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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years ago

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coping mechanisms : a.h

everyone has their ways of coping with traumatic events, but it’s finally time you faced yours. (2.5K)

m y e t s y s h o p

also pls don’t steal my work or share it without crediting, it takes a lot of time and effort to write these!

Sitting on the jet, you were abnormally quiet. Usually, the team couldn’t get you and Spencer to stop talking about anything and everything. Yet today, a strange silence loomed over you as Spencer rambled on about statistics, whilst Hotch tried to catch gaze from across the table that everyone besides you noticed.

“You know, based on Greek mythology, Ares is the God of War, son of Hera and Zeus and is one of the twelve Olympians. He’s also the equivalent of Mars in Roman mythology.” Spencer finishes his explanation with a small smile towards the team as your eyes remain fixated on the case file in front of you, something that didn’t go amiss by Hotch.

“So, this unsub thinks of himself as a God?” JJ questions as she scrolls through the various photos on her tablet of the nine victims so far.

“Each one has a new symbol on them, you see, on their wrists?” You finally speak up to everyone’s surprise. “Spence, are these symbols correlating to the other eleven Olympians?” You ask, focusing on your best friends gaze as his smile meets his eyes.

Taking in all of the images, Spencer nods. “It looks that way, but this one here, the sun which would symbolise Apollo, the God of archery, music, dance, healing diseases, truth and prophecy, and more recognisably sun and light. But it isn’t quite complete, looks as if the unsub was interrupted.” Spencer explains, watching as your interest quickly declines, and you lean back into your seat.

“Maybe there will be some security footage outside of the bar leading toward the alleyway the victim was found.” Hotch states, closing his case file as the jet begins to descend. “Morgan, I want you and JJ to go to the ME’s office, see if the symbols all correlate and any other marks that may be on the victims. Rossi, you and Reid go to the crime scene where Olivia Collins was found, see if anyone in the area saw anything. Y/n, you and I will go to the station.” Hotch tries to see if you’ll even focus on him, but you’ve retreated into yourself, shut down.

Eventually, you nod along with everyone else, unaware of the concern etched in Hotch’s hardened expression as you close your eyes, rubbing your temple as you lean against the window.

“Agent Hotchner?” A man walks over to you and Hotch, holding his hand out. “Officer Richards, a pleasure to meet you.”

“This is SSA Y/L/N, where would you like us to set up?” Hotch asks as you follow behind him to a free room, passing the blur of noise of phone calls and officers talking. “Y/n?” Hotch calls out your name, snapping out of your daze.

“Sorry,” You apologise, feeling the heat rising through your cheeks as Hotch hums to himself.

“Is something wrong, Y/n?” Hotch questions as he sits down beside you in the private office, his hands resting on the table. “If there is, you can tell me, especially if it affects your ability to work on the case.” Hotch tells you, his voice softer as your eyes grow heavy once more as you hide your hands in your lap.

“I don’t know Hotch,” You sigh. “and that’s the issue.”

Rising to his feet, Hotch closes the door to the room, shutting out the noise from the rest of the station as he returns to his seat beside you. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you? You seemed jittery on the jet.” Hotch states, not even needing you to agree with him.

“I just,” You struggle to form the correct words as you focus on your boss who looks back at you with a gentle expression. “I’m not feeling like myself, Hotch. And I just, I don’t know what to do about it anymore.”

Silence falls over you both as you play with the hem of your shirt, not wanting to face your bosses reaction. “Is it related to Utah?” Hotch watches as you tense at the mention of it. “If it is, you’re still entitled to see someone about it, Y/n.”

“But it was months ago, Hotch.” You comment quickly. “I should be over it, I moved on, I got better.” You explain. “So why is it now coming back to haunt me?” You exhale deeply.

“What happened to you in Utah isn’t something you can just walk away from, Y/n. You were captured and beaten, held at gunpoint in front of all of us to watch.” Hotch pauses as tears form in your eyes, one escaping as it glides across your cheek.

It was a sight Hotch will never be able to forget. He was the first one to find you in that building as you lay on the ground too weak to move. You were muttering nonsense as you screamed in pain when he tried to help you to your feet.

You were gone for three weeks, and in that time you were filmed being tortured and threatened to be killed whilst your team watched on a live stream. Hotch had never felt so useless since Hayley had died, and he didn’t dare want to risk losing you too, even if he had never said anything about how he felt.

“I know, I just want to forget about it.” You admit, wiping your eyes quickly with the cuff of your sleeve. “I have to.” You forcefully state before reaching over for the case files, but Hotch places his hand on the file, stopping you from taking it.

“Y/n,” Hotch starts with his authoritative tone. “you need to speak to someone when the case is over, and that’s an order.”

“I will, Hotch.” You force a small smile, taking the file and delving in deeper to the evidence that’s been collected so far.

“I’m saying that as your boss, and, and as a friend, okay?” Hotch adds softly, witnessing your forced smile soften into something genuine, even if it were for a split second, it returned.

You were getting closer, four more bodies had been found with the symbols of Hermes, Ares, Posideon and Hades carved into their wrists.

“What if the unsub knows we’re onto him? And this is his endgame now?” JJ suggests.

“But he hasn’t finished all twelve.” You state bluntly, ignoring the look on JJ’s face as you rise to your feet and look over the victim pool once more.

“Maybe that doesn’t matter to him.” Hotch comments, stepping toward you as he stands by your side, his back turned to everyone else. “Keep level, Y/L/N.” He mutters to you, a shudder going through your body as Hotch averts his attention back to the rest of the team. “Each of his victims has been associated in some way with each Olympian. Maybe he doesn’t have all twelve in the first place.”

“He’s halfway through the twelve though, why stop now?” Emily speaks up as Garcia interrupts and appears on the screen.

“Good afternoon my favourite crime fighters. I’ve discovered something that I think might help with your suspect pool.” Garcia states brightly. “It looks as if the victims were all part of the same after school club in High School. All from different friend groups and societies, but they all attended the Greek mythology club at Preston State.”

“How many others were involved in this group, baby girl?” Morgan asks, leaning forward as you listen to the sound of Garcia typing becoming further and further away.

“Four others. There’s Hayden Lewis who is currently serving seven months in jail for possession of drugs, Jordan Littlewood, she moved upstate to Michigan last year, Elise Harding and oh,” Garcia pauses, and you zone back into the room as you reach for the back of a chair to support yourself on.

“What?” JJ enquiries as Penelope pushes her glasses back up her nose, focusing on the camera.

“When the group was in school, there was a fire in the same block that the club was held in. It says that six students and one teacher were killed in the accident, including Greek mythology club member, Timothy Cardel.” Garcia sadly sighs.

“What time of day did the fire occur Garcia?” Spencer leans forward in his chair, and you can see the cogs whirring behind his eyes.

“Erm,” Garcia hums to herself until she clicks on something. “3:35 pm on a Tuesday.”

“What’re you thinking, Reid?” Hotch focuses on Spencer as you take a seat, catching Hotches eye for a split second before Spencer starts to explain his thought process.

“Most school clubs happen after school, meaning there’s a high possibility the Greek mythology club was held on a Tuesday after school, and all the members were there when the fire happened. If school finishes at 3, then they would’ve all been in that building when the fire started.” Spencer explains, and you nod along.

“Meaning Timothy got left behind.” You state coldly, all eyes turning to you.

“I think we’re ready to deliver the profile,” Hotch announces as he rises to his feet, the rest of you following suit.

Fastening the velcro around your vest, you place your gun into its holster, unaware of Hotch hovering by the doorway as you exit.

“Y/n,” Catching you by surprise, you jump before glaring to Hotch. “sorry,” He tries to sound sincere, but a small smile creeps into his face as you relax beside him. “are you sure you want to do this? It might be best if you stay at the station.” Hotch suggests in a low tone.

“No,” You respond too quickly. “I, I want to come. I’m fine, really.” You add, nodding to yourself as you walk on, but Hotch reaches for your arm, pulling you back.

Your eyes focus on his hand resting on your arm, and quickly Hotch removes his hand from your arm. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.” He tells you sincerely, something you’ve heard countless times, but something about this seems different. No one else in the team is around, they’re all outside waiting for you both.

“I won’t.” You mutter in response, moving aside from Hotch as you exit the building, thankful for some fresh air as your vest is starting to feel constrictive.

Upon arriving at the unsubs house, you’re already feeling the humidity getting to you worse than it had been the entire time you’d been in the city. Spencer joked when the jet landed that you’ll get used to it, that fewer layers were key and Garcia would’ve loved a chance to see Morgan in fewer layers; but this was far from pleasant.

As you all filed out, guns at the ready Morgan followed behind Hotch whilst you’re on the tail end of the team.

You were unintentionally squinting as you listen to the sound of Morgan kicking the front door in as Hotch’s firm voice fills your ears.

“Y/n?” Snapping out from the blurred house, three versions of Spencer takes over your peripheral. “Hey, let’s sit down, okay?” Spencer speaks quietly, delicately as he reaches out to take a hold of your arm, but you jolt away.

“Get off me.” You snap, walking past him as your vision only worsens and the humidity seeps through your clothing, itching your skin as each step feels weighted until you reach the steps of the house.

Hotch emerges behind JJ and Morgan as they hold the unsub, passing you quickly, hiding their concerned looks.

“Y/L/N?” Hotch steps closer, capturing a glimpse of panic in your eyes just as you pass out as your head hits the pavement.

Cold coffee and stale doughnuts. The well worn in fabric beneath you had a spring sticking out, jabbing against your left thigh. You were back in the station. But what was more surprising was the hushed sound of a conversation ending between two of your colleagues whilst your eyes remained closed.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell her?” Rossi mutters as he averts his gaze from your ‘sleeping’ form to Hotch, who is unable to take his eyes from you for a single second.

“I’m not sure, Dave.” Hotch admits, wanting to reach out and brush the stray hairs out of your face, but he doesn’t want to risk waking you up, not yet at least. “Maybe someday, but not today.”

Rossi tuts to himself. “You’re letting all the good ones slip out of your grasp, Aaron,” Rossi comments. “and you know how much Jack loves her.”

The mention of Jack causes your heart to swell, and it takes everything for you to not smile as you gain consciousness.

“He’s not the only one,” Hotch adds, just as a yawn escapes your lips and you begin to open your eyes.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Rossi speaks up, rising to his feet whilst Hotch stays glued to his chair beside you.

Slowly, you try to sit upright but Hotch leans forward, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “I’d just stay lying for a while if I were you.” Hotch suggests as you nod along, forcing yourself back down.

“I’ll go check on the others, let them know you’re alright.” Rossi excuses himself, leaving a heavy silence over you and Hotch.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Hotch asks, his stern gaze concentrated on the exhaustion in yours.

“No time like the present.” You force a laugh, ignoring Hotch’s prior suggestion and sit upright as a slight pang crosses your temples. “I’m going to take some leave when we get back to Quantico.” You tell Hotch, watching as he nods.

“I think it’s for the best, Y/L/N.” He responds, catching the sight of your leg bouncing for a moment before you rest your hand on your thigh, forcing it to remain still.

“I know I’m due for a lecture, and a debriefing about the mission,” You hold back the urge to sigh, but Hotch beats you to it as a heavy sigh leaves his lips, causing you to smile.

The sight of a smile crossing your face is too contagious at the moment between you both. “We can talk more when we’re back. For now, I think it’s best if we just got you home in one piece.” Hotch stands up and hovers beside you, his arm extended as you gratefully accept.

“Thanks, Hotch.” You smile softly up to him as you exit the sheriff's office and near the rest of your team.

After a series of short questions, you’re all heading towards the jet.

“I couldn’t be happier to go home.” JJ sighs as she rests her head in her hand, looking out at the city as you near the airport.

Sitting beside Hotch in the passenger seat, your eyes glance over to him. “Me too,” You reply, a smile gracing your lips, knowing there’s more yet to be discussed with Hotch, including what he said before you fully woke up. “me too.”

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astrologista · 5 years ago

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Gavin Bros. Analysis

here be spoilers for apollo justice (aa4)

There are already a bunch of posts all about AA:AJ and just what the heck was behind Kristoph Gavin’s Psychelocks. What were his motivations? Why did he do what he did? As fragmented as the story is surrounding the Gavin brothers, and as much as I wish the source material had rounded out their characters a little more, I believe the game actually tells you pretty much everything there is to know about this case rather succinctly. Don’t worry as I will use evidence to back up my claims...

It is notably interesting that Kristoph’s Psychelocks only come up when Phoenix asks him point blank why he killed Zak Gramarye. This is the one question that Kristoph consistently refuses to answer directly, both in Solitary Cell 13 and in his testimony at his trial. Coincidentally, this is also the main question that he ever gets asked that speaks to his emotions or state of mind. Kristoph has a really good logical answer for basically all of the evidence-based questions. But, it’s also not a coincidence that Apollo has the presence of mind to note - “why not bring up the motive from the start? unless it was a battle he thought he might lose...”

This establishes pretty clearly that Kristoph is going to have a vested interest in keeping all questioning solidly focused on the material evidence at hand such as the postage stamp, the nail polish, and reasons why he cannot be directly connected to those objects. The law provides plenty of escape hatches and loopholes for Kristoph to exploit, which he does, providing him with the legal basis to be able to escape punishment due to the inability for anyone to prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. This is not surprising as being a very successful defense attorney is literally his job and he happens to be extremely competent at it.

This kind of person is scary if you meet them in real life because they can always seem to wriggle out of anything you try to pin on them. Kristoph is a grand master at doing this, quite possibly as good as they come in the AA universe.

Here’s the rub. Apollo brings up that Kristoph wants to avoid bringing the conversation into motives and state of mind questions, why? Because “it’s a battle he thinks he might lose”. Every single time this topic comes up, Kristoph deflects the question. This also is indicated by the five black Psychelocks that come up when Phoenix asks him point blank why he killed Zak. So from this we can gather that the game is drilling it in pretty well that Kristoph’s motivations are a sore spot for him and possibly the one chink in his armor.

Because the material evidence cannot prove anything for or against Kristoph’s guilt, in a typical case like this the police would hope for the holy grail - a full confession and admission of guilt. Kristoph is much too cool of a customer to fall into any traps, no doubt he was questioned very rigorously after being arrested, but all he even had to do was invoke his right to remain silent regarding his motives or simply claim that he killed Zak just ‘cause y’know, being evil is fun. Once he confessed to killing Zak, though, the police probably didn’t care all that much to probe into his thoughts and motivations really, if he did it, he did it and he’s going to spend a stint in jail either way.

Phoenix sees through this, however. In Solitary Cell 13 he does NOT allow Kristoph to drop or evade the question. That is why we get as far as even seeing the black Psychelocks at all. If we can’t know the motive, why bother to have this scene in the game?

Quite simply we can now understand that Kristoph’s motive for killing is something emotional. It is not something that he’s going to divulge casually, but it is also probably something that he is worried about divulging UNCONSCIOUSLY which is why he constantly tries to steer conversations away from it, instead deflecting to discuss the evidence or the emotional state of other people in the room. Consider that Kristoph’s reputation is PREDICATED on him being “the Coolest Defense in the West”. His identity is based on his successful suppression of emotions in court. This is not to say he shows no emotion or is some kind of monotone emotionless husk. He has a rather dry sense of humor. He banters with Apollo. He banters with Phoenix. He isn’t as uptight as some portrayals would have you believe (”life is to be taken easy”). When it comes to surface topics, Kristoph is an open book. He’s not as terse as you would believe, but rather kind of poetic and loquacious and conversational (to his downfall in 4-1). You get the feeling that he would be a very good conversationalist. But only for surface topics. Try to dig a little deeper and he will very neatly deflect your efforts.

How can we hope to understand a character who by definition does not have any interest in talking about his innermost neuroses? The reason why people still discuss the Gavin brothers and Turnabout Succession so much is that, while a very satisfying and intense case, it is unlike a lot of other AA cases in that you come away from it with a LOT of open ended questions. You don’t feel the same feeling of closure as you would get from the DL-6 case, where it feels like you finally understand all the facts of the case and all of the character motivations come to light making you go “oh! THAT MAKES SENSE!” you understand why von karma killed gregory, and everything comes together nicely in the end. Turnabout Succession is kind of a rarity in that it does not do that. By the end, you feel like you clearly understand the case, but you do not have a crystal clear view of the root cause of the motivations behind it.

In Kristoph’s final testimony he does shed a little bit of light on his motivations for his crimes. The issue that he has is mainly centered around his dismissal by Zak Gramarye as his representation. And, his subsequent replacement with Phoenix Wright, an attorney he perceives to be low-class and sub-par. Kristoph then states “these men shamed me, and I could not forgive that.” This is as close to an answer as to why he went to such lengths to get Phoenix disbarred as we are likely to get. Disproportionate retribution is the name of the game. It seems as if, if there’s one thing Kristoph cannot tolerate, it’s being looked down upon by someone that he perceives as inferior to him. Kristoph has extremely polarized notions of who should get to practice law, who is acceptable and who is categorized under “ignorant swine soiling the courts”. He makes very, very clear that he has nothing but disdain for common people, common wisdom, and any use of emotion or feelings in deciding verdicts.

So the particular manner in which Phoenix sought to bring him down with the jury system was a very deliberate masterstroke to Kristoph’s pride. That much we can establish. But again, motive. The game goes out of its way to tell you that whomever defended Zak would be “famous beyond belief” and, presumably also, rich. They would get a lot of very high-profile clients and cases sent their way after successfully defending the uber-famous magician Zak Gramarye.

Taking all of this into account, right. Is it possible that everything Kristoph did has its roots in one very simple source, the root of all evil?

Money.

Taking a step back for a moment, consider Klavier. Why does Klavier perform in a rock band? “Because I want Frauleins to look at me when I walk down the street.” I feel like people really want to believe that both Kristoph and Klavier are super deep characters and have all this deep lore and hidden backstory. Maybe they do. Most AA characters do. But consider this. What if they’re both so deep, they’re actually just shallow? Yes, that shallow?

Given how much AA:AJ focuses on the Gavins, which is really not that much, this concept seems difficult to swallow. Is there really more to the story based on what the game gives us? If there is, how would we piece it together?

One major hint the game gives you about Kristoph (and, if this is insignificant, then you have to really wonder why they bother to bring it up at all) takes place directly after seeing Kristoph’s black Psychelocks in Solitary Cell 13. He starts doing his nails. Phoenix says “I know appearances are a big thing with you”. Kristoph says “You know what I say? One cannot live a beautiful life without beautiful nails.”

I feel that this statement is important because it is probably about as deep of a look as we are ever going to get at how shallow Kristoph Gavin really is. He hopes you will believe that he’s playing 12-dimensional chess with some kind of fucked up backstory and motive going, but the truth is, he’s no chessmaster. Based on what the game gives you, there’s really only one motivation for everything that makes sense.

Kristoph killed Zak, Drew and attempted to kill Vera to cover his tracks. He had to do everything he could to make sure no one talked about the forgery. He had to stalk people like Spark and keep Phoenix very close (the epitome of keep your friends close keep your enemies closer). There’s nothing really debatable about those facts because they are all discussed in the game.

What about the root cause? Revenge, of course, for Phoenix stealing away the chance for Kristoph to defend Zak.

Why was defending Zak so important to Kristoph? To become rich and famous.

So wait. Why does Kristoph need to be rich and famous?

As it is, Kristoph appears to be very affluent and well off. There is no real reason directly given in the game as to why he would need such prestige and fame other than that it feeds his massive ego and superiority complex. So that’s a big part of it, no debate there.

But why would the excessive monetary gains that would be secured off of the Gramarye case be so appealing to Kristoph? We’ll re-examine this in a little bit.

In Daryan Crescend’s case, Phoenix tells Apollo “every man has an igniter. find his and set it off”.

What is Kristoph’s igniter?

I mean some people would say Phoenix Wright is Kristoph’s igniter based on his breakdown. But, I think more of that trial was contrived by Phoenix than we tend to notice.

I think Klavier is Kristoph’s igniter.

The final trial in Turnabout Succession would not have been able to succeed without Lamiroir, without the jury system, without Phoenix pulling the strings, without Trucy, without Apollo, and most especially without Klavier. Removing any of these elements from the scenario would immediately give Kristoph a massive advantage in allowing him to manipulate the courtroom. Can you imagine Payne trying to prosecute Kristoph?

No. Klavier was the only one who could confront Kristoph successfully.

The final trial had to be contrived in such a way as to put maximal pressure on Kristoph to increase the chances that he would slip up or, more likely, that an element of randomness and/or emotion would become introduced. Phoenix sets up Klavier as the prosecutor for this trial for a good reason - remember, Phoenix tells Apollo point blank that he (Phoenix) is pulling all of the strings for the Misham trial, so whatever happens is entirely his responsibility.

