considering you always seem to have a way of CAUSING the majority of those “thick and thin” moments.

[TEXT]: I have known Franziska von Karma for the greater half of my adult life, Larry, and I can certainly tell you with every confidence that “nervous” could not be a more flagrantly inadequate description of her character. Nor does she “pine for you” in this or any other plane of existence. I’m certain if she were here to see this, she would tell you much the same thing, and with much less consideration for your feelings.

[TEXT]: If it will put this nonsensical line of questioning to an end, then no, to my knowledge, there is no current romantic interest in her life at the moment. Though you should know better than to ask me to speak for her! If you’re quite so certain of her “undying love”, then haven’t you the confidence to ask her yourself?!

@logiciisms – [continued from here ]

[Text] H-hey! Just because you’re all the way in Europe doesn’t mean you can’t get off your high horse, Edgey!

[Text] We’ve been buds through thick and thin, haven’t we????

[Text] C’moooon, man! Deep down, Franzy pines for me! She’s only ignoring me ‘cuz she’s playing hard to get! She never texts me back, or takes my calls, or even talks to me, but I see it! Her undying love! She’s just too nervous

[Text] Uh, right??? She’s still single???

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♢

Meme: The mun’s interpretation | Accepting

♢ - What's your opinion on different interpretations of your muse?

     [Well, certainly in any fandom, there will inevitably be several different interpretations of pretty much any character, so it isn’t quite so surprising that a character as beloved by fans as Edgeworth has seen so many varying portrayals throughout different fan works. In all honesty, I think everyone is welcome to enjoy any character in any way that they would like -- the whole point of creating something is for people to enjoy it and take whatever meaning from it that they like, so I think as long as people keep in mind the integrity of his story and who he is as a person and can appreciate his character for that, then I’ve no problem with it whatsoever.

     Of course, I have in my mind my own view of Miles Edgeworth as a character, and other roleplayers have theirs, and I think there’s no reason why they can’t happily coincide. I’ve found that in this fandom particularly -- especially during the years when I was first starting to write -- I’ve actually learned a lot about how truly multi-faceted his character is just by observing how other people have written or imagined him to be. Sharing ideas ( so long as you have the other person’s permission to do so, of course ) is one of the best ways to hone your writing skills!

     All in all, I just despise the unspoken competition that exists between people who roleplay the same muse.]

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the mun's interpretation

♚ Do you agree with fandom interpretation of your character?

♤ Has your muse developed to be different from their canon selves through roleplay?

✘ Any unpopular opinions about your muse?

♧ Any part of their canon portrayal you dislike?

☯ Is your muse liked or disliked by fandom? Does this affect your portrayal?

♢ What's your opinion on different interpretations of your muse?

✦ Has your own interpretation changed from when you first began playing the character?

✍ Has new canon material ever forced you to adjust your headcanons?

✎ What do you wish the author would reveal/had revealed about your muse?

✿ Why did you decide that they [insert headcanon here]?

❀ Share a headcanon you have not shared.

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     The day’s events weighed heavily on his shoulders, and all Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth wished to do was make a brief stop by the nearby cafe before returning home for the evening. Evidence transferal days were always the most hectic, and today in particular had been no exception to the norm. In fact, it seemed even worse now that he not only took care of his own duties, but presided over all the others, as well. It was no secret that his responsibilities following his recent promotion had intensified considerably, and while there was nothing he loved quite so much as keeping busy, he was finding that it was starting to run him a bit ragged. It helped, he supposed, that he did care a great deal for the work that he did, and so that at least kept it from feeling like an ordeal or a punishment; still, try though he might to pretend otherwise, he was still a human being, and every man had his limits eventually.

     He ambled silently into the cafe, eyes narrowed against the afternoon breeze, still wound up tight as a bowstring. Thankfully, this restaurant was small and inconspicuous, so it never seemed to be too crowded or noisy; as introverted as Miles was naturally inclined to be, cozy, quiet places always tended to attract him far more easily than smoky bistros or bars. A bell in the doorway jingled as he swung the door open, and he gave his head a polite nod in the direction of the hostess who promptly greeted him upon his arrival. Presently, he was led to his seat, an unassuming little booth in the far right of the room, and when he took his place, he found that something else was already sitting there.

