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agoldengalaxy · 4 years

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A Samurai’s Love

read on AO3

There’s a Steel Samurai marathon at the Wright Anything Agency, and Miles and Maya have a heart to heart.

“Justice will soon be served, evildoer! Your foul deeds will not be tolerated, for I, the Steel Samurai, shall strike you down!”

Miles does his best not to grin, though keeping it a secret that he is a fan from his companions has proved to be fruitless; it’s why he’s here in the first place, after all, at the Wright Anything Agency. Since Phoenix had gotten disbarred, he’d been rather distant - not returning many calls, only focusing on the little girl that his client had left behind. So Miles and Maya had to take it upon themselves to do anything they could to support him, and that included showing they cared.

“Oh, this is the best part!” Sitting on his left, a starry-eyed Maya is grinning ear to ear as she stares at the screen. Beside her, her head in her lap, is Pearl, curled up rather contently, having fallen asleep much earlier. She doesn’t really understand the appeal of the show, despite being a child herself.

Miles can’t hide his smile this time, and he nods. “I agree.” Of course, he’s seen this episode before. How would he not? The watch party was more of a distraction for Phoenix than anything else, even if the man didn’t particularly care very much for the show.

The Steel Samurai grunts in his struggle against the Evil Magistrate, though besides the TV, the room is very quiet. Just as Miles is wondering why they hadn’t been met by a sarcastic comment from Phoenix, he feels a soft weight press into his right shoulder.

He glances down and bites his tongue to keep from gasping, trying to comprehend the scene before him. Phoenix had slumped over, head resting against Miles’ arm - it seems he had been falling asleep and needed someplace to lay. Trucy is curled in her father’s lap, head against his chest, a hand grabbing a fistful of his hoodie loosely.

When the surprise wears off, Miles takes a moment to look at his old friend’s face, only illuminated by the flickering light of the TV. His brow is slightly furrowed, and his lips slightly parted. Relaxed like this, he looks more his age; the past few weeks, he’d been looking a little worse for wear. Miles frowns deeply at the dark circles underneath his eyes, unlike anything he’d ever seen. He wonders how long it has been since Phoenix had gotten a good night’s rest.

He sighs softly, shaking his head a little. He has half a mind to wake him and tell him to go home and get some real sleep, but...he has a feeling it won’t go well. He’d certainly fight him over it, so he might as well let him get some well-deserved rest. Without thinking much about it, he reaches over with his opposite hand and pushes some of Phoenix’s stray hairs out of his eyes. He doesn’t move.

“He hasn’t been sleeping.”

Blinking, Miles looks up, finding that Maya is now looking at him. Her expression is one of concern now, and he realizes she must have been watching for some time. “...Is that so?”

She nods, her eyes shifting to rest her gaze on the sleeping man beside them. “I haven’t been able to visit him as much as I’d like,” she admits softly, “but he told me...not that I couldn’t have figured that much out on my own.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Even he had come to that conclusion. “I can’t say I blame him,” he replies, opening his eyes to meet Maya’s. There’s so many unspoken things in just this one look - concern that doesn’t really need to be voiced, because they know. But there’s nothing they can do about it. Phoenix is disbarred, and that’s that. Although Miles will be doing everything in his power to help, he is not Chief Prosecutor, and he doesn’t have very much authority. So all they can do is support him.

“Um, Mr. Edgeworth?” Her voice is still soft, though she’s dropped her gaze to run her fingers through Pearl’s hair in a comforting way. For a moment, she looks like she might cry.

“Yes?” He’s not sure what it means, but he’s almost positive he won’t like it.

Maya swallows hard. “He won’t tell me anything about that day. About the case. He hasn’t even told me if the rumors are true.” Taking a shaky breath, she lifts her gaze back to the TV. “I don’t believe them, Mr. Edgeworth. Nick would never forge evidence. But I…” she closes her eyes, shaking her head. “I feel so useless. I sometimes wonder if things would have turned out differently if I was by his side like I should have been.”

He has to admit it catches him off guard, at first. Maya is such a positive force, it’s hard to remember she’s still young. She’s the one that forces a smile and does anything she can to get Phoenix laughing again. He hadn’t even thought about what kind of toll it must take on her.

Shaking his head, he tries to meet her eyes. “You cannot blame yourself for what happened. Even I don’t know all of the details, but…” he sighs. God, what can he even say? It hurts to think about, let alone talk about. “I have a feeling this was bound to happen, no matter what. This trial...it reeks of foul play. But not to worry, Ms. Fey. I will get to the bottom of it.” If it’s the last thing he does. He would do anything to see Phoenix Wright genuinely smile again.

Maya reaches up to wipe under one of her eyes, and she smiles a little. “Yeah, I’m sure you will. I guess there’s no use thinking about what might’ve happened, huh?” She sniffs, then looks back up at him, still smiling. “And geez, Edgeworth, how many times do I have to tell you to call me ‘Maya’? We’ve known each other for so long.”

Blinking, he stares at her for a moment, then smiles just a little, himself. “I apologize. It is just a habit.” He bows his head. “I’ll try to remember next time.” They both fall quiet again, turning their attention back to the screen, though he’s sure they’re both paying it only some attention. He allows himself to look back down at the man leaning against his shoulder, and for some reason, he smiles. He’ll chalk that up to relief, but...something about having him so close like this really warms his heart.

On his opposite shoulder, he feels a nudge. Looking up, he’s met with a smirking Maya. “You know, Nick may keep secrets, but I know he’s not the only one.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” he asks carefully, not liking the way her smirk curls upward smugly.

“It is so painfully obvious that you love him, Edgeworth. Well, obvious to everyone except him, of course,” she answers nonchalantly. What…? His heart leaps into his throat, and he stares at her blankly. Any coherent thought leaves his mind, because...she’s right, of course, but he doesn’t want to admit that much.

However, he’s well aware that the longer he stays silent, the more suspicious he seems, so he clears his throat and looks away. He can’t look into her eyes. Not now. “I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices her roll her eyes. “Right.” She draws out the word. “You may be a big bad prosecutor, but you happen to be a terrible liar.” A hand comes up to rest on his arm, and he brings himself to look back at her. Her smirk has softened into a smile now. “Look, I know it’s probably hard for you, but I just want to let you know that you have nothing to worry about. No matter what, through thick and thin, Nick has always been there for you. And I know...I know he feels the same.” She seems very confident. “He may not be in the right place right now, and you both may be too stubborn to admit it, but...I just want you two to be happy.”

For some reason, the words end up making his eyes burn. He has to drop his gaze, not wanting Maya to see. What can he even say to this? He closes his eyes for a moment, shaking his head a little. “I...don’t know what to say.”

Maya seems to understand, and she smiles again. “Just think about what I said, okay? I’m sure Nick could use some good news.” She yawns, stretching her arms above her head, then leans back against the couch, just barely resting her head against his other arm. She rests one hand over Pearl’s back comfortingly. “Guess we’re not going home tonight, huh?”

Miles pauses, staring down at her, then smiles a little, despite himself. “Hmph. I suppose not.” He looks back up at the TV, watching the credits roll.

“Good night, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“...Good night, Maya.” He feels her smile against his sleeve, and then relax.

And he is alone.

He lets himself look down at Phoenix again, his face still as handsome as ever, even shrouded under the cloud of exhaustion. He can’t help but wonder if he truly was as obvious as Maya claimed, or if she is just exceptionally perceptive. Perhaps it is a bit of both.

Letting out a quiet sigh, he leans his head against the back of the couch, noticing Phoenix’s hand by his lap. For a long moment, Miles considers taking it, but decides against it. No. Not yet.

But soon. Despite how out of the blue it had been, he supposes Maya has a point. And perhaps he will feel better when his deepest secret is no longer just a secret.

His eyes slip shut, and as he drifts off, Maya’s voice echoes in his mind.

I just want you two to be happy.

Perhaps they do deserve that much.

#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #maya fey #narumitsu #wrightworth #phoenix wright #pearl fey #trucy wright #let! them! be! friends!#please and thank u #agoldengalaxy #my writing #my post

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browniefox · 3 years

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Waking from the Long Winter

Ace Attorney - 5K Words

Phoenix Wright and a few moments during the ten weeks it takes to receive results from the Bar Exam.

A one-shot written solely for the half-joke I make within the first couple paragraphs lol. Character exploration of Phoenix finding himself again. Hinted narumitsu but just hinted.

oOo

Phoenix is sure there’s a joke here, somewhere.

Something about a lawyer walking into a bar, and then knowing to duck the second time. Or maybe not ducking, but running into it at top speed. Or trying to vault over the bar and getting his feet caught on it and falling on his face instead. There’s something there, he’s sure of it. More than anything, however, Phoenix wishes his brain would focus on the Actual Bar Exam instead of trying to make this stupid joke work.

He took the bar once before, of course. His memory of having done so, however, is shaky at best. Trying to look back at it, it’s nothing more than two days of pure stress. If he tries to pin the experience down to a word, it's just a really long and drawn out scream.

Taking the bar the second time, ten years later, is… different.

Phoenix studied, of course. Apollo had still had his flashcards and big binder full of notes. Slow days in the office were often punctuated with spontaneous quizzing on terms and laws and procedures. He’d spent late nights reading big law books and then falling asleep on top of them like he was in college again. He sat in on a lot of trials, reviewing the roles of the people in the court.

Now that he’s finally actually taking the Bar, it’s like a math test.

Obvious not as far as subject matter went. But it reminds him strongly of what taking a math test back in middle/high school had been like. Going into it scared and then being surprised by how quickly and easily he seemed to go through the questions. Of course, that also always ended with him getting the test back with a million red marks that revealed the test hadn’t been easy, he’d just been dumb.

For the first five minutes, nerves making Phoenix fidgety, the Bar exam had been scary and the words had refused to form comprehensive sentences. He’s pretty sure he almost had a panic attack. But then the five minutes pass, and Phoenix takes a few deep breaths, and when he opens his eyes again, he realizes he actually does know this stuff.

He was a lawyer, once, seven years ago. It feels like that should be more than enough time for him to have forgotten what being one was like, for all of the words to have become greek to him once more. And yet, his previous cases stick out to him on the page. Yes, he remembers using evidence law for the Skye case, he knows this. Ah, yes, he remembers studying this case because it reminds him of the Powers one. There’s even a question about spirit mediums at one point and Phoenix almost laughs out loud.

It probably also doesn’t hurt that he’d kept his enemies close during his disbarment, as well as working on MASON.

Kristoph had often asked for Phoenix’s opinion on cases, setting out the evidence and asking for the ex-lawyer’s input and expertise. He wonders if it was supposed to sting, if Kristoph had been trying to rub salt into the wound. If so, he had succeeded, sometimes. Other times, it’d been nice to fall back into those familiar ways of thinking, of trying to piece together a story, of trying to find justice.

Phoenix would never ever thank Kristoph for anything ever, but he did admit there were unexpected rewards for having put up with him for so long.

oOo

Paying for a barber hasn’t exactly been in the budget for years.

Not that there weren’t places you could get a haircut at fairly cheap, but every single dollar and penny counted. Even the months where things looked alright, where there was a comfortable sum left over after rent and taxes and food, most of it was set aside for when the rough times would return. They always did.

“Just a trim?” Trucy asks. She wears the fake mustache she insists on wearing every time he asks her to cut his hair. Her own was just trimmed by him, the floor littered with split ends. There’s layers throughout it, and now that it’s started to dry back out he can see his handiwork and nods to himself. The days of terrible and uneven cuts while trying to watch a video tutorial are well behind both of them, years of practice instead showing through.

The swivel chair from the desk has been moved into the bathroom and Phoenix looks at himself in the mirror, his hair for once not bunched up inside of his beanie. It’s long enough to pull back with a hair tie. Trucy is already gearing up to cut off an inch, the same inch she cuts off every time to keep it from getting too long. For years, that’s been the only reason to cut his hair. He runs his fingers through it. It’s to his shoulders right now and he blinks when he realizes that he hates it.

He hates how the long strands get in his face. He hates how sometimes he pulls his beanie off and his hair is staticy. He hates how if he doesn’t pull it back while cooking, if he has something on his hands, he has to awkwardly flick his head in usually-futile attempts to get the hair out of the way.

He hates it and he’s hated it for a while. But for some reason, every time before now, it’s felt easier and safer to keep it long and annoying.

“Actually,” He says, and then hesitates. He’s had his hair like this for so long now, and shorter hair… He steels himself and straightens a bit, “Actually, Truce, could you go a little shorter this time? Just, you know, a little-”

“Don’t worry, daddy, leave it to me!”

There’s a mischievous little glint in her eyes and Phoenix almost changes his mind, but she’s already spun the chair around and started cutting. Phoenix closes his eyes and waits. Trucy hums as she cuts his hair, and usually she does little tricks with the scissors, but this time she’s just cutting. He tries not to think about how close to his head the scissors sound, how much she must be cutting off. He’d asked her to, and he hates how long it was, and yet now that it’s too late to change his mind he’s nervous.

“Alright!” Trucy chirps and spins him back around to face the mirror. Phoenix opens his eyes.

A young lawyer, full of hope and trust and pure stubbornness, stares back at him.

And then he blinks, and the man has little tired wrinkles around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth and prominently between his eyebrows. He still has the couple-day-old stubble that he had yet to shave. There’s dark shadows under his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair. It spikes up in the back, just like it used to, just like it always has, like how his mom used to hate and try in vain to flatten down.

“Well, what do you think?” Trucy beams at him.

“It’s perfect.” He says.

And it’s true.

oOo

Phoenix has never owned a perfectly tailored suit in his life. He never found an issue with this. Off the rack was just fine, and a lot cheaper, and you didn’t have to worry about anything happening to it.

Apparently Miles thought that this was an issue.

Two weeks after Phoenix took the bar, Miles drags him to get a new suit. Phoenix stresses that his old suit was perfectly fine. He at least assumes it's fine. It is shoved somewhere near the back of his closet and by now is probably made up of as much dust as fabric. But it should still looks like a suit, and he can probably send it to the dry cleaners or something if he ever needs it.

Still, Miles insists on dragging him to get a new suit.

The people there all recognize Miles right of the bat, greeting him as ‘Mr. Edgeworth’, with a lot of ‘So good to see you again’ and ‘Are you here for the usual’ and ‘How is dear Ms. Von Karma doing’. His answers are amicable enough: ‘It’s nice to be back in the country.’ ‘No, not today, I’m here for my friend.’ ‘Franziska is doing well, thank you.’

Phoenix sees how they look at him when they don’t think he can see them. They don’t know that Phoenix is well used to being on guard constantly, no matter the time or place. He cedes that maybe he should’ve worn something today other than his hoodie and beanie and flip flops, especially with how the ‘flip-flop-flip-flop’ is just shy of echoing throughout the large store. He knows they must look an interesting pair, prim and perfect well put together Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth next to disbarred pianist and poker player Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t let it bother him as Miles picks around the room, finding suits that he approves of.

There’s too many shades of blue. Half the time, Miles holds up two and asks which one Phoenix likes more, and they look exactly the same. Still, they eventually end up with a few different ones for Phoenix to try on, and Miles and one of the men - the tailor? Maybe? Or the owner of the store? - walk around Phoenix and critique how it looks on him and then send him back to try on another. It reminds Phoenix how much he hates shopping. The whole process of having to try things on and take them off and then repeat is just a bit too tedious for his sake.

Miles more than Phoenix decides on which suit is best out of the ones he’s picked out, and then Phoenix's measurements are taken so that it can be fixed to fit him just right.

They’re looking at the ties, the last thing to grab before they leave, when Phoenix finally says,

“I haven’t passed the Bar Exam yet.”

Miles pauses for a second, then hangs the white tie back up. He doesn’t turn to face Phoenix but his eyes do glance over.

“You took the test.” He says, and Phoenix can hear the unsaid in there. ‘You took the test, right? You didn’t lie about that? You didn’t purposely sabotage your own test? You haven’t done something incredibly stupid already, have you?’

“I did.” Phoenix nods, and means ‘I really did. I gave it my all. I tried my best, I swear it.’

“Then you’ll need a new suit.” Miles says.

“But I haven’t passed yet.”

“Mm,” Miles hums, grabbing a dark red tie and looking it over, comparing it to the swatch of fabric that matches the color of Phoenix’s new suit, “You’re not going to fail.”

“But-”

“If you fail, then you’ll still have a new suit. There’s more reasons than being an attorney to own a nice suit, you know. If you ever eat somewhere nicer than the Borsch Bowl, for one. Or I have a wide array of incessant events I’m expected to attend throughout the year. They’ll be more manageable if I have someone there with me, but there is usually a dress code. Or perhaps I’ll be in need of a co-council at some point. I could use your eyes, and lord knows they’ll let absolutely anybody co-council, qualifications be damned.”

Miles doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Phoenix. He does, however, pick a wine red tie and add it to the growing stack.

oOo

When he moves the items off of the piano, he’s careful to make sure he remembers where everything goes.