It must have been difficult for Phoenix to entrust Klavier, the person who sealed his fate, with such an important task. But realistically, he didn’t really have a choice. Klavier’s disclosure of Kristoph’s visit to the prosecutor’s office is the glue that holds together the entire case against Kristoph Gavin. Notice that Kristoph never really does anything to keep Klavier out of the public eye or otherwise silence him (up until the very end at least). If I knew there was someone walking around giving press interviews and practicing as a prosecutor who knew something really incriminating about me, I would want them swept away or snuffed out asap - I mean, Kristoph has already poisoned Drew and Vera who were unlikely to tattle on him at best; Drew couldn’t even identify him! What Klavier has on him is much, much more damning dirt. Either Kristoph really loves and trusts his brother or is convinced that he can control Klavier to the point where Klavier would never dare tell anyone about that visit or wouldn’t want to. Probably both are true.

The interesting thing about this dynamic is that this is really the only time where we see both Gavin brothers together in one room, as well. Something about being in proximity changes both of their behaviors. Klavier becomes hyper-alert and nervous in Kristoph’s presence, a marked change from his usually easy demeanor. Klavier’s presence causes Kristoph to make several mistakes, which end up costing him the case.

So all of these things needed to happen, and they needed to happen simultaneously for Phoenix to succeed. Getting back to my theory on Kristoph, we can see from what’s said in the game a few things - he really, REALLY wanted to be the one to benefit from defending Zak Gramarye (a trial he knew he would win against his brother using forged evidence), the presence of Klavier is his undoing in court, and his appearances are very, very important to him.

I honestly think the real reason Kristoph was so salty about losing out on the Gramarye trial fame and money is that he didn’t just want to be affluent or well-to-do. He wanted to be excessively, filthy rich.

If you look at Solitary Cell 13 you will see that Kristoph likes very much to surround himself with many nice things. He likes tasteful decorations and furniture. He enjoys literature, music, art, that weird rose he keeps in a vase, and he has a dog named Vongole. “First rate in all things, accept nothing less.”

To have such top of the line items, Kristoph must not only be rich, he must be like top 1% rich. He has to have the absolute best of everything. This is why he needs money. Without these things, what separates him from the ignorant swine he so despises? This is why Kristoph needed money.

Nowhere is this highlighted more than with the Ariadoney nail polish. I think it’s mentioned a couple of times that the Ariadoney is absolutely the best possible nail polish that you can buy. It’s very, very expensive and is manufactured in extremely limited quantities (this is discussed during Kristoph’s testimony). If Kristoph is this fixated on something as simple as a bottle of nail polish, you can almost imagine the absolutely ludicrous costs of every other item that he uses or owns, not limited to his home, his car, fine foods and wine, his expensive hobbies, possibly traveling etc etc etc etc. I just know this fool shops at Whole Foods, because I can’t see him buying groceries at the Costco. It makes a lot of sense as to why he is single as well. Kristoph Gavin would end up being an expensive habit to any partner who would have him - I wouldn’t want to share a bank account or credit line with him. He needs Gucci to keep him happy. No bootlegs here.

Point is, Kristoph Gavin has an addiction to the finer things in life and he will NOT settle for second rate products. He will have what he wants and he will do basically anything to maintain his lifestyle at its current elite level at the expense of his own morality and soul. Sadly enough I feel like that might be as deep as it gets with him. That’s a really pathetic motive to have and makes me hate him a lot more, but it’s so fucked up I can’t look away.

Consider also the most important thing to Kristoph of all - his appearance. It costs money to keep yourself up and this seems to be the one area that Kristoph might end up pouring the most money into. The top of the line suit, the white shoes, the perfect tan, the platinum blonde hair so immaculately coiffed, the fact that his skin is virtually perfect and the fact that his face is near-identical to Klavier’s despite being some 8 or 9 years older. Most normal people would have some kind of facial imperfection pop up at some point, a wrinkle, a pock mark, something. And that’s when you realize... that Kristoph Gavin has most likely had work done. Like, on his face to make it stay youthful. He’s just that vain and probably also despises watching Klavier stay young and pretty while he’s just aging. Fillers? Botox? Collagen treaments? Something more invasive? No one knows, but all I’m saying is that Klavier’s character description goes out of its way to describe Klavier as “the spitting image of Kristoph Gavin”. Vera notices the extreme resemblance right away. There can certainly be genetic basis for two brothers looking alike, but compare that to how Mia and Maya look “alike”, or Lana and Ema, both of whom have a similar age gap to Kristoph and Klavier. You would realize that Kristoph and Klavier seem to have somewhat of a more obvious resemblance despite the age difference. So this isn’t just possible anymore, this is actually likely. I don’t think the game implies that Kristoph has undergone plastic surgery or anything, so I’m keeping this in the realms of headcanon for now. But it would make perfect sense as yet another reason as to why Kristoph Gavin needs cold cash. He needs to look flawless and he needs access to the absolutely most top of the line treatments and practitioners, continually. And as he continues to age, he needs to get more and more aggressive, more and more products, more and more retouching with those age reversal creams and foundations and stabilizers. That adds up, cost-wise, very very fast, especially if you want top of the line EVERYTHING, and Kristoph does indeed. It is very clear that settling for any less would be completely unacceptable to him.

All of this money, it has to come from somewhere. Being a posh defense lawyer will bring in some money, sure, but nothing near what Kristoph is going to need to live his beautiful life. Winning the Gramarye trial would have probably bought him enough prestige, clients and monetary gains to support himself off of law for the rest of his life. It does make a lot of sense that he would be incensed after losing that chance.

There is one more unexplored possibility as to why Kristoph had to be the one to win the Gramarye trial, though, and it ties into the money issue as well. This was supposed to be a fair match, after all, brother to brother. Klavier’s first case, in fact. It was supposed to be Kristoph vs. Klavier, and Kristoph wanted to make sure that he would be the one to win. Only Zak and Phoenix ruined that chance - a once in a lifetime chance, actually, for Kristoph to go up against his brother on Klavier’s very first day.

Klavier was the prosecutor of the Gramarye trial. It was his very first case. What could Kristoph have to gain by being the one to trounce 17-year-old Klavier in court on his first day on the job?

Well, not much, other than it would have been a huge crushing blow to Klavier psychologically.

There’s a comic floating around by someone, I think zarla-s, where Kristoph wins the Gramarye trial and is discussing his win with Klavier afterwards. Kristoph is smug and hopes Klavier will be humbled by his impressive win, but Klavier is unperturbed by his loss, happy for his brother and insists he’ll win next time.

As cute as this is, somehow I don’t think that’s exactly how it would go down.

Klavier has actively shown how nervous / anxious / upset Kristoph’s mere presence makes him in a courtroom setting. Based on this, it’s not unfair to say that losing to Kristoph IN PARTICULAR on Klavier’s very first case would have been a devastating psychological blow that could technically end Klavier’s prosecutor career before it even began. There is a lot on the line with the Gramarye trial, don’t forget the praise and adulation that Klavier gained by winning it. So other than all of the fame, adulation, money and pride Kristoph would have gained by rigging and winning the Gramarye trial, there is another dimension that he was also robbed of - the ability to ruin his brother’s law career. Losing to another attorney like Phoenix or anyone else would not be enough to do the job. It would have to and could only be Kristoph’s doing.

What reason could Kristoph have for wanting Klavier’s law career to come to an end?

Well, Klavier does have another job. As a rock star.

Wildly popular rock stars make a lot of money, many many many times more than even a celebrity defense attorney could dream to make.

The Gavinners had multiple albums go platinum. They sold out shows all over the country, I believe, possibly all over the world. They are a brand. They are profitable. Klavier is profitable.

With how much Kristoph depends on and uses Klavier, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that Kristoph gets to take a big cut of Klavier’s earnings from his music career. For all we know, Kristoph could have been responsible for assembling and filing many of the Gavinners’ early contracts and legal paperwork. The rights to songs, record deals, merchandising - this is a lot of stuff. I’d say it’d be pretty hard to believe that Kristoph did not have his hooks into the Gavinners from day one. If he handled contracts, he could have written in loopholes that would give him a huge cut of any earnings resulting from Klavier’s band, the Gavinners.

Now I know what you’re thinking, Klavier himself is a legal prodigy. He could have easily read through anything Kristoph prepared and refused to sign on the dotted line if he found anything amiss or hidden in the fine print. What if Kristoph’s legal control of Klavier started much earlier than that? Depending on when Klavier started in the entertainment business, which could have been a very early age, Kristoph could have had plenty of time and opportunity to secure access to any of Klavier’s future earnings, especially if their parents were out of the picture.

��If you think Kristoph has nothing to do with the Gavinners, think about it. One of their songs is literally called “Atroquinine, My Love”. They are a brand. They are marketed specifically to teeny boppers. They’re not squeaky clean mainstream pop like the Jonas Brothers or anything, but they are marketable. The advertising, the way they dress, the way Klavier says he’s tired of the youthful angst scene, the fact that Klavier only gives Apollo and Trucy a 20% discount on concert tickets. I’m just saying a lot of it could end up being contrived, perhaps by a certain someone with an ulterior motive. It seems really, really weird and coincidental that the band broke up right after AA4 too. Klavier seems like he’s really dedicated to his art, and to music. This much is clear in the way he reverently talks about Lamiroir, how he teared up at her song, even the Guitars’ Serenade seems like a very different song than what the Gavinners would typically do, and it only debuts after Kristoph is already in jail.

It makes you wonder if there might be a little something more going on here. If Kristoph had it set up to where he could get access to Klavier’s assets, which almost certainly dwarf his own by several times, then he had every reason to want to crush Klavier in court. He had to be the one to face Klavier in the Gramarye trial and win, causing Klavier to end his prosecutor dreams - and do what?

Go back on the road, put everything into his music career and become a workhorse for Kristoph’s ambitions.

Putting Klavier full time on the Gavinners would have solved all of Kristoph’s monetary worries for good. He could skim everything off the top and finally live the beautiful life of his dreams, the life he needed to have and couldn’t do without. Most importantly, he could keep up appearances and always look continually young and attractive.

Until we learn otherwise, I think that that is really all that was behind Kristoph’s black Psychelocks. Just a narcissistic, vain, preening loser masquerading as some mastermind villain when, in the end, that’s not really what he cared about being. He cared about painting his nails in a luxurious mansion surrounded by piles of money in a big Scrooge McDuck money vault, and laughing maniacally at anyone who ever thought that there was anything more to it.

#gavin brothers #kristoph gavin #klavier gavin #ace attorney: apollo justice #black psychelocks #these guys drove me a little crazy #because it took me awhile to figure out what they were all about #and then i was like oh. wow. thats really kind of all there is to it #not that i dont enjoy the au ideas where theres like a deeper reason behind everything #but what material there is of them doesnt give us much of anything to work with #and this is the only theory i can think of that best accounts for everything in the simplest way #man i didnt want to like these fuckers at first but they are gd interesting #it's pretty fun to try to fill in the blanks #and by all means all interpretations are valid im not saying this is the only one

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 5 years ago

Text

the branches and the roots

post-Spirit of Justice. Maya, still in Khura’in, looks in old records hoping to learn a little more about her family.

[on ao3]

----

The heavy wooden door, when it creaks open, dislodges pounds of dust from its frame and its intricately carved face. Maya sneezes into the sleeve of her robe. She lifts her face up out of it, stares into the dark windowless room ahead of her, and sneezes again.

“Just wait a moment, if you think it is dusty now,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi says.

He told her to call him Nahyuta, so there’s a teasing Cuz or Yuty on the tip of her tongue, because family is family however distant, and family she calls things like Sis and Pearly and Nick. But she can’t quite access it. The tip of her tongue hits the back of her teeth and her jaw sticks shut and she’s avoided addressing him as anything. Plus he still calls her Miss Fey so it’s not like he’s figured it out either.

She covers her face with her sleeve. “Okay,” she says. “I’m ready.”

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi arches one perfect eyebrow. He reminds Maya of what all the hanging scrolls of the former Masters depict; the old portraits are consolidated in the manor, a forest of women whose flaws are brushed away as they are enshrined in traditional inked artistry. He, and his mother, unreal, beautiful, the kind of elegance that Maya was told all her life to emulate and never could. The kind of regal grace that Pearly performed as soon as she was able to walk.

(Poor perfect Pearl, such a prodigy, but of the branch family, forever damned to be nothing. Morgan was the only one who acted on making Pearl the Master, but Maya knows with the way other elders of the family looked at her when she started spending longer and longer stints down in the city, months at a time with Nick, that they hoped she’d be just like her mother and never come back. That the city would eat her too.)

They step into the darkness, their only light a flashlight that Maya holds, and a lantern Prosecutor Sahdmadhi brought. “I wonder when it was someone last came down here,” he says. His voice is muffled a little by his scarf pulled over his face to shield him from the initial wave of dust. The orange-ish lantern-light turns his skin and his hair and his clothes gold, all gold, and warm and alive, a reminder that this is not a tomb and they are not buried. “I suppose I can get estimate a range…”

He turns to the shelves on the left, closest to the door, and picks up the first scroll-container there. This dusty room in the basement of the palace - Maya kept calling it the dungeons, and Nahyuta didn’t laugh, and she felt a pang of homesickness for the family that laughs at all her stupid jokes, and then she wondered if there are actual dungeons that Ga’ran and Inga used and that’s why he didn’t laugh, and her homesickness turns to sorrow - is an archive, of a sort, but the only information they are keen on recording in here is geneaology. Carefully preserved scrolls sit stacked on shelves around the room’s walls, a number she can’t estimate because she can’t see them all at once swinging the flashlight all around. A solid-looking wooden table stands in the center of the room. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi sets his lantern down there and spreads out the scroll.

“How did anyone do anything down here before batteries existed?” Maya asks. She shines her flashlight up at the ceiling, almost expecting to find eyes or a face leering down at her, like this is a horror movie and not still part of a very lived-in palace. Much as this room hasn’t been lived-in, or walked in, and certainly not vacuumed or dusted in.

“There are oil lamp holders on the walls,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi answers. “And candles.” He doesn’t quite sound disparaging but he’s pretty close to it.

“And risk setting everything on fire?” Thousands of years of the royal line up in smoke because someone was clumsy. Someone like Maya, who makes movements too quick and too big and takes up space in an unrefined manner.

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi doesn’t answer and moments later he’s murmuring, almost to himself, “So it’s been at least fifteen years since someone cared to come here and update anything,” he says.

“What do you mean?” Maya lowers her flashlight from examining the lamp holders on the walls so she won’t shine it straight in his eyes and approaches the table, to where he is pointing at something. The names are tricky to decipher, even after two years of extremely immersive study of Khura’inese, but one she knows is Ga’ran’s even without the little crown drawn above it, and the other is very, very long, so that must be Inga. A family tree.

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi taps his fingers between the two names, where a line is drawn between them to signify marriage, but no other line extends from that one, no other name beneath theirs. “They never put Rayfa down as their child, or as existing at all. There were rather more pressing matters when kidnapping your sister’s daughter, and forcing your sister to live as a nursemaid and your double, else you’ll kill them both.”

He says it all so dry, deadpan, because he must have gotten used to living with that over his head, become resigned to the reality of that, the way Nick almost laughs when he’s talking about his poker-playing years even if it’s an obviously bitter laugh, and like with Nick, Maya wants to hug him, but she doesn’t think he’d appreciate that. Certainly she would ask first but he’s already saying something else and the time for asking is passed. “This will have to be redone afresh on a new scroll.”

“Why?” Maya asks. “They didn’t write the princess down at all, so you could just add her under—”

Under your parents, but her eyes follow his fingers brushing across the parchment and all the muscles in his hand tighten when he reaches his mother’s name and the blackened, burned holes next to and beneath her name.

“Another reason candles are so practical for this work of genealogy,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi says, and this time he isn’t dry or deadpan. His voice is dripping, anger barely contained, not swallowed and barely held in his mouth to stop him from spitting that fury that’s justified if unbecoming of a monk and prince regent. (Unbecoming of a Master, too. Maya’s spent two years in Khura’in trying to learn to be the Master, and she’s a stronger medium than ever but she still only sometimes knows how she’s supposed to act, how to become the Master and not Maya. Maya has too many feelings, Maya has too much righteous indignation to be as calm as the Master is supposed to be, but Her Benevolence Princess Rayfa is also full of fury and still a beloved princess, so maybe that’s okay. To feel things. To be angry.) “Fire right at hand to burn out the sinful heretics.”

“Cut off the branches,” Maya says. Morgan tried to do that literally, with her last plan, pruning the tree violently, and Ga’ran literally used fire to burn the Sahdmadhis out of the royal family. “You were a baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were as much the queen’s child as you were Dhurke’s.”

“I’m sure there would have been some contention over my expulsion from the family had I been a girl,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi says. “You can’t turn a potential medium loose into rebel hands, after all. But I wasn’t, and so the only blood of mine that mattered was that of my allegedly criminal father.��

“How did you ever become a prosecutor like that?” she asks. She asked to come down here searching for something about their family long ago, wanting to find the place where Khura’in and Kurain broke apart forever, but the affairs of a thousand years ago suddenly pale in importance to what happened a month ago. What happened fifteen years ago, and twenty-three years ago. Living family more important than the dead.

(Especially since she hasn’t ever gotten the chance to speak with Nahyuta one-on-one before. Not even talk with him and Princess Rayfa and Queen Amara together. Prosecutor Prince-Regent Sahdmadhi seems to be everywhere at once, trying to do everything all at once, the way his brother is trying to take up every criminal and civil defense all at once. Maya’s spent more time with Apollo than she expected to, but she’s got more legal experience than Datz and Ahlbi who are also trying to help him run his law office, and they need someone who knows all about it. Putting on the skin of co-counsel and legal assistant is easier than trying to find the skin of Master. And she wants to help her family, and Apollo is family, two different ways. Via Nick, and via her distant Khurainese cousins.)

“When I emerged from the woods claiming to renounce the rebels and wanting to work as a prosecutor to bring an end to them” - Prosecutor Sahdmadhi snorts, his hands curling tight around the edge of the table - “Ga’ran made a great show of being a benevolent queen willing to forgive the child of her sister’s murderer and integrate him into her regime’s legal system. And then she dragged me out of earshot of her guards and snapped a leash around my neck and told me it would be Rayfa’s noose if I ever dared step out of line.”

Maya thinks of Shelley de Killer. A sword hanging overhead to force the desired result. Her mouth is dry. She nods. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi isn’t even looking at her anyway. “Her claims of forgiveness changed the minds of no other prosecutor, and there is a reason I started prosecuting internationally. Not just because there was no fear of facing my father’s friends on the stand and damning them in this farce of justice, but because my colleagues would not be cruel for my name, and because the leash choked me a little less when I did not have Ga’ran’s eyes constantly on me. Do you know, some of the other Khura’inese prosecutors called it favoritism that she had for me. Special treatment, that she often called me to the palace, tasked me with giving the princess a cursory understanding of the legal system or assisting her at crime scenes - it was all a sick game to her. I could spend time with my sister and no one must ever know it. I imagine she enjoyed watching me try to stay detached. Watching me squirm.”

“She’s a monster,” Maya says.

“Unfortunately not.” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi rolls the scroll back up, his fingers tight around it crumpling it, because this sheet is already tainted, already wrong, and it doesn’t matter if he ruins it. “She’s human, just as the rest of us are.” He sets the scroll aside, near his lantern, rather than put it back. There’s no reason to put it back when it needs to be redone. She wonders if he’ll burn Ga’ran and Inga out of the tree in retaliation. Like Pearly splattering gravy on the hanging scroll of her mother - destroy the records of the family that some other family didn’t want around. She doubts it, somehow, that Prosecutor Sahdmadhi would do that.

“Now,” he says, curtly, businesslike, like a prosecutor, “this ancestor of ours who founded your channeling school, how long ago did she live?”

There is not necessarily a guarantee that Ami Fey will appear anywhere in the genealogy of the Khura’inese royals. It may have been her mother or grandmother who left for Japan, and simply Ami who once there decided to turn their spiritual power again into real power, not as a queen but as a Master. A wise woman with the wisdom of the dead in hand. Or Ami Fey may not have been known as Ami in Khura’in; it may have been a name she took upon leaving.

Or she may, as they come to realize, have been a branch burned from the tree for leaving and taking their spiritual secrets with her.

“I suppose this must be her, then,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi says, “as we have been through everything else and…” He gestures at the shelves on either side of them. They have searched the generations that lie around the era that Ami should have lived, finding no trace of her name or a Khura’inese equivalent. What they have found, what Prosecutor Sahdmadhi concludes is the junction where their families broke apart, is another searing burn, blackened edges of a hole through the parchment, the sole person to have been stricken from the family in half a dozen generations on either side. A daughter; in the scorch marks, when they squint, the light right on the page, both of them hunched over it and struggling to keep their long hair out of the way, they can see that this disavowed disgrace was a daughter.

“Her,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi repeats, “or whoever came to bore her, and taught her of the powers of our bloodline. Perhaps she had only some limited knowledge some mothers before her carried out of our homeland, that she came to make her own.”

Our homeland. Does he mean that Khura’in is home to her? It is tradition in the village for the Master to study in Khura’in; did her mother think of it as her homeland? (Did she keep secret her blood’s connection to the royal family? It would have been Amara’s mother on the throne then. How did she rule - did she lay down a hand of fear that would have left Misty cautious to confess her identity, as Maya had been?) What is home - is it Kurain, or Khura’in, or Los Angeles? Is it the village she grew up in, or the city where she found her truest self? She and Apollo share a fond longing for the perks of the city, of one kind of home, and the confusion of not knowing whether to call that place home, or instead consider home the place in the mountains where each of them formed their first memories.