     With a curious arch of his eyebrows, Edgeworth leaned forward, realizing upon closer examination that the item in question was a tiny notebook, and it looked well-used at that. His first assumption was that perhaps one of the waitstaff had left it behind accidentally after placing someone’s order, and, following his hunch, decided to leaf through the pages to see if he was correct. To his surprise, none of the words scrawled along the pieces of paper appeared to be related to the cafe; had someone left this behind that was here before him, then?

     No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than did a tapping on his shoulder manage to capture his attention. Giving the slightest start, Edgeworth wheeled around in his seat, gray eyes locking with those of a young girl; she was unfamiliar to him, but appeared to be quite dismayed, eyes wide and earnest, but filled with worry. It didn’t take long for Edgeworth to put the pieces together, though he did wonder for a moment why she seemed quite so nervous. Perhaps my glare can be a bit more intimidating than I might have realized, he thought with thinly-veiled exasperation.

     “Is this yours?” he asked at last, silver eyes scrutinizing her with the careful analytical sensibility that he’d gained over his years as a prosecutor. “I only just arrived here, and it seemed as though someone had left this behind.” Only now did he hold out the notebook, presenting it to her expectantly and trying his best to keep any impatience free from his tone.

@logiciisms

It didn’t take her long to realize something was awry.

Upon leaving the cafe, she quickly dug into her backpack to discover something she thought she never would: her last communication notebook gone. She panicked rather easily, knowing her funds were in the minimal amount to begin with, and that she was relatively sure she didn’t have enough to buy another one (not if she wanted to continue eating like she planned). After frantically searching through the entire contents of her pack without finding even remnants of the pages, her breathing increased just as her heart-rate did. It was her only form of communication until she had the chance to learn more sign language!

It soon dawned on her that she likely left it at the table she was just at in the cafe. If her throat could produce sound, she would have groaned louder than she ever had. Having to trek back in there without any means of talking to anyone would be the biggest challenge she’d come across yet. But, this was a necessity. Taking a breath, Katie-Lynn shouldered her bag again, marching dutifully into the cafe once more. A preliminary look-through was needed, as she thought she may have dropped it, but, to her relief, it was left at the very table she sat at. However, to her dismay, the book was within someone’s hand. Immediately, she froze.

Having no choice, she timidly approached the affluent-looking man, tapping his shoulder, as she had no other way of getting his attention.

Her disability had never felt more like a curse.

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$

Meme: Send a symbol for a text | Accepting

Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text

[TEXT]: Siri call Phoenix Wright

[TEXT]: blast this phone

[TEXT]: Ah . . . my apologies, Wright.

[TEXT]: I only recently bought this phone and it seems I’ve still not quite figured out its mechanics.

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Disappointing Popsicle Jokes

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[okay but consider for me if you will:

a ‘sound of music’ au where edgeworth is captain von trapp and phoenix is the spunky, sassy maria

the scene where he accidentally calls maria ‘captain’ would work so well between them??]

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#inktober day…! Umm, I think it was 11. I sort of failed on this one… I’m sorry, Mr. Edgeworth! #milesedgeworth #aceattorney #instanessie

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#

Meme: Send a symbol for a text | Accepting

Send “#” for a RANDOM text.

[TEXT]: How on Earth would I know if Franziska is single or not?!

[TEXT]: Larry, don’t you have anything more productive to do with your life than send me these inane messages?

[TEXT]: Do you have even the slightest clue what time of night it is??

[TEXT]: I’ll have no trouble whatsoever blocking your number if you continue to trouble me so.

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     Blast! What on Earth was it about this girl that could effectively bring about such insecurities deep within the pit of his stomach, even over something as simple as the Steel Samurai? Even now, he could recall the moments after his own acquittal, when Maya had told him that he still had a long way to go where showing his emotions was concerned. She had a way about telling someone whatever was on her mind that made them want to correct whatever she’d brought to one’s attention -- it was beyond becoming painfully aware of any particular fault, but actively wishing to change it. Perhaps that was why Wright had always cared for her so devoutly as he did. In spite of her appearances, she was quite an intelligent girl.