It’s his office, it’s his piano, and while maybe most of the things he takes off aren’t his they also haven’t been touched in weeks, and he doubts that Trucy or Apollo would notice anything different. Still, he feels oddly like a kid sneaking food out of the cupboards while his parents are out. Trucy is setting up for a show and Apollo is out looking at a crime scene. It’s the perfect chance.

He lifts up the covering from the keys of the piano. He sits down on the bench, and a chill rushes over him that isn’t there. He can almost hear the sound of the Borscht Bowl, the clamour of patrons. He’s played this piano so few times, he can count them on one hand. He’d given practice a couple tries when he first got hired, until it became clear that being paid not to play was probably just as lucrative - if not more so - than actually having the skill.

Phoenix rests his hands on the keys, cold ivory under his warm fingers. He’d taken classes, once, years and years ago, when he was small and young. His piano teacher then had been an old and nice woman, but she’d had to stop teaching after a few months due to health problems. He can still find middle C, and that is more or less where his skills end. Usually, when someone requests a song, he plays ‘hot cross buns’ or ‘heart and soul’ or any other classic of the sort.

This time, Phoenix lets himself bang around with wild abandon on the keys, like he had as a kid, caring little for melody or timing or anything at all. The piano is probably out of tune. Not that he can hear that sort of thing, but it's a fair and safe bet to make. The piano hasn’t been played in a long while.

He steps away for a moment and runs a finger over the spines of the books on the shelves until he came across a thin one, so thin that the spine didn’t have any kind of title, just staples holding the pages together. Some hot-shot customer had come into the Borscht Bowl, slapped the ‘Beginner’s Piano Lessons’ book on the top of the piano and declared that Phoenix was going to need it once he was beaten at poker that night.

Of course, Phoenix had won. He got to keep the book anyway. By ‘got to keep’, he meant the customer had punched Phoenix in a fit of rage after losing and had been kicked out, leaving the book behind. Phoenix had kept it.

He isn't any good at reading music, but he has the afternoon to himself. He gets out a pencil, writing the letters above the notes, counting the keys to make sure his fingers land on the right ones. It is slow, and tedious, and not something he has to do. It's something he's doing because he wants to.

oOo

Phoenix has a love-hate relationship with Parent-Teacher Conferences.

He loves to go when the teachers will tell him ‘oh, Trucy is a joy to have in class! Trucy brings such a brightness to the classroom! Trucy is brilliant, what an amazing daughter you have! She’s so talented!’ And then Phoenix gets to beam at Trucy, and Trucy gets to glow under the praise, and then he gets handed her report card that he can place on the fridge so he can look at it every morning and be filled with pride again.

He doesn’t so much like them when the teachers look at him funny.

Look, Phoenix is an adult, he can admit that his appearance took a pretty sharp decline after he was disbarred. But some days it was all he could do to put on the hoodie and beanie, and he had learned pretty early in how to rationalize it all away as ‘putting on an act’, as trying to get Kristoph to underestimate him. However, an adult man who adopted a daughter, and thus had had someone declare him fit to raise a kid, looking like he was one trip to McDonalds away from being completely broke wasn’t always the best way to present one’s self to other adults, especially ones on high alert make sure their students were in a stable living condition.

One time, Trucy had even had to warn him to clean up a bit. She’d picked up on the worried questions her teacher had been asking her, about how often she ate and what her dad did for a living. Phoenix had put on actual shoes and a button up for that PTC. The teacher had still looked at him suspiciously, but he’d done his best to exude confidence and ‘I’m perfectly capable of raising a child on my own’. He couldn’t risk losing Trucy. If he lost Trucy…

He can’t lose Trucy.

Of course, the days of those sorts of PTC’s are behind them. Now that Trucy’s in high school and has eight different teachers, PTC’s consist of going between the school’s cafeteria and library to find Trucy’s teachers, get told if she’s a good student or a distraction or doing well or doing poorly, and then heading right to the next teacher. Some teachers they just outright skip, like Trucy’s gym teachers.

“C’mon Daddy, you have to dress up too!”

Trucy spins around in her magician outfit. The straplessness of the dress made it against the school’s dress code, so she never got to wear it to classes. She’d been talking about showing it off during the PTC, when school wasn’t technically in session, and Phoenix knew that she was probably going to take the chance to dazzle her teachers with some of her smaller tricks as well.

Put that in the list of reasons why he did like PTC: getting to see people be amazed with Trucy’s close-up magic tricks.

“Trucy,” Phoenix sighs.

“No, please? I always get dressed up, and you never do.” She pouts, crossing her arms.

“That’s because you’re the star of the show tonight.”

“But you’re my assistant! Please, just this once? I know you don’t like getting dressed up, but...” And then Trucy hesitates, which is so unlike her it catches Phoenix’s attention right away, “But I’d like it.” She finishes. For a moment, the room is plunged into darkness that only Phoenix can see as chains shoot out of nowhere and a single psych-lock places itself in front of Trucy.

Phoenix sighs one more time. He’s not going to pry, not unless it becomes a big deal.

“Sure, can’t have you performing with a sub-par partner.” He relents and Trucy claps her hand excitedly.

He goes back into his room, reaching for a button down. Something simple, he figures. Just something a little nicer than usual.

And he sees the suit Miles had bought him.

It’s in a big black bag to keep it safe from dust or whatever. Almost without thinking to, he takes the hanger off the rack and sets it on his bed, unzipping the bag and looking at the suit. It’s so much like to his old one. He runs a hand over it and then almost puts it back. But if he can’t wear it to a PTC, how can he wear it to any of the myriad of events Miles had listed off? He used to wear a suit everywhere. It had been border-line mandatory.

“Hurry up, Daddy, or we’ll be late!”

Phoenix jumps at the banging on his door.

“Just a minute, sweetie!” He shouts back.

It feels… different. He blames that on the light blue waistcoat that Edgeworth had insisted on. That, and the fact that it was a suit that was made to fit him exactly. His old suit had been second-hand, all that he’d been able to afford at the time. The blue, what many people seemed to remember about him, had been due to lack of options rather than real choice.

He looks at himself in the mirror, running a wet hand through his hair to try and get it into some semblance of presentable. He still has his stubble. He hadn’t shaved this morning. It’s not too late to tear off the jacket and vest and go with his original plan of just a button up.

“Daddy!” Trucy calls again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He shouts back, and with one last look at himself, one last effort to convince himself he looks fine, leaves his apartment looking more like the Turnabout Terror than he has in years.

oOo

More of Miles’ things seem to come weekly.

Apparently Franziska is doing a deep and thorough cleaning of the Von Karma estate. She keeps finding more things, and so boxes and boxes turn up on Miles’ doorstep.

Phoenix finds himself spending a lot of his time in Miles’ office, and it means he ends up spending a lot of time helping Miles unpack boxes. Some of them are things that really shouldn’t have surprised Phoenix, like Steel Samurai manga and dvds that Franziska has unearthed from hidden corners of the estate. Miles had admitted he’d kept them anywhere he thought Manfred wouldn’t look. Other little things like that showed up - small mementos or notes, most of which seem innocuous, but that Miles insists would’ve been disapproved of.

There are also other things, like pens or books or pictures. Some of these do belong to Miles while others of them are items Franziska 'didn’t wish to hold on to any longer’. While that seemed to be the case with some, it only took looking at Miles face to confirm for Phoenix that a lot of them had secret sentimental value.

He never understood their relationship. He’d been an only child, and while there were people he was close to, he’d never grown up in the same building with them, nor under the harsh condition Miles and Franziska had. He's glad he doesn't have to jump through the weird hoops and unsaid rules that Miles and Franziska do when navigating anything to do with the other.

“Okay, you can’t tell me these are important.” Phoenix holds up a pair of scissors. They’re cold and pure metal, no plastic handle like the three pairs Phoenix himself owns. All three of them always go missing at the same time too, which completley defeatst he point of having so many pairs.

Miles sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s sitting on the ground in front of the bookshelf. With the most recent influx of books, alphabetizing them means that the previous books need to be pushed to the next shelf, and it has created a chain of necessary rearrangement to every subsequent shelf as well. Phoenix has seen Miles force the work onto some younger prosecutors or even unlucky detectives, but with Phoenix here he does it himself.

“Open them up.” He says and Phoenix does just that. There are initials welded into the metal, M.E.V.K. Phoenix raises his eyebrows.

“Miles Edgeworth… Von Karma?” He says, just to be sure, and Miles nods.

“Mm, yes. Those are my shears. Franziska insisted on the initials so that if I ruined my pair, she’d be able to tell they were mine right away, and I wouldn’t be able to try and steal hers. She took them to get initialed herself.”

He speaks of the event with the calm and cool that is so Edgeworth, but Phoenix has learned to read between lines. He runs a finger over the four initials. Von Karma. The household Edgeworth had lived in and belonged to in all but the official name change. The name that he was able to carry on these shears.

“I’ll put them in your desk.” Phoenix says instead of the millions of other responses running through his head. He’s standing in front of it anyway. He pulls open the first drawer as Miles says,

“No, I’ll be taking them home. They’re fabric scissors, Phoenix. Using them on paper will ruin them.”

Phoenix’s response to that completely leaves his head when he sees the small golden pin in the drawer.

“What’s this?” He says, more to himself than Miles. He knows what it is, and yet he asks anyway. It’s a defense attorney pin. He can see the petals, the image of scales in the center. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen one recently, he has defense attorneys working for him, after all. But it’s so out of place to see one in Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth’s office that it takes him completely by surprise. He picks it up, turning it this way and that.

“Is this... your dad’s?” He asks, the first answer that comes to mind.

“Is what- oh. No. It isn’t.” Miles is looking over now, and there’s something in his voice that makes Phoenix’s brow furrow. He sounds… hesitant? Scared? Nervous? None of those seemed quite right, but Miles didn’t seem completely at ease. Phoenix returned his focus to the pin.

There are teeth marks in it, like someone had bit into it at one point. The edges of it are worn slightly, softened with time. It’s nostalgic to look at.

It’s even more nostalgic to turn over and see the number 26381.

“Wait, this is…!” Phoenix stares at the number, the number that is burned into his memory. He’d memorized it soon after receiving the pin. It was his number, the number that meant he was really a lawyer, that he had done it.

“... yes. It is.” Phoenix looks back up. Miles is still looking at him, the odd expression still there. Not hesitance, not nervousness, not fear.

Anticipation. Miles is sitting there, watching in anticipation, as Phoenix finds his old defense attorney’s badge in Miles’ desk.

“You have my badge.” Phoenix says. He turns it back around to stare at the face. Yes, that bite mark… that was from Ema, wasn’t it?

“I do.” Miles confirms.

“Why?” Phoenix says. He weighs the small pin in his hand and then tosses it, catching it easily enough. It’s so light and small.

Miles considers both Phoenix and the pin, eyes tracking the movement of the pin as it goes up in the air again and then returns to Phoenix’s palm.

“I didn’t want anyone else to have it.” He says. He’s still anticipating something.

“I see,” Phoenix says. And… he thinks he does, “You never told me. Would’ve been a lot easier to have given it to you personally instead of having to take it off and give it to the board.” He gives Miles a half grin.

“They wouldn’t have accepted that. They’d be upset with you.”

“What would they do? Disbar me?” Phoenix jokes. Miles looks like he’s trying not to crack a smile at the joke. It’s a joke at Phoenix’s expense, but the pain of the event has been numbed by time, and the joke is made to Miles.

“I suppose there wasn’t much they could do at that point, no,” Miles agrees, “It would’ve been easier to have gotten it from you personally. I had to pull some strings to get it.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” Phoenix brings up again.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d want it back.” Miles answers honestly.

Phoenix looks back down at the pin, his pin. He can see himself, six or five or even three years ago, finding out that Miles had his pin and begging the man to give it back to him. It had meant so much to him. Its absence had meant even more. It wasn’t as if he would’ve been able to do anything more with it than Miles had been doing; he’d have stuck it in a drawer, and on his worse days he would’ve pulled it out and cried over the small piece of metal.

Maybe if he’d found out a few years earlier, he would’ve been upset at Miles for not telling him, for keeping this from him. It was his badge, after all.

But now, seeing it placed in the top drawer of Miles’ desk where he could quickly open it and look at it whenever he’d wanted to, it fills Phoenix with something warm. This whole time, it hadn’t been locked away somewhere, or handed off to some rookie, or tossed away. It had been with Miles, watched over, polished, kept safe.

“Thank you.” Phoenix puts it back into the shelf, closing the drawer. The anticipation finally leaves Miles to be replaced with relief.

“It was my pleasure.” Miles smiles, and Phoenix returns it.

oOo

A lawyer doesn’t cry until it’s over.

For seven long and painful years, through even terrible twist and turn in the road, Phoenix hadn’t cried. Oh, he’d come close several times. Times where everything had started to get to him, when his chest had shaken with the sobs he so desperately wanted to let out, when he was reminded that he wasn’t a lawyer anymore, that the rule wasn’t his rule anymore. And yet the tears never came. His face stayed dry. And he’d rise again to carry on.

The packet comes in the mail ten months after the test.

It’s thick and heavy. He’s home alone, Trucy at school and Apollo doing some last-minute preparation for a trial. Sometimes it seems like the kid has better luck getting clients than Phoenix ever did.

He knows what the packet is the moment he sees it in the mail slot. He feels numb as he carries it to his apartment. He considers waiting to open it, but that seems like putting himself through unnecessary cruelty.

There’s a knife in the kitchen and he grabs it so he can cleanly slice open the top. It feels wrong to rip into it like an animal.

His shoulders shake as he slips the knife under the flap, his eyesight becomes blurry as he cleanly cuts across the top.

Win or lose, pass or fail, Phoenix thinks he knows how Godot felt at that trial. He imagines that if someone was watching him with the magatama, they’d see a final psyche-lock, placed firmly there when Phoenix had first started to close himself off for the war against Gavin, break apart.

Alone, in his apartment, for the first time in seven years, Phoenix cries.

It finally feels like it’s over.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #fanfiction #fanfic #browniefox writes #i shall post fic here #as a treat to myself

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bikermiafey · 4 years

Text

Simon Keyes and Dahlia Hawthorne: an Analysis

Spoilers for aai2 and aa3 under the cut. Also it’s... really long (Special thanks to my editor for keeping me coherent ish!).

Dahlia Hawthorne and Simon Keyes have a lot more in common than just red hair and a penchant for pink. From their family situations, to their motives and fears, and even to the very few people they ever trusted, their story lines run very similar. In the end, while they are both murderers, they are also victims of a broken justice system and poor family lives. Miles Edgeworth even acknowledges that Keyes is also a victim at the end of Keyes' case.

I am putting one more warning here, just in case. This analysis contains heavy spoilers, and I don’t intend to beat around the bush or hint. I will be saying the spoilers straight out. Any trigger warnings related to aai2 or aa3 should be applied as well.

Dahlia Hawthorne’s relationship with her mother is one made purely of use, with no affection on either side. When Dahlia is reunited with her mother before her execution, her mother convinces her to participate in one more murder plot. This is her first time talking to her mother since she was young. It’s clear that her mother doesn’t care about her, as she shows no sympathy for her estranged daughter, only using her to help Pearl Fey. Even Morgan’s love of Pearl is conditional and fake: she only loves Pearl for her spiritual powers. It only stands to reason that she didn’t care for Dahlia or Iris at all. While this is extrapolation, it didn’t seem like she cared much when her husband took her children away from her. She even could have brought Iris back home after she was left at Hazakura temple, yet as far as we know, she never even tried. While Dahlia agrees to the murder plot in prison in order to get revenge on Mia Fey, it can also be argued that it’s a last ditch effort to gain her mother’s approval: if she succeeds in the murder plot, though she will already be dead, she can let her spirit move on knowing that her mother has slightly more respect for her.

Keyes' relationship to his father is similar: though he believes his father left him because he died, in reality, his father simply didn’t care enough about him to find him. His mother, who is never mentioned, is presumably out of the picture. His whole life, he believes not that it was his father who was a murderer, but that Knightley’s father had killed his, and therefore, the way to get revenge was through Knightley. However, whether his father had been the victim or the murderer, does not change the fact that he was left alone in the care of Patricia Roland, who proceeded to mistreat or even abuse him. His father, albeit unknowingly, even managed to poison the one successful relationship he did have: his friendship with Knightley.

Keyes whole backstory revolves around revenge on Knightley, who betrayed him when they were children, and revenge on Roland, Debeste, and the body double, who all wanted him dead (and in Roland’s case, was so horrible to him that he ran away from the orphanage, though we’re not told exactly what happened.) Even if he’d managed to forgive Knightley for what had happened as children, Knightley still worked for one of the people trying to kill him: the body double. Of course, it also has to do with his father, but I’ll get to that later.

Dahlia’s story begins when her father takes her and her sister and leaves their mother. Here, she convinces her father to drop Iris off at a temple, though it’s shown they still keep in touch. The best guess I can make as to why she did this is that she did, in fact, care for Iris, however thought caring was a weakness and so sought to get rid of her. The same can be argued (and I have seen it argued) for Knightley and Keyes: Keyes had Knightley removed (though much later in their lives and to a more extreme degree than Iris and Dahlia) because despite his resentment of his best friend, he still had affection for him.

Dahlia and Keyes did trust Iris and Knightley up until a certain point. Dahlia had originally involved Iris in her kidnapping plot, however, Iris backed out at the last minute. Dahlia seems to have forgiven her for that, enough to let Iris convince her to let her be the one to try and get the evidence back from Phoenix. Iris proceeds to betray Dahlia even more: she falls in love with Phoenix for real, vowing to protect him, as well as failing to regain the evidence. This is when Dahlia throws Iris away for real: while before, she’d always let her affection for her sister get in the way of leaving her behind completely, she now has no such excuse. If even Iris turns against her, Dahlia truly has no one on her side, causing her to become even more afraid and angry, as she sets in motion her plot to kill Phoenix. Not only is she getting desperate for the evidence back, but this way she also gets revenge on her sister and her betrayal, as her sister was the one person she thought to always be in her corner.

Keyes sense of betrayal comes much earlier in his life. Right from some of his earliest memories, his friend had kidnapped him and nearly gotten him killed for the sake of his father. Keyes never had a chance to work through this grudge, instead internalizing it. Yet, Knightley was still his only friend, and therefore by default, his most trusted one. After spending all those years by each other's sides, it’s unlikely Keyes didn’t feel some sort of camaraderie with him. By killing Knightley, Keyes was not only removing the person who betrayed him, but also his weakness: the one person he truly cared about. Like Dahlia, he saw emotion and love as a weakness, something to use and get rid of once it had served its purpose. Yet in the end, he cared more about Knightley’s betrayal than any friendship.

At 14, Dahlia enters a relationship with a 20 year old, Terry Fawles. Dahlia is a child, entering a relationship with a fully grown adult. While she didn’t know better, there’s no way he didn’t. No matter how you look at it here, there is an element of grooming and coercion that was not touched on, as she was drawn into a relationship with a 20 year old. Not to mention, he was her tutor, adding even more of a power imbalance than there already was. This also makes her motivations for the staged kidnapping that much more interesting. Her sister, Valerie, was a police woman, also an adult, and, as we know she was involved in the fake kidnapping, she must have been aware of the relationship between her sister and Fawles. If anyone had been in a position to stop this relationship, it would have been her. She was an adult, the sister of Dahlia Hawthorne, AND a police officer, whose jobs are supposed to be stopping things like this. However, she didn’t. This probably instilled a distrust of the justice system in Dahlia, just as Simon Keyes had a distrust of the justice system based on how one of the people looking to kill him was a high ranking official.

Here, we get to Dahlia’s motivations for the kidnapping: not only does she get to have half a million dollars if this goes well, but once she and Valerie betray Fawles, he will be sentenced to life in prison, and unable to harm her anymore.

This is similar to a lot of Keyes’ plots, though he doesn’t tend to use framing. Instead, Keyes simply manipulates people into killing each other for him, getting them out of his way. He manipulates Roland into killing Knightley, getting Roland away from him so that she cannot chase and hurt him any longer.

Dahlia fakes her death and for five years, she is safe. Then, she finds out that Valerie intends to give away the secret to the kidnapping. This is dangerous for Dahlia: if people found out that Fawles had not killed or even kidnapped anyone, his sentence could be greatly reduced or he could even be set free. Then, not only could Fawles be free, but he would know that she’s alive.

This most likely caused her a great deal of worry. Now, we never find out whether her first murder was premeditated or not. In either case, Dahlia likely panicked at the thought of her secret getting out. The only difference is whether this panic caused her to prepare in advance, or if she intended to plead or bargain with her sister, only to stab her in the end when that didn’t work.

This is Dahlia’s first direct murder. However, Fawles later dies at his trial, drinking a bottle of poison that she had given him at age 14. This had likely been her backup plan to the kidnapping, if somehow she had been found out, he would have drank the poison. He only intended to drink it if he thought he couldn’t trust her anymore, which he wouldn’t have if he discovered the betrayal.

You may now by wondering why she panicked and killed Valerie, then. Two reasons: first, this backup plan had a high likelihood of indicting her as a possible suspect. It was a very last resort. The second reason is that if she hadn’t killed Valerie, Valerie would have exposed that they had stolen the diamond. This would mean that Dahlia herself would have gone to prison, a place she understandably didn’t want to go, and it would have opened questions regarding the current whereabouts of the diamond.

I don’t believe Dahlia was lying, on the stand, when she stated that the reason she hadn’t revealed her true identity as Dahlia Hawthorne was because she was afraid of Fawles. It wasn’t the whole truth, not was it a whole lie.

Even after getting away with this trial, Dahlia cannot escape. She is interrogated by Diego Armando, and likely feeling threatened, poisons him. She then gives the evidence to Phoenix Wright, to hide her involvement. This is when Iris enters the scene.

Iris is very much to Dahlia what Knightley is to Keyes. Iris and Knightley were maybe the only people who cared about Dahlia and Simon. They were willing to do almost anything to keep them safe and help them. In a way, Dahlia and Simon were the only people they had to rely on. (Iris also had Sister Bikini, but Dahlia didn’t have anyone else, and Iris felt a sense of obligation about that.) While Dahlia and Keyes also cared for them on some level, in the end, they were more useful to manipulate and use than truly care for.

I have seen some head canons and theories that as Knightley was being interrogated by Roland, he must have realized that Simon had set him up. These theories continue that he could have then ratted Simon out to Roland, but he didn’t, instead letting himself die out of loyalty to the person who set him up. After all, that person was his childhood friend, and Knightley at least cared for Keyes. In that case, he’s even more similar to Iris, who tried to protect Dahlia even to the end despite her knowledge of Dahlia’s crimes and the fact that Dahlia was the one who convinced their father to leave her behind.

In the end, Dahlia Hawthorne and Simon Keyes lived in much the same way: for themselves, and by themselves. They simply couldn’t understand that even if they had been wronged before, there were still people waiting to take their sides. All they could focus on was the things said people had done to hurt them, and not the multitude of other ways these people had tried to help them. That was their final downfall.

If you made it this far, wow! I appreciate your dedication, and thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.

#dahlia hawthorne #simon keyes #iris fey #iris hawthorne #horace knightley #i think those are the main ones #maybe also #morgan fey #ace attorney #aai #aai2 #aa3 #aai2 spoilers #aa3 spoilers #analysis #fhurankie analyses #fhurankie posts

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jeminy3 · 4 years

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A Kingdom of Isolation. (NaruMitsu Frozen AU Snippet + Outline)

Next to the Titanic AU, I also attempted this one during late 2019 after seeing Frozen 2 in theaters and getting a lot of ideas about Edgeworth as Elsa and the flaws of the first Frozen film. Once again, this was fun to work on while dealing with life at the time, but after spending so much time and energy just building a believable setting and plot, I no longer have the energy or interest to properly write this.

The following is a summary of chapter 1 and the snippet for the end of the chapter.

Read the rest on AO3

Read the rest on Google Docs.

Click here for old art of this AU and the ideas I had.

+This is the end of what would have been the first chapter. Phoenix was the prosecutor of 1-1 with Franziska as co-counsel, who whipped and berated him the whole time for being bad at his job, which he is, losing handily to Mia and Maya on defense. After talking to them in the lobby, accepting defeat with grace because Larry is Larry after all, he is whipped again and eventually sent home to the Von Karma/Edgeworth Law Firm, punished with mindless paperwork for the rest of the week. Phoenix grabs lunch at Eldoon’s and is reminded of the white streak in his hair and scar on his head, which he thinks is from an accident 15 years ago. Then he goes home, mulling about his life and what’s led him to this point.

+His memories include parallels to “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” wherein he attempted to get Miles out of his room with offers like “do you want to build snowdogs,” “do you want to help me study,” and now this part:

-Phoenix arrives at the law firm, puts his leftovers in the break room fridge, goes to his desk and begins doing paperwork. He gets bored enough to have a dumb idea, and heads down the hall to Miles’ office, and once again tries to connect with him.

He knocks on the door. “Edgeworth?”

No response.

“I know you’re in there… you always are. Um… Do you… want to help me build some case files? For practice, y’know.”

Silence. Despite knowing better, stupidly, Phoenix continues.

"I had my first trial today, by the way! I lost, of course, but I mean- Larry was the defendant, so he was innocent anyway. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. You know how he is. If something smells...”

Still no response. Phoenix clears his throat awkwardly.

“Y- You know I was never great at prosecuting. So I mean, of course this would happen. I’ve told Von Karma SO many times, but you know him. ‘Defense is the WEAK side of justice. Prosecution is the ONLY way.’” He dips his voice into a nasally, gravel-like tone to mock their mutual mentor. The effort makes him laugh, between the ridiculousness of it and the way it tickles his throat.

Suddenly Phoenix hears shuffling, and the soft sound of footsteps approaching the door. They’re the same heavy footfalls that usually preceded Edgeworth opening the door for a crack wide enough to peer at Phoenix with one cold, grey eye and tell him to leave, he’s very busy. Again. As always.

Phoenix swallows, and decides to jump to that possibility first. “Now, before you come yell at me to go away again, I just want to say-”

The footsteps stop, suddenly. (Huh. That actually worked. Now what?)

Phoenix swallows again, feeling a chance to release at least a little bit of the heavy, choking weight in his chest.

“Um. I… I know you don’t like me anymore. And I don’t blame you, y’know, I’m… impatient, and reckless, and- I can barely pay attention to textbooks, so I just kind of wing everything, and I know that’s really annoying to you, since you take your work so seriously all the time- And like I said, I’m really bad at prosecuting, I don’t know why anyone bothers with me honestly, or what anyone expected today…”

His voice grows watery as he goes on, and he decides he’s letting out a bit too much, so he stops. He’s also noticed the footsteps coming closer, but much quieter now. And he can see the shadow of a figure in the foggy, frosted glass of the door’s window. It draws close, but makes no move to open the door.

“...Miles?” Phoenix dares to whisper.

He thinks he hears a muffled sigh, and the figure’s head bows, coming to rest against the glass in a circle of pressed hair and skin.

Something flutters inside Phoenix – it’s the closest he’s ever been to seeing Edgeworth's face again in years. He feels the need to also lean forward, bow his chin and rest his forehead against the glass, near Miles’ own.

“I… I miss you,” he says quietly. “We used to be really close when we were kids, and… I just... I miss it.”

“So do I,” the voice of Miles Edgeworth finally says, quietly, through the door – not only responding, but recognizing the pain and distance between them.

Phoenix squeezes his eyes shut, forces back the tears welling up as best he can. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

“Don’t be, Wright, it’s not…” Miles stops, then sighs again. “Just- Stop selling yourself short. You’re certainly not the worst prosecutor I’ve seen.”

Phoenix snorts a little. “Well, I guess that’s better than nothing.”

Edgeworth makes a quiet breathing sound that must be him laughing under his breath. “I don’t hate you, Wright. I never did. It’s just... “

Phoenix, feeling the weight of fifteen years pressing down between them, makes an educated guess.

“...It’s our parents, isn’t it?”

“...Yes,” Edgeworth eventually says with a deflating sigh, his breath fogging the window glass further. “The case never was solved… technically, it’s still open. The statute runs out in only a week... Then it’ll be off the records completely.”

Phoenix startles a little, lifting his head. “...You’ve looked at the case files?”

“I have,” Edgeworth says. “Here and there, over the years. I don’t know why, I never find anything new, and it only feels worse. I just…”

“...You want closure,” Phoenix finishes.

“...Yes.”

“So do I.”

Silence falls, heavy with the pain of wounds that never fully healed, questions that were never answered. Phoenix breathes, closes his eyes, remembers the way his mother crinkled her eyes when she smiled, the warmth of Gregory’s laughter. He lets the memory hurt him, just a little, before pushing it away and climbing up through the waves of grief before they wash him away again. He has a bold, potentially stupid idea.

“Maybe… we could look at the files again? Together? See if we can… I dunno, find something...?” (This is a terrible idea…)

Edgeworth chuckles again, louder, as its clearly audible through the door. “And how would that be helpful when I’ve failed to find anything new or substantial in all these years on my own?”

(Good question…) “Uh… I don’t know, honestly,” Phoenix says. “But- they always say, two heads are better than one! At the very least, it’s worth a shot before the statute runs out.”

Edgeworth hums softly on the other side of the door, and his head finally moves from the glass. His silhouette shifts on its feet before he speaks again. “Actually… I just might take you up on that, Wright.”

(Wait, really?!) “Wh- Really?”

“Maybe,” Edgeworth replies, “After the inheritance ceremony, of course, and if I can make time from the case I’m working on.”

“Uh- y-yeah, of course! Any time! That you’re free, that is. Uh- shoot, I’ll have to make some time too, but- Yeah, yeah, let’s try it!”

Edgeworth lets out another small, muffled laugh on the other side of the door, and Phoenix is only glad to hear it. “Someone’s certainly excitable… You never change, Wright.”

Phoenix scratches at his neck, finding himself flushing there. “Aw, well…” He wants to say, Well, you’ve changed too much, but considering the small miracle he’s achieved just now, the thought is quickly pushed aside.

“Well,” Phoenix starts again, his heart pounding in his ears, “I’ll uh, see you later then?”

“Later, yes,” Edgeworth says, with just enough hints of warmth and giddy awkwardness that Phoenix can believe he’s just as excited about this too, and no words can encapsulate just how incredible it is that this is happening – well, going to happen. Hopefully.

It’s more hope than Phoenix has allowed himself to feel for a long time, so he takes it in both hands and grasps it more tightly than anything else in his life. Spending time with Miles, just seeing him again, is worth that much and more.

After bidding him goodbye and goodnight, Phoenix could almost skip down the office halls, he’s so excited.

–

On the other side of his office door, Miles Edgeworth listens to Phoenix’s fading footsteps and sighs to himself, a hand on his door’s window.

He studies himself and his surroundings – all over the skin of his hand, and the furnishings of his office, is a layer of sparkling ice and frost, glittering with a strange, ethereal light.

He closes his eyes and concentrates, calming the small storm of emotions the recent conversation had awakened within him. In response, the unnatural ice around him begins to recede, vanishing with tiny crackles of sound, not a drop of water left behind, until its reduced to a small halo of white around him.

He looks at his surroundings again, somewhat satisfied, mostly forlorn. He bows his head, studies the now-bare skin of his knuckles.

“I’m so tired of hiding,” he says quietly, to himself. “...And if anyone deserves the truth, it’s you, Phoenix.”

#narumitsu #wrightworth #frozen au #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #jeminy writes

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blue-mood-blue · 5 years

Text

Some thoughts about Sebastian Debeste:

Sebastian can play the piano. It’s one of the few things his father couldn’t dissuade him from; it was the one thing that was always just for him. He hoarded sheet music like a guilty pleasure, and played whenever the house was empty.

Sebastian has always had a habit of conducting while talking. It doesn’t matter what’s in his hand - a pencil, a straw, a twig - anything nearby is at risk of being picked up swung around a bit. When Justine gets to know him better, she gives him a genuine conductor’s baton as a gift. He carries it everywhere; it’s the best gift he’s received in a long time.

He wondered about the grades. Nothing seemed to click the way it did for his classmates, and he passed anyway. He didn’t feel like he really understood what the teachers were talking about, and he passed anyway. A steady thread of anxiety hummed under everything he did, hand in hand with the worry in the back of his mind that if he questioned too much, his constructed happiness would fall apart.

He doesn’t go back to school. He takes correspondence courses and shadows Miles Edgeworth in court. He relearns everything he thought he knew; he takes the bar exam again, and when he walks out of the test, there’s a feeling of real accomplishment that’s unfamiliar and exhilarating. He doesn’t learn the way most people do - his needs are different, something about himself that he never had the chance to know before and would have buried in shame if he did.

(He ignores that little hint of sadness Miles and Justine have behind their eyes when he explains the way he understands things now. They think he deserved better, and he did, but it’s too late for that. He has better now.)

Sebastian hates fire. He hates the smell of it, the look of it, the heat of it. He hates matches and lighters, he hates the smell of gasoline, he hates the toomuchtooquicktoofast feel of it licking on his skin.

Sebastian grows out his hair. It’s long, and he likes to wear it in a ponytail over one shoulder. He likes to wear coats with long sleeves and gloves, even on hot days. It’s the look he prefers, and it has nothing to do with the complications surrounding his father’s arrest. Only a handful of people know any different.

There was a collection of old cds under his bed when he was younger. Another guilty pleasure, a few memories he wasn’t ready to let go. Sebastian has a lasting fondness of music from another era, loud and happy and fun.

He still gets words wrong in court. He still has strange turns of logic. But he follows his own logic, and while it may take an unusual path sometimes, it’s still a path towards the truth. He doesn’t seem to mind being proven wrong in court - instead, he takes great interest in the arguments of his opponents. When they correct him, he listens with careful attention. He’s easy to underestimate - plenty of unsuspecting defense attorneys have left the courtroom in a daze, having spent most of the trial assured of their victory and only having it pulled out from under them at the last minute.