“They disowned her for leaving, then,” Maya says. “They - they do that too, in my village. If you’re gone for twenty years, you’re considered dead and stripped of your rank and titles and - everything.” That’s what they say, anyway. No one has actually fully disappeared like that to test it. Her mother almost had, and then Maya would have found out whether the elders truly meant to erase Misty from the halls of the manor and the scrolls of the Masters, or simply, finally, pass her title along.

“Spirit channeling is a powerful tool, jealously guarded by individuals who want to hoard that power for themselves,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi says. “For there to be some outsider who know the secret undermines its exclusivity and its power. It does not surprise me that the act of leaving would so be considered a betrayal, enough to leave one little more than ashes.” He touches his fingertips to the parchment.

“Or gravy,” Maya says. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi’s eyes dart suspiciously toward her. “Never mind,” she adds hurriedly. “So then, um, we read these right to left, when it comes to ages?”

Prosecutor Sahdmadhi nods. He taps his fingers along all of the other names in a row with the burn mark, the siblings of this persona non grata, and then the row up above, their mother’s siblings. “Yes,” he says. “And our subject here was the youngest daughter of a youngest daughter, and each of them with several sisters. Ami - we will presume, for ease of referring to her, that this was your Ami who has been stricken from the tree - had nothing in her future, no position of prestige or power waiting for her.” He sighs, stepping back, closing his bright eyes and pondering for a moment, as though he may begin a recitation. “Our royal line and our country was founded on a story of two sisters - the elder, a medium so powerful she was revered as a goddess by the people she led, and the younger, who lacked the power to channel spirits but nonetheless stood as the country’s loyal and beloved protector.”

His eyes open. “It should be a position of honor, even to be a younger sister, or even to be one who could not channel. But somewhere that was lost, and being unable to channel or become queen became a source of great shame - as though the only worthy and admirable position there ever is to hold is Queen.” Shaking his head, he continues, “My aunt should have been our people’s great protector, our country’s loyal guardian. Instead she nearly destroyed us, out of jealousy, because our family has come to be such a way that for younger daughters such as Ga’ran and Ami, no future awaits.”

The equating of the two of them - Kurain Village’s revered founder, and the evil queen - makes Maya uncomfortable. Yes, they were both the younger sister, as was Lady Kee’ra, and Lady Kee’ra the younger of two as Ga’ran was, but that is all that Ga’ran shares with either of them. And that is all that Ga’ran shares with—

“I’m the younger daughter,” Maya says. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi looks at her straight on again. Honestly, even Maya has gotten bored sometimes - often - with Kurain Village genealogy and whatever else, even while she’s come to be curious about Khura’in. She wouldn’t blame Prosecutor Sadhmadhi for not wanting to hear it. But he appears genuinely intrigued by what Maya has just said, to be waiting for her to continue telling him about her family tree in Kurain. Something in his eyes urges her to continue, but she can’t get more than one more sentence out through the tightness in her throat. “And so was my mother, the Master of the village before me.”

“What happened?” he asks. She wonders what his guess is. It would be reasonable to assume that they both had older sisters who died - reasonable in any other family, but they are not any other family, the Feys and the royals. If there’s anyone in the world who could make a guess that lands close to the truth of all that Morgan Fey did, it would be Nahyuta. He could know.

And she knows when she tells him, he’ll understand. “Aunt Morgan, my mom’s older sister, wasn’t a very powerful medium. So when the elders convened, they passed her by and gave the title of Master to my mother. And Aunt Morgan had been counting on the power and status that being Master would give, and her husband had too. Her - her first husband.” The implication there tells the rest of that story. It’s exactly what Prosecutor Sahdmadhi can assume it is. “And then my mother was consulted on a murder case, and was disgraced, and she decided that should mean that she should disappear—”

“That was the DL-6 incident of 2001, yes?” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi asks. Maya blinks. “After we witnessed your channeling prowess in your trial, and I returned to Los Angeles, I researched Kurain Village and your family.”

Yes, she was going to tell him about it all - but something about the fact that he already knows it feels like a betrayal of trust. Like she was going to welcome him into her house and then he pushed past her and pulled out a copy of her front door key and used it because he’d stolen it from her a week ago and had a copy made. Except in this analogy her key is a matter of public record. “So you know about all about that ton of murder cases we’ve been caught up in,” she says, and the words still fall out of her mouth bitter.

“Your aunt tried to frame you for murder,” he replies.

“Guess why.” That sounds bitter as well, but she didn’t mean it to. Morgan’s motive wasn’t part of the actual case as was presented in court, as became part of the transcript. But Nahyuta could know.

“I suppose I may reason that she had, at that point a daughter capable of channeling, whose only path to inheriting the title was through you.” He speaks with confidence, but his expression is puzzled. He wouldn’t know why she has suddenly soured on the conversation. She shouldn’t be mad - it saves her at least ten minutes of explanation if he knows DL-6, and then the incident in Kurain Village, beforehand - but that emotion reared its stupid head anyway.

“My cousin Pearly,” Maya says, shaking off her frustration. She can’t stay mad at one of the few people who can truly understand. “She’s about as strong as me and ten years younger. A real prodigy. But she was - we call it the branch family, the ones descended from whichever sisters didn’t become Master. And branch family meant, she’d be nothing. She doesn’t care about the titles, but Aunt Morgan sure did.”

“And your aunt was the older daughter,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi muses. “And passed by despite it. She acted as she did because you were the one to inherit the title - yet you are, as you said, the younger daughter, who should not have had that in her future.” He doesn’t ask a question, but his tone and his eyes make it clear that this is an inquiry.

“You said you researched my family,” Maya says. His family too, at a distance. “If you dredged up every court case with a Fey involved, you know why. You know why this younger daughter gets the title, and it wasn’t anything about who was the stronger medium.”

“I am sure I do,” Prosecutor Sahdmadhi says, “but please, I would like to hear from you - tell me about your sister.”

Maya swallows the lump in her throat and blinks to dispel the burning behind her eyes. “She was amazing,” she says. “She was - she left the village, for me. To try and find our mother, and so she wouldn’t have to compete with me to be Master. So we wouldn’t end up hating each other like our mom and Aunt Morgan did.” Her eyes burn again, after a few seconds’ respite. “I hated her sometimes anyway, for leaving me alone, but that was different than hating her like - like our moms and aunts.”

The plural emerges from her lips without really thinking, but when she does think, she realizes she doesn’t know how her mom felt about Morgan. Did she hate her for all she tried to do? Or did she love her older sister with both pity and anger instead? How did Misty and Morgan feel about each other when they were children? Did Ga’ran love her older sister or spare her only out of the practicality of needing a stand-in to channel spirits?

“She was a defense attorney,” Maya adds, knowing that Prosecutor Sahdmadhi knows it, but now he can hear it from her, like he asked. “She was Nick’s mentor, and she saved him, and she taught him all of his tricks that he used to beat you.” She grins, despite herself. A faint shadow of a smile crosses Nahyuta’s face. He’s glad he lost. She knows that now. “I wish you could’ve met her.”

The smile fades. “Do you?” he asks. “I put you through hell, and that I did it because I thought it the only way to protect my sister is no excuse, one I cannot imagine her tolerating, not when I am sure that she too must so have loved her own sister.”

Maya runs her hand over the beads of her necklace. Mia wore a magatama until the day she died, and every day she returned after; she kept that connection to a home that she abandoned not because she hated the place, but because she loved who remained there. “I’ve been accused of murder a lot,” Maya says. “Like, a lot, you know.” She glances away from him, doesn’t see if he nods. “And you know, some of the prosecutors who did that, tried so hard to get me convicted of murder because they had perfect win records to maintain?” Tried to act as heartless demons like Nahyuta did, because it’s easier that way, easier to turn cold, to never feel. “We became friends. And are, still.” Edgeworth paid for the flight, after all. “I forgave them. I forgive you. I’m sure Sis would too.”

“You think so?” Nahyuta asks. He sounds honestly concerned that a woman who’s been dead for more than a decade wouldn’t like him.

“Yeah,” Maya says. “She - I mean, she had experience with the blackmail thing. She spent years on a case like that. Building a case against the horrible man who leaked the news of our mother’s involvement in DL-6 to the press, building up evidence of all of the people he blackmailed to suicide and ruin. She knows you have to strike at the top. And she’d know that you loved your sister. That - that does mean something.”

They didn’t talk about it, really, but Maya knows that, like she herself did, Mia forgave Godot-Diego for his stupid, prideful plan that ended with him killing their mother. People with good intentions and hurting hearts do ugly, painful things for love. People get trapped and can’t see another way out. She’s forgiven Tahrust Inmee for framing her for murder. People do desperate, mad things for love. Khura’in is a country of mountains and on another mountain on the other side of the sea, years ago, Maya learned a lot that she carries with her.

“Did she ever find your mother?” Nahyuta asks softly. She thinks he must be thinking about his own lost mother who he only just found. She imagines the anguish he felt when she was shot, not knowing if he would ever see her again to catch up on the lost years. She remembers lying on a courthouse couch, her sister with Pearly’s robes smoothing Maya’s hair back from her face and telling her that their mother is dead. Maya remembers not knowing how to mourn a woman she never knew and couldn’t recognize. Nahyuta knew his mother for a time when he was old enough to remember; his situation wasn’t the same, and it didn’t end the same, and Maya is so glad for it.

“No,” Maya says, and Nahyuta’s eyes sadden. “She - she didn’t. Sis thought, I guess, that -

that if she could find out and expose that blackmailer for everything he’d done, then - then our mother would come out of hiding, I guess. Would come home. And instead, that horrible, horrible man murdered my sister, and tried to frame me, and Nick, for it.”

There it is again, the pain behind her eyes of sharp tears gathering. “Nick and I took him down but it was too late for Sis. And she was so - she was so young, I keep thinking now, because I’m - I’m older than she was when she died. Does that make me not the younger sister, anymore? I’m older than my older sister. Am I - what am I, then, by birthright? Of course I’m going to be the Master someday, because I’m - I’m the oldest daughter now, aren’t I? Only because I’m the one that lived.”

Nahyuta doesn’t say anything. What is there to say? More than almost anyone else in the entire world - more than anyone but Queen Amara herself - he understands, has lived such a same awful nightmare, and there’s nothing to say. There’s no consolation.

“Sometimes I think I shouldn’t have kids,” Maya adds. “Most of the time I think it. And if Pearly didn’t either we could just - put an end to this. Is it worth it? For the world to have this - us, to channel the dead, is it worth it if it keeps ruining the living?” How many more neglected sons and dead daughters will their bloodline see? Why are they the sacrifice for this power to continue to exist? Why should the dead be prioritized over the living mediums who call them back?

“Maybe I’ll adopt,” she says. “If I ever want kids. Like - Nick adopting a kid worked out really well for them both. Then I could get to have kids without perpetuating this - this cycle.”

“Our shared blood spilled again and again,” Nahyuta says.

“One of my cousins, who can’t even channel, still became a nun because our family is so fucked up,” Maya says. And that’s a bit of a simplification of Iris’ choice and situation, but it’s also exactly what happened, isn’t it? Shut herself away to atone for the crime of loving her sister and also those other crimes - willing to do whatever it took to protect Maya from Morgan’s plot because she knew no other way to atone for the sins of herself and her sister and mother. “I don’t know. Am I overreacting to say that we need to swear a pact, like you and me and Pearly and Her Benevolence, to not have any biological children so that we can end the bloodline? Like is that - is that blaming the wrong thing? The blood and not—”

Not us?

“Is our family always so damned to turn out this way?” Nahyuta asks, rephrasing her fumbling questions so elegantly. “Do we have a choice in what we become? Or say perhaps we should swear to do better - and perhaps we do, for a generation or two. And then what? The Holy Mother and Lady Kee’ra gave us the best example they could of how to protect Khura’in, how to rule and serve its people while loving each other, and look how that became corrupted. Look how Lady Ami left, and her descendants set out across the sea, and still in your faraway village older and younger sisters go to war with each other.” He gives her a sad smile, his eyes even sadder. “Of course it seems the inevitable fate of our bloodline, given what both your branch and mine have lived through, Cousin.”

“Shit sucks,” Maya says. She needs to ask Datz to teach her some good curses in Khura’inese. All she knows is how to damn people to various hells, and sometimes that just isn’t the vibe she’s going for with her swearing.

Nahyuta laughs softly. “Indeed it does.”

Maya reaches out and pulls the scroll back closer to her. Ami, the daughter who founded her branch of their ancient family, nothing more than a nameless scorch mark. What else should Maya have expected to find? She knows how her family is, home and here. Why not a thousand years ago, the same? She should have expected it, the fire and the pruned branches. Then and now.

“Does that mean you’re on board with the no-kids pact?” She glances back at Nahyuta. “Or do I just like, really not want kids actually and I’m just trying to find justifiable excuses when ‘I don’t want kids’ can be its own excuse?” She’s babbling. The Master is not supposed to babble. “Have you ever thought about if you want—?”

Something dark and sad crosses his face. “I have no idea what I ‘want’,” he says, making a sarcastic quotation mark in the air with one hand, and Maya almost laughs because that’s some of the most informal expressiveness she’s ever seen from him. “Until a very recent time, all I could hope to ‘want’ for the future was that I would die before I was thirty and be freed of this, for no hell in death I’ve ever heard of could be worse than the one I lived.”

Maya regrets asking. “Oh,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“I suppose that is some argument in support of your suggestion,” he continues, like the way Nick talks about being disbarred, where he blithely talks past anyone’s sympathy or acknowledgement of how fucked up it was. “Given that it was a hell my own aunt made for me. Is there anything else you wished to examine down here?”

Nick talks past it because he can’t let himself pause to consider how fucked up it was, because he’s treading water and has to keep moving and if he stops to think he’ll drown. Maya knows this because she’s done the same. She kept a smile on her face and kept moving because she had to keep Pearly’s head above water, again and again. Nick has Trucy. Nahyuta has Rayfa and the entire country of Khura’in. “No,” Maya says, rolling up the ancient scroll to return it to its place. “That’s all I was looking for down here.”

Nahyuta nods. He points her to the spot on the shelves, the carefully ordered archive of their family’s burdensome history, the spot where Ami was excised from. They stand there, after, silently, eyeing the shelves in the gloom, as though both reluctant to leave it. “I suppose,” Nahyuta says softly, barely more than a breath, “that it is not quite true to say that I have never given thought to the matter of children. What I want, I do not know. But that I am regent now, I have wondered too, as we said before, what will be next? Holy Mother forbid my sister ever become a tyrant, but what of her potential future daughters? What of - what, perhaps, of mine? How shall we safeguard our country from our own descendants?”

“I hear democracies work okay sometimes,” Maya says. And sometimes there are the Paul Atishons of the world who commit murder in the course of running for a village council position. Sometimes, there are people - greedy, selfish, ambitious people - and everything goes wrong.

Nahyuta’s mouth twists in a small smirk. She’s certainly hedging her bets with her phrasing, she knows.

“I guess even if you decided to not have kids so they or your grandkids or great-grandkids can’t ruin everything for everyone again,” Maya says, “you and Her Benevolence would still have to restructure the entire government because—”

“Because our entire line of succession is based on spirit channeling, yes,” Nahyuta says. “Thousands of years of tradition and direct descent, and we stand poised to overturn it all.” He shakes his head. “My most immediate concern has been piecing our legal system back together and undoing all the false verdicts that Ga’ran’s rule has wrought, as you and my brother are well aware, but I have had some discussion with my mother and sister about introducing a parliamentary system.” He folds his arms behind his back, shifting his wait like he is about to start moving, and then he doesn’t, and they remain there in the dark. “Even if our family should play out its bloody feuds again, we may at least limit the casualties. Our people should not suffer from a despot’s unilateral decrees just because one sister so envies the other.”

Envy, yes - it was jealousy, and ambition, and selfishness, and people died. It was Morgan expecting that she was owed her birthright and unable to cope when her more talented younger sister overtook her as Master. It was Ga’ran expecting nothing and wanting it all the same, desiring for herself the admiration that Khura’in’s people had for her older sister, the beloved queen, but only able to make herself feared, not loved. People are dead because one sister got what the other wanted.

Kurain Village teaches that channeling is a gift from the gods, but a gift shouldn’t come with a price to pay.

“What does Her Benevolence think of that?” Maya asks. She respects Rayfa, the princess wo held too much responsibility at such a young age and now has had her world shattered several times over and stepped up from it stronger, and she never should have had to live any of this. She should not have had to learn that her mother was not her mother and was a monster, and her father who was not her father by blood was a monster, and the other father she could have had was already dead. Like Pearly, if such a tragedy ever had to befall her, why did it have to be when she was so young? Everything Princess Rayfa went through, Maya thinks, might make her understand the same facts that Maya and Nahyuta understand.

“She agrees,” Nahyuta says, as Maya thought she would. “Lady Kee’ra and the Holy Mother were Khura’in’s great protectors. Perhaps this is what protecting our country means now - protecting it too from the worst of ourselves.” He sweeps a strand of hair back behind his ear and the shiny gold earrings there. “And I owe a great many thanks to Phoenix Wright, and you, for first helping Rayfa on the path to understanding these such matters. For teaching her what I could not.”

“I’m glad we could,” Maya says. “I really am glad. I think Khura’in is lucky to have you both now.”

Nahyuta glances away, like he doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to respond to genuine concern and compliment. How long was he under Ga’ran’s thumb? How many years of being unable to have a heart, because it was his heart that Ga’ran used against him - how many years was he in a pit of vipers with no one who was allowed to care about him? If Maya knew she doesn’t quite remember.

“I will do whatever I can to support Her Benevolence, and to repair all the wrongs that have been done to our country,” Nahyuta says stiffly, forcing the words out. “I owe - for all I stood complicit in, I—” He is still staring at the far wall, and he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a moment to compose himself. “I owe my father so much more, but this much I am able to do. This I may change.” He blinks his eyes shut again and twists his beaded prayer necklace around his fingers. “I cannot make it up to him, but I will try.”

Maya’s stomach sinks.

Only once has Apollo ever broached the topic of the three days she spent channeling his father, and that was just to know if she had any awareness of what was going on while she was channeling. The answer is no and a noncommittal vague shrug, because her soul vacates her body but spirits leave behind traces of feelings on their departure. When Tahrust left her she felt at peace, a sense of justice imparted and no regret remaining, for about three seconds until she remembered where she was and that she and Nick might be executed depending on what the high priest did or didn’t say.

After Dhurke left, she was exhausted, mostly, and a bit confused why he was already gone because she didn’t think he had yet accomplished all he meant to - but more than that sense of unfinished business, there was love. Love for all three of his children, love for his wife, love for his rebels and his country. Everything he did was for love, and for once, the choices made for love weren’t stupid and messy. And still they ended with such pain.

Talking to Apollo then, she remembered how much Dhurke loved his son, enough that for a moment she couldn’t breathe with it. (She wondered if this was how much her mother loved her.) And talking to Nahyuta now—

“You don’t need to make anything up to him,” Maya says. Nahyuta turns his head so that she can’t even see the pained expression on his face, but she can see his hands curled up to his chest, clutching the dragon tattooed on his palm close to his heart. “He loved you. He forgave you from the start. He understood why, and he loved you.”

“Don’t,” Nahyuta whispers. “You can’t say that—”

“I know he - hey!”

Nahyuta spins on his heel, heading for the door. Maya runs after him, grabbing onto his arm and hanging firm even as he twists in her grasp and slams the heavy doors behind them with a thunderous thud that makes the floor beneath their feet shudder. Nahyuta scowls at her; Maya scowls back, and when he breaks eye contact first, his shoulders slumping a little, Maya risks releasing her cousin’s arm. He studies his boots instead of leaving.

“I’d channel him so he could tell you himself,” Maya says, “but for one thing, I don’t know if that actually - helps. With getting closure.” Nahyuta looks at her from the corner of his eyes. A question. She goes on, her eyes stinging as she does. “Me and Nick with my sister, that whenever I’d channel her, or Pearly would, I wondered like maybe we were just picking at a scab and it’d never heal because she was here again, but she wasn’t here, not enough. She was always just out of reach, even when I got to hug her and tell her I loved her, I - I don’t know.”

She never considered asking Pearl to channel Misty so that Maya could talk to her mother for the only time ever in her life. Both because she thought that Pearly would find the guilt unbearable, and Pearly feeling in any way responsible for what happened on that mountain is the last thing Maya has ever wanted, and because she doesn’t know what to say or how to get closure with a woman she never really knew. She had never come to terms with her mother’s disappearance, really, but then just the knowing - knowing that she was dead and no longer somewhere just at the tips of Maya’s fingertips if she reached far enough and looked hard enough - was the closure. Not closure enough, never enough, but the best Maya figures she could ever get in that situation.

“Ask Lady Inmee if she felt the chance to say a final goodbye to her husband made the loss any less painful,” Nahyuta says. “To hear from him one last time that she loved him, when she knew that, and to tell him one last time that she loved him when he knew such.”

“Yeah,” Maya says softly. When Nahyuta resumes walking, it is to set a pace that she can easily keep beside him as he leads her through the maze of halls. She swallows her nerves, shoves aside the little bit of her mind that is convinced she is overstepping bounds, because when has she ever cared about that, and she already did once this conversation so why not finish it off?

“And for the other thing,” she says, and Nahyuta turns his head sharply, his hair swinging, to look at her, like he’d forgotten that she started talking in a way that signaled that she had more than one point about channelings and closure, “I don’t think it would really change that much about how you feel, for you to hear your father say he’s forgiven you.”

Nahyuta stops, but doesn’t make to flee. He just stops, waiting for her to finish before they ascend to the ground floor of the palace, out of the records of the dead and back to their living family who still need their help. “I think you need to forgive you,” Maya says.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything as they stride through the palace, passing guards in the lived-in halls, and she expects when they reach the front gates that he will throw her unceremoniously out. But he instead steps with her into the sun, out into the colorful, bustling streets of the capital, where here in the land of the living the people they pass have nods and bows of acknowledgement - for Nahyuta, mostly, of course but Maya too, and it never fails to amaze her. She spent two years here coming to know the people while hiding a part of herself, and now they know, and that and so much more has changed.

Nahyuta stops to chat with a sweet bun vendor, and through the quick conversation Maya gathers that the woman was one of the Dragons. They come away with a pastry for each of them, and it seems like Nahyuta has waited for her to take a bite and be unable to speak for him to finally say, “You make it sound so simple. As though it is easy to - how? How am I to...?”

Joke’s on him; Maya can easily talk through a mouthful of bun, even if it’s not helpful. “Wish I knew.”

Rather than stuff it in his face, Nahyuta breaks off a small piece of the bun and pops it into his mouth. The delicate, refined mannerisms he sometimes shows almost make Maya snort when she thinks about him learning manners while living in a shack in the mountains, that chaotic, feral childhood that Apollo has described a few times. Instead of laughing, she swallows her mouthful and says, “No, really, trust me, I do wish I knew.” How to forgive oneself a guilt of the kind so deep and painful it could drive a person to consider choosing death instead - that would be a power far greater than channeling spirits. Maybe that would be a gift that didn’t come intertwined with pain, but it isn’t the one Maya has. “I wish I was any help at all.”

She waits a moment to see if Nahyuta will reply right away, and when he doesn’t, she takes a large bite of her sweet bun again and raises her eyebrows in the best disdainful look she can muster, in response to Nahyuta watching her shove pastry down her face in the most undignified of ways. He rolls his eyes. She is still chewing when he says, “You were. Thank you, Maya.”

This deserves more dignity than talking with her mouth full can merit. The delay is at least two seconds until she can say, “Oh,” a reply that still surely lacks dignity. “You’re - you’re welcome.”

A warbaa’d roars and they both jump. A dog barks, and then another, another layer of noise over the loud bazaar. Maya closes her eyes to take in the ambience, all the voices chattering, catching up with neighbors and bartering for their groceries. “It feels different here now,” Maya says.

“What do you mean?” Nahyuta asks.

“I didn’t notice until it wasn’t, but there was always - this kind of tension, in the air, here. Even when everyone was trying to act normal, we were all - not. We were scared and - and hiding things.” Rebels, rebel-sympathizers, secret police, and Maya the spirit medium from abroad. “It feels like I can breathe now. It feels like - well, it doesn’t feel like home. My village is so damn quiet. Not like—” She waves a hand at all the bustle around them, looking over the shop storefronts, and then she is hastily halted when Nahyuta throws an arm out to stop her from walking into the path of a yak. “But it feels like it could be a home, more than it ever did before.” Even when before had the Inmees’ lovely hospitality. How hard as that is to look back on now, with all that happened since. “The thing I miss most though, besides Pearly and Nick and everyone - I wish I could get a burger. And ramen, but mostly a good burger.”

She watches the yak trundle of sight. Nahyuta looks briefly offended on its behalf until he asks, “Have you ever been to Burger Barn?”

“I can’t,” Maya whines. “The lines. I go in and I’m hungry and I smell everything and I’m so much hungrier but then I have to wait so long, and by the time I’d get to order I’d probably have eaten my own sandals, so no, I’ve never actually had one of their burgers.”

The law office comes into sight down the street; Maya has had trouble remembering where it is, and then Datz redid the outer walls yesterday and she barely recognizes it, but she can find her way now by the dragon he painted on the wall, to go with the office sign. Nahyuta’s eyes widen and he comes to a halt, and Maya realizes that he must not have been down here yet. She gives him a moment to take it in; she’s not going to try to get used to this visage yet, not when Datz is talking about redoing the roof too. “So,” she prompts when Nahyuta tears his eyes away and they resume walking, “you’ve been to Burger Barn?”

“I recommend going before you are hungry,” he says. “Then by the time the wait is over you are not positively famished. But I find it surprising that the wait would prove to you a challenge - it should pale in comparison to activities such as meditation beneath a freezing waterfall. The Burger Barn is only slightly cold from too much air conditioning.”

“I cannot believe you went to Burger Barn before me,” Maya says. “I can’t believe this! Was it as good as they say or is it overrated? I guess you probably haven’t had enough burgers to know—”

“I made it a point to visit several other burger joints in the time while I was in America, intending to make such a comparison,” Nahyuta interrupts, and Maya cackles at the thought, remembering Apollo lamenting his brother’s habit of obsessively over-researching anything that may tangentially cross his path. Like all the trials Maya has been involved in. Like burgers. Nahyuta raises his eyebrows at her outburst but continues, “From the samples that I have experienced” - experience a burger, that would be a great restaurant tagline, and Maya nearly laughs again - “I would rate it as the best.”

“Huh,” Maya says. She’s spent years convincing herself that they have to be overrated. “I guess we’ll have to go. And with Pearly too, it can be like another dimension of our training. I can’t believe I never thought of that trick before! Just treat it like training. I’ve been locked in cold mountain caves before, like oh no, the burger line is difficult somehow.”

“Oh Mystic Master of Kurain, cousin of mine, all your wisdom yet you missed this simple fact.” He says it so deadpan, only the corners of his eyes turning up with amusement.

Maya sticks her tongue out at him. “Nick’s got a challenger - that is the most sarcastic way of calling me wise that I’ve ever heard. But I’ll—” She stops as something occurs to her. “You - you will come back to LA someday, right?” He isn’t running from an evil queen any longer. He has a home to stay in.

“Of course,” he says. “I have people there I must ask forgiveness of, and I should like to visit your village someday, as well, to meet our cousin Pearly.”

She’s called her that so much that Nahyuta not knowing her doesn’t know that isn’t quite her name. She smiles. Maybe once she goes back to the village, she can convince Pearl that his name is Yuty and watch what happens when they meet. That would be funny. “And I would like Rayfa to be able to meet her, as well,” Nahyuta continues. “And for her to see more of the world beyond Khura’in.”

Pearl is only four years older than the princess, has had her world upended in much the same way to learn that her mother was not what she seemed, and by following her instructions Pearl was not doing right by the people she cared about. “That’d be good,” Maya says. They stand on the doorstep of the office, stare together up at the hand painted sign above the door. “I bet Pearly would love to meet you and show you around. Go to Burger Barn. Have a fun cousins hang-out. Get to know each other a little better.”

See if together they can find a way to do better than their mothers and aunts. Change the fate of their family.

Nahyuta smiles. “I would like that.”

#roddy fanfics #ace attorney #maya fey #nahyuta sahdmadhi #the fey family and the khura'inese royals pass down 1. the ability to channel spirits and 2. trauma #and sometimes their descendants don't even get the ability to channel spirits #i've been poking at this on and off since september but wrote the back half in the past two days. the working title was 'younger daughters'

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crackmadhi · 6 years ago

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The Cat is a Troll

Thursday, 16 September 2032

It was already evening, and I was still stuck in the traffic, as Apollo called me and asked if I was on my way home. He wanted to know, if he should warm up our food already or if he should wait some more.

I told him that he could start, since I was almost at my turn and even though traffic was bad, I would soon be home. Then we hung up and I started humming a melody.

This day had been fucking stressful up until now. I had to present two cases in court and the latter one was absolutely nerve-wrecking. Not because it was a hard case, no. The main witness just could not shut up and it was almost impossible to get them to stop talking again. Even the judge was getting annoyed by it and had to ask for their removal.

But now the night was finally dawning, and I got to see my sun again. My sun, who just called me to ask if he should make me dinner. I felt a smile forming on my lips and quickly glanced at the silver ring on my left ring finger. It was still new and shiny. And I still felt the sweet contentment rushing through my veins when I looked at it.

I really longed to see my husband again and apparently for once life time was kind to me as it flew by and I reached my destination a bit earlier than expected. Quickly I went inside and straight into the kitchen, where I was hit with quite the sight.

Apollo Justice, the owner of the small law firm Justice & Co. and former official legal council for the reconstruction of the khura’inese legal system, was standing on a kitchen counter, while our lovely cat Mikeko sat on a cupboard and unimpressed stared down at him. He meowed at him and Apollo mumbled something angrily in khura’inese. Cautiously he stretched and tried to reach the fluffy animal but exactly as he had almost got hold of him, Mikeko simply took a step back and started peacefully licking his pawn as if he was mocking him.

I had to bite my lip in order to keep myself from laughing. This was absolutely hilarious. It got even better as I realized that Vongole was also in the kitchen and stood behind Apollo down on the floor watching him closely like I did.

He let out a little bark and immediately my red lawyer growled frustratedly: “Oh can you do it better, Clams? Can you? Then please, do it yourself! Go on! Get this stubborn creature down here!”

And at that I could no longer contain myself and started laughing. That caused Apollo to stumble and he almost lost balance. Immediately I run over to him and supported him by holding his legs still, so he would not fall down.

As soon as he was no longer in danger of falling down, he turned around and told me loudly with a beet red face: “Fuck you? What the hell is your business with sneaking up on me and then giving me a heart attack? I almost died!”

Before I could say anything, Mikeko jumped down from the cupboard on the counter, quickly slid around Apollo’s legs, and finally jumped down on the floor ignoring my existence while gracefully exiting the room.

Both of us looked after the cat in bewilderment. This animal had the same vibe as the “Then perish” meme. He was godlike.

Anyway, I took a step back and as Apollo very carefully sat down, I told him: “Well, to my defence I was quite overwhelmed with the scene, which was unfolding in front of me. It was kinda bizarre and your backside is also very much distracting.”

I winked at him and he puffed his adorably pink cheeks. But suddenly he cracked a smile and shook his head. He took my hands and drew circles with his thumb on their back.

I had the urge to lean on him and lay my head on his shoulders. At first, I tried to resist, but as Apollo drew me closer and grabbed me around shoulders, I gave in and buried my head in his shoulders. It was nice being in a lower position than Apollo for once. Leaning on my sweet small partner was really comforting.

And then an alarm clock went off and the little man slid down from the counter in order to get our lasagne out of the oven. I let out a tired huff and set up the table. Apollo followed soon with the lasagne and a bottle of red wine together with two glasses.

“Oh wow”, I said in as I stemmed my hands in my hips. “What’s there to celebrate? Have I forgotten something? Or am I in trouble or both?”

He only shot me a slightly offended look and answered while filling my glass: “Can’t I just drink some wine with my husband? And also, you look like you had a shitty day, so I wanted to make this evening a bit nicer for you.”

“Can you call me husband again? It sounds like music in my tender ears”, I pledged and stepped close to him.

A sneaky smile appeared on his lips and softly touched his shoulders and let my hands wander down to his chest. His face came closer to me and he whispered smoothly: “My husband. I’m going to drink some wine with my handsome husband, Klavier Gavin. Did that make you happy?”

“Very much so”, I replied and pressed a small kiss on his lips.

We parted again, toasted on us, drank our wine and started eating our lasagne. He asked me about my day and I could get some steam off. Then he told me about how his new intern Tam had managed to get into a heated discussion about musicals with an over fifty years old man. Said man had come into their office for a defence request for his son who had been accused of identity theft and had been in a horrible mood before the kid had started talking with him.

Apollo himself had been out, when the guy had first entered the office, because of he had been called to a crime scene for another case and only met the man as he came back, while his lovely intern was cheerfully describing the hidden meaning of ‘Wicked’ to the eagerly listening man in his early fifties.

Apollo had only ever praise for the young woman. With her fiercely gentle nature she was quite a strange character, who was absolutely intriguing. And so, they had won a new client in no time even though Apollo had not been there to meet him first.

“Frau Abelen truly is a treasure, isn’t she?”, I said to Apollo after he had ended his story.

“She sure is. And she’s also really talented at defending to be honest. I have taken her to court with me several times and she’s a complete natural. Sharp mind and an insightful point of view. One day she’ll make a great lawyer”, he told me as excitement glimmered in his eyes.

Quickly he had stood up and put the lasagne bowl on the counter. I took our used plates and wandered over to him, carefully putting the plates next to the bowl and then hugged my man from behind.

“Of course, she’ll be great! She will have learnt form the greatest lawyer after all”, I whispered in his ears and got a slightly embarrassed laugh in return.

He wiggled himself out of my hug and turned around, so he could see me. Nonchalantly he laid his arms around my neck, tilted his head to the side and smiled at me.

“What is it with you today? You’re always rather smooth but this is fucking brilliant. Do you want something from me? Something involving our bed room? Hm? You little horny rock star?”

Well, now, that was simply unfair. He had no idea how attractive he was when he started talking like this with that sort of smirk and that voice. And complimenting me at the same time. Dear god, this man was the end of me.

I leaned in for a kiss, closed my eyes and felt how Apollo’s lips came closer and –

“Meow”

Confused we turned our faces towards the counter and discovered a very judging cat starring at us from inside the lasagne bowl. I felt my jaw drop, while Apollo simply raised his eyebrows, as we watched how Mikeko came out of the bowl, stretched and then jumped down from the counter and yet again left the room as gracefully as an Olympia ice skater.

“This cat is the ultimate troll”, I huffed under my breath as I made a step towards the kitchen in order to get some towels for the tomato stains the horrible cat just had left.

Yet I did not get further than that because Apollo broke down laughing in tears, what I observed in cluelessness. As the laughing continued, I got worried and asked a bit lost: “What exactly is so funny about this?”

I saw how Apollo attempted reply, but it took him quite some time before he was able to calm down enough to answer me.

“Ah, sorry, but – I – well there was just an image popping up in my mind of a fantasy troll Mikeko with the quest of cock-blocking us and it seemed so fucking ridiculous to me at the moment.”

I blinked several times before I actually registered what the man just had told me and needed several more seconds before I understood what he had said. And then I started laughing violently myself, what led to Apollo starting to laugh again. What made me laugh even harder and made it way more difficult to stop laughing again.

I did not even know why I laughed in the first place. The image was not really that funny, but somehow it was the most hilarious thing when I had heard Apollo say it. And it still was hilarious when we stopped laughing and started to clean up the mess Mikeko had caused. Vongole even helped us as he liked up some of the tomato trail the naughty cat had left behind.

When we were finally finished, I let myself drop on the sofa in the living room and stared at the pictures on the coffee table. It was one of Apollo and me on our first date, several with Simon, Nahyuta, Apollo and me in it, some of Trucy, Thalassa, Athena and Herr Wright and also one of Rayfa. I leaned forward and took the one up where Simon sat on said coffee table, made peace sign and I was sitting in front of him on the floor, smiling brightly.

I decided we needed more pictures. There were too little of Kay, Sebastian and Frau Skye. I wanted to see more of them. They belonged into this household.

A black-white ball of fluffy hair appeared in front of me. I smiled and fondled the spaniel half-breed behind his ears. Ultimately, he laid down on my feet and I got the chance to lay back again.

Peacefully I sat there, humming a melody for a new song in my head. Life was good. Even kind right now. I appreciated that.

I heard Apollo come closer, a purring mass in his arms. I opened my eyes and saw how he sat down next to me with the cat on his lap. Mikeko slept peacefully just as Vongole did and I gave Apollo an amused look.

Then I reached over to the cat, petted him and told Apollo: “Both of them might be trolls from time to time. But I would not want to live without them anymore.”

“Neither would I”, Apollo agreed and kissed my cheek. “They are just as much part of this family as you and I are.”

Link

#ace attorney #ferienreblog #klapollo

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rdmfavcpls · 8 years ago

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Laws of Love Chapter 2

Laws of Love

Chapter 2 - Unbelieveable

Note: This story was requested by a-lover-of-jugo and I just fell in love with the idea. This is a reverse AU story where Athena is the older one and Simon is still a greenhorn prosecutor.

Summary: In an AU world, Athena is the one of the well-known defense lawyer followed after her mentor, her boss, and one of her friends, Phoenix Wright. She had to go to Europe and during that month of her being gone, Simon Blackquill makes a name for himself in the courtroom. When Athena returns, let’s just say things start to get heated.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Phoenix Wright Characters or the franchise.

~~Story Begins~~ “You made the biggest mistake of your life. A family will be destroyed due to your mistake.” ~~At Tres Cafe~~ “Junie! Ahhh I’m so excited!” Athena yelled speaking to a girl who had tree bark brown hair tied into pigtails with green ribbons. Her brown eyes closed as she chuckled at Athena’s reaction. She was wearing a green dress with a blue poncho over her shoulders. “Thena, we came here to ask you a question,” Junie spoke. “Give her time, I think she is still excited for us telling her that we are going to be parents,” her husband spoke patting his wife’s hand. He had black shaggy hair, round frameless glasses highlighted his blue eyes, he was wearing a regular blue shirt with black pants. “I can’t believe that my best friend is pregnant,” Athena said smiling. However, her two companions could see the sadness within that smile. “So what did you want to ask me?”

“We was wondering if you would like to be the godmother of our child? On my side, of course,” Juniper asked. “I would be excited and honored to have this pleasure,” Athena spoke, “Athena, have they found anything or any leads?” the man asked. Athena shook her head, “No, I’m guessing it’s on the back burner now. I think it’s because I called them so many times.”

“That is-”

“Hugh!” Juniper said.

“Unacceptable. He’s one of their own,” Hugh continued. “The two of your, Apollo, Phoenix, Aura, and mom are the only six about the last message he sent me. I have been telling everyone else that we broke up,” Athena said. “The police just think I’m a crazy ex-girlfriend. I-I just hate the fact that our last conversation was an argument over the last case we met in the courtroom.” Juniper grabbed Athena’s hand, “Thena, it will be okay. I’m sure he still loves you and forgave you for the argument.” “Thank you Junie,” Athena spoke gently. They parted ways and Athena started to make her way back to the office when she received a phone call. “Hello, Hugh? Did you forget something?” “Juniper’s been arrested. She’s being accused with murder of Professor Courte,” Hugh said. “No, she would never harm a fly!” Athenna said. “They won’t let me be her lawyer because I’m her husband, can you represent her? Please?” Hugh pleaded. “Don’t you worry!” Athena spoke proudly. “I will set Junie free so you can all be a loving family.” “Thank you, the crime happened on Themis Legal Academy,” Hugh mentioned. “Themis Legal Academy? Apollo and Phoenix are there right now. I’ll see if they can investigate for me.” Athena mentioned. “I’ll call them and ask them if they know anything.”

The phone call ended and Athena dialed Apollo’s number, “Hey, Athena,” “Apollo, did anything happen at Themis?” “Yeah, a body was found. Phoenix and I already investigated it on the off-chance that one of us will be defend the accused but since it was Junie, we will give the evidence to Hugh.” “No,” Athena spoke. “I’m defending her. They won’t let Hugh defend her.” “I want to help you then,” Apollo said. “I’m already following a lead because something in the opening speech before the mock trial didn’t seem right.”

“Thank you, I’ll be waiting at the office for you. I need to go see Junie.” ~~At the detention center~~ “Athena,” Hugh said with a sigh. “They aren’t letting anymore see her. She’s still in questioning. The prosecutor wants no one to interfere, not even her lawyer, but she’s staying quiet.” “That’s good. Who is the prosecutor?” Athena asked.

“Prosecutor Blackquill,” Hugh mentioned. “I haven’t faced him in court yet but it is rumored that you defeated him in court.” “I have, I have Widget to help out this time and I’m in the loop. I won’t say this will be easy,” Athena spoke. “I know Thena won’t talk. Her husband is a defense lawyer and she’s a judge. She knows her rights.” Hugh smiled and chuckled, “Yes, you’re right. I don’t think Blackquill knows that about our client. I let Robin know as well, pretty much sure she’s going to give Blackquill a piece of her mind.” “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind now. Excuse me,” Athena spoke. “Excuse me, miss. You cannot go past this point.” one of the guards said. “Actually, I can, since my client is beyond these doors,” Athena spoke walking past the guard. “I will not let the prosecutor badger my client.” “Ma’am, we are under strict orders to,” “Don’t care what your orders are,” Athena replied. “I have rights to see my client after they have been undergoing questioning for an hour and it’s been over two hours.” She then smiled at the guard, “I know because I walked from Tres Cafe to here and it takes two hours and fifteen minutes.” “But ma’am-” Athena opened the door to the questioning room and saw Junie sitting there staring at Simon who had slammed his hands on the table and yelled, “I’m going to take your silence as a guilty confession.” “Do that and I will have zero qualms about getting Mr. Edgeworth on the phone and explaining what you have done,” Athena interrupted causing the young prosecutor to turn his head towards her and Junie eyes lit up. “He’s on speed dial by the way.” “You are not allowed to be here, now leave.” Simon growled. “Nope, I have the right to see my client,” Athena said. “You have had over two hours to question her without her lawyer and the law states you are allowed one hour.” Simon’s eyes narrowed at her, “Someone who is younger then me, thinks they can overrule me? Don’t make me laugh.” Athena pulled his jacket so he was closer to her eye level, “Listen here, Blackquill, I have friends in high places, like Ms. von Karma and Mr. Edgeworth. I will not hesitate in letting of them know you need to be trained more within the field of court and law. You will regret treating my client like this tomorrow in court when you go against me.” She let go of his jacket and walked around him going directly to Juniper’s side. “Thena! You’re my lawyer?” Juniper asked hugging her friend. “They won’t let your husband be your lawyer,” Athena spoke gently soothing her friend. She looked at Simon, “Now, since you have done over enough of the time allowed, my client will be leaving.” “I think not,” Simon said blocking the path. Athena crossed her arms, “Look at you! Acting all tough and scary,” she teased him. “Why if I wasn’t so angry at you right now, I would start filling your chest up, I am curious if you have a six-pack underneath there. Oh, better idea, I would be clinging onto your arms to see if you can lift me up.”

Simon smirked at her he bent down to her level, “You are trying to get me flustered like you did last time we met. It won’t happen again.” Athena started pinching his cheeks, “Aww, look at you being so cute and adorable. You are just too precious for this world.” “Would you stop that?” Simon said pulling his face away and looked around noticing that Juniper was out of the room and Athena was on her way to the door. “I’ll see you in court, hopefully I won’t be too tough on you,” she winked at him and left the room. “How in the world does she do that?” Simon asked out loud glaring at where Athena stood. ~~Next Day at Court~~

“Thank you for taking my case,” Juniper said hugging her friend as she held onto Hugh’s hand. “You have an alibi and a total of six witnesses,” Athena spoke. “I’m sorry for the lose. Why didn’t you tell me, that your grandma died yesterday?” “You are still going through the hard loss,” Juniper spoke. “I didn’t want you to always hear bad news. I mean, your boyfriend first, then what happened at your father’s wedding.” “Aw, you worry so much about me. Please don’t worry,” Athena spoke. “Yes, we will make sure the true culpit is put behind bars,” Apollo said. “Ouch,” Athena mumbled. “Hmm? What’s wrong?” Hugh asked. “I got Widget back, put they didn’t treat it with care so it sometimes shocks my neck,” Athena spoke rubbing her neck. “Court is about to begin,” the bailiff said. Athena and Apollo walked into the courtroom, Simon was standing on the other side with a brown and white hawk wearing a black bandana around his neck sitting on Simon’s shoulder. The judge walked into the courtroom and took his seat, “So today’s trial is Mrs. C’Connor vs. the State over the murder of Constance Courte.” “The defense is ready, Your Honor,” Athena spoke. “The prosecution is ready,” Simon spoke with a quick tilt of his head. “So, how about your opening statement, Your Honor?” “Ah, yes. Two days ago, Mrs. O’Connor was visiting Professor Constance Courte - her former teacher - to ask her a question with her husband at Themis Legal Academy. According to Professor Aristotle Means, Mrs. O’Connor was the last one alone with Professor Courte yesterday. How did I do, Prosecutor Blackquill?” “Very good, you are getting better every single time,” Blackquill responded with a smirk. “I’ve been practicing in front of the mirror,” the judge said. “It’s paying off,” Simon said. “Anyway, I would like to explain the crime scene and the body so I would like to have my own inspector give his testimony first.” A man around late twenties appeared on the witness stand, he had shiny blonde hair, brown eyes appeared hidden on his yellow tinted aviator glasses, he was wearing a white jacket with gold buttons, with a red shirt underneath the jacket and a blue tie. There was a backpack on his back, the brown straps resting over his shoulders. “It-it can’t be,” Athena whispered. “But how,” Apollo whispered back, “You never received a notification that he was found.” Athena shook her head as the man spoke, “I’m Inspector Bobby Fulbright, in justice we trust!” “....well this is awkward,” the judge said.

“Athena,” Apollo whispered as his companion clenched her fists. “Inspector Fulbright, before you give us your testimony, may I ask you one question?” Athena asked. “No need to be so formal, we are all allies in the search of justice,” Fulbright spoke with a laugh. “What is my last name?” Athena asked. “What a stupid question!” Simon laughed slapping his hand on the desk. “Hardly anyone knows your last name. So why ask him that?” “Athena-” Apollo said. “As Prosecutor Blackquill mentioned, hardly anyone knows you’re last name,” Fulbright spoke crossing his arms. “I see, thank you,” Athena spoke. “What was that for?” Apollo whispered. “Think about it, I dated the real Bobby Fulbright, he met my mom who is known in her two fields,” Athena spoke. “The real Fulbright would know my last name.” “So you’re saying -”Apollo spoke. Athena nodded, “The reason as to why I haven’t been notified, is because this isn’t the real Fulbright, he has no memory of us dating.” “Amnesia?” Apollo asked. “Well, the defense quit talking!” Simon hollered. The judge shook his head, “Let them talk, Mr. Blackquill.” “No, it’s okay.” Athena said shaking her head. “We wasn’t expecting for Blackquill to have a detective so soon. He’s growing up so fast!”

“Just start giving your description,” Simon said glaring. “Fool Bright!” “Well, Constance Courte body was found on the outside stage, Prosecutor Gavin was going to perform on the stage with one of the students. That was cancelled as one of the statues broke causing the ruckus where the body of Constance Courte was found. She was stabbed in the heart but we have been unable to find the murder weapon.” ~~Autopsy Report added to Court Record~~ ~~Court Record~~ Attorney Badge Juniper’s Medical Restrictions Doctor’s Affidavit Nurse’s Affidavit Robin’s Affidavit Broken Statue Pieces Bloodied Cloth Mock Trial Video Autopsy Report ~~Court Record~~ “It will be hard without a weapon murder,” Judge said, “but it has happened before. Your testimony please, Detective Fulbright.” ~~Bobby Fulbright’s Testimony~~

~~Murder Scene~~

“The body was found at the outside stage underneath a bloodied cloth. She was apparently wrapped up in it like a burrito.” “She was leaned against a stature causing it to break. That was why the body was recovered.”

“There is a stab wound right at her heart From the size of the stab wound it seems to come from a spike and the amount of force was very strong.” “She doesn’t look like it, but Mrs. O’Connor can easily lift fifty-pounds.” ~~End of Testimony~~

“Just an added note, the only blood was found on the cloth,” Simon said. ~~Court Record~~ ~Updated Bloodied Cloth~~ “Hmm, fifty pounds, that’s a weird measurement,” Athena pressed, “Why that?” “That’s how much we believe that spike to have weighed,” Detective Fulbright asked. “Can you pretty please add that to your testimony,” Athena asked. “Of course,” Fulbright said. ~~Testimony updated~~ “She doesn’t look like it, but Mrs. O’Connor can easily lift fifty pounds judging that the spike that was used is estimated to weigh that much.” ~~End of Testimony~~ “Objection!” Athena shouted holding onto a piece of paper. “There is no way that Mrs. O’Connor can be the culprit.” “Objection! Pure speculation! You have no evidence to prove your client is innocent,” Simon yelled back. “Oh, but I do, darling,” Athena drawled out. “You should really try to stop imitating me, you only look cuter.” “I am not cute!!” Simon yelled. “Aww, look at you getting all flustered. It brings some color to your pale face, making you look absolutely adorable!” Athena cooed. “Now I shall present to the adorable boy, my evidence, but first a question. How much of Mrs. O’Connor do you know, Detective Fulbright?” “She’s a fair and kind judge, used to go by Juniper Woods until she married her husband Hugh O’Connor. She has a sickly complexion that her medicine, her husband, and sunflowers help her calm down.” Athena smiled, “Her sickly complexion provides some health issues, correct?” “Yes.” “Did you know she was pregnant?” Athena asked. “Even though it’s still early trimester one, she already has weight restrictions. She can’t lift anything over five pounds! So why would she - after her husband and her have been trying for two years to have a kid - do something that could jeopardize the unborn child inside of her!” Fulbright moved back with his hands up in surrender, “Wh-what?” Simon’s eyes went white before going back to black as he slammed his hands down on the counter, “The murder took place yesterday, the 16th, she could have had her husband do it for her!” “Objection! I can prove that their was no way possible for Mrs. O’Connor or her husband to have committed this crime! In fact, maybe if you wasn’t so busy badgering my witness for over two hours without me there in the room, you would be able to identify who the true culpit is!” Athena yelled back. Simon smirked and whistled causing the hawk to leave his shoulders, only to land on the judge’s head, “Make me mad again, I’ll send Taka after you.” “Athena, I would -” the judge said.

“Aw, you’re such a child. Didn’t you remember the last time you threatened me with Taka?” Athena asked placing her hands on her hips. “It’s okay if you forgot, you do still have a young mind.” “Athena, I really don’t think that’s the best move!” Apollo said as Simon whistled again, completely oblivious to the little taps of Athena’s fingers on her hips. Taka flew over and landed on Athena’s shoulder, the one without her pony resting over top. He leaned his head towards Athena’s touch as she rubbed under his chin. “Taka, isn’t attacking you?” Apollo asked. “Awww who's a handsome bird?” Athena asked Taka as she rubbed his chin. “Is Mister Grumpy pants over there treating good?” “How! Taka, get back over here?” Simon yelled. “Ohh? What’s this?” Athena asked seeing something wrong with Taka’s wing. “Are you injured?” “How are you able?” Simon asked. “Phew, it’s just a bunch of feathers,” Athena said with a sigh of relief. “Might want to go back to grumpy pants over there, he looks lonely.” Two taps against the desk and Taka went over to Simon. “Maybe you should try to find some other way to get me to make a mistake.” “I forgot that you was an animal trainer,” Apollo mentioned sweating bullets. The judge slammed his gavel down repeatedly, “Order! Order! Athena, you mentioned a couple of things that I would like to point out. One, you said that Prosecutor Blackquill had the suspect in questioning for two hours without their lawyer.” “Yes sir, two hours and seventeen minutes to be exact,” Athena spoke nodding. “I understand that he is still a rookie but you learn that rule in the first year of law school. I had planned on letting Mr. Edgeworth know as soon as I teach this child his place.” “Child?” Simon yelled. “I am no child!” “You are younger then me, making you a child,” Athena responded. A shock came hard from Widget, sparks flying out of Widget as it short circulated. “Ouch! Ouch! Take Widget off! Take him off!” Apollo quickly unlatched Widget from her neck and they could see a harsh electrical burn on her neck where Widget sat.”There you go” “Thank you so much Apollo,” Athena sighed. “That looks like a nasty burn!” Judge said. “I’ll be fine. They didn’t take good care of Widget like I asked them too. Anyway, Your Honor, what else did you want to ask me about?” Athena asked. “Ah yes. You said you can prove that your client and her husband are innocent. How?” the judge asked. “You can ask Mrs. O’Connor and Mr. O’Connor where they were at and the prosecutor could easily claim that they had the story planned out,” Athena said seeing the shock look of Simon as she figured out what his next move would be automatically. “So, to save the court the time and to save my client from any unnecessarily stress with her pregnancy, I went and got three affidavits.” “What are they for?” Simon asked growling. “The autopsy report states that Constance Courte was killed on the 17th, estimated time of death is around 4:17 PM. I am reading that correctly?” “Yes, you are! Do you know the path to justice?” Fulbright asked his eyes becoming puppy dog eyes. “This is no clear path for justice, we need to forge our own path in the search of justice,” Athena spoke. “A wise young man told me that once.” “I would very much like to meet this man,” Fulbright spoke. “Anyway, at the 17th, 3:58 PM all the way til 8:21 PM, Mrs. O’Connor and Mr. O’Connor were at the hospital. Mrs. O’Connor’s grandma had passed away. I have affidavits from Ms. Newman, the doctor and the nurse from the hospital,” Athena said. “So my client and her husband witnesses and an alibi making them no where near the scene of the crime!” “Grrr,” Simon growled as the audience went into an uproar. Taka flew up from his shoulder as Simon started pounding his fist on the table before his eyes went white from the shock from losing another case to this girl. “Order! Order!” the judge ordered silencing the crowd. “Prosecutor Blackquill, I know you have already made a name for yourself in the courtroom but you are still a rookie. Do not let the fame go to your head. You and your detective have made several major mistakes within this case.” “I understand, Your Honor,” Simon said as Fulbright poked his index fingers again revealing white gloves. “I hereby find the defendant, Mrs. Juniper O’Connor,” the judge said, “Not Guilty.” ~~Defense Lobby~~ “Thank you so much Thena!” Junie said excitedly as she held her husband's arm. “Yes, thank you for not letting our family be torn apart,” Hugh said. “However, I am shocked that Bobby didn’t know your last name.” “That’s not Bobby, at least, not the Bobby Fulbright, I know,” Athena spoke sadly, her eyes downcast as her hand went to her heart. “There was discord within his voice when he introduced himself.” “Thena,” Junie said seeing her friend in about tears. “I’ll find him,” Athena said. “I have a small shimmer of hope but I believe he is still alive I won’t ever give up on him, because I know he would do the same.” Junie got her friend, “It’s okay to cry.” “No, not yet,” Athena said putting on a brave smile. “I need to talk to Prosecutor Blackquill before he leaves. I’ll be back.” She left the defendant lobby, “She’s such a fighter, putting on a brave face.” “I’m so glad she didn’t tease him as much as she did last time,” Apollo said. “She could very well be in shock,” Hugh spoke quietly. “Someone who is dressed, as the same name, and says almost the same things that her boyfriend who has gone missing and left her with a dying message?”

“Maybe he has amnesia?” Apollo asked.

Hugh shook his head, “Impossible. The real Bobby has a golden pocket watch with a picture of them inside with their names on the back.” ~~Main Lobby~~ Simon was walking briskly away. He suffered another defeat from that petite defense lawyer who gets him so flustered so easily. She turned Taka against him, she beat the case within one day when he was planning on it being three days. “Prosecutor Blackquill, please wait!” he heard Athena yell as she ran towards him. He turned around to glare at her and she slowed down to a jog, than a walk, then stopped right next to him. “Arigato!” “You speak japanese?” Simon asked understanding that ‘arigato’ means ‘thank you’ in english.

“Hai! Well, a little bit actually. I am nowhere near fluent in it. I am fluent in french, spanish, german, and obviously english,” Athena said. ‘Hai’ meant ‘yes’ but Athena had no idea on how to say sort of in japanese. “May I walk with you for a little?” “You aren’t going to tease me, are you?” Simon snarled. “I hardly teased you today in court,” Athena argued back, “but no, I won’t. I need to talk to you seriously.” Simon stared at her, she was looking down and that burn on her neck seemed like it was hurting her alot. Fulbright was already heading back to Themis Academy. “Very well, I hope you can walk and talk at the same time.” “Of course I can!” Athena said as she walked right next to him. Her little burst of confidence and energy disappeared as fast as it came. “Are you going to continue searching for the murderer of Professor Courte?” “Yes, if I can. However, I might be taken off of the case because word of what I did to Mrs. O’Connor will reach Edgeworth-dono.” “Oh! I can fix that. I just need my boss to distract your boss and I could also talk Edgeworth down too. I would actually like you to take this case, it would mean a lot to Hugh because Prof. Courte was a mother figure to him. She was going to be the godmother for his side for their child,” Athena spoke. “I would focus on Professor Means as the culprit. He was the one who claimed Junie was the last one to see it. Here these might help,” Athena handed him the records for the bloodied cloth, broken statue pieces, and mock trial video. “The mock trial video would be a key. Pay attention to the statue in the middle of the video and the words in the opening speech.” “You think he did it?” Simon asked taking the material. “Yes, but just be careful with it, he was a skilled lawyer when he was younger and before he was a teacher. He thinks he knows all the tricks in the books. He knows about the shadowed past of Manfred von Karma which could easily backfire on Edgeworth and Franziska. Klavier also has a shadowed past with his older brother, Kristoph, and that one of the Gavinners was convicted of smuggling and murder. I have zero faith in the Payne brothers, Godot would be a good but he’s in prison. You are still new, made a name for yourself yes, but still a rookie.” “So why do I have the best chance?” “He has nothing to hold against you and the field of analytical psychology is still new to the court world. He won’t know how to react,” Athena smiled. “Just because I beat you twice doesn’t mean you are a terrible prosecutor.” “Thanks for the confidence, Athena,” Simon mocked as Athena stopped walking. “Hey Simon,” Athena spoke. “Can I ask a favor?” “Depends. I see no reason as to why I should do anything for you.” “Just keep an eye on your detective, please,” Athena said softly. “D-don’t trust him too much.” Simon raised an eyebrow as she walked across the street to start getting to the office that she works at. “Hmph, strange girl. Detective Fool Bright has been a well-known Detective who went undercover, he is worthy of trust.” ~~End of Chapter~~

#cykesquill #Athena Cykes #simon blackquill #Simon is younger #Athena older #Au story #requested story #Juniper Woods #hugh o'conner

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 5 years ago

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Witches, Chapter 16: congrats Apollo you’re not back in hell. this case, you’re only on the margins of it.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

Among the ethical questions Apollo has pondered in his time as a lawyer, “is it wrong to search for a new job on my current employer’s office computer?” is the least consequential and least dire one. Not that he’s thinking of leaving the WAA, not at this moment, but being stuck spinning in a chair while Phoenix and Athena go out to investigate - it might not become a trend, but it might be, and he’ll need to prepare a contingency if it does. If he, the lawyer who got this place renamed from Wright Talent Agency to Anything Agency by being the first lawyer in seven years to work within its walls, who put the pieces together for Phoenix to let him get his badge back, gets squeezed out of it.

Fine. He’s used to it. Foster home after foster home and before any of them a home in the mountains of Khura’in, Apollo doesn’t fit, Apollo goes away to the next place that will take him for a little while longer.

But Phoenix is only so reliable and some part of Apollo suspects that he’ll get yanked away by the fae and leave the case suddenly on Apollo’s shoulders, and instead of pondering the ethical question - the answer is, he doesn’t care if it’s wrong, but he’s not going to do it because Mia would know and he’s not going to test a fae queen’s patience - he sets to work researching the scene of their crime. The Shipshape Aquarium’s website prominently displays what they call the Aqua Tunnel, a glass tunnel that runs under the aquarium’s largest tank, allowing a full view of fish to the sides and right above their heads. Apollo’s stomach churns just seeing the pictures of visitors standing there, illuminated blue in the dark, water all around them held back only by glass that can’t be thick enough to put him at ease. It looks like drowning feels.

So it’s almost like a good thing that this is the case that he’s been squeezed out of.

Then Athena texts him to tell him that their client is an orca, one of the marine animals on display and performing at the aquarium, and the dizzy lightheadedness that the Aqua Tunnel instilled in him turns to dizziness from the breathless laughter wheezing forth from his lungs.

The woman who had shown up on their doorstep really didn’t say much specific about her friend and her case, did she? Apollo desperately wants to see how Phoenix bluffs his way through this one and is desperately relieved that he’s only involved in this case from the margins. Athena tells him that she wants to hear later about the time Phoenix cross-examined a parrot; their human client (Athena says human, anyway, because she needs to distinguish from their orca client, but they probably can’t say for certain yet, human) mentioned it as the real actual reason she came here looking for Phoenix Wright.

Apollo drags his feet across the carpet to bring the spinning chair to a halt - wait, maybe this is why he’s so dizzy - and heads for the shelves back behind Phoenix’s desk. His oldest cases, and a few that he acted as Mia’s assistant on, and a few of hers even before he was a lawyer at all, rest there, and Apollo had read through some of them again on the really slow, lonely days before Athena was here and while Trucy is at school. He knows exactly where to find that one, the one where Phoenix cross-examined a parrot to defend the future Chief Prosecutor and get a forty-year legend of a prosecutor indicted on murder charges.

(How many legends has Phoenix torn down in the strangest of ways, as a rookie, while disbarred, a force to be reckoned with no matter his personal circumstances?)

The parrot’s name was Polly. Apollo sort of hates that as much as he hates everything else about Phoenix’s chaotically stupid bluffs working out for him, and that this is what he so admired about Phoenix from the start. It’s a lot less fun to be the one behind the bench, bluffing frantically, than it is to follow it in a transcript.

He drops the file on Athena’s desk and sticks a pen in the relevant part so they can review it later. Her last update said that they’re going to do their own investigation to find possibility of a human culprit, so that the orca won’t be put down, and it’s radio silence from there out. Apollo goes back to the aquarium website. Trucy sends him photos from the wrestling match she and Jinxie are attending; she won’t be back until early evening.

The other bookshelf out in the front room is where the fun happens. He’s found the same book there twice, sure, but almost never with the same cover. A weathered leather-bound tome, cracking along the spine, surely a grimoire full of old fae secrets, contains Mia’s taxes. A textbook cover proclaiming this a study of real estate law contains biographies of famed stage magicians. The only ones that stay the same are the thin picture books slipped in between matters of law and magic: Deauxnim, all of them, Elise or Laurice. Bored again, he thumbs through one, marveling at the elaborate illustrations, and the pages are cold to the touch. On reaching the end, a loose sheet torn from a sketchbook slips out, drifting feather-slow to Apollo’s feet. It’s a simple painting, three people and no background rendered in pale watercolor - a man with stark white hair and a visor that makes him look like he stepped out of a comic book, a beautiful woman in a suit jacket with a magatama around her neck, and another, older woman with hair tightly bound up on the top of her head and the same soft smile, albeit wearier and more lined, as the first woman. His eyes keep drifting back to the woman with the magatama, the yellow dot on her lapel that might be an attorney’s badge, her knowing brown eyes. The page, then the book, he slides back where they came from, but he can’t close the cover on the sensation that he’s supposed to know who she is.

Every time he thinks he’s dug into every nook and cranny of this office, turned up every little scrap, there’s always something new. He hasn’t had the chance - that makes it sound like he wants to be doing this instead of being so bored out of his skull that he ends up hunting through decades of paper - to explore the shelves since Athena came to the office. The last notable anything he found before her arrival was an accordion folder containing receipts for what looked like every single thing Phoenix ever bought from September 2016 through the next six months. What neurosis created that habit?

He glances back at the spine of the picture book, still holding the image of the middle woman’s watercolor eyes in his mind. Mia? Could she be? He doesn’t ask, not out loud, and she doesn’t give any hints.

Back at Phoenix’s desk, where the desktop computer is, the overwhelming blue of the aquarium website mocks him and his memories of water rising up over his head, and he spins the chair away and stares at the back wall, the sun-faded movie film poster that doesn’t show a title, and the shelf of case filings. He doesn’t care if Phoenix wants him to man the office tomorrow - he is not missing this case for the world, not because it’s Phoenix Wright back in court for the first time in eight years, but because he desperately wants to know how this orca matter pans out. (And okay, maybe he does want to see what Phoenix is like behind the bench when he’s not backed into a corner, his life on the line against a serial murderer, no other choice in his eyes but to become the thing that Kristoph framed him to be seven years earlier. Maybe Apollo’s still looking to find the legend he admired within the man that he knows.)

His phone, left on his desk, begins buzzing and continues buzzing. Someone’s calling, probably Phoenix, because he’s the only one who calls regularly instead of texting. What sort of trouble has their case run into, or maybe he’s wondering if Trucy’s back yet because she can be somewhat unreliable when it comes to letting anyone know where she is. But the name displayed on screen isn’t Phoenix - it’s Klavier.

They’ve never spoken on the phone before. Apollo’s heart seizes up, beats out a swift staccato rhythm. What the hell is going on that he would call? “Hello—?”

“Tell me your boss isn’t defending an orca.”

Apollo collapses into his desk chair, nearly tipping it off of its wheels. “Where did you hear about that?” he asks. “That’s not - please tell me that’s not a - a timeline constant, or whatever, that you didn’t see it happening, or - tell me you’re not prosecuting the orca!”

Klavier laughs. “Nein, Forehead, I am not sure even you could convince me to take that to court.” His chuckle continues for a few moments after but trails away into silence, long enough that Apollo wonders if the call has been dropped. Apollo inhales to say something and Klavier cuts across him, maybe coincidence that they chose the same time to speak, maybe not. “Herr Samurai told me about it. He’s the one prosecuting that whale of a defendant.”

He starts laughing again and Apollo groans. Determined to not give him any more satisfaction, he simply asks, “Blackquill doesn’t have an office space, does he?” He’d dismiss the thought entirely on basis of common sense, but Klavier has to have spoken to him somehow, and common sense would have a convicted murderer not prosecuting at all. Who’s to say what they’re doing over at that building?

“He does not, but he was here to speak with the Chief Prosecutor over some or another matter, and stopped by my office before he left to tell me that your boss’ first case with his new badge is…” Klavier makes a dismissive, disgusted noise from the back of his throat.

“The client when she showed up at the office didn’t say that her friend who needed defending was an orca.” Apollo has a sudden need to defend Phoenix against Klavier’s disdain, not least because that disdain sounds particularly like someone else. “Though, I mean, when he and Athena found out, yeah, that was a, uh - a choice, they made, to continue.”

“You aren’t working this one?”

“No. I’m stuck back at the office.” Like they’re a real agency that is going to have clients show up more than once every three months. “Missing out on a free trip to the aquarium” - and all the fun drowning phobia that could come with it - “but at least I don’t have to figure out the defense plan for a killer whale.” He doesn’t mind a challenge, finds all the outlandish challenges in the past have made him a better lawyer, but it’s a killer whale. It’s there in the name, and he can’t ask it for its testimony to get its side of the story, put that together with the rest of the evidence, with what he sees and hears. A client who only spoke a little English, and pretended not to have even that, sure. An orca might be taking Phoenix’s “have total faith in your client” mantra a little far.

“Which aquarium is this?” Klavier asks. “There’s the two big ones around here, ja?”

Apollo spins his chair back to his desk, finds that he doesn’t have the computer here, or his laptop up, and racks his brain for the name. “It’s the Shipley” - no, that’s the victim’s name - “Shipshape Aquarium.”

“Ach, the pirate one.”

“You’ve been there?”

Apollo hasn’t - there had been been a middle school biology class field trip that his foster family of the time couldn’t afford to send him on; they had five kids in that house and naught to spare for any class trips. Clay came back with a googly-eyed shark keychain that Apollo still has clipped to his bag, and the proclamation that the aquarium was “totally lame” and if they wanted to see fish they could go to the pet store and walk through the fish section for free.

(And then they did, and then they couldn’t stick to their for free part of the concept and bought a betta fish that lived for four years after they did extensive research on the proper care and tank setup, which caused Apollo to take up a crusade against the store for the little plastic containers they kept the poor fish in, and then Clay said again, not for the first or last time, that he should be a lawyer because he could get really passionate about arguing and his surname made the whole deal better because with a surname like Justice you have to be either a lawyer or a criminal, basically. That was two years after he left Khura’in, after he was starting to realize it might be a long, long time, if ever, until he returned, but he had never stopped thinking about being a lawyer, not because of Dhurke but because of Clay, who never knew Dhurke. He just knew Apollo. And he thought that would be the career for Apollo, not because he was Dhurke’s son, but just because of Apollo.)

“Mhm.” Klavier sounds more subdued than usual. “Ja, I have. Many times.”

“You don’t strike me as a fish person.”

“That could be because I’m a human person, do you think?” He’s laughing again, but again, it falls off quickly. “It was Daryan who so enjoyed the aquarium, not I. You didn’t suppose his shark aesthetic was an accident?”

“I never really thought about it,” Apollo admits. Maybe that’s not quite true - the thought had passed his mind, and then gotten shuffled away as many more important impressions of Daryan replaced it - namely, that he was an asshole, and probably a criminal. And then actually a criminal, another of the people Klavier loved who turned out nasty. “Though I guess that makes sense.” If there’s anything that could make that hairstyle make sense.

“We went there often, even after we were celebrities - every time we’d come home from a tour, less and less as that was, especially as I started traveling for reasons that weren’t tours, we’d visit that or the other aquarium around the city. Hard to sneak through the crowds when you’re famous, admittedly.” He gives another softer, sadder laugh. “The fans coming up for autographs made it harder to play our favorite game of harassing each other about what fish looked most like the other one.” A thoughtful pause, where Apollo thinks he’s dwelling on the times passed with someone no longer around in the same capacity as his memories, mourning a friend turned into a monster - and maybe he is, but the actual words he follows up the silence with are, “I’m not sure what fish I’d call you. Something very small and very red, surely.”

“Ugh.” Just when Apollo wants to be charitable to him, and sympathetic. “You’re hilarious.” He tips his chair back and stares at the ceiling. They’re not in court, but he’ll never let one of Klavier’s statements go unchallenged. “I know exactly what you’d be.”

“Oh?”

Apollo grins as he says it, the one that Trucy always teases him for because she says it’s his texting Prosecutor Gavin look and she’s sort of correct, but it’s more like a roasting Prosecutor Gavin look. “A clownfish.”

His jab is rewarded with a strangled, choking laugh.

Apollo toys with the idea of asking him why he didn’t glamour himself free from the squeeze of the crowds, but decides not to. He’d never told Daryan about his history and the abilities he had - that, Apollo remembers, Klavier saying he never had the words to tell his best friend and then he was gone. (Apollo remembers him saying that because Apollo, without the words to tell Clay about Dhurke, sympathizes.) Maybe he didn’t want to so obviously display his secret in front of his friend. Maybe he liked the attention, the screaming adoring fans, back then before Gavin was the name of a murderer, too. He had nothing to hide from back then.

So instead, the prior part of the conversation that Apollo circles back to is, “So Prosecutor Blackquill came by to let you know, specifically?” Any angle he looks at it seems like one of Blackquill’s manipulations, a stab into that open wound of Klavier’s mistake. Something to use against him, measuring his reaction, assessing the best way to get under his skin - tell him Wright is back in the legal world, tell him that Wright is making a mockery of the legal world with an orca, and watch and wait to see if there are fireworks.

“He did specifically wish to let me know, but it is not as though we have never spoken with each other before.”

“Right. And you thought he was pleasant enough, or whatever.” Should that surprise him? Klavier’s best friend was Daryan, an utter asshole, after all - and Klavier can be a real dick in court too.

“He is not unpleasant, which is something not quite the same, especially not as we are lawyers. I think he may just have wished to see my reaction as I found out about what your boss is up to.”

If he isn’t being manipulative, he’s simply a troll, and yeah, that sounds like the conclusion to draw about Blackquill. “You’re right,” Apollo says. “That probably would’ve been pretty funny to see.”

“Hmph. I don’t imagine you were any more composed - you probably yelled loud enough to wake the dead, ja?”

Yes, he had yelped “What?” to the empty office, nearly dropping his phone as he did, and the longer he takes to come up with a retort to counter that assessment, the more Klavier is going to start laughing at him. “How do you suppose Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth feels?” Apollo asks. “He’s done this thing allowing him back in court for whatever reason and now Blackquill’s using his freedom to prosecute to take an orca to court.” Klavier doesn’t respond, just laughs at that, but Apollo can’t laugh for more than a moment. He rubs at some stray ink marks on his desk and adds, “Do you have any idea why he’s set this all up?” he asks. “Let Blackquill do this? Not the orca specifically, but prosecuting at all”

Klavier goes quiet. “I presume, as do the few colleagues I’ve spoken of this with, that he thinks the verdict was wrong - that he hopes, in some convoluted manner, to clear Herr Samurai’s name and overturn his conviction.”

“You think?”

“I respect Herr Chief greatly and would at least like to hope that there is some reason to his actions.” Right, this is Edgeworth, not Phoenix. Edgeworth’s the one who’s not a cryptic fae bastard. “I could not tell you what I think, myself.” Bitterness coats his words as he adds, “I am not known to be someone good at guessing if someone I know is capable of murder.”

“I…” Apollo clumsily searches for some kind of condolence. “I don’t think anyone is.” Klavier talks to him about these things because he knew Kristoph, too, but sometimes Apollo thinks that Klavier forgets that he did know Kristoph, too. That it wasn’t his brother, no, just his boss, but still blindsided him. The evidence was there but otherwise Apollo never could have guessed - he just chose to believe the evidence. But what if it was a friend, now, a brother, a coworker - if Clay was accused, if - or Trucy, Phoenix again, Athena - if there was evidence to it, what would Apollo do? He doesn’t know.

“You have your Truth, though. I suppose that makes it a little easier, wouldn’t it, ja? You see and you know they are lying - know more than they are saying, are involved, did it.”

“Yeah, but it could be any of those options, like you said. It’s not necessarily just, did a murder.” He pushes off from the desk and starts slowly spinning his chair again. Everyone has secrets, but they’re probably not all murders committed. It’s all context, during cases, and he’s a defense attorney, he’s supposed to trust his client, but everyone else caught up in a thing— “Not that it helps me with Blackquill.”

“Too secretive even for our eyes - ja, he’s a bit of an odd one.”

“A bit? A bit? Do you say that because you’re already so far out there odd that he only seems a bit—”

“Ja, ja, you work for an ‘Anything Agency’ that is defending an orca—”

“I’m not defending the orca!”

“You are an accomplice. All of you are guilty. Blackquill is prosecuting the orca as well, and all of you are a bit odd.”

A bit. Understatement of the decade. “And you’re still a clownfish.”

Athena’s car pulls into the lot before Trucy gets back, which means that Apollo could’ve just shut the place down for the day and gone with them to the aquarium and it wouldn’t have changed a damn thing but that he had time to talk with Klavier. Not like anyone showed up with another case.

“I got to feed an orca!” Athena’s shout begins before she has thrown the door open. “But the penguin hated me.”

What, exactly, is Apollo supposed to say to this? “I’m sorry?” he offers, and behind Athena, Phoenix snorts stifling laughter. “How’s the case for tomorrow looking?”

“Eh.” Phoenix wiggles his hand noncommittally. Athena presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “We’ve got enough of a possibility to get it to go to trial, but nothing more than that, and that’s probably just in part because Prosecutor Blackquill is a lunatic.”

“Is he really that bad?”

That’s a young woman’s voice asking that question, but Athena has been face-to-face with Blackquill and knows exactly how bad he is, and Trucy heard her and Apollo complain about him for weeks after Mayor Tenma’s trial. Phoenix steps into the office and aside, and behind him stands a girl maybe Trucy’s age, with a soft round face and big gray eyes, her light brown hair pulled up in tight twists. Her clothing looks like Iris’ robes, with a shorter hem, down to the large beaded necklace from which a magatama hangs.

Oh. Oh no. Do all the fae dress like this, or is this one of the relatives that Iris mentioned to them in Nine-Tails Vale?

“I’ll let you make your own determination from the gallery tomorrow,” Phoenix says. “If you’re coming. If not, we can catch you up but I’d rather go over the case again with Apollo and see if we can figure anything out.”

“Of course I’ll be there tomorrow!” The girl claps her hands together. “Your first trial in ages, Mr Nick! I wouldn’t miss it!”

“Who’s this?” Apollo asks. He sounds calm, really, he thinks, and then Athena shoots a quizzical look, eyebrows pressed together and turning up where they meet, at him. Of course. He can’t hide, not from her, but either she hasn’t registered the similarities between this girl and Iris, or she’s been assured, by Phoenix, by spending some time with this girl already if they all came in together, that she’s not terrifying.

Not any more than the fae are, conceptually, for what they all have the powers to do.

“You can call me Pearl!” The girl inclines her head forward politely. Apollo notes that she didn’t say that’s what her name is, just that’s what she goes by. “I’m a friend of Mr Nick’s!”

Her clothing, her careful wording of an introduction, and now an odd nickname (nickname, don’t think the pun, don’t acknowledge it) for Phoenix. Add it all up, and he doesn’t like the sum. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Apollo.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” Her language is formal but not stilted; it sounds like the most natural manner of speech, coming from her. Mr Nick. She’s just polite, then; polite, refined, almost regal in mannerism, her every movement stepping further into the office made with deliberate care. She tips her head back, her expression serene, scanning the air of the office like she’s looking for something.

“Pearls is an old friend of mine who we ran into at the aquarium,” Phoenix explains, with no indication of whether she’s a human “old friend” or the other sort. “She gave us some help with our investigation.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much of anything.” Her cheeks start to turn pink and she quickly brings her hands up over her face. “It was just good to see you lawyering again! But you haven’t gotten any better at keeping your office clean.” She lowers her hands, one of them falling only to her mouth to chew on a thumbnail, and she surveys Trucy’s magic props spread out on every available surface. “Why doesn’t she just keep everything in the Magic Panties and take out whatever she needs only when she needs it? They’re already enchanted and there’s no cost to using them, and poor Mystic Mia has to look at all this!”

“Huh?” Athena asks. “Mia, that’s - she was your boss, wasn’t she, Mr Wright?”

Which is when Apollo realizes that he hasn’t ever mentioned Mia to Athena, and from the expressions on Phoenix and Pearl’s faces - slow dawning surprise for the former, and narrowing eyes, rising anger, for the latter - Phoenix hasn’t told her, either.

(He feels awful that he feels some sort of - satisfaction? No, that’s too strong a word. Relief, a little bit - that Athena wasn’t told the secrets off the office. That Phoenix isn’t always good at communicating with her either.)

Instead of sitting down and mapping out the case, their evidence, and their plan of attack for the trial tomorrow, as Phoenix clearly still wants to, he sinks into the couch with a long sigh and explains Mia’s continuing presence to Athena, the way he did for Apollo and Vera last year. (“So that’s why the lights did that this morning!” Athena exclaims, and Apollo is really curious what she thought was going on otherwise.)

Pearl sits primly next to him, hands folded neatly in her lap, watching Phoenix without ever blinking. “Mystic Mia is my cousin,” she says when Phoenix has finished his brief summary - nothing in it new to Apollo, but Athena next to him sits hunched forward with her elbows on her knees, her hand cupped over Widget as though ready to start a therapy session based on whatever emotional testimony she finds in Phoenix’s words. “But she left to become a lawyer when I was very small and I don’t remember her very well.”

“Oh!” Athena sits up suddenly. “If she’s your cousin, and she was a faery, then you’re…” She doesn’t finish the statement, either waiting for an affirmation from Pearl before she speaks it into truth, or being extra cautious with the idea of not asking or accusing her what she is. But Pearl nods, and Athena slumps back against the couch and says, “That makes me feel so much better about the smelling blood that you did back when we were investigating! That’s so much less weird.”

“That still sounds kind of weird, whatever you’re saying,” Apollo says, literally biting his tongue a second later as the fear of telling one of the fae that she’s weird - even a true statement as that is - takes hold. A bit odd is such an understatement.

Pearl, though, does not react to that, and Apollo doesn’t hear about the blood-covered coin until later. In the moment, the door violently bangs open and Trucy barges in, a huge grin swallowing up her face, excitedly shrieking, “Pearly!”

The apartment door creaks open and the approaching footsteps stop abruptly. “Bad day, huh?” Clay asks.

“Mmph,” Apollo says, his face pressed into the couch cushions. He considers leaving it at that but knows that Clay won’t let it go, and a second later the door closes and the weight of his best friend settles in on his legs. Apollo turns his head to the side, unable to see Clay but at least able to be heard without yelling. He doesn’t have the energy to yell. “My coworkers are defending an orca in court.”

“Like, a whale? Like that kind of orca?”

“Is there another kind.”

Clay cackles. “Holy shit.”

Phoenix sends the kids off long before he leaves the office himself, pondering a whistle and a bloody coin and a looped fifteen seconds of security footage and a dead man still without an official autopsy report. That’s the first thing they’ll be slapped with at the trial tomorrow, and if they’re unlucky it’s going to turn out to show that the manner of death wasn’t blunt force trauma at all and they’ll be in deep shit with nothing to bluff on from the outset. If he’s really unlucky, they still won’t have finished the autopsy, as late today as it was ordered, and he and Athena are going to get through a good case before the full report arrives and smashes their every conclusion to bits.

He leans his head in his hands, staring down at the surface of his desk as though he can divine the answers from the scratches in the wood. “Mia,” he says, “what am I doing?”

Silence answers him. He lifts his head and looks out the window, to the bare empty rooms of the long-ago closed Gatewater Hotel, that whole damn lot cursed because that’s what happens to a place when it’s used as a staging ground to frame one fae royal for the murder of another. He’d been glad that particular branch of the Gatewater went under, as he’d stopped leaving these blinds open and really did miss the sunlight shining in through, even if he still had to pull them shut when the night became dark and the cold yellow city light cast a pool on the ground that night after night still marked where Mia died.

How does he get over the death of someone who’s only sort of gone?

“I did this for Edgeworth,” he continues, “but now other people want my help - Sasha, and Athena, and - I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t know if I should. Do you think defending an orca is going to make me any less of a laughingstock? Maybe it’ll be better publicity for me. People think orcas are cute, right?” He doesn’t have much opinion, but Athena and Pearl and Trucy all seem to agree. “Maybe that would put some trust back to me after, y’know, having to set up an entirely new legal experiment just to get Kristoph convicted. That really looked good for me, huh, makes me seem real honest.”

He leans back, hangs his neck over the back of the chair. “How long were you chasing Redd White for, anyway? Was that when you left Grossberg’s, when you found out that he was the one White bribed for information about your mother? If you’d been chasing him for seven years and came up with no solid connecting evidence, just a list of names - would you have given up fighting in an honest manner? How many people could he have blackmailed into suicide in that time - is it wrong to stop someone like that, even with—?”

Even with forged evidence. Fudge it here and there for the safety of innocent people because sometimes the guilty are too damn smart to be found out. That’s not why the devil forged evidence, but it certainly is what the Demon Prosecutor’s mantra was. No way to know, so damn them all.

“Or,” he asks, “are you a better person than me? Would you not fall so far?”

He should probably get home soon, make dinner for the girls before they just eat cookies and bagels. Pearl doesn’t have Maya’s appetite, thank god, and hosting her doesn’t send him bankrupt and empty the entire pantry. It’s been so long since she last dropped by that even if he did have to shell out for a five-course feast tonight, he’d do it. Trucy adores her, and vice versa. It’s good for them to get to see each other again.

He makes sure to leave the computer on, cursor blinking on an open document so that if Mia has anything to say, either to the case or the latest installment of Phoenix’s forever-ongoing personal crisis, she can let him know. (Right after her death, Maya left the computer on, slept on the couch, and in the morning before she came to cheer Phoenix on in court found flip reciept and suicde folder compile names. And she had dutifully followed her older sister’s last, typo-marred instructions, cryptic as they seemed at first, but when the surrounding cards were played, it made sense, and Mia saved Phoenix’s life for not the first and not the last time.)

He flips the back room lights off and sees, standing next to the couches, between Phoenix and the door, the Gavin hellhound.

Phoenix lets out a shaky breath. Like he wasn’t doing a good enough job of reminding himself that he’s an imposter walking back into the courthouse tomorrow, spot who doesn’t belong, and the convicted murderer doesn’t either but Edgeworth’s put them both back there because he believes in them. But Edgeworth’s faith doesn’t change the past, only the future, and he’s only one man against the multitude of specters literally haunting Phoenix.

“What do you want?” Phoenix asks the barely-corporeal fae hound. Feathery plumes of white smoke drift off of her tail and the backs of her legs, her edges blurred against reality, the classic archetypal image of a ghost. She opens her mouth wide enough that she could probably fit her jaws halfway around a basketball, pulling her lips back, showing off her teeth.

He has no idea when Kristoph summoned her - at what point his patience gave out and he reached to the magical heritage his blood allowed him, binding for himself a hound bred for the Wild Hunt. He first ever saw her after Kristoph was in jail, and he out, when he and Trucy noticed the beast stalking them, never coming close, never making a threat, but observing, studying, gathering information for someone. And he first saw her teeth when she yawned, and through the Sight she changes just slightly; shining gold tips the ends of her misty fur, and her teeth drip and bleed with the rotting red of death, the kind of curse Kristoph cast. It all snapped into clarity that instant, whose monster this was, and where the dark red marks of teeth in Zak Gramarye’s neck came from.

She didn’t kill him. That isn’t what her kind are bred for; they don’t kill their prey themselves. They flush out their quarry and chase it back to their masters, herd it in and corner it, to let the handler deal the final blow. Zak came back to Los Angeles because of the statute of limitations was about to run out, and magic that lies in contracts often runs parallel to the laws of human land, but he also came back knowing that he was being watched, being followed, being hunted, and Phoenix knew by who but not how. Didn’t know how until he saw the dog whose lineage was dedicated to the hunt and her teeth that left the impression of her pursuit.

Zak Gramarye died by a blow to his head, but the jaws of death were tight on his throat before then.

He tried to play it cool, for a while, what with her haunting his apartment and the office every so often but then more when Apollo was there and then not at all. Don’t let her smell fear, bribe her with human food, the way Phoenix knows to befriend the fae. It took him a long time to understand why she was still around - she wasn’t pursuing anyone, hadn’t sunk her teeth into a new victim, and Kristoph was shut away in iron. He figured she should be gone.

And he really should’ve figured out what Klavier was - a stolen human child, replaced by Kristoph, who Phoenix knew long ago was a changeling - when, after the verdict came down, he watched Kristoph laugh and Klavier flee and the dog followed Klavier. Fae hounds are bound to one master only, always, until they’re set loose or die, and she was Kristoph’s but followed Klavier. She shouldn’t have been able to shift allegiance like that, and she couldn’t have, not to anyone else but Klavier, because the Gavins - they were the same to her.

Knowing that Klavier is the man commanding the hound, or just letting her wander loose to her own devices (however a creature like her, so bound up in the will of one master, makes determination of what she wants to do herself) doesn’t make Phoenix feel any better at her presence. Not today, and not this time of night when ordinarily, no one would still be here.

She pulls her ears back, jaw opening again, but instead of keeping her head level, she turns her open mouth toward the floor and gags. The horrible sound grates down his spine like claws and his throat like broken glass, like he’s the one choking. With a last wet cough, something yellow falls from her throat, and she snaps her long, disproportionate jaws shut, lifting her head back up to look at him. She licks her lips with her long black tongue, weirdly solid against her wisping fur, and smacks her mouth open and closed a few times. Then she noses whatever-it-is toward Phoenix and looks up again, expectantly.

“Fine,” he says, squatting down so that he can get a better look at it without turning his eyes entirely away from her. It’s an attorney’s badge, its gold plating flaking off to show duller silver below. A well-worn attorney’s badge. “Huh? Is this Kristoph’s—?”

Cold to the touch, cold in his palm, he turns it over. Eight years later he still knows that number by heart.

“Why did you have this?” he asks, his words choked out around his heart risen up into his mouth. He’d ask why she ate it, but that just seems to be a thing that the fae do. Why she had it is the same as why she ate it: because she had it. But why? “Did Kristoph take it when I had to turn it back in to the Bar Association?”

He still doesn’t actually know what happens to a badge of someone no longer a lawyer - he decided he didn’t want to know, mourned the ambiguous fate of his badge, whether it was melted down to become part of a new badge for a new attorney who wasn’t a fuck-up, or had the numbers shaved off and gold plating reapplied and new numbers engraved to become a new badge for a new attorney who wasn’t a fuck-up, or just got dumped in a box for record-keeping about attorneys who are fuck-ups. “Did he send you in to take it for him? Like a trophy?”

He has no way to know where her hollow red eyes are focused. She’s nearly nose-to-nose with him and showing no sign that she understands a word he’s saying. Even if she does she probably can’t convey it back to Klavier, as though he would know the answer either. What person alive has spent more time with Kristoph than either of them, and they don’t know him at all.

On the off-chance that Klavier can actually hear what is being said to his hellhound, or if he knew that she had swallowed Phoenix’s attorney’s badge, he looks her in her empty eyes and says, “Thanks.”

She spins about, her tail swinging right into his face and through it and it feels like a faint misting of snow, the powdery top layer gusted up by the wind, and streaks straight through the closed door, out of the office.

Leaves Phoenix sitting on the floor, and his heart in his hand, tiny and tarnished and ice cold.

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles #weekly updates until i get thru my nano buffer is my plan

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 5 years ago

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Witches, Chapter 11: I split another giant chapter in half. In this portion, I set up a filler case that exists purely to set the scene and allow me to make up two very bad AA-style pun names; shit hasn’t quite gotten real but it sure is about to; and Athena makes some new friends.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

The Wright Anything Agency isn’t lucky.

Apollo should just expect that from the start. He didn’t, this time, because he trusted Phoenix - that being a loaded statement - to know what he was talking about and assumed - bad idea - that if he bothered to say Tenma Taro would be weaker at midsummer, then there was some chance of waiting. That it would lay low to wait out the fervor of the trial and the attention turned toward the Vale. That it wouldn’t wreak havoc immediately.

But they’re just a few days into May when the office phone rings with a call from a young woman who lives in Tenma Town and has been charged with robbing her prior place of employment. “Jinxie Tenma gave me your number,” she says, in between sobs, “and said you would believe me th - that - that I think Tenma Taro did it.”

“Of course we believe you,” Apollo assures her. Athena stands on her chair, propping herself on her desk, leaning forward to listen. With her ears, she can probably hear the other end of the line just fine. She might also be able to hear Apollo’s - not doubt, exactly, or disbelief, but the uncertainty he keeps feeling over Tenma Taro. None of them have seen it. They have Filch’s word, and they all know he wasn’t lying, but could he have been mistaken? Could Phoenix’s fae ‘friends’ have been mistaken in what they thought Phoenix was asking them about?

(He doubts it, but he still doesn’t think he knows well enough what they’re getting into.)

Athena searched all of LA’s used car lots for one that was yellow - “I’m like the cab driver for all of you at the agency, and also I just love yellow” - and with a new-old car they take the well-worn path back up to Nine-Tails Vale. Tenma Town is perched a little higher up the valley but has a similar old-fashioned cobblestone vibe, though some more modern office buildings dot the streets here and there. The town square is centered on a large fountain and a statue that Apollo doesn’t think is Tenma Taro, but it’s birdlike enough that it evokes that image.

Their client, Isabella Pyrria - picked up overnight, released on bail in the morning, returned home, and called them as soon as she made it back - is still teary-eyed when they meet her at a bench by the fountain. She explains that she likes to go on walks in the evenings and her favorite route goes past the antiques store she was fired from at the beginning of April, and she hadn’t bothered to change her route because a lot of cool moths congregate under the awning at the cafe next door. She pulls out her phone to show them pictures. Athena nods at each photo, solemnly and knowingly. “I’m more of a marine mammals person myself,” she says, “but I like the fuzzy ones and their…” She holds her hands to her forehead, two fingers raised on each, and wiggles them. “Antenna. What’re your favorite animals, Apollo?”

“Can we get back to the case, please?” he asks.

Isabella swears to them that when she passed by the store sometime around 10 pm, there was nothing wrong. She didn’t stop long to investigate this spring’s batch of caterpillars, because she was trying to get to the corner store before it closed, because she hadn’t had anything for dinner. She made it there, stayed until closing chatting with the owner and petting the bodega cat, and when she came back out she heard the sirens and saw the police cruiser lights.

The antique store’s security camera, mounted outside above the door, broke two months ago and was never fixed, but only employees knew this. Security tapes from cameras outside other buildings further down the street in both directions showed she was the only person who had passed by either. Anyone walking to the antiques store would be spotted by either of those.

“But Tenma Taro doesn’t have to walk,” Isabella says. “It could just fly straight down and land in front and not be seen.”

“Why would a yokai rob an antiques store?” Athena asks. “Why would a yokai rob anywhere?”

“To cause chaos?” Apollo suggests. What do yokai even do - they’re all so very individual? He did some cursory internet research but couldn’t find anything on Tenma Taro; it might as well have just come out of nowhere here in California. The scroll Jinxie said was the only image of it really is only one of two, the Forbidden Chamber scroll showing the gold ore being the other.

“I don’t know why anyone would rob that antiques store,” Isabella says, toying with the hair tie around her wrist. “It’s got pretty stuff but it’s all cheap. There’s nothing worth taking there.”

Her fingers, plucking at the hair tie and smacking it against her wrist, are illuminated red. “Ms Pyrria,” Apollo says. “Are you being fully honest with us? There really isn’t anything that you or anyone would want to take?”

She lowers her eyes to her hands. “We did have, um, a coupon deal with a really good pizza place over in the Vale. Supposed to give one out with every purchase but I kinda just, um, took a whole bunch once I got fired. But that was it.”

That looks true. Apollo glances to Athena, who nods with a secondary confirmation. Okay. They’ve got this much figured out. Now to the scene of the crime.

The antique shop’s windows are shattered, everything that was displayed in them cracked and shattered across the floor inside and the sidewalk outside. Athena leans into the window to examine a typewriter. “You don’t think there could’ve been some kind of magic artifact in here that it wanted to get?” Apollo asks. “Something languishing as just a normal family heirloom that someone dumped off here?”

“Ooh, maybe,” Athena says. “I guess they’d probably have to take inventory to really find out if stuff’s missing, and this is uh - big mess.” She points with her thumb at the police tape across the doorway. “Can we just head in?”

“Er—” They should probably introduce themselves to a detective first, lower the chances of being yelled at once they’re inside. Apollo glances in through the doorway, hoping to catch sight of anyone in there investigating. Maybe most of the investigating already happened? “I guess…?”

Before he’s really finished saying it, Athena ducks under the tape and heads inside. Apollo lifts it up to follow her. If he’s honest with himself he’s not sure what he hopes they can find. Feathers again, maybe? The interior of the shop is densely packed with tables and shelving upturned and overturned, and what would have once been a clear path or two through are cluttered. Apollo steps over a tall wicker flower stand, lying on its side, and a pillow that was probably hand-embroidered. Athena has stopped with her neck craned to the side, reading the titles of the few books still left on a shelf.

Oh, this is going to be rough, to stay focused, when this isn’t a murder and there’s not a particular area, the place where a body was, the place where the killing happened, to hone in on. He’s defended a smattering of other cases between the large nightmarish ones that weren’t murders, but neither did they have very complicated scenes. And no co-counsel distracted by knick-knacks, either.

“Athena,” he says. She jumps, already having become engrossed. “We should probably give the whole place a once-over, see if anything jumps out, find a detective to talk to, and then we can try and look for anything else that—”

“Hey!” A woman’s voice cuts through the stillness, a loud, indignant squawk. “Who’s in here? This is a - oh! Yo! Apolly!”

Athena’s eyebrows rise and disappear beneath her bangs. “D-Detective Faraday?” Apollo asks, turning around and unable to look for her due to making sure he doesn’t place his feet on anything breakable.

“Long time no see!” Kay chirps, with an air of familiarity that far surpasses the scant two times they’ve actually met. From New Years he’s pretty sure that she gives Y-suffix nicknames to everyone she can, but that doesn’t make it any better when Athena is snickering at him. “I mean, I expected to see you soon, what with Tenma Taro, but not quite this soon. And who’s this?” She extends a hand to Athena. “Hi, I’m Detective Kay Faraday!”

“Defense attorney Athena Cykes!” The two seem to be competing to see who can more enthusiastically shake the other’s hand. “Nice to meet you! What can you tell us about the case so far?”

Laughing brightly, Kay shakes her head, her black hair flying everywhere. “I’m not Emmy,” she says. “I’m not just gonna purposely give up the prosecution’s whole case right here. Besides.” She props her hands on her hips. “Tonight we’re going hunting for Tenma Taro anyway, and I’m sure you’ll get enough accidental stuff from us on how we totally believe yeah, it’s that big ol’ turkey causing trouble.”

Athena asks who “Emmy” is, and as Kay explains Ema and her general lack of concern for prosecutorial secrecy, Apollo picks his way through the mess to a door left ajar in the back, into a smaller, even more cluttered room, where none of the objects still left on the shelving have price tags. Prosecutor Debeste stands wedged between a rocking chair and a dresser with a shattered mirror, his upper body twisted awkwardly to give him room to move his arms and jot something down in a little notebook. “Where’s the line between antiques and junk?” Apollo asks, deciding that there is no good way any further into this room, and since he can see most of it, he should probably just stay planted here in the doorway.

“How much it sells for, maybe?” Sebastian offers up weakly. “Is this a trick question?”

“I guess it is, since I don’t have an answer.” Apollo has difficulty trying to survey the room; there’s too much going on, too much clutter that keeps drawing his eye one way and then another, and it takes longer than he thinks it should for him to notice the deep scratches in the wall. Three rivets straight down, tearing apart the wallpaper and wood, about two inches in between them, spaced like claw marks. “Do you have an explanation for that?” he asks, pointing to it.

Sebastian shakes his head and his glasses slide down his nose. “Not really a plausible one besides ‘giant bird monster’. The defendant could persum - presumably have made them with something she found laying around here, there’s some old farm tools kinds of things, but then the question is—”

“Why bother?”

Sebastian nods sharply. “Exactly. It’s not a message or any code or something that the shop owner recognizes, and it would be a waste of time with more chance to be caught. And with—” He points down, in front of Apollo, and Apollo examines the floor to see more gashes in the wood, of the same spacing as those on the wall, like a giant bird-monster walking about on its talons. “That, too.”

And maybe someone’s trying to frame a yokai for the crime, again, play on those fears, but it seems like even more effort to go to. “Is there anything noticeably missing?” Apollo asks. Plenty could be not-so-noticeably missing, all kinds of little knick-knacks, but that can’t be the purpose - no one is going to rob a store for 25-cent porcelain cat figurines. “Cash register, or any large or valuable stuff?”

“The register hadn’t been touched,” Sebastian says. “No fingerprints, nothing missing. The only thing the owner noticed so far and told me is that back here she had - she said it was a weird-looking stone she’d never figured out a price for because she didn’t know what it was or was made of. She said it was roughly” - he holds up his hands, less then a foot apart, and cupped toward each other. “And shaped like a six.”

Apollo’s stomach sinks, which has become a very familiar sensation in this kind of context. “A magatama?” he asks, pressing a hand to his forehead. He knew this wouldn’t be a normal case. It’s still going terribly. “A large magatama? That would be reason enough for Tenma Taro to break into a random human establishment, more than just scaring the townspeople.”

“If I were trying to scare the town, I’d hit up more than one place,” Athena says. She leans against the doorframe and peers in, as Kay attempts to squeeze in around her and past Apollo. “Just make it a random selection, no pattern, and not attack everywhere. Leave some dread that I’ll come back and get some of the people I spared before.”

“Dread’s a key part,” Kay agrees. “Especially drop some warning in advance, not enough for anyone to be able to stop you, but just enough to make them all anxious and freaked out waiting for the worst.”

“Okay, so you’re both evil,” Apollo says. Athena chortles and Kay breaks into full cackling. “That’s probably a good thing for me to know ahead of time, before we get any further on this.”

“Before we venture into the woods in the dark with them, you mean,” Sebastian says.

“In the dark?” Apollo repeats. “In the—”

“We’ve got, uh, ‘sources’,” Kay says, making the quotation marks with one hand, while in the other she holds and examines a teacup that had managed to survive the initial catastrophe. “Informants who’ve been keeping an eye out to make sure things don’t go belly-up without us knowing.”

“Like other detectives or officers or something?” Athena asks, with a few wide-eyed blinks of confusion.

“Something,” Sebastian agrees. Apollo makes a note to himself to look out for crows. “But we know Tenma Taro doesn’t emerge during the day. You’ll have time to investigate in town; Ms Teak, the shop owner, went out for lunch but she told us she would be coming back, uh…” Sebastian checks his watch, pushing apart his sleeve and his glove to get to its face. “Soon? She lives above the shop, which is how she knew about the crime so quickly.”

“We should definitely talk to her, then,” Athena says. “And then at sunset we’ve got a whole new investigation to start!”

Ms Teak is a short, white-haired old lady who invites Apollo and Athena up to her living quarters above the shop, offers them tea, and insists that they call her “Auntie” even after they tell her they are Isabella’s lawyers. “That girl,” she says with a sad shake of her head, nearly spilling the tea that she pours for Athena, and Athena almost jostles the pot out of her hands eagerly trying to reach over and steady it. “She’s a sweet girl, but her head’s so far up in the clouds at the best of times. I just couldn’t keep rebalancing the register because she got her math all wrong. Or I’d tell her where to go clean and find an hour later she hadn’t done anything because she’d started with dusting the bookshelf and started thumbing through the first book to catch her eye. Cookies, dears?”

“Er, no thanks,” Apollo says at the same time Athena says, “Sure! Thank you very much!”

Depending on what sorts of witnesses she takes this offer from, she might end up in big trouble; but Apollo showed the blackmail letter to L’Belle and he stole it and destroyed it, so maybe he’s not that much better at proper witness protocol. Other subjects that should probably be taught in law school.

“I hate to think that such a sweet girl would be capable of this,” Ms Teak continues, returning to the small round table and setting down a little plate of tea biscuits. All of the decor of the house is mismatched, like it’s all come out of the antiques store at some point or another: a wicker chair next to a polished brown wood one next to a bar stool of almost equal height to the table, a white-and-gold teapot on a blue porcelain saucer, a cutting board shaped like a pig hanging on the kitchen wall visible from where they now sit in the tiny cramped dining area. “I had to let her go, you understand. It simply wasn’t working out. But I’ve got no ill-will toward the dear girl, and I’d hoped she had none toward me. Oh, dear, dear.” She pulls the wicker chair away from the table, that Apollo now can see the green flowered seat cushion and the pillow with an embroidered - opossum? Is that a possum? - resting against the back.

“How did she react when you told her that you were firing her?” Apollo asks. He watches Athena reach slowly for another cookie, like if she moves slow enough she won’t be noticed, and when she returns it to her mouth she nibbles at it like a squirrel, if a squirrel were nibbling because it realized it isn’t professional or polite to just scarf it down.

“Oh, the poor thing cried, of course. So embarrassed and ashamed of all the mistakes she’d made. Hated to think she’d failed at anything though I tried so hard to assure her that just because she wasn’t good at some things didn’t mean she wouldn’t find a passion that she could get her head locked into.”

“Yeah, I got a big sense of shame and sadness when she mentioned being fired, too,” Athena says quietly, tapping at the side of Widget. “Definitely not anything vindictive.”

“I do hope you’re right,” Ms Teak says. “I do hope you and that other nice young pair - how old are you? I swear all of you professional-types get younger and younger these days - can make sure she didn’t do it and find who did.” She sighs. “And I’ve got to clean up that mess they made, and I’d just gotten done all my spring reorganizing of the shop done, too.”

“The stone that was stolen from the back room,” Apollo says. “The prosecutor mentioned that. Do you remember where that came from originally?”

“Oh, I had that old thing for years,” Ms Teak replies. “Maybe a decade or more, now. I don’t quite remember when but my memory is sharp that it was Ms Tenma, rest her soul - the mayor’s wife, I mean, dear little Jinxie’s mother - who brought it in, asked me if I’d ever seen anything like it and told me she didn’t want it back, that I was free to sell it or get rid of it however I like. She said she didn’t know what it was either, but it made her so uneasy she wanted it out. Didn’t ask where she got it from, didn’t feel that was my business. Strange things happen in this town, you know.”

Apollo knows. Apollo knows well that this one of, but not the only, the towns where strange things happen. Ms Teak glares at them over her teacup. “Best not to ask, sometimes.” She says it like advice, a warning. “And I kept telling myself I should get rid of it, but I’ve been so darned curious that I could never make myself ask for a few dollars for it, or just throw it in a river, you understand?” She shakes her head, sending her white curls bouncing. “Maybe whatever it belongs to wanted it back now, and poor Isabella’s lucky she wasn’t walking past at the time it arrived. Though maybe sharp young lawyers like you two don’t believe in that sort of thing?” She raises an eyebrow as she takes another sip of her tea.

“We’re the lawyers who defended Mayor Tenma when he was charged with murder last month,” Apollo says, hoping that the mayor’s popularity has continued to climb, hoping that he was never so hated here in Tenma Town, and that his saying this won’t be a black mark. “We’re, um, familiar with the goings-on around here.”

“That was you?” she asks, surprised, setting down her teacup and saucer. “My goodness. All of those big cases you must get, if the mayor chose you as his lawyers, and here you are up this way for little Isabella.”

“We don’t really—” Apollo begins, because really, it was a lucky fluke that they got to represent the mayor, and luckier that they didn’t entirely blow it, but Athena kicks him in the shin before he can correct Ms Teak on their office’s humble and confusing existence.

“Thank you darlings oh so much for helping out our little town, once again.”

“It’s our pleasure!” Athena replies, taking another cookie.

“She’s the most pleasant witness we’ve ever had!” Athena says brightly, once they’ve left behind the shop to compile their information back in the sunlight of the street. “What a great chance of pace!”

“You’ve had exactly one case before this,” Apollo says. “You can’t say that like—”

“Like Filch and L’Belle weren’t both terrible?” Athena interrupts. She’s unequivocally correct, of course, even without her knowing that Apollo, after his first case, would have had the same reaction to a cooperative, forthcoming, honest, friendly client; after dealing with Olga Orly, Phoenix, and Kristoph. Apollo would have had this same response, but didn’t, because all of the witnesses in his second case were also terrible.

She grins at his silence, knowing what it means, and from her skirt pocket produces yet another cookie.

The alderman’s manor and garden are closed to the public of Nine-Tails Vale - and indeed, anywhere else - for the foreseeable future, but Jinxie still has possession of the master key and has been in to clean up and keep dust from gathering. “The alderman’s wife is still in the hospital,” she explains, “but Papa and I went to see her and she told us that she trusted the town was in good hands with us.” She squares her shoulders, a stack of charms still arrayed in her hand, ready to strike, but instead of slapping one onto Apollo’s head she just offers one to him and Athena. “So we can’t let her down!”

Kay sits on the carpet in the foyer with three boxes of pizza and one of breadsticks. “Ms Teak let me and Sebby take some coupons!” she chirps. “I thought it’s important that we all get some food in us before we head out! Sebby’s on his way over, but I flew out here ahead of time to get us food. You’re welcome!” She waves a breadstick at them and Athena enthusiastically flings herself to the floor, Jinxie sinking down with a bit more grace.

Out the window, the sun is no longer visible, its last vestiges of light barely illuminating the horizon, but the sky is still the light blue of early dusk, nothing that Apollo would yet be worried about roaming around in. Sebastian arrives, with Phoenix and Trucy trailing him, in the blue-black, when several stars are visible along with the moon. “Papa’s up in the Fox Chamber,” Jinxie tells Phoenix. “Trying to get the Forbidden Chamber back in order, make sure it’s all set up.” She offers all three of them warding charms, as she had before. “And he’s talking to the woman who showed up earlier.”

“What woman?” Phoenix asks through a mouthful of pizza.

Jinxie shrugs. “I slapped her with a warding charm when she came in - not one of the protective charms I’ve given you, but one to keep a demon in and stop it from using its powers. And she didn’t mind that so I guessed she can’t be that evil, and Papa has the Nine-Tails to protect him. She’s very pretty - um, she has black hair and was wearing a kimono.”

Oh. That is very unfortunately familiar, too. Phoenix presses a hand over his face and sighs. “Did I do something wrong?” Jinxie asks. “Do you know her?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Phoenix assures her, and after the initial moment has passed, he looks more concerned with whether he wants to finish his slice of pizza. “I know both of the likely options, and there are - there could be worse things. Or people.”

“Mr Wright, do you know how to say things that aren’t cryptic and ominous?” Kay asks. Apollo’s glad he’s not the only one left wondering that question, and that Kay is secure enough to say it out loud, too. Maybe sooner or later Phoenix will get the point, will get tired of hearing it and adapt. Or maybe sooner than that they’ll all be eaten by a yokai.

Jinxie springs to her feet and races up the stairs, calling for her father. She returns two minutes later with Mayor Tenma and a woman who Apollo recognizes, her straight black hair as glassy as ice and her dark, sad eyes. Jinxie was right to take a precaution against her - stuck right in the center of her forehead is a paper charm. “Well, this is a surprise,” Phoenix says lightly, but his posture shifts the moment he sees her, contracting, tightening up from the loose ease he held himself with. When he finishes speaking his mouth has a plastic quality to it, the corner frozen in a lopsided and failed smile. “What are you doing here, Iris?”

He looks so much less comfortable with her here than he did in the office last year, but there’s more people here, more than just Apollo and Trucy to wonder what it is about them, between them. Iris appears no more confident, bowing to Phoenix and never quite straightening up, her hands folded in front of herself, her shoulders turning slightly inward with them. “Since you consulted the Mystic on this matter of Tenma Taro, she was concerned about what may happen to you attempting to reimprison it yourself. Or even with assistance.”

“And I assured Miss… Iris,” Mayor Tenma says, his pronunciation of her name slow and doubtful, like he knows what she is, knows this name is not entirely true to her, “that with the power of the Nine-Tailed Fox, there is little to fear.”

“As I understand.” Iris inclines her head up and to the side, and when her hair swings down and catches the light, as Apollo remembers, it has an auburn sheen. “Understand me, Mayor, that I am not here to tread on your authority, nor to doubt the power of your village’s guardian. When I say that the Fox is weaker than it was when Tenma Taro was first imprisoned, I do not mean that it and you are weak - simply weaker. And there is a ritual to prepare in the Chamber to bind the demon again, and a vast swath of forest to search through. Are we to wait for you to be finished with the Chamber to begin? The Mystic requested of me to keep our friends safe, and that is what I intend to do.”

“I’m surprised Maya didn’t come down here herself,” Phoenix says. “I think I’m overdue for her yelling at me.” He says it tonelessly, with a roll of his eyes, though the implication is obvious, that Maya is one of the fae, and Apollo would never be so casual about having one of the fae angry with him.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Iris smiles with lips pressed tight together. “She will not forget that she has criticisms of your handling of the past eight years. But we all agreed for this situation that both she and my sweet little sister bear a worrying lack of subtlety that could have unfortunate repercussions.”

“Right,” Phoenix agrees. “Pearls would slap a yokai straight through a house. Take care of that situation but level half the town in the process.”

“Indeed. And I was already in the area, over at Hazakurain, and it was not too far to come over. Sister Bikini’s back has been bothering her more lately and I had thought to offer some assistance to the temple.” Iris’ smile gets a little wider, a little less forced. “She still asks after your well-being, and that of a certain handsome prosecutor as well.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Phoenix’s mouth quirks into an equally small smile, and then he claps his hands together and brings them up in front of his mouth. “All right,” he says. “What’s our plan? Iris? Mr Tenma?”

“I have spent these past two weeks, with the assistance of the Nine-Tails, seeking out Tenma Taro, but he has avoided me,” the mayor explains. “It is my hope that you would be able to assist in flushing him out and driving him to a place that I would be able to finish dragging him back into the Forbidden Chamber.”

“So we are gonna be bait!” Athena says.

“No,” Phoenix says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sort of. Tenma Taro’s weak after being locked up for so long - not weak enough to not be a threat, but enough that it’s going to stay the hell away from its old enemy.” A wave of his hand in the direction of Mayor Tenma. “It’s not going to be so cautious when you kids go tromping into the woods. You’d just smell and seem like - people. Traces of magic, yeah, sure, but none of you are foxes.”

“So it’ll just think we’re tasty snacks and not expect us to kick its butt?” Athena asks.

“Tasty,” Trucy repeats. “Magically delicious, you mean.”

Iris giggles. Phoenix sighs and says, “Sebastian, you’re in charge.”

Sebastian freezes, eyes wide and shoulders hunched, his hands twisting around each other. He wears different gloves now than he did earlier; these have the fingers missing, for whatever reason. “Mr Wright, are you sure?”

A witch against a yokai. Apollo doesn’t really know what witches can do, in the abstract, and he certainly doesn’t know what powers Sebastian has - or the when, why, how, of him becoming a witch - but Phoenix must. Enough to have an expectation. “I’m not asking - or suggesting - that you try and fight it singlehandedly, but I think you’d be a big help in keeping it distracted.”

Neither Sebastian’s face nor his posture suggests that he agrees with this assessment. “And, Iris?” Phoenix asks. She doesn’t look surprised, turns her eyes on Phoenix slowly and blinks, waiting. “I’m sure whatever Maya told you was about me, but I’m pretty sure I’d be a liability if I was trying to keep up with everyone else through the woods, and—”

“Your back pain is and always has been because you sit like a gargoyle,” Iris says. “But you would like me to keep your children from being killed.”

“Well.” Phoenix runs his hand through his hair all the way down to rub the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to phrase it exactly like that. Those two” - he gestures at Kay and Sebastian - “are Edgeworth’s, not mine.”

“What?” Kay asks. “Mr Edgeworth’s my other dad, but you’re my other other dad! Are you disowning me? Have I been disowned? Why can’t you both be my dads?” She grins. Apollo remembers the conversation he had with Klavier about a particular betting pool.

“I do believe it’s been decided on your behalf,” Iris says to Phoenix. “But, yes, I will make sure none of them come to harm. If—” She frowns, her eyes narrowing, and she rolls them up toward the center of her forehead, as though trying to see Jinxie’s charm still left there. She raises a hand to it and falters, her fingers an inch from the paper.

“Right,” Phoenix says, and he reaches over and peels the charm off of her head.

“You can’t take it off yourself?” Trucy asks.

“There would hardly be a point to such a charm if any monster can just remove the bindings from herself,” Iris says. “Perhaps we use that charm ourselves, slap it upon Tenma Taro when we find him.”

“Ooh! I volunteer for that!” Kay bounces up and down and snatches the charm from Phoenix’s hand when he holds it out to her. “I’ll sneak up on him and whack him with it! And then, Seb, you chase it out into the open where the Amazing Nine-Tails can wrestle it back to prison!”

“You should all take some more charms,” Jinxie says, grabbing Trucy’s hands and dealing the paper slips into her palm like a card dealer setting up a game. “Make sure as soon as you see something strange, hit it!”

“That’s sound advice,” Athena says, nodding sagely.

“That could get you arrested,” Sebastian says.

Athena raises her eyebrows and grins at Apollo. He has to suppress a groan. Somehow, in the madness of everything after, he’d almost forgotten about Athena flinging a police officer through the air. Between that, manipulating information from Fulbright, and Sebastian and Kay being plenty friendly (no matter how Kay tried to pretend she wasn’t giving out information), she’s going to get a very strange idea of what she can get away with.

Iris eyes the pizza crusts that someone left behind in the box, but seeing Apollo watching her, she quickly turns her head away, lifting her chin to feign regal posture.

Tenma Taro is going to kill them all, no question.

#if you want the key to the bad pun names it's in the end notes on ao3 #roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 6 years ago

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Witches, Chapter 3: the difference between yokai and the fae is like the difference between Pokemon and Ultra Beasts which is “fuck if I know but now I’m afraid that I’m spending too long hung up on the ‘what’s a yokai’ point because unlike Ultra Beasts, yokai are not going to be relevant to the plot moving forward beyond this case”

We’ll call it worldbuilding, and setting the atmosphere of “there is even more than what we know beyond the scope of our main characters,” we’ll go with that.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

Ms Athena Cykes, Attorney-at-Law, throws a policeman into Apollo like she’s an Olympic athlete throwing a hammer, and once she’s helped Apollo back off the ground and he’s introduced himself as her coworker – making her zero for two on decent introductions – she grabs him by the arm and makes him sprint along with her away from the scene of her crime. “Maybe he’ll just, y’know, have forgotten that happened,” she says, releasing Apollo halfway up the hill to the manor and letting him gasp for breath. “Just a little bit of head trauma to smooth things over?” She frowns, hanging her head slightly, her eyes turning toward the ground. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s a reflex I have if someone grabs me suddenly.”

“I’ll remember to not do that,” Apollo says, his hands on his knees, trying and failing to recall the last time he ever sprinted uphill, “but I think that’s still a… problem.” Of felony level, or maybe misdemeanor if she’s lucky and the prosecution is charitable to the reflex argument.

“Maybe we can say a yokai did it,” Athena says. “Since there’s so many around anyway and all the locals are talking about that.”

“Yeah, our client’s daughter has already mistaken me for a red-horned demon,” Apollo says. “You might be next to get the yokai treatment.”

Athena tilts her head to the side and stares at him. Her eyes are blue, blue enough that Apollo would have to concentrate to see if they change color. “I mean, your horns aren’t red,” she says, “but I can see where it’s coming from.”

Sometimes Apollo wonders why he bothers. “But we’ve got our client’s problem to sort out first,” Athena says brightly, and Apollo pushes himself back upright. “Did you meet him? Gimme the details, rápido!”

He fills her in on his conversation with Mayor Tenma and all of the village folklore that he’s heard; she shows him a one-sheet special edition of the village newspaper, just printed, displaying a photograph of something resembling Tenma Taro flying through the air. “You don’t think it’s actually a supernatural murder case, do you?” she asks.

“I…” Apollo finds it easier to stare at the manor than to meet Athena’s eyes. “I – of course not!”

Athena raises an eyebrow.

In the manor foyer, they meet the caretaker, a petty pickpocket who tries to steal Apollo’s bracelet and is watching wrestling, or would be if the match hadn’t been postponed after the Amazing Nine-Tails’ failed to show up. They don’t get a chance to ask the caretaker what he saw; Athena chases him off by yelling when he makes a very suspicious remark about their wallets. And she complained about his Chords of Steel.

At the crime scene, he expects to see Ema, powdering the scene with Snackoos and her search for fingerprints, at home amidst the weirdness of the scene – but the familiar lab coat is nowhere in sight. No one is, when they cast their first look around the room, Athena yelping in horror at the feathers and bloody footprints, but before they have any time to investigate, they are ambushed by a man in a blinding white suit. After about a minute of circular arguing and a threat to arrest them, he finally introduces himself as “Detective Bobby Fulbright, champion of our good citizens and defender of justice!”

Yep, he wishes it was Ema here. Ema would just let them into the crime scene, but Athena has to talk circles around Fulbright to get him to concede. And it isn’t that Fulbright is particularly difficult to tie up in knots, either – it’s just another hassle that Apollo isn’t used to and didn’t expect. (He shouldn’t have expected to find Ema on every ridiculous case he takes, but there had seemed a precedent.)

The door in the back of the Fox Chamber is the entrance to the so-called Forbidden Chamber, where Tenma Taro is said to be sealed away. There’s a heavy lock with no keyhole sealing the doors tight, and though he remembers Jinxie mentioning a warding charm on the door, Apollo sees nothing of the sort in the room. Besides one overturned chair, there doesn’t seem to have been a struggle. Beneath the chair lies a piece of bloodied cloth, which they can only investigate when Athena has lied to Fulbright to get him out of the room. “Hey, detective, did you hear?” she calls across the room, and she had barely let Apollo in on her plan before launching into it, but that question coupled with that grin of hers says everything Apollo needs to know. “Down on Yokai Lane, there was a red-horned demon threatening a teenage girl!”

There’s no way he’s going to believe—

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? In justice we trust!”

He rushes from the room, and Athena turns her sharp smug grin on Apollo. “That was… kinda easy, actually.” She isn’t frightening – that isn’t the right word – but she’s clever and clearly has no reservations about picking at a weakness she sees, and she sees Fulbright’s. No wonder Phoenix hired her. “Now we can really investigate!”

“Unless he comes back and arrests me for being a demon,” Apollo says. “Thanks a lot for that, by the way, tossing me under the bus there.”

“¡De nada!”

While they move the chair and scramble to otherwise search the scene, tugging again on the Forbidden Chamber doors, opening the window, and Athena kneeling and nearly sticking her head beneath the coffee table, she explains Widget, the strange little electronic she wears around her neck. Apollo had spotted its screen changing colors and making faces and hadn’t thought much more of it. Apparently it’s a high-tech mood ring that sometimes just shouts things, in combination with a computer, that can also take pictures, and she scans in a three-dimensional visualization of the crime scene “just in case. You never know what comes in handy, and Fulbright seems like a bit of a dunce so who knows if or when we’ll get a crime scene photo.”

“It’s really just all advanced technology?” Apollo asks. “That it can vocalize your mood?”

“What else?” the robotic voice chirps, and Athena nods and continues, “What do you think I’m gonna tell you? That it’s magic?”

She doesn’t plainly laugh at him, but she still looks amused, and Apollo swallows what little pride he has left after a year at the Wright Anything Agency and says, “Uh, maybe?”

“Mr Wright asked the same thing, actually,” she says. “If it was magic, or a merger of magic and tech. I guess it makes sense you’d ask the same! You do work together, after all!”

Once, Apollo would have taken it as a compliment to be compared to Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t feel that charitable now. “But on the subject of magic – you know that Mr Wright is…”

How to describe Mr Wright, anyway? He’s enough of an enigma personally, without the fae factor. And then – fae-adjacent is how Klavier describes him, the riddle of a man who wasn’t stolen as a child, never made a deal, never had it in their blood, and still ended up marked by the handprints of half a dozen fae. They’re petty and scary and selfish; the curses make sense. The whole package?

“Oh, the thing with his eyes?” Athena asks. “Where he can, like, see ghosts and stuff?”

“Sort of,” Apollo says. “Actually not really, but you’ve got the overall spirit of it.” She squats down and picks up one of the feathers, spinning it in her fingers and frowning. “Wait – he just – showed you that his eyes change color and you accepted what he said about why that happens?”

“Well, yeah,” Athena says. She sets the feather down and her mouth twists disgustedly at the blood soaked and dried into the carpet. “I could hear that he’s sincere, everything he said about magic. And now we have a giant mutant bird or a monster committing murder, so.”

“I’d personally consider a giant mutant bird to be a monster.”

Athena hears Fulbright returning before Apollo does and they feign innocence, like they’ve just been examining the alderman’s old wrestling trophies all this time. Apollo almost feels bad for the detective, having been sent on a futile demon-hunt – he doesn’t appear to have connected Apollo to Athena’s words and Apollo is infinitely grateful for it – and arriving back only for Athena to manipulate him into giving up information again. This time, he’s apparently been so confused by it all that he unprompted offers them a warning about the prosecution.

If they were fae, or a witch, fine. If the warning was that there was just some sort of magic, uncertain in origin but obviously present – fine. Fine. (Obviously not fine, but liveable. The kind of thing he’s faced before.)

“A convicted – are you joking?”

Athena winces and claps a hand to the ear that is closer to Apollo. Fulbright isn’t fazed by his scream. “Not at all! By order of the Chief Prosecutor himself, so there’s not much room to question it!”

(Apparently Phoenix’s counterpart over at the Prosecutors Office is as batshit as he is. Wait, isn’t that Edgeworth? Apollo has met him and didn’t think—)

“That’s completely nuts!” Apollo says. He tries to swallow the shout but it still comes out as an indignant squawk. Athena wisely has not removed her hand from her ear and takes a step away. “What justification – even the Chief Prosecutor – a convicted killer—”

(In his head he is already composing a text to Klavier that consists only of question marks. Good fucking luck to Klavier to figure out what he’s referring to.)

“Killer he might be, but he’s also a master of psychology. Who better for the job of proving to everyone that yokai are nothing but figments of the imagination, and no fake creature committed this murder?”

Apollo imagines what Ema would have to say about this: the dead-eyed look on her face, the “maybe it will still be better than working with the fop,” and probably not nearly such a staunch conviction that it couldn’t have been magic. They saw Kristoph collapse together, found Trucy’s mother’s mitamah, and met Gourdy. She knows.

“This prosecutor,” Athena says softly, all her bravado and enthusiasm of barely two minutes ago gone. “His name wouldn’t happen to be Blackquill, would it?”

“That he would be!” Fulbright says, with far too much cheer for the fact that they are discussing the way the Prosecutors Office has been twisted inside and out. “Simon Blackquill. So you have heard of him?”

“Yeah,” Athena mumbles, rubbing her arm like a sudden chill has come over her. “You could say that.”

Maybe when she was studying psychology she looked up prosecutors of her profession, but that doