Sorry, last one. I was taught almost nothing about Roman history in school. only a brief very Marxist overview before we carried on to medieval history because my school was like that
meaning the most I know about Julius Caesar and Marc Antony and Cleopatra I learned from a Courtesan romance choose your own adventure game in the Choices app. You know, one where you play a gaul warrior princess and you get to seduce Cassius and Marc Antony and have sex with him at the empty senate floor if you want. Yeah. I didn't do that one but that's cause I didn't have enough free diamonds
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“There is no way I’m leaving you in the middle of nowhere at this hour to find your own way home”, Miles says.
You’re not really comfortable with cars, actually. You get anxiety and motion sickness.
“The car’s suspension is the best you can find and I’m a really steady driver”, Miles says. “I’m not very good with jolt myself, as you could have noticed”.
That’s not much of a calming statement, if you think about it.
“I had not a single accident in fifteen years drive record, you really have nothing to worry about”, Miles says.
You don’t know why you are refusing an invitation so persistently. Probably because you’re not really calm about the idea of spending two hours in a closed tiny space with Miles Edgeworth. That also might be because he sounds even more irritated and annoyed than usual. You know it’s just because of the case, yet it makes you nervous in some weird kind of way.
And yet you are in the middle of nowhere and you’re tired and it’s getting late and you have no desire to wait all night in the bus stop for the first vehicle to take you to the closest town at 7 am next morning.
So you get into the car.
You don’t really know how to drive, but watching Miles go through motions necessary is somewhat calming. His movements are automatic yet deliberate and controlled. He still looks angrier that usual, but there’s no pressure or sharpness in his hands. You absolutely can believe he didn’t get into a single incident in fifteen years.
“Is driving a car really such an unusual activity to observe?”, he asks without looking at you, as you finally making it to some civilly looking road.
“What?”
“You’re staring”.
“Oh”. You turn your head away just to look back at him immediately, since you have to answer something. “Well, it is a little weird. You look more equipped for horse riding then driving a sportscar somehow”.
He does his strange little sneer, not paired with an actual smile.
“Well, this engine’s capacity is 950 horsepower, so I think the contradiction can be avoided”
“Now, that is a lot of horses”, you chuckle a bit nervously.
This awkward exchange calms you down a little. The case is a mess, and everyone is stressed out. The whole day of investigation and no one was able to find victim’s head. Identifying of the body is not carried out fast enough and autopsy report is obviously not going to be ready any time soon.
Despite Gumshoe running around saying he’s going to take all the dirty work on himself, Miles looks way messier that he usually allows himself to be. His hand laying on the wheel in an effortless manner, but he’s still frowning, and his lips are pursed. And you just don’t want Miles to be stressed or troubled. You want Miles to… You are staring again, aren’t you?
Trying to find somewhere less rude to look at you look at the dashboard and watch the speedometer needle pass 110 kilometers. This with the image of Miles barely even holding the wheel makes you think that maybe it’s time to confess your sins and pray for forgiveness to whoever is may be out there.
“Are… you okay, Edgeworth?”
“I am, thank you very much”. Sometimes you really can’t say if he’s being passive-aggressive or if it’s just his impeccable god damned manners.
“That’s kinda a little too fast, is it not?”
“That’s fine. This is a national expressway, the speed limit here is 120 kilometers per hour”
“You’re being fined for speeding is not exactly what’ I’m worried about”.
He doesn’t react to that at all, eyes still fixed on the road.
“Does it… help? With the anger?”, you ask carefully.
He takes a brief pause to consider it.
“No”.
The speedometer needle goes up to 118.
“Not a single accident in fifteen years”, you remind yourself.
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