Logic doesn’t go from Point A to Point B by the shortest route like a map in his mind; the points are all there, a mess of possibilities that seem as likely as the others until the whole starts to come together into something greater. It’s like an orchestra, and only when he knows the whole song, every instrument, can he pick out the sour refrain or find the instrument responsible for a missed note. The words are that way, too - sometimes there are so many, so close, so many possibilities that he lands on the wrong one. But the cases, at least, he can lay out like a song and pick out the melodies he needs.

He still flinches sometimes. If the movement is too swift or two close or too sudden, he still sometimes raises an arm to protect himself. He’s getting better about that, though.

After the arrest and everything that followed, Sebastian insisted on being the one to go through his father’s papers and records. He wanted to reveal the truth of every ghost in his father’s, and his own, past. When he stopped answering phone calls, Kay was the first to do something; she broke into his house and refused to leave until he left with her. The rest of the papers were distributed between Miles and Justine to handle, and they carefully avoided discussing what they found.

Sebastian’s office is relatively small, which was his preference. He never wanted to give anyone any reason to accuse him of special treatment again. It’s usually cluttered, but in a controlled-chaos way. There’s a window seat, which makes Kay’s preferred mode of entrance easier, and a small, upright piano that Miles insisted he should have. When he needs a break from whatever case he’s investigating, music can be heard coming from Sebastian’s office; so far, no one has requested sound-proofing.

It’s harder to play the piano, after everything. Sebastian still does; his father could never take that from him before, and he can’t take it from him now.

Kay is usually the detective helping Sebastian with his investigations. The only exception is when Franziska is in town, which leaves Sebastian with Gumshoe or Ema. Ema will tease him or slip him snacks, depending on his mood. Sebastian and Gumshoe is a combination that has required Miles’ intervention on more than one occasion.

Sebastian has met the Wrights. He’s a regular fixture there, absorbed along with Kay into family dinners and activities. He’s the only one who has never asked Trucy to explain a trick, and sometimes Phoenix worries that he believes she’s actually magical. He’s offered to teach Phoenix to actually play, which is always met with a grinning Phoenix insisting he already can. Sometimes, Sebastian wishes he could tell Trucy that a father who would leave her behind isn’t worth missing - but he thinks maybe she already knows, behind that smile.

Justine reaches out a lot - the mother in her can’t see him alone and not want to help. It’s hard at first, to remember that her goal of seeing his father put away and her affection for him can and does exist in the same person. It’s hard to remember that she’s not a parent like his parents, that he’s not just something to be used and then put aside in her mind. Getting to know John helps - John has no reason to like him, but eventually he does anyway.

Sebastian notices the way any conversation about Gregory Edgeworth or Byrne Faraday is carefully cut off around him. He tells him he doesn’t mind hearing it. He doesn’t; it doesn’t hurt the way people might think it would. Instead, it makes him wonder what a world where Blaise Debeste loved his son might have looked like. He’ll never see it. He thinks he’s okay with that.

After looking at the papers, Sebastian knows all the things Blaise Debeste meant by saying a person "disappeared.” He doesn’t know which of those happened to his mother. He doesn’t know when he’ll be ready to find out. It’s a question for another day, when he feels steadier on his feet.

He doesn’t like being called Debeste. He doesn’t like being called “the best” either. Kay starts to call him “nightingale,” then “lark,” and finally just “songbird.” He needs a new nickname, she explains. And he’s always listening to music she can’t hear, and if he’s a bird they can be birds together.

Sebastian is never alone if he doesn’t want to be. Miles is several floors up, and Kay is a phone call away. Justine, Phoenix and Trucy, Franziska, Gumshoe, and Ray have all kept him company on bad days. It’s a revelation and a gift, to be surrounded by people who want to be around him. He holds the feeling close.

#ace attorney #aai2 #sebastian debeste #sebastian headcanons #do you ever come up with extremely detailed headcanons for a character #and then just run with it #because as you can see #i have #if it seems like some of these are hinting at something else that didn't happen in the game #it's probably referring to more headcanons

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browniesnivy · 3 years

Note

hiii brownie idk enough abt yugioh but *insert one of ur yugioh faves* and umm maybe franziska for that character ask game :]

Franziska Von Karma

How I feel about this character- FRANZISKA LITERALLY SO AMAZING...I love how she’s introduced as just as terrifying and cruel as her father, but then you see that she really does care about helping other people throughout her determination to avenge Edgeworth and to help Phoenix save Maya in Farewell My Turnabout despite taking a bullet to the shoulder (such a good parallel with her father on its own!)... and then with the scene at the airport she’s is allowed to be emotionally vulnerable without being any less of a competent prodigy of law! She’s just... so fucking cool I LOVE HER!

All the people I ship romantically with this character- Maya Fey! I love the contrast between both of their personalities making them seem like total opposites, but when you look at their connection to a family legacy it becomes obvious they have a lot in common. I wish the games had expanded on their dynamic more, but unfortunately lesbians are oppressed :(

My non-romantic OTP for this character- VON KARMA SIBLINGS... Mieke I know you agree with me on this! They grew up with the same terrible expectation that come with being a prodigy, and so they’re really the only ones who’s can comfort and understand each other... they obviously both feel such an obligation to protect each other and it makes me so CRAZY UGH. BROTHER AND SISTER!

My unpopular opinion about this character- I don’t think this is an unpopular opinion but I wish she’d kept the shorter hair design from the concept art where her hair is slicked forward to contrast with her father’s slicked back hair, not only because I’m a lesbian and that hairstyle was SO GAY but because I think it could have highlighted or even foreshadowed how she differs from Manfred. Maybe since she hasn’t been able to abandon his influences by Justice for All it wouldn’t make since for her to have such a “wild” hairstyle, but I think that if she returns it would be amazing to see her with that hairstyle to represent how she’s moved on after a decade.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon- SHOW HER DENOUNCING MANFRED VON KARMA FOR REAL. I can understand that it would take time for her to fully accept that her father was not as admirable as she’d been least to believe, but by this point in the timeline I think it’s time for that aspect of her character arc to be resolved. The natural conclusion of her development requires her experiencing the same acceptance of defeat as her brother, so I really hope that if they bring Franziska back at some point she’ll be allowed to admit that her father was awful and that victory isn’t an indication of worth.

Rex Raptor

How I feel about this character- HE IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER IN ANY PIECE OF MEDIA EVER. I know that he isn’t meant to be a deep character at all and he isn’t given much narrative focus at all but he is just SO DAMN ENDEARING TO ME OKAY. I have an unhealthy obsession with how he is initially introduced as being crass and inconsiderate while Weevil is more polite and strategic, but then it turns out Weevil is a total asshole while Rex is just... a kid who likes dinosaurs and duels for fun? Like even though he’s a total dumbass (the best character trait) who can be a bit rude (not even mean-spirited if we’re being totally honest, like most of his remarks are just him being snarky), the manga describes him as “having to the spirit of a true duelist” and he never really seems as bitter about losing as his counterpart Weevil (except in the Season 4 filler arc, which although I adore for giving me so much more Rex content, makes a lot mistakes by characterizing him as basically interchangeable with Weevil... BUT that’s ANOTHER STORY for ANOTHER DAY). I mean he has more justifiable reasons to be upset than Weevil given how he was LITERALLY cheated out of the Battle City tournaments by Espa (which Mokuba the official rule enforcer LETS THEM GET AWAY WITH and then doesn’t do ANYTHING to compensate Rex), and he STILL tries to warn Joey to stay away from trouble despite him being the guy he supposedly dislikes because he took his best card, totally disgracing him and ruining his entire career. I could keep going but this paragraph isn’t probably already sickeningly long and I still need to be able to make posts about him in the future, so in a nutshell... he seems like a funny and good kid. OH AND WHEN MAI ASKED HIM THE “what can you see but cannot see” RIDDLE AND HE ANSWERED TAKOYAKI BECAUSE YOU CAN SEE THE DOUGH ON THE OUTSIDE BUT NOT THE OCTOPUS ON THE INSIDE? LITERAL CUTEST SHIT EVER KING OF COMEDY I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU. Ahem. Sorry.

All the people I ship romantically with this character- Weevil Underwood. They’re both teenagers who got famous, let it get to their heads, and then lost everything... considering that they seem like the types of kids who would be bullied relentlessly (they're already constantly being made fun of by mostly of the character anyway), I think the fact that they end up befriending each other is a good sign that they can find some comfort in each other and discover other things to be fulfilled by beside card games. I love how even though this friendship is framed as a begrudging alliance between two self-servings jerks half of the time, the other half of the time it’s about best friends starting a shit together for petty reasons and always being by each other’s side no matter what. The way that they tease each other constantly but then always stand up for one another when others pick on them... it’s so obvious that they actually really care about one another! I just love their dynamic so much it’s unreal, hence the blog.

My non-romantic OTP for this character- Although I primarily think about his relationship with Weevil, there is still a lot of potential to be explored with other characters! Mako is another minor character obsessed with a type of animal, but where’s he differs from Rex and ESPECIALLY Weevil is his sportsmanship, being able to become friends with Yugi and Joey even after being defeated by them. I think that difference mostly comes down to Mako being significantly older than Red and Weevil and therefore having more perspective on gaming fame, so I feel like he would be a great influence on them. On Rex specifically, I think Season 4 missed a big opportunity to expand on Rex and Mai’s relationship. Mai had been a major contributor to Rex losing in Duelist Kingdom, but now they both feel like washed-up failures. I think given the circumstances they could have comeback to an understanding, maybe even have Mai apologize for throwing him under the bus to screw with Joey? I think showing Rex that not everyone who has wronged him in the past had/still has bad intentions would be really good addition to his character arc in Season 4. Then of course there is Joey... to me, the main difference between Rex and Joey is that Joey is stupidly lucky while Rex never seems to catch a break. Otherwise they’re both recklessness dumbasses who prioritize brawn over brain, but Joey is nevertheless able to triumph through sheer dumb luck while Rex gets anihilated over and over with basically the same strategy (minus the RNG cards, Joey’s strategy is just big monsters after all). While the previously mentions she relationships were hypothetical, this dynamic between Joey and Rex is actually given some focus in canon, and I found it very compelling! I only wish this difference between them hadn't only been used to increase Joey’s confidence in his skills as a duelist (which I will remind you is mostly LUCK, no offense to Joey because I do love him BUT I MEAN... only being able to beat Rex because of a lucky Time Wizard isn’t peak strategy ), but to develop Rex’s character somehow as well.

My unpopular opinion about this character- JUST LIKING THIS CHARACTER IS AN UNPOPULAR OPINION MAN... tons of people hate him so much! I know he isn’t an important character at all but he isn’t nearly as much of a jerk as people make him out to be, and I mean even if he was he’s just a kid! I won’t pretend that he is always portrayed favorably by the narrative, but the fact that some people feel nothing but disdain for a child whose accomplishments were robbed from him by forces outside of his control and who received no sympathy for it, causing his self-worth to deteriorate... it’s a bit concerning to me that so many adults in particular are so disgusted by that.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon- I’ve talked QUITE a lot already about things that I wish had happened to develop his character more, but above all else I wish his character arc in Season 4 had been given a proper conclusion. The writers set up this interesting conflict where the insignificant minor characters are upset that they aren’t allowed to be successful when the more important characters aren’t involved and shows the consequences that their defeat had on their lives and self-image... BUT THEN AFTER THEY’RE DEFEATED THEY ARE FORGOTTEN ABOUT FOR THE REST OF THE SEASON UNTIL THEY WAKE UP IN THE HOSPITAL AND INSTANTLY REVERT BACK TO BEING COMIC RELIEF GRRR GRRRRRRRR! There wasn’t no resolution to this arc AT ALL and it drives me UP THE GODDAMN WALL because it absolutely captivated me in concept... but like with many things in Yu-Gi-Oh! the execution was totally ruined :(

#I hope you don’t regret asking about Yugioh ive been known to get... quite passionate lol #Wake up babe new Brownie rant dropped 😅#Thanks for the ask bestie!

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

Text

Witches, Chapter 29: something of an overdue talk, in a long overdue chapter.

Hey everyone! We’re back at it, hopefully, with a few orders of business.

First things first: I’d like to issue a small warning for a short discussion of past suicidal ideation that pops up during this chapter. Since this series is a retelling, generally most of you do know what’s coming up next and what we’ll run into and to brace ourselves for that. You know about the characters’ past traumas and future choices and know where that pops up, or if it becomes unexpectedly relevant or makes a new parallel, you did at least know in advance that it happened. Phoenix’s occasional oblique allusion to Edgeworth’s “choosing death”, for instance.

As this is not something quite like that and comes up more out of nowhere than usual, I just wanted to make sure that no one is uncomfortably caught off-guard. It felt like something different to me personally as I was writing - whether it’s going to strike any of you as different than other heavier material we’ve had in the past, I can’t say, but I’m erring on the side of caution today. If you’ve got any questions or concerns or anything you want done for content warnings in the future, please do come talk to me and let me know!

On two lighter notes: thank you all for bearing with me through the “oops all Fire Emblem only Fire Emblem” hiatus. It’s been a weird year, obviously. I’m hoping that I can carry on with room in my brain for both.

And finally: Happy UR-1 day! Today is, yes indeed, the exact day that Simon Blackquill is arrested for murder, and in honor of that, have a chapter where I mention him one (1) entire time.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches of Los Angeles Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

Golden Saturday-morning sunlight streams in through the blinds, lighting up the dust particles swirling through the air. The office is colder than Apollo expects for the end of October - colder than it was last year this time - and Phoenix is even wearing a sweater, the shining locket that Apollo hasn’t seen in a while hanging around the outside of the tall collar. “Morning,” Phoenix says, without raising his eyes from what appears to be a manila folder full of newspaper clippings he is perusing. “What’s up?”

Straight to business, then. Apollo is fine with that. He grabs the chair from his desk and drags it around, not directly in front of Phoenix’s desk, but near enough that it will be harder for Phoenix to ignore him.

“Is there any way to break a curse?” he asks, shoving his hands deep in the pocket of his hoodie. If it were this cold in a regular office on a Saturday, that would make sense; save money on heating bills when no clients are coming in. This is just - fae bullshit. The beginning of their seasonal tantrums. Winter only properly begins on the solstice, and Apollo really wishes that the fae of Kurain would respect the astronomical seasons. Stave off the snow until the end of December and end it in March. Don’t allow it to span from October to April.

Phoenix sweeps the scraps of paper all back within the folder and ducks down to set it inside a drawer. “If I knew a way,” he says, rising back up with the magatama in hand and setting it down on his desk with a hard clack, “do you think I would go around looking like I do? You don’t think I would’ve gotten this mess cleaned up a long time ago?”

He doesn’t offer Apollo the magatama for a refresher on what that mess looks like. Maybe he was just making a dramatic point with it. “Oh,” Apollo says, scratching the back of his head, faintly embarrassed by how obvious the answer is if he’d given it a modicum of thought from that perspective. “I guess not.”

“Right,” Phoenix says. “As my understanding goes, you can theoretically maybe mitigate a curse, if you layer another opposing blessing on. I am ‘lucky’” - he makes sarcastic quotation marks to ensure that the bitterness dripping from the word doesn’t go unnoticed, as if Apollo could possibly not notice - “to have known enough fae that I’m saddled with both Fortune and Misfortune, and Life and Death. But I’m also not certain that when you drop those on each other they don’t just each take their own separate niches. I’m not dead, but god knows when I try to go somewhere for a vacation or a day off, I still stumble across crime scenes like nothing else. Stunningly lucky in some aspects, and wildly unfortunate in others. You know me. I don’t need to elaborate too much, do I?”

Apollo nods.

“So that’s the theory, but I don’t think that helps anyway for your purposes, which - this is about Prosecutor Gavin?”

Apollo nods again. Phoenix sighs and rubs his eyes. “Shit,” he says, folding his hands together in front of his face and leaning his head against them. “I - believe me, Apollo, I wish I had some - I wish I had any way to help him.”

And Apollo does believe him. Apollo has to believe him, and believe that Phoenix means well, because he’d go crazier if he wasn’t reminding himself that Phoenix’s most frustrating decisions are born out of good intent. That Phoenix thinks he knows what’s best, but there’s still that old saying about good intentions.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Apollo asks. “You knew before this. You knew before he asked you.”

Phoenix raises his head. “And what does telling him get him? Secure in the knowledge that his brother - who is already in jail by the way, don’t need any more proof of his crimes, he’s already never getting out to be able to hurt anyone ever again - hates him enough to have wished him dead?”

Basically the same reasoning that Klavier had, but Apollo has a counterargument now. “Gives him time to come to terms with it before someone dies!”

“You don’t!” Phoenix slams his palms on the desk. Apollo flinches. Of course everyone is volatile and heated over this topic, but that doesn’t make it easier in the moment that it first gets directed at him from people who are usually frustratingly calm and casual. But Phoenix winces, lifting one of his hands and dragging his fingers through his hair, and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, and repeats, much quieter, “You - you don’t. Or I never didn’t. I knew from right when it happened that I was cursed; I had three years between then and when Mia died - it - I could’ve had a decade, or two, and it - it wouldn’t have helped. I wouldn’t have felt any differently. Any more come to terms with it. With the thought that I - helped cause—”

His tongue heavy in his mouth, Apollo nods. “But - but wouldn’t it have been worse to find out right after she died?”

“Of course it would have,” Phoenix says blithely. “Of course that - this - is the worst possible alternative. Of course I would’ve said something if I’d known that this was what would happen instead.”

“But you have to have expected that someone would—”

“No, I didn’t,” Phoenix interrupts. “That’s not how this works. You know Klavier. You know how much he doesn’t say, don’t you? How much I don’t - you know what people like us are like. Who’s going to tell him? Sebastian forgets half the time that he even has the Sight. Kay only acts like she knows things. Prosecutor Blackquill spent until two days ago acting like magic isn’t real even when he knew we knew otherwise. Someone who means ill isn going to keep that information to use it, and not to just plainly say something.” He frowns. “Well, usually not. Unless they’re a clumsy interloper stumbling in somewhere they don’t belong and getting themselves fucked over for it too.”

“So other than Means just walking all over everything” - because he wasn’t immersed in this kind of fae etiquette, didn’t grow up in it, learned just enough to spot what he thought were opportunities and ruined himself by it - “you think every other random stranger is just going to respect all these - these weird little rules about what you don’t say?”

“Rules of engagement, basically,” Phoenix says. “Yeah, I do.”

“Prosecutor Gavin told me that you’re cursed,” Apollo says. “Don’t just tell me that’s - that’s the exception that proves the rule, or whatever.”

Phoenix’s expression, smug and trying to dampen that smugness back into something that respects the seriousness of the conversation, tells Apollo that yes, yes that is absolutely what his retort was going to be. Apollo considers screaming. “I’ve been tangled up in this for far too long,” Phoenix says. “I can promise you, I know the patterns. I know the way these things go.”

“And because you’re so much smarter than the rest of us, that makes it okay?” Apollo demands. “To take a gamble and just hope that it won’t go wildly wrong?”

And he wants to, really wants to add, I guess that’s what you do, just gamble with people’s fates, and he doesn’t, and Phoenix’s face still darkens like he knows, like he can read Apollo’s mind. Because every time Apollo ends up arguing with him, that’s always at the core. This playing card that haunts them both, burnt a bridge barely built, and they keep trying to balance on the ashen skeleton of it. “Just because Prosecutor Gavin is too fucked up about everything else to be mad at you for hiding this—”

“I did,” Phoenix says, voice low, eyes narrowed and dark as an evening’s storm clouds, “what I thought would be best, based on my prior experiences of both how curses don’t get talked about, and knowing exactly what it is like to personally live with knowing that I’m cursed. This is not something I want anyone to have to know how it feels.”

“So you think ignorance is bliss,” Apollo says. Klavier said that. Apollo wants to know how Phoenix takes that statement.

“I wouldn’t call it ignorance,” Phoenix says. “It’s not like he, or you, didn’t know what Kristoph was like until you found this out. You know the crime, the verdict, the sentencing - and everything else that Kristoph tried but failed to do. That Kristoph also wanted Klavier dead is only another small piece in the grand scheme of it all.”

Still the same argument that Klavier made; Apollo can’t imagine they discussed it. What brought them to the same conclusion? That they both have lived this strange specific kind of grief? This common ground that they share that is foreign to Apollo.

“Come to terms with - Klavier’s already got to come to terms with the rest of that,” Phoenix continues. “It was obvious during that trial how much Kristoph despised him. He knew that too. He knows that Kristoph ruined more lives than just the people he murdered - that he tried to kill more people than he actually succeeded at - cursed and tried to kill children because he couldn’t have - didn’t want anyone remaining who - who could - could… say…”

If Phoenix hadn’t faltered like that - fumbling and failing to continue, words petering out as he went back over what he just said, his eyes going wide and welling up with horror - then Apollo would have simply assumed that his thoughts were moving too fast for his mouth and he couldn’t keep them straight. It would have been easy to talk right through it, and Apollo wouldn’t think twice. If Phoenix hadn’t showed his own hand, gave the game away. Something too terrible for even seven years of professional poker to hide.

“Mr Wright?” Apollo asks, and Phoenix turns his head, glancing away away, no longer meeting his eyes when less than a minute ago he was staring him down with a cold confident glare. “What - what are you talking about? Vera, and - not someone else? Who else?”

Phoenix makes a tiny shake of his head, and even that little motion is a bright, distinct liar’s red. It lights up his eyes, too, when they dart down to the floor. “Mr Wright?” Apollo repeats. When would this have been? He casts his mind over everything he learned, just a little over a year ago, Phoenix sitting him down to explain seven years of information collected about Kristoph, what he’d done and how he’d tried to cover it up. He tried to kill Drew Misham to tie up that loose end; he cursed and poisoned Vera, two precautions because he wasn’t confident enough in the former, hoping that if she ever left the house she wouldn’t be able to speak to his identity and the forgery he requested. He killed Zak Gramarye seven years later to hide the same. He wanted to eliminate every link in the chain that connected the diary page to him. Its makers Vera and Drew, and Zak who knew he was the first attorney on the case, and then the page got to Phoenix via—

Via—

“Mr Wright,” Apollo says. His voice shakes. “He didn’t—”

“Promise me something, Apollo,” Phoenix says firmly. His mouth is drawn in a tight line but he doesn’t look stern. He looks more like he’s going to cry and is desperately trying to stop himself. “Promise me.”

“Wh - what? I can’t—”

“Promise me, Apollo.”

Not until you tell me what I’m promising, Apollo thinks, Apollo knows is what he should say. He’s been told this enough times; he’s aware of this on his own. Don’t agree to a deal before all the terms are set. Don’t sign the contract before it’s read thoroughly. Rules for lawyers and fae are the same. Just because Phoenix means well doesn’t mean that Apollo agrees with those decisions he makes; certainly not the one they have been discussing, and likely not whatever Phoenix is asking him to agree to.

“Please.”

The air in the office is so cold. Even the sunlight seems cold now. Apollo shivers, hunches himself up further. What does Mia think? Is this secret-keeping so natural to her, easy as breathing once was, because she’s fae and that’s what they are, liars by trick and by trade?

“Just promise me you won’t tell her until I do.”

His mouth dry, Apollo nods and croaks out, “All right. I won’t.”

He almost regrets pushing the issue,regrets ever asking Phoenix why he faltered. Phoenix sits slumped, his hands in his hair, and when he glances back up at Apollo, he looks so exhausted that it reminds him of Klavier last night. Burnt-out and broken, when it’s so rare for either of their masks to break. Rarer for Phoenix not to be positioning himself as the one with all the cards in hand; for him to fall apart, for Apollo to actually see him upset. “Yeah,” he whispers, soft enough that Apollo sits forward to make sure he can hear him. “Everyone involved in getting the diary page from him to me, Kristoph wanted dead, or to make sure he could silence them. Everyone who knew, even if she was - eleven years old, or eight. The girl who made it, and the girl who gave it to me. He fucking hated the Gramaryes. You think he didn’t jump at the opportunity to try and get rid of all of them that he could? That he wouldn’t cast a curse on each one who ever entered his sight?”

“And she” - Apollo’s voice cracks - “she doesn’t know? You didn’t tell her?”

“Shit, no,” Phoenix says. He sounds close to cracking, too, and when he drops his hands to his desk he starts shaking his head, his eyes scrunched closed. “Being a Gramarye has been goddamn enough of a curse for her. She lost all her family and then found out that her grandfather buried her mother’s soul in the woods because he was a monstrous son-of-a-bitch who deserved worse than getting to go out on his own terms by shooting himself in the fucking head—”

Apollo shudders. Phoenix had never before directly stated his opinion on Magnifi, but Apollo could definitely tell he held only disdain for the man. This, though, is more than disdain. This is positively venomous, and more than a bit frightening. Did he always feel like this, and hid it, or is this hatred something that has only come about since last year Trucy came back to the office with her mother’s soul in her hands?

“—so yeah, on top of that, I’m definitely going to tell her that the same man who killed her father cursed her just because of the accident of who her family is.”

“B-but—” Apollo doesn’t quite know what he’s arguing. He also doesn’t know where all of his prior conviction went. Of course Klavier should have been told - because he found out in the worst way possible - and Trucy - to take a gamble with her too - that’s got to be just as wrong— “Nine-Tails Vale,” he says suddenly. “We went there, and then there was a murder - that - that’s - is that like—”

“Like what happens to me?” Phoenix asks. “What happens with a curse? Yes. That’s how it goes.”

“And you - you’re not going to - to tell her? Ever? In case - in case something happens to her like with Klavier, or—” Too many thoughts are playing in his head, and the next one grabs hold of him and pivots him away from the point he was going to make about maybe why Trucy should know. “The concert,” he says. “When we went to the concert, Trucy and I, and Klavier was there too of course but that’s - Romaine LeTousse was murdered. They’re both cursed and they - wait, was Klavier cursed then? That was before…”

Did Klavier know when it happened? Did he tell Apollo? He’d said that Phoenix had seen him twice since the trial last October. Presume then that Kristoph cursed him then. The last time the brothers saw each other, and that doesn’t make one bit of sense.

“How could Kristoph have cursed him?” Apollo asks, and he doesn’t miss a momentary flash of panic that passes over Phoenix, his eyes popping wide for half a second and a loud, sharp intake of breath. “Klavier always has iron on him. He gave me—” He looks down at his hand, and then back up, to Phoenix’s lifted eyebrows. Apollo sticks his hand back in his pocket. “What’s the point in iron if it doesn’t actually save you from being cursed?”

Phoenix is obviously trying not to move. He knows Apollo is watching him, waiting for a twitch, anything to pounce on and draw an answer out of him. Staring steadily back at Apollo, he barely blinks; he rests his folded arms on his desk and his fingers curl just a little tighter into where he’s gripping his arm. Apollo is right to be asking these questions. He’s getting closer to something that Phoenix is hiding.

“Or it does,” Apollo says. The veins on the back of Phoenix’s hand flex from his grip. Apollo thinks about someone else with a tense hand and secrets. “And he couldn’t have been cursed then, at Vera’s trial, if it does. So then Mr Gavin hated him that much before then.” Phoenix blinks placidly, but he doesn’t adopt his lazy-eyed gaze. Too serious even for that. “And you lied,” Apollo adds. “You lied about when.”

Phoenix flinches. It’s just a tiny one, pulling his head back, the muscles in his jaw and neck tightening, but Apollo can’t miss the light show. Can’t miss that the lie is bleeding out of him.

He finds himself on his feet, not stepping any closer to Phoenix’s desk, just needing the height, just needing to move a little to stop the shaking in his hands and in his chest, a trembling that goes right down to his heart. “He knew already that he’s cursed! Why did you keep lying to him!”

“I didn’t lie to him,” Phoenix says evenly, but very quietly, and Apollo wants to go over and slam his fists on the desk and make him stop with these hollow justifications, make him face what he’s done couched in none of his winding words. “I just didn’t correct his assumption.”

“That’s lying!” Apollo shouts. “That’s still lying! That’s what happened in Mayor Tenma’s trial! Do you remember that? Do you care!”

“Don’t accuse me of not caring.” Phoenix’s voice is low, his eyes dark, staring up at Apollo. “I do care. I—”

“You don’t care about lying! But you do care about - what, about us? Doing this because you care, because you always know what’s best for everyone not to know!” Apollo throws his hands in the air. Phoenix’s brow furrows further, his jaw set tightly. “Never mind that Athena had a breakdown during the trial because Means hit her exactly where you were worried she would be! And you didn’t prepare her! Never mind that Klavier’s having a breakdown now because he found out at the worst possible time! When you could have told him! You know—”

“And if what he knows already hurt him this badly, then what do you think would be happening if he knew Kristoph cursed him years ago?” Phoenix slams his hands on his desk like he’s at the defense’s bench, pushing himself up out of the chair and onto his feet. “That his brother’s wanted him dead for that long? You think that’ll help anything, for him to find that out right now on top of all this? You want him to have that to come to terms with right now, too? I didn’t lie to him! He made an assumption that I didn’t correct because I’m not in the business of salting anyone’s wounds!”

He makes - a point. Apollo sees where he’s coming from. Why he’d do that. An additional piece of truth, yesterday the same as a salting of the wound. “But you don’t think he’s ever wondered if - if Mr Gavin resented him for that long? If he - if you would be setting something to rest, if you told him that. You can’t decide for someone else what they’re capable of handling.”

“Fair point,” Phoenix says. He sinks back down into his chair, and then motions to Apollo’s, suggesting he sit back down. “If he’d asked, I’d have told him. If he ever asks, I’ll tell him. I just wasn’t about to drop that on his head with him unprepared. Or if he asks you - I’m not asking you to swear silence to that. Shit, if you ever think that it’ll help him to know, then tell him - tell him you just found out from me, throw me under the bus and lie to make me look worse, that’s fine.”

Apollo returns to his chair, still not feeling any less like he wants to take a swing and see if he’s gotten any better at punching since last April. “You want me to lie now too?” he asks.

“I want you to use your best judgment about what he might want to know or be able to handle,” Phoenix says. “To not pile on more if he didn’t ask, if you don’t think he’s prepared. Like I said, when it comes to being cursed, I didn’t ever not know, and I know what the knowing is like. Yeah, I took a gamble that if I didn’t tell them then no one else ever would. That they’d never know, I hoped.”

He shakes his head and then leans it back against his chair, his eyes closing. “See, it’s not just grief, not at all. The woman who cursed me was someone I thought I knew. Though I’d known for a while. She had actually wanted me dead since we first met.” His eyes pop back open. “Eventually she tried to poison me, and when that didn’t work she tried to frame me for murder, and when that plan fell apart she just tried to kill me with a curse because she was pissed about it. She was a lot stronger than Kristoph, I’ll tell you that much. But Mia stepped in, and now I’m still alive and other people just drop dead all around me instead.”

He sounds almost like he is making a recitation, like he’s rehearsed it, scripted it. Apollo wonders if he’s ever told anyone else all these details, if anyone else lacking the Sight knows that Phoenix is cursed, and if he used this same script then too. He’s speaking about himself, something so personal, in a way so curt and crisp, so much more detached than he’s been speaking about Klavier, or Trucy.

Apollo nods numbly, unable to force his tongue to ask any of the questions he has.

“I could have come to grips with her hating me that long and that much - I could’ve come to terms with it and moved on. I was - well, I eventually became glad to know what she was. I could’ve been okay with all that. Eventually. If I hadn’t known about the curse. But I did and the - the knowing, the - Mia was murdered. Three years after she saved me. That long, thinking I could accept that I was cursed, and as soon as something really happened - I couldn’t.”

He presses his hands together and rests them against his chin. “And I couldn’t ever even just grieve her, because I had this guilt. That her death was my fault - I know, I know, some other man murdered her. He got to rot in jail for the rest of his life for his crimes, and he would’ve hated her whether or not I was cursed. For the things she did and because of what he was, and I had no part in any of that, but I was still - thinking, if maybe if she hadn’t ever taken me under her wing. If I hadn’t been around, maybe it would’ve been different somehow. Maybe she would have survived.”

The lights flicker gently and return dimmer and softer than they were before. Everything that gets talked about in this office, Mia hears; Apollo wonders if Phoenix doesn’t get sick of it sometimes, just want to say something without her offering input. Even if this is presumably well-meant, some attempt at comfort, the most a dead woman who can’t speak can give. Apollo exhales and can see his breath. He shivers again. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.

“I want you to understand.” Phoenix rubs his hands together, a vacant look in his eyes, like he hasn’t quite realized why he’s so suddenly cold. “What it felt like, and what I’m worried about. If I’d told Klavier, or I tell Trucy - once I say something, I can’t take it back. That’s it, and they know, forever, just like I do. So I want to be sure that this won’t - I want—” He drops his hands and reaches over and picks up the magatama, idly spinning it around between his fingers. Apollo can’t remember ever seeing him this uneasy, this fidgety. “Klavier, especially, reminds me of myself when I was his age, and of a prosecutor I knew then, too. And that - recognition” - he gestures with the magatama clutched in his hand - “is not good, because we were not - okay.”

Apollo wishes he could remember with clarity all that Phoenix said to him about this time a year ago, about Klavier, about Phoenix being concerned for him. He does remember that Phoenix said something about some other prosecutor then, too, that Klavier reminded him of. Or that he was worried Klavier was going to end up like.

Phoenix inhales slowly, and says, “Six months after Mia was murdered - which was three, three and a half years after I was cursed, mind you - I lost someone else. I didn’t realize how badly he was doing - he did a good job at hiding it, and I didn’t know how to reach out. I was wrapped up in my own loneliness and depression, and then he was gone.”

He stops turning the magatama between his fingers, staring down at it for a few seconds, and then he resumes fidgeting with it. “I felt like I’d caused both of those. Couldn’t convince myself otherwise. Every other factor I knew there was, every single thing I couldn’t prevent or control, all these other things that other people did - I still thought that if I wasn’t cursed, then it could have been - just different enough that they would still be here.” He reaches up, brushing his fingertips across his temple. “Wouldn’t have been a fatal wound. Or wouldn’t have—”

He falters, staring past Apollo now, over at the window. This is the same thing he said about Mia earlier, about that sense of guilt, even knowing someone else murdered her. That he held some kind of responsibility, for a curse that seems to manifest itself as coincidence. Just coincidence, a little too often.

“They could’ve been okay, somehow, in the end, I thought,” he continues. “And instead, I was - I was there, I was still around, and they weren’t. And all I could think was that if I didn’t do something, then I would just lose the other few friends I still had - they would be around me, and they would die for it.”

“Didn’t you say that there’s no way you know to break a curse?” Apollo asks. From Phoenix’s solemn expression, he’s not going to suddenly say that there is a method, but Apollo has no idea what he is going to say. What that something he thought to do was.

“Right,” Phoenix says. “So I thought - only way to take the curse out of the equation is by taking myself out of the equation. I thought - as long as I’m not around - if I go and die, then anyone else who I love won’t. The curse will be gone, right, if death finally takes me. But the curse only seemed to hit other people, not me, so if dying was what I needed to do, then I…”

Klavier lying on the stage, wondering why it had to be Courte who died instead of himself. Phoenix’s dark, pained eyes, as he speaks again, finishes the thought in a voice barely above a murmur. “It made - made far too much sense to me, then. Was far too appealing a prospect.”

The question of what Phoenix won’t quite spell out catches sideways in Apollo’s throat, and when he tries to force it he just makes a soft croaking sound. Phoenix presses his lips together and glances away. “It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” he adds softly. “Klavier’s - he’s what, twenty-whatever? I was twenty-five when I—”

When Mia died, Apollo thinks, but that Phoenix doesn’t finish the thought, swallows hard and stares at his desk and says something else, makes Apollo think there was something even worse he could have said, with that implication he didn’t say. “And Trucy - she’s my daughter. I’m supposed to protect her. I took her in because I couldn’t live with the thought of anything else happening to her when I could bring her here, hope that Mia could somehow bless and protect her as much as she did me. But I can’t imagine just - I can’t let that happen to her. To suffer the way I did, to - to spend her life wondering if wherever she goes, someone’s going to die - the concert, Nine-Tails Vale, to ever - to think she can blame herself. Or that everyone she loves is better off without her. Or to—”

He blinks, fiercely, his eyes watering, and Apollo hopes he’ll never have to see Phoenix this close to tears again. Phoenix, cursed and trying - and in the case of Klavier, now failing - to shelter others from that same pain. Klavier, and Trucy, and—

“What about Vera?” he asks. “You explained to me, but did you ever tell her that she’s—” Phoenix stares at him, blinks slowly. Apollo squeezes his own eyes shut. “You didn’t tell her.” He’s unable to muster the same indignation he was before. He can’t really even bring himself to feel manipulated. Phoenix told him exactly that he was saying all this to make Apollo understand. Phoenix sought this reaction. But Phoenix’s chessmaster act has never superceded his desire to keep secrets before; there’s no way that Apollo can convince himself that this emotional vulnerability is all entirely a ploy to get Apollo to shut up. How many times has he refused to explain something and just left Apollo to stay angry about being in the dark? He has never been reluctant to do that. To just sit silent and lock Apollo out. To let Apollo hate him for his secrets.

He wanted Apollo to understand, intimately, whatever it took. So that Apollo would agree keep these secrets. So that Apollo would go along with him. And it might be concern that drives him - he cares, of course he does - but it’s still manifesting in the most infuriating ways possible. In well-meant silence.

“Would you want to know?” Phoenix asks, and that question at this time is an answer and confirmation in itself. “I know the truth is important to you, Apollo - I know it is to all of us.”

For once, Apollo believes he means it. He’d know it’s the truth because he can see when Phoenix is lying, but he’s actually convinced, this time.

“But,” Phoenix continues, “if you already know that the person who cast the curse hates you and is in jail for committing murder - already got to come to terms with that, or grieve that, or for someone else dead - you already know that truth. Would you really, honestly want to live with also knowing that you’re cursed?”

To possibly want to die because of it, like Phoenix did? Apollo opens his mouth. He wants to say yes, yes he would like to know, because that’s the truth of it and he wants to always know the truth, all of its facets no matter how ugly.

Doesn’t he?

He thinks about Nahyuta, about Dhurke, about trying to forget they ever were anyone, because that’s easier than facing the fact that Dhurke abandoned him, and they might both be dead by now. Easier than wondering whether they were human or fae or something else. He doesn’t want to know what they were. He wants to deny the dreams, to convince himself they’re nothing but the weird subconscious mash-up of memory and the fae horrors Clay has spent all these years warning him about. He doesn’t want the truth about his childhood. He doesn’t want to remember his childhood at all.

(Is it well-meant silence when he doesn’t tell Clay, or Trucy, or Klavier, about them? To not worry them about his life and his past? Or is it just cowardice on his part? Blissful ignorance.)

He closes his mouth. Thinks about the smile Trucy forced onto her face as she realized that Apollo was about to reveal to the court that her father Zak Gramarye was murdered six months before then. Thinks about how she couldn’t keep that smile forced when she found out that her dead grandfather took her mother’s soul for his own personal gain. Thinks about Klavier lying on the stage wishing that he had been the corpse there, not Courte. All the pains that truth has caused them. Is that better or worse than that alternative? Does it depend on what truth it is being hidden?

(He thinks about how long it’s been since he’s said Nahyuta’s name out loud. What color were his eyes in real life, and not Apollo’s haunted dreams? He doesn’t remember.)

“I - I don’t really know,” he admits.

The smug, victorious expression he expects never arrives on Phoenix’s face. There’s no satisfaction in winning this argument. “I’m sorry,” he says, closing his hand around the magatama. “I told you about Vera because it mattered directly for that case, but the rest of this - I wanted to shoulder it myself. So the rest of you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t want you to have to keep secrets from anyone. But I don’t know what else to do.” He forces a smile onto his face with visible effort that makes Apollo wince. Nothing masks the exhaustion written into the lines on his face. “Maybe we put our heads and together we figure out some better way to talk about it. If I ever figure that I should tell…”

He trails off, touching a finger to his locket. Tell Trucy. If he ever gains reason to think that he should tell Trucy. Would he actually run it by Apollo first, ask for his advice? The possibility of being in Phoenix’s confidence for something that isn’t a case doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.

“I still don’t think you should try and keep it secret forever,” Apollo says, “but I - I guess I see what you mean. And why you don’t just…”

Why he doesn’t just tell her. More reason that just because Phoenix doesn’t “just tell” anyone anything. For once, he’s not being a cryptic bastard.

“Believe me, Apollo,” Phoenix says darkly, “I’m always thinking ahead and trying to plan for the worst. I’m not naive enough to just hope that anything will stay one way ‘forever’. But I have to be sure I don’t make it worse, either.”

It isn’t the lack of a visual cue that makes Apollo believe him. It’s knowing him that makes Apollo believe him. Phoenix always has his eye on something down the line, playing out the plan a few steps ahead to find the complications. Even - especially - while he wasn’t a lawyer. A gambler’s steady hand holding the cards, chancing on an outcome, because the cost of doing nothing at all is even more unthinkable.

Apollo nods, more times than necessary, lacking anything else to say. Phoenix cocks his head. “Apollo, you all right?” he asks.

What the hell is he supposed to say - how the hell is he supposed to be? Fine? In what world is he possibly fine? At the end of this, he’s learned more than he ever dreamed he would from his sole initial question, but in it all, that first answer has never changed.

This is all there is. A rabbit hole of pain so unfathomably deep and winding, and in its darkest depths, the same as the answer given to him on the surface: there’s no way to break a curse. Their lives aren’t the kind of fairy tale where true love’s kiss can wake a sleeping beauty or transform a beast back to a prince - it’s grimmer than that, colder than that, crueler than that. Curses not so concretely visible but more like haunting coincidence, a ghost whispering at the shoulder with reminders of guilt. How could a man who wasn’t even there when the crime happened blame himself for his mentor’s murder? And yet, even after the killer’s confession, how could he not? How can even the curse’s caster be blamed when someone else wielded the murder weapon? And yet, how could they not share in it?

Apollo would rather someone have been turned into a frog, honestly. Wouldn’t that be easier to grapple with, a simple chain of cause and effect, and no ambiguity in who to blame.

“No,” Apollo finally says. “Not really, no.”

“I guess that was a bit of a stupid question, huh.”

Apollo nods. No kidding. What’s a better question at this point, anyway? Not what he says. “How - how can there really not be any way? For a curse to be broken, I mean.”

Phoenix spins his chair around, resting his head back against it, eyes turned up to the ceiling. Once he slows to a stop, facing the windows, he says, “I mean, maybe it’s possible there was, once, but it was forgotten. There’s a lot of magic that’s gone that way.”

He gives Apollo a moment to digest that, and then continues, “The Court’s heyday was thousands of years ago. They’re living ruins of what they used to be, and a fraction of what they used to know. Maya - you haven’t met her, she’s Pearl’s cousin - Maya’s helping me out with some matters by trying to dig up more about some kinds of magic they’ve forgotten the nuance of. But even that’s something we’ve got a hint that they knew, once. Not like—” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry. Don’t hold your breath waiting for a way to break a curse.”

“Oh,” Apollo says, somewhat surprised, but pleasantly so, that Phoenix said that much. It would be typical of him just to reiterate that no, there just isn’t any way he knows, that’s all, and to skip the explanation for fear of giving Apollo false hope. But thinking about the prospect of false hope is still easier than really, truly considering the meaning of what Phoenix just said - that this, that everything they’ve ever had to deal with in regards to the fae, could have be so much worse. They could do so much worse than all this pain they’ve ever wrought - they were once so much more dangerous than this, and now their Court is only ruins. This is what they are when they are weak.

“If I do find anything out, I’ll—”

Phoenix breaks off, rising up slowly from his chair, staring at something past Apollo, over his shoulder. Apollo twists around to look, not sure what he expects to see, but it certainly isn’t Vongole standing in the doorway, her head held high, her body much more solid than it usually appears, and stiller. The wispy fur at the back of her legs and off of her tail does not stir as though she is made of mist and surrounded by a breeze that affects only her; she could almost, in this moment, be a normal dog, but for her glowing eyes and her ears so bright red as though they were dipped straight in paint.

All the color drains from Phoenix’s face. He snatches up the magatama and springs to his feet, hurrying past Vongole to peer into the other half of the office. Apollo rises to his feet; if Klavier was here - if he heard what Phoenix was hiding - how Apollo promised to keep it a secret—

Vongole stares at Apollo. She doesn’t move. Phoenix reappears in the doorway, curling a hand in his hair, but his face has fallen slack with obvious relief. The claws curled into Apollo’s heart unclenches. “So then what are you doing here?” Phoenix asks the hound, whose ears fold back flat against her head, though her snout does not turn to shift her attention to Phoenix. She stares Apollo down like she will pounce. “Does he send you places or did you just wander here yourself?”

“You don’t know?” Apollo asks.

“You think I’ve ever had the chance to ask either Kristoph or Klavier about the logistics of their spectral hellhound?” Phoenix asks. Apollo tries to remember when he first started seeing Vongole. Whose ownership she would have been under. How soon after Kristoph’s arrest did Klavier come back to Los Angeles?

Despite her weirdly lanky proportions, like a regular dog was put on a rack and stretched out, Vongole always moves with grace, a predator’s prowl and elegance. A monster, but a beautiful one. She circles Apollo like she intends to herd him somewhere, like she is a shark smelling blood waiting for the moment to strike. “What—” Apollo spins too, trying always to keep her in his sight. She moves just slowly enough that he can keep up, but just quickly enough that he becomes slightly dizzy in his efforts. “What do you want?”

She stops. Apollo steps forward, trying to escape her circle, but she swings suddenly to the side, throwing her body up against Apollo’s hip. He expects her to fade through him, as she does walls and doors, but when she hits him he staggers with the force of her weight. And the cold - her body is cold and it reaches straight through his clothes, cold enough to burn, ice on bare skin type of burning, and Apollo doesn’t understand. He’s touched Vongole before, without problem, hasn’t he? Surely he has. What’s wrong with her? Or is something wrong with Klavier?

She trots over to the door, standing on the threshold, staring back at Apollo with her head aloft. He can’t bring himself to move, can’t unfreeze his feet from where they are riveted into the ground. Vongole presses her ears back against her head, lowering it so that her neck is level with her shoulders, prowling again, and she makes another circle of Apollo before again stopping in the doorway.

“I think she wants you to go with her,” Phoenix says.

She wags her tail, much faster than the usual low, wide swishing path that it takes. Apollo wrenches his foot from the floor and takes one step forward. Vongole bounds through the front room of the office, weaving between magic props tossed carelessly on the floor as though she couldn’t pass through them. And she stops and waits at the door, glancing expectantly back at Apollo. He fumbles his phone free from his pocket, finding no messages waiting for him; why would Klavier do something as cryptic as sending his faery dog to collect Apollo, rather than just calling or texting him?

Unless it isn’t Klavier instructing Vongole. Unless she’s acting on her own. Or unless Klavier is in trouble.

“You’d better go,” Phoenix says. “I can lend you the—”

“It’s fine,” Apollo says. He’s pretty sure that Klavier hates the magatama, and he found him fine without it last night. And he didn’t have Vongole guiding him then.

“Let me know that everything’s all right,” Phoenix says quietly. Apollo opens his mouth to ask what Phoenix knows, why he’s so sure that this means something is wrong - remembers what Phoenix said about himself and how Klavier reminds him of himself, long ago. Closes his mouth. Knows why Phoenix worries.

Phoenix always worries. He means well. His road is paved in well-intended worry.

“Yeah,” Apollo says. “I’ll - I’ll let you know.”

Vongole waits for him only to reach the door, diving through it as his hand reaches for the doorknob. He next finds her waiting beside the bike rack, her smoky fur drifting independently of the chill breeze, and as soon as he mounts his bicycle she lopes off down the sidewalk. She never looks back at him but is obviously monitoring him in some way, her pace changing depending on obstacles and traffic so that she always remains in his sight. He follows her through the quieter (relatively, anyway) city of weekend mornings, through his usual stomping grounds, to end up on the stoop of an apartment building that is - quite frankly, not as grandiose as Apollo would expect. He presumes this is where Klavier lives.

(If it’s not, then he’s far too deep into something that it’s also far too late to back out of.)

Vongole noses one of the buttons on the buzzer at the entryway and disappears through the door. Only seconds later, too quickly for her to have physically covered the necessary amount of ground, the door clicks to unlock. Apollo enters the lobby and before he has time to take in his surroundings, she appears in front of him. Literally appears - not bounding up to him out of a wall, but materializing out of the air, white fog swirling in circles around her ankles. She directs him to the elevator, pressing her nose into the button for the fourth floor and then several times in quick succession slamming her nose into the close doors button. “So were you always like that, or did you pick up your impatience from him?” Apollo asks.

She sits down and fixes her eyes on him. He doesn’t know what that means. He’s not sure why he bothered talking to her. She can’t respond - can she understand? Does she have some way to communicate information she hears to Klavier? Surely not - hopefully not, depending how long she was in the office.

She does not move until the elevator halts at their destination, and she springs to her feet and slips through the doors before they have opened wide enough for a fully-corporeal dog of her size to pass through. But when he makes it through, she meets him right at the other side, her impatience not taking her any further down the hall until Apollo can follow right at her tail. The walls are not cracked and peeling as in Apollo’s building, but they are certainly plain - again, very much not the kind of place he would imagine Klavier to live.

Vongole throws herself through the door of Apartment 404, and Apollo waits in front of it. A moment passes, and then another. Right. Even a faery dog doesn’t have opposable thumbs to grip a doorknob. He fails to swallow his apprehension but knocks anyway. There has to be a reason Vongole brought him here. He can’t just run away from it.

The seconds crawl past. Apollo reaches up to knock again, but the door swings suddenly open, and he flinches back.

Klavier’s hair is barely held together in a ponytail, strands falling loose around his face, and he looks even more like he hasn’t slept, going by the shadows under his eyes. And Apollo never thought there would come the day that he sees Klavier in sweatpants, but - he’s still alive. He’s still intact in one mobile piece, and he’s lucid enough to look annoyed. Apollo fumbles for words, any at all, but none arrive on his tongue. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He starts to raise his arm to point at Vongole, to blame her, and before he can, Klavier sighs, shaking his head, his apparent annoyance sliding into exhaustion, and he steps out of the doorway, pulling the door open wider, and gesturing for Apollo to come in.

[notes on the chapter]

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles

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rivalsforlife · 4 years

Note

i'm holding myself back from asking commentary on almost every scene from the catch up game bc i love so much how you wrote phoenix in that fic!! that said, could u do commentary on the last 2 scenes from the first chapter (party + gumshoe), if that's not too long or on parts of it if it's too much?

Sure thing!! The scenes on their own are already over 2000 words so I’ll put them under a keep reading for everyone’s peace of mind.

Alright let’s start then...

The bachelor party was beyond Phoenix’s expectations. He’d been expecting Edgeworth to be much stingier with the spending, considering his general attitude towards Gumshoe’s salary. But he’d agreed to rent the bar out and pay for one drink for everyone, plus transportation home for those who couldn’t do it themselves. Phoenix… was surprised, actually. He’d known for a long time now that Edgeworth appreciated Gumshoe much more than he let anyone know about, but it was still surprising to see in action.

this paragraph brought to you by My AAI2 Feelings, particularly the parts where Gumshoe really does come through in the investigations, so much that Miles actually gives him a salary raise at the end... it did a great job developing their friendship, I loved it a lot.

(Also I headcanon that after aai2 but possibly before that... every “I’m going to cut your salary!!” that Miles says does not actually result in a salary cut. poor gumshoe can barely feed himself as it is. but Miles can’t be, like... Nice about it so he’s just going to pretend. Gumshoe understands. it’s like an inside joke now.)

And honestly figuring out this whole party scene was such a pain. I still feel like it could be better but I’m not sure how? I just had the goal of “get someone to let it slip that Miles is in love with Phoenix” but then there was the issue of a) who knew Miles well enough to know this, and b) who knew Phoenix well enough to talk about it, and c) what circumstances would let them slip up and say it. The answer was Gumshoe because he can’t resist leaking information to the defense... even when it’s information about his boss’s personal life. oops.

Athena dropped by for a movie night, since Pearls was too young to attend. Phoenix wasn’t worried about them; he was sure they wouldn’t get into any more trouble than he and Maya could at the party.

OOF AWKWARD PARAGRAPH this is a remnant from when I shifted a lot of scenes around in this chapter. I thought it would be cute if Athena and Pearl were friends. And I think there was more to this but then it was distracting from the overall topic so I cut it out... resulting in this.

“Pals!” a familiar voice boomed at the entrance to the bar, and Phoenix soon found himself and Maya swept up in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so glad you both could make it!”

“Gumshoe!” Maya returned the hug enthusiastically. “It’s been forever, man!”

“Sure has!” Gumshoe released them, allowing Phoenix the opportunity to wheeze and clutch at his ribs, while Gumshoe ruffled Maya’s hair. “Been keeping yourself out of trouble?”

“You know it!”

“Uh, I had several sleepless nights last year suggesting otherwise,” said Phoenix.

“Shut it, Nick.” Maya elbowed him, not helping with the situation with his ribs, and beamed.

a little bit of banter that really just serves as a transition thing. most of the party is actually both “transition scene to indicate that the party did, in fact, happen before I get to the important stuff” and “introduce some important character stuff while I have time to fill”.

and of course these sleepless nights are in reference to pretty much the whole plot of SOJ...

One last note that I think Gumshoe probably gives great hugs, if you can survive your ribs potentially being crushed in the process. he doesn’t mean anything by it. he’s big and strong and likes hugs so much he forgets how big and strong he is.

... ps I love Gumshoe

“But congrats, Gumshoe! Seems like just last decade Nick and I were wandering around trying to pass your lunches over to Maggey.”

“God, it’s been that long, hasn’t it?” Phoenix reminisced. It was odd, thinking back on cases he took before he was disbarred, before he became a father to a daughter who wasn’t even with him today.

Gumshoe chuckled. “Guess so, pals. You two’ve really been there since the beginning, huh? Maggey and I wouldn’t be here today without you.”

Phoenix smiled. “Aww, Gumshoe…”

“And that’s why I get to be maid of honor, huh?” asked Maya with a sly grin.

“Maid of honor?!” Phoenix looked to Gumshoe, who didn’t object, before rounding back on his best friend. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“You didn’t ask!” Maya sighed. “If it weren’t for me eating Gumshoe’s beloved bento box in front of Maggey, who knows if we’d be here today?”

“I don’t think that was a deciding factor at any point…”

Gumshoe clapped Phoenix on the shoulder. “Sorry, pal. Would’ve made you the best man, but, y’know… Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Yeah, of course, no hard feelings, pal.”

“What’d I tell you about stealing my trademark, huh, pal?” Gumshoe laughed before stepping back into the bar. “C’mon in, you two.”

REALLY just more awkward transition scenes haha. Maya is the maid of honor in this fic mostly because I went to Maggey’s profile page and she was the only woman listed under the “friends” list... and we don’t know much about Maggey’s personal life. plus more “Miles and Gumshoe friendship” agenda pushing in here!

There were more people there than Phoenix was expecting, and many of them he hadn’t met. Edgeworth had mentioned that he would let Gumshoe select the guest list, but he’d kind of expected this to be people the two of them knew. Or, at least, that Phoenix knew — Edgeworth seemed to recognize more, which was rare, and was currently speaking with someone Phoenix vaguely recognized as an Interpol agent he’d worked with on a few cases back when Phoenix would help him out in Europe.

Ema ran up to them and made small talk before she and Maya got caught up in discussion about some show Phoenix had never heard of, so he wandered off to find someone else to talk with.

And there was… no one, really. Gumshoe and Edgeworth were talking with strangers, and Phoenix didn’t want to butt in on that conversation — he thought he saw Larry lurking about but couldn’t find him right now — and anyone else Phoenix recognized he either hadn’t talked to in years or was sure didn’t recognize him.

Phoenix hadn’t realized just how much his disbarment affected him, in these little ways. He looked out over the crowd of people Gumshoe or Edgeworth spoke to and had no idea who they were. It had been eight years out of touch with the rest of the legal world — eight years to fall behind.

It was… oddly lonely. Eventually it was just Phoenix standing there at the bar with a glass of grape juice in his hand. He was beginning to wish he’d ordered some more euphemistic “grape juice” instead.

You know that feeling when you go to a party and your one (1) friend leaves you and then you have no one to talk to and don’t know what to do -- maybe? That’s kind of the thing. slight Lang cameo in there.

ORIGINALLY Ema and Maya were going to talk about Lana and Mia and kind of hint at some Lanamia stuff in there, but then I thought about it and really why would Phoenix pass up an opportunity to gossip about his boss’s past relationships.

And this also tries to kind of go for one of the general... “themes” of the fic? More of an exploration into Phoenix’s loneliness/how he copes with not having people around him. RFTA and JFA in particular kind of really entrenched that he Does Not Do Well without people to take care of -- which comes up a lot during this fic. And part of getting to explore those issues is essentially me trying to make Phoenix as alone as possible. ... sorry Phoenix!

Also in here is a lot of “disbarment should have messed up Phoenix more than DD and SOJ would lead you to believe” -- he essentially spent seven years completely disgraced, it’s unlikely he made a lot of notable legal connections, aside from maybe Miles and Miles’ social circle. He probably missed out on a lot.

The last paragraph there is just referencing the “grape juice” thing - I do believe it is literal grape juice and not an alcohol euphemism, and I believe it was also literal grape juice in the original, so that’s what it ends up being.

“Hey, Niiiick…”

… But Phoenix supposed that just when you’re feeling down, the Butz arrives to drag you down further. “Hey there, Larry.”

Larry slumped against the bar beside him with a sigh, a glass of what definitely wasn’t grape juice in his hand. “Y’know Franzy didn’t even show up to this?”

“I’m not surprised. Being whipped half to death during your own bachelor party isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time, y’know?” In truth, he knew Franziska couldn’t make it down until just a few days before the wedding because of work — or so Edgeworth had told him — though he couldn’t help but wonder if Gumshoe was grateful for it.

Larry muttered something under his breath that sounded like it might’ve been contradicting Phoenix’s last statement, which Phoenix decided he was certainly not going to press further on, before Larry cleared his throat and continued. “But why’re you out here by yourself, Nick? Maya ditched you?”

“No, not at all,” Phoenix lied. “Just… taking in the scenery.”

“... Huh. Never took you for the wallflower type.” Larry frowned. “I mean, we did use to spend school dances in the corner by ourselves… guess some things never change.”

“Please don’t remind me of middle school ever again.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Larry, who then did. “But I get it, dude. I was kinda hoping for some more excitement here… more ladies…”

“Don’t worry Larry, I’m sure you’ll find someone else to pester tonight,” Phoenix commented dryly.

... enter Larry Butz.

I really did try to explore the relationships of all the important people in Phoenix’s life... Larry though is so insufferable in canon I didn’t really have the heart to fit him in, so he falls out. (Apollo also doesn’t show up much, aside from the bit in chapter 5, that’s because he’s in a different country and I couldn’t come up with much of a role for him.)

And I also do believe that Larry and Phoenix were super unpopular in school. Larry was... Larry, and Phoenix was probably very sensitive up until the Dahlia Incident, and together they had enough unlikable traits that anyone who could spend time with one wouldn’t want to hang out with the other, but the two of them were loyal to each other. It’s my headcanon that Phoenix’s only real close friends throughout his childhood were Larry and Miles, which is part of why he got so attached to Miles to change his career for him.

“Yeah.” Larry’s eyes scanned the crowd before landing on a woman with dark hair in a high ponytail, and his face brightened. Phoenix cringed preemptively.

“Little miss Kay!” Larry called out, as the woman looked their way. “Looking as cute as ever! And more grown up, too…”

Phoenix tensed, suddenly feeling the wrath of hell creeping up behind them.

“Larry Butz,” a deadly voice boomed, “if you go anywhere near her, I will sue you for everything you are worth, little though it may be.”

Larry jumped and spilled half his drink over his jacket. “Geez, Edgey,” he grumbled, scuttling off to find a napkin. Phoenix, hoping it was safe now with the target gone, turned back around to meet the glare of his other childhood friend. “Hey, Edgeworth.”

Larry being gross but more importantly: me pushing the Dadworth agenda!

“You didn’t have to do that, Mr. Edgeworth,” said the woman with a laugh. “I’m an adult. I know how to effectively break someone’s kneecaps if they bug me.”

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. “Though I don’t necessarily disapprove, do we need to talk about avoiding criminal records again, young lady?”

“Sheesh, you’re still treating me like a kid,” she huffed, before noticing Phoenix and extending a hand. “Sorry about that! Kay Faraday. I’m Mr. Edgeworth’s assistant.”

Edgeworth gave an exasperated sigh, though Phoenix could detect a note of fondness to it. “You haven’t been my assistant for over ten years, Kay.”

“So you finally admit I was your assistant at some point!”

“Ngrk…”

Phoenix laughed and took her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Phoenix Wright, attorney at law.”

Kay grinned. “Oh, I know! Gummy debriefed me on you, Mr. That Man.”

“Kay,” Edgeworth warned.

“Plus I kept up with the news,” Kay continued, before Phoenix could say anything. “I’m a big fan of your work! Anyone who can take Mr. High-and-Mighty over there down a notch or two is a hero in my book.”

“Ha, I appreciate that.” Usually the first thing people said to Phoenix after saying they saw him on the news was much more negative.

I really still can’t believe Kay would be 27 here. that’s just so weird. she’s permanently seventeen in my mind. --- said by miles, probably

Even though this was supposed to be a fic about Phoenix’s important canon relationships Kay just wormed her way in here. I love her so I didn’t make any particular effort to take her out of this. Plus it gives me the opportunity to write my favourite things: Dadworth, and also Kay bullying Miles.

And yeah the part about people seeing Phoenix on the news is a reference to disbarment... can’t imagine anyone would have had anything particularly nice to say to him, especially those first few years.

“Kay has been assisting some of the prosecutors and myself through some tricky crime scenes lately,” Edgeworth informed him.

“Technically I’m a P.I., but Mr. Edgeworth said they’re really short-staffed these days, so I thought I’d lend him a hand,” Kay elaborated.

“Oh, so I might be running into you at the crime scene someday.”

“Probably!” She grinned. “Though I’m not gonna go easy on you just ‘cause Mr. Edgeworth likes you.”

“Kay.”

“Oh is that Ema over there?” Kay said loudly. “I’ve gotta run, see you around!”

She dashed off. Edgeworth sighed.

At first I made Kay just a straightforward detective, but I changed it pretty last minute. I feel like she’d want to do her own thing, plus this way she can assist from the outside when dealing with Dark Age of the Law Corruption-type stuff. Miles hires her because canon says he was left pretty short-staffed in SOJ. I’m not... totally sure what the laws are regarding private investigators working with police, but this is a fictional universe with fictional laws so I will do what I want.

Aside from that... more Kay making fun of Miles.

“She seems energetic,” Phoenix commented.

“Indeed she is.”

“... Why did she call me ‘Mr. That Man’?”

Edgeworth coughed. “I’ve not the slightest idea,” he said, turning his head to the side. “That aside, this whole affair is going much smoother than I expected, aside from that slight mishap.”

“Yeah, murder’s not really the best way to kick off a bachelor party, huh? Even if it is Larry. But I think we did alright.”

“Indeed.”

As if on cue, a loud cheer rose up from the crowd at the far corner of the bar.

“... Do you smell something?” Phoenix asked, and true to form, the swaying form of Larry crawled on top of a table.

People making fun of That Man is one of my favourite tropes regarding the AAI characters.

I don’t actually know how bachelor parties work, but if anyone can make them into an overly dramatized super wild party... it’s Larry.

Edgeworth groaned and began to storm off, but Phoenix grabbed him by the hand to hold him back. “Edgeworth, it’s a party, let them have their fun.”

“I… suppose so,” Edgeworth relented, but his hand was still tense in Phoenix’s.

Phoenix released him. “C’mon, we can chaperone from a safe distance.”

Edgeworth nodded wordlessly, but Phoenix could sense that same feeling of unease from him again. He opened his mouth to ask about it but a loud shout took up his attention — this was something that could be dealt with later, he thought, as he and Edgeworth rushed over to the scene.

Miles internal monologue: Wright is holding my hand. Wright is holding my hand. Wright is holding my hand writgh is holding my hand wright is holdin g my ha--

Phoenix: uh. edgeworth?

So in this fic... Miles is gradually working up the courage to confess to Phoenix. He finally worked out his own feelings at some point prior to this fic starting but can’t quite admit them yet, so every time Phoenix does anything that can be remotely construed as romantic he just goes “!!!” and it’s probably all he can think about for a week. Poor guy! I’m sure that when he finally confesses all will be well.

Hours later, as the party wound down and various taxis came to take people home, Phoenix found himself crowded in a booth with a tipsy Maya and a drunk, gushing Gumshoe.

“... and I know she’s gonna just be so beautiful, pals, and what if it’s too much?” Gumshoe asked, lying sideways against the table. “What if they don’t let me see her and then the day of the wedding I look’t her and… I die?”

“People have gotten married without dying, Gumshoe,” Phoenix consoled him.

“But they don’t marry Maggey, pal…”

Maya snorted. “With her luck, I wouldn’t be surprised if something like that happened.”

“Hey, don’t tell him that!” Phoenix hissed.

really this wedding should have had way more disaster than I wrote about... probably at least one murder.

“No, no, don’t mention her luck, she’s already so worried,” said Gumshoe. “We’ve checked off every good-luck wedding charm in th’ book… but she still thinks somethin’s gonna go wrong. I love her, I really, really love her, pals…” A far off look crossed his face, and Phoenix wondered if anyone would ever speak of him like that, “... but she worries so much…”

“What’s she worried about?” Maya asked, slumping over against Phoenix’s shoulder.

“Ceremony, reception, if people’re gonna show up, if we’re gonna lose somethin’ important… even ‘s far as the bouquet toss. I told her, if you’re not sure, just toss it in th’ direction of you,” he pointed at Phoenix, “or at Mr. Edgeworth, and maybe it’ll work.”

Phoenix frowned. “Why me?”

Gumshoe let out a burst of hearty laughter. “I’m thinkin’ if you or Mr. Edgeworth catches it, it’ll give ‘im the courage to finally ask you out, pal.”

Maya shot straight up. Phoenix froze. “... What?”

probably not the smoothest way to get to the entire reason why this bachelor party exists, BUT.

Also it’s implied that Miles DID actually talk to Gumshoe about this at some point. probably Gumshoe caught him pining at a bad time haha.

“Y’know the old tradition, whoever catches it is the next to get married and all…” Gumshoe stared at them for a moment, before his eyes widened and a look of absolute horror crossed his face. “O-Oh! Crap! Pal!”

“Edgeworth wants to ask Nick out?!” Maya shrieked.

“FINALLY! IT’S ABOUT FREAKING TIME!”

originally Gumshoe used a much stronger word than “crap” but idk Gummy doesn’t seem like the type to curse much...? Maybe it’s a stretch haha. also “pal” as an exclamation is my favourite little Gumshoe speech tic

“Shh, shh!” Gumshoe reached over to clamp a hand over her mouth but fell, collapsing on the table. “You heard nothin’ from me, pals, got it? Mr. Edgeworth’s gonna kill me if he finds out… worse, stop funding the wedding…”

Death is one thing but the WEDDING...

And I can’t remember if I mentioned at any point that Miles was also funding the wedding haha but it’s probably also something he wouldn’t want to tell anyone. Gumshoe with his perpetually terrible salary (which is also Miles’ fault) plus Maggey with her inability to hold down a job before being fired in a murder-related incident probably means they don’t have a lot for a nice wedding so Miles offered. secretly and evasively. because he’s a nice person but also doesn’t want anyone to know that.

Maya stared at Phoenix, her mouth agape, as Gumshoe continued mumbling to himself under his breath about the various consequences of Edgeworth’s hypothetical wrath. Phoenix, meanwhile, felt like his brain had short-circuited.

That wasn’t possible. He must have heard Gumshoe wrong. Edgeworth didn’t think of him that way. Edgeworth didn’t think about anyone that way, Phoenix had thought, for the longest time.

Little do you know, Phoenix!

Touching on the aroace Miles headcanon here because it’s a very valid interpretation of his actions even if it’s not my own...

… Even if Edgeworth had been acting strange lately, even if something in his expression softened when he looked at Phoenix, even if…

No. Phoenix quickly shoved that thought to the back of his mind. There were many things he knew about Edgeworth, and one of those was that Edgeworth saw him as a part-time friend and part-time annoyance, but never a romantic interest of any kind. The thought of it was just… just unbelievable.

Phoenix craned his head around, catching sight of a familiar pink jacket across the room and watched Edgeworth in the middle of some phone call. He would know if Edgeworth was interested in him that way… wouldn’t he?

At first “the back of his mind” was “the overflowing mental trunk of repression” but that seemed a little too on the nose. Just know that’s essentially what he’s doing.

Another thing I wanted to establish throughout the fic was how close Phoenix and Miles are now -- they essentially know each other really well. And thinking about that part in Turnabout Goodbyes where Phoenix declares that “I’m the only one who knows the real Edgeworth”, I kind of interpreted that Phoenix Knowing Things About Edgeworth is an important part of their relationship to him. And the occasions where Miles did surprise him (with some aspect of his personality) weren’t always very good things... realizing he’d turned into a “demon prosecutor”, then the “choosing death” part... it’s a lot of my headcanons running away from me haha. Basically in this fic, Phoenix thinks he knows Edgeworth so well because he’s so close with him so an indication that there’s something about Edgeworth he doesn’t know or has completely wrong kind of... connects to him /not/ being as close to Edgeworth as he thinks he is? Maybe? And being close to him is something very important to Phoenix.

(This is not my personal opinion though haha, people can and will surprise you no matter how well you know them... but this fic is Phoenix’s Relationship Issues: The Fic, so.)

And no one else has mentioned the scenes where it comes up yet so I’ll talk about it here -- a lot of my editing process involved going through the fic and cutting out every instance of Phoenix either talking about him hypothetically being in love with Miles, or of Miles being in love with him. I just ctrl+f “love” and cut out whatever fit the criteria. Phoenix’s interpretation of Miles’ actions up until the end of chapter 5 isn’t exactly that Miles is Capital-L In Love with him, more that it’s like... a little crush? Mayyybe some physical attraction. Misconstrued admiration. Not anything so severe that Miles would willingly initiate a conversation about Feelings. so “He would know if Edgeworth was in love with him” changed to “He would know if Edgeworth was interested in him that way” because part of Phoenix’s issue here is that he can’t actually directly acknowledge the possibility that he’s in love with Miles or that Miles is in love with him. It’s a whole complicated thing I’ll probably talk about in the next commentary I do?

This got long but there’s the end of the chapter! I’ll answer more later...? These take up a lot of time haha.

#dvd commentary meme #the catch-up game #asks

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snezfics-n-shit · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 25: Cranky

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Characters: Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix Wright, Trucy Wright, Athena Cykes, Apollo Justice

Notes: Post-DD. Established married!Wrightworth because what else did you expect? Miles has been taking time out of his schedule to care for the employees of the Wright Anything Agency after a particularly brutal cold season. He’s been doing great, he’ll swear on his life. The patience of a saint, that’s Miles Edgeworth for you. He is totally not going to completely lose it.

He couldn’t believe it. For the first time this week, Miles didn’t have to scrape perfectly decent breakfast, breakfast he made, into the garbage. He could have sworn it was proper etiquette for guests he and his husband so graciously welcomed in their home to at least try to clean their plates.

“They live alone, babe. It’ll do them good for us to extend some hospitality,” he remembered Phoenix saying. At first, Miles didn’t mind at all. He may not have been any Florence Nightingale, but he saw merit in caring for his husband’s colleagues while they were unwell. He didn’t even complain when the two infected his husband with a cold that reduced his voice to a hoarse crackle and kept Miles awake with hours of coughing and sneezing assaulting his ears. No, no. It was no trouble at all, really.

He could have sworn when he first welcomed Apollo and Athena as guests, he was up for anything they asked for. He could prepare soup with his eyes closed, and by the second day of Phoenix’s cold, Miles was very tempted to do so just so he could say he got something resembling sleep. As the number of hands helping him dwindled to zero, Miles’s energy was wearing a little thin. Just a little thin, though, not too much at all.

Then there was the texting. Since Miles was the only one in the house whose voice was audible, his cell phone was constantly blowing up with short, grammatically lacking text messages. Hardly any of them allowed him time to fulfill one person’s request without being bombarded with other unrelated tasks they expected of him. He could make tea and he could check pages of calculus homework, but not simultaneously; there was only one of him. He would do it again, though, really. Go ahead, ask him to care for ten sick people, and for a month this time. Just direct a hospital’s worth of patients to his house, why don’t you?

Oh, no, Miles wasn’t losing his patience at all. He was mature and collected, so he brought anything his family and guests asked for without a complaint. That was true, wasn’t it? Or did thoughts to himself about how tired he was getting from running around the house grabbing whatever anyone wanted count? He was doing so well the first three days of the arrangement, so surely at the tail end of the week his eyes shouldn’t be twitching from exhaustion he was most definitely not feeling.

“I’m really happy to finally taste your cooking, Mr. Edgeworth.” Athena’s recovered voice startled Miles. He had almost forgotten more people could speak than just him. “Trucy kept telling me you were a really good cook, and I’m definitely not disappointed.” Something about that felt underhanded, Miles was sure of it. She was doubting his skills as a cook, wasn’t she?

“You’ve been really good to us, Papa.” Trucy smiled. “Thank you so much!” Of course Trucy was the first to verbally thank him for his efforts. She was taught manners and was clearly not raised in a barn. And no, Apollo, emojis and ‘memes’ did not count.

“You’re very,” Miles heard his voice crack and cleared his throat, “you’re very welcome, Trucy.”

“Yeah, thank you so much, hon.” Phoenix was the second person Miles could count on for gratitude. What Miles really wanted to hear, however, was an apology for all the sleep he lost thanks to Phoenix’s poor volume control late at night. There was always something, be it sniffling, sneezing, or coughing that would start just as Miles thought he finally had some peace and quiet.

“Thanks.” Apollo said nothing besides that and continued eating the last of his toast. What a wordsmith, wasn’t he? A real Shakespeare.

“You’re both quite welcome as well.” Miles’s nose twitched ever so slightly as he spoke. “Are you all finished? I’d like to,” he cleared his throat again, “clean the dishes soon.” He knew no one would bother helping him with the task. They all had much more important things to do like watch television or play games on their phones.

Just as he thought, all responses were a chorus of confirming they were finished eating and not a single offer to help. Despite the fact they were all clearly more than ready to be back on their feet, Miles was on his own in carrying the pile of dishes to the counter by the sink. None of the dishes were his. He wasn’t hungry, and the lord knew he wasn’t about to be a hypocrite by committing the horrid act of wasting food. He would never be so ungrateful, so wasteful, so--

“Oh, I’d actually like a refill of orange juice.” Apollo asked, just as he always did since he arrived last Thursday.

“Your legs aren’t broken.” Miles snapped without even thinking about what he had just said.

“Woah, where did that come from?” Athena was taken aback by Miles’s harsh tone.

“YEAH, SOMEONE’S CRANKY!” Widget blurted in its usual loud and robotic tone, further irritating Miles.

“Would you mind telling that thing to put a sock in it?” Miles clenched his teeth, becoming more frustrated when Phoenix stopped him from reaching for his dishwashing gloves.

“Hey, if something’s bothering you, just tell us.” Phoenix wanted to de-escalate as well as he could. “Did something happen at work?”

“I wouldn’t know, Phoenix. I haven’t been in the office all week!” Miles was so caught up in the outburst he failed to hear how hoarse he sounded. He hardly thought anything when the strain caused him to cough.

“Oh, babe.” Phoenix’s expression softened. “You’re not feeling well, are you?” He kissed his husband’s forehead. “Mm, you’re warm, too.”

“Please, not in front of guests. Not to mention-- mention, hhh…” Miles turned away from Phoenix’s concerned gaze. “Hh’uurrssSHH” He sneezed in his elbow, leaving a damp spot on his pink pajama sleeve. He instinctively pressed a hand under his running nose, not doing anything to get Phoenix off his back. He wasn’t even done yet. “Hu’RRsshhooh! HH’RSSHOOH!” How disgusting.

“We can do the dishes, Papa!” Trucy offered. She looked at Apollo and Athena, who both nodded in agreement. “It’s only right to return the favor.” What a sweetheart she was, absolutely her father’s daughter.

“You’re going back to bed.” Phoenix put his head on Miles’s shoulder and embraced him from behind. “We’re not going to let you lift a finger.”

Miles found himself spacing out for the duration of Phoenix ushering him to bed. He really was out of sorts, wasn’t he? He couldn’t even remember stepping out of the kitchen. It was almost dreamlike to find himself bundled up in bed.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix waved his hand in front of Miles’s face. “It was way too easy to get you into bed and you haven’t said anything since we were in the kitchen.” He gently took Miles’s glasses and set them aside.

“Of course I’b dot okay.” Miles grumbled, turning on his right side. “I haved’t slept ihd days, we have the worst house guests I’ve ever had the displeasure of beetig, ahd by owd husbahd wod’t eved let be wash the dishes.”

“You’re a real ray of sunshine this morning.” Phoenix brushed Miles’s hair with his fingers. “My poor sick grouch of a husband.” He cooed.

“I’b dot a grouch.” Miles frowned, hardly supporting his claim.

“What would you call yourself, then?” Phoenix made a small hum. “With how you acted in the kitchen, I wouldn’t be surprised if you poked your head out of a trashcan and told us to scram.”

“I wasd’t by best, was I?” Miles knew that was the understatement of the year. That tickle in his throat that pestered him, admittedly since he went to bed last night, finally became a full-fledged cough. “I feel awful.” He croaked.

“I know, babe.” Phoenix sighed. “It’s our turn to take care of you, now. You did so much all by yourself, we’re gonna show you how grateful we are. You’ll even have Apollo and Athena to-”

“Doh.” Miles said firmly. “They’re goi’g hobe. Today.”

“Alright, alright. Then it’ll be just me and Trucy.”

“That’s better.”

Phoenix helped Miles sit up so he could fluff the pillow behind him. He gave a sympathetic smile as he listened to Miles’s thick, hardly effective sniffling.

“You must be so tired.” Phoenix let Miles lie back down. “I’m sorry if I kept you up all night.”

“I ab ahd you did.” Miles confirmed flatly.

Miles just closed his eyes for a moment, only to be disturbed by something poking into his mouth. He made a soft grunt, dismissing it until that horrible beeping had him opening his eyes again. He watched a blurry figure resembling Phoenix walk outside his field of vision, only for the figure to return a few moments later. He felt something cold and damp rest on his forehead and flinched from the dramatic contrast in temperature.

“Is it too cold?” Phoenix’s voice was muffled by Miles’s congestion-affected hearing. When Miles shook his head in response, Phoenix gave a sympathetic smile and gently adjusted the cool compress in place. He looked over at the doorway and spotted Athena and Apollo watching from outside the room. He mouthed something along the lines of ‘he’s resting.’

“I should apologize.” Miles said groggily. “The way I acted was terribly rude.”

“Hey, hey.” Phoenix shushed his husband softly. “You weren’t feeling like yourself this morning. Athena and Apollo aren’t strangers, and Trucy and I definitely know you wouldn’t act like that on a regular basis.” He kissed his warm cheek. “You were just a little cranky, is all.”

“That’s dot ad excuse.” Miles closed his eyes again. “It was udcalled for.”

"Mr. Edgeworth?" Athena couldn't help but speak up. "We accept your apology, but the boss is right. We know you don't always act like that."

"You were pretty rude." Apollo muttered just before Athena gave him a light nudge with her elbow. "But, uh," he scratched the back of his head, "we probably deserved it."

Miles refused to have a serious discussion sounding like he did, so he yanked about five or six tissues from the end table tissue box. The amount seemed to be just enough by the time he was done. He checked the remaining contents of the box before tossing the used tissues in the trash bin.

“No one deserved the harsh words I used.” What Miles’s voice lost in congestion was made up for in hoarseness. “It wasn’t right.”

“You can’t be on model behavior all the time, hon.” Phoenix massaged Miles’s hand with his thumb. He noticed Miles starting to look annoyed again. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re too nice about this.” Miles grumbled. His mood wasn’t completely improved. He would come up with more excuses to wallow in excess guilt if he wasn’t so, so very tired.

The next thing the trio of lawyers heard from him was one of his ‘world famous’ snores, as Phoenix jokingly described them when Miles wasn’t in the room. Miles was completely out cold when Trucy tiptoed in, intending on telling him the dishes were clean and put away.

“Papa’s asleep?” Trucy whispered and Phoenix answered with a nod. “Don’t worry,” she directed her assurance to Apollo and Athena, “he’ll be in a better mood when he wakes up, I promise.”

. . .

It was two in the afternoon when Miles finally woke up. All built up grumpiness washed away in his sleep and with a clear head, he felt as if he were in good enough shape to climb out of bed and see if his family needed anything. Just as he reached for his glasses, he found an envelope that wasn’t there before. It wasn’t sealed, so the card inside slid out easily into his hand.

The card was handmade, covered in variations of ‘Thank You’ written in different colored pencils. It was easy to tell whose message was whose, especially Athena’s multilingual expressions of gratitude and Phoenix’s barely legible handwriting. Miles felt himself tear up a little, not noticing Phoenix and Trucy standing by the bedroom doorway.

“We thought you’d appreciate that.” Phoenix was holding a steaming mug of tea, likely made just recently. He either had very strong husband intuition or just planned on waking Miles up when it was ready. He took a couple tissues from the box on the end table to use as a makeshift coaster to set the mug down on. “You should also know our guests left today as promised.”

“Before they left, we all made that card.” Trucy had her hands behind her back. “It was Polly’s idea!”

So Apollo was grateful after all. No, no. Miles wasn’t going to let himself fall back into that sort of attitude.

“We were going to make you soup but we didn’t know for sure if you would be hungry.” Phoenix handed the mug over to Miles, who accepted it gratefully. He watched Miles take a moment to inhale the steam with that smile he always had whenever Phoenix made him tea. There was a quality in Phoenix’s brews that Miles could never replicate no matter how hard he tried. “I’m glad to see you smiling again.”

“I think tea will suffice, thank you.” Miles’s voice was in worse shape than before. If this was how he sounded the first day into this cold, he wasn’t at all looking forward to the upcoming days that would surely go downhill from here. “I would hate to waste any of your cooking.”

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix chuckled nervously, “sorry about all that food you had to throw out. While you were sleeping, Trucy and I realized that must have bothered you a lot.” Indeed it did, as ashamed as Miles now felt for letting it get to him.

“I accept your apology,” Miles took a sip from the mug, “if only because you make a wonderful cup of tea.” He laughed briefly, causing a vibrating sensation in his chest that made him need to cough.

“Oh! Right!” Trucy presented what she had been hiding behind her back: a brand new jar of vapor rub. “We picked this up today! Do you want to put this on yourself or should Daddy do it?”

“I think I can do this myself.” Miles set down the mug so he could take the jar. He had just started dating Phoenix when he first experienced the substance’s decongestant properties. Phoenix applied it the first few times, but Miles was never a fan of how Phoenix knew exactly what parts of his chest were ticklish. He did, however, like how Phoenix was not at all judgmental about his unfamiliarity with the product.

“I did say you wouldn’t be lifting a finger.” Phoenix ruffled his husband’s hair. “I’m kidding, of course. Just know if there’s anything you need, you say the word and we’ll get it for you.”

“And I would like you to know,” Miles kissed Phoenix’s cheek, “if I’m too demanding, just tell me.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Phoenix was just going to pretend he didn’t see Miles’s devilish smirk just then.

#whumptober #whumptober 2020 #sickfic whumptober alt #sneezing #snez #snz #sneeze kink #snez attorney #this went through so many revisions my brain hurts lol

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