     “Ah -- well -- yes, of course, I suppose so. In a manner of speaking,” he conceded at last, caught off-guard by not only the fact that she’d referred to him as a friend, but by the fact that her favorite episode of the Steel Samurai happened to be his favorite, as well! “I, er -- I agree. And I was quite impressed with the final combat between the Steel Samurai and the Evil Magistrate -- that was truly the episode that established them as opposing forces, after all.”

          ❝Mr. Edgeworth…❞ she said, raising an eyebrow. Why was he so afraid to tell her? It’s not like she would go and tell Nick or something. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, a slight puppy dog look on her face.           ❝You don’t have to hide from me. I’m your friend, aren’t I? I’d hope so,❞ she shrugged, looking down at his desk and wiping off a speck of dust. ❝I mean, my favorite episode is the last episode of season one. It had such great special effects!❞

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     “Hmph. Perhaps not. In any case, I’m not sure I would go as far as to define it as a problem. You might wish to be more cautious with it in the future, though -- for those who are not as well-acquainted with you as myself, it may come across as the slightest bit intimidating. Not that such a thing has ever deterred you before.”

     Miles would be lying if he said that he wasn’t at least the slightest bit pleased to see Franziska, in spite of his generally sarcastic demeanor. Though he’d be loath to admit it, he’d come to think of her as a sister in the time he spent under Manfred von Karma’s tutelage, and since accepting a position working with Interpol, he’d spoken with her much less frequently of late.

     “Is that right? I hardly took you for a homebody.” He sighed, lifting a hand to idly adjust his cravat as he spoke. “I suppose I can relate. My duties as Chief Prosecutor have kept me travelling far more than I would care to lately, as well. I imagine it comes with the territory.”

            ❝I don’t see why it’s a huge problem. I mean, there are times, to express urgency, that anybody will do such, yes?❞ ( Franziska sighed,   shaking her head.   He’ll never let it   down. )             ❝It’s treating me well. Although, I’d prefer to just be home. Too much traveling, in my opinion.❞

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@gregoryworth

     Evening had just begun to settle in, painting the sky a wondrous canvas of hues, all golds and pinks and blues, even brilliant orange mixed in with the pearl gray clouds that lined the horizon. The breeze blew crisp but soft, gentle, a rare break from the harsh winds that typically accompanied the winter months. Nine-year-old Miles Edgeworth had only returned home from school around an hour ago, and yet the fact that the days had already turned so short made him feel as though the entire remainder of his day had been burnt away. He had to admit, the steadily sinking sun and gradual fading of the light outside was making him sleepy, but even as his eyelids drooped, he still sat curled up on the living room sofa, diligently finishing up his homework for tomorrow. His father had raised him to believe that his responsibilities should come first, then play, and he intended to follow that rule as best as he possibly could.

     Besides, the earlier he finished up his schoolwork, then the more time he would have to talk to his father, and tell him all about the day he’d had at school. To the rest of the world, Miles’ dad was a famous and revered defense attorney, known for solving even the most difficult cases, but here on these rare evenings -- few and far between -- when they were able to spend a quiet afternoon together, he was just Gregory Edgeworth. Just his father. Miles had always looked up to him for all that he’d been able to do, both as a lawyer and as a dad; he’d lost his mother when he was very young, and his memories of her were scarce, but Gregory had always done everything in his power to ensure that Miles was given a happy and healthy childhood.

     Just as he finished scrawling down the final answer to the set of math problems he’d been assigned for homework, he looked up to find his father in the doorway. Closing his book with a snap and leaning forward with a rare excitement -- Miles had always been a stoic child -- he said, “Did I tell you yet what happened in school today, Father?” There was only the briefest pause before he continued with, “There was this whole incident at lunch -- the teacher thought this boy in my class had stolen my lunch money. I knew it wasn’t him all along, but they had a sort of . . . class trial, and everyone was bullying him. So I did what you always do -- I stood up for him, and now, I-I think I’ve got a . . . a friend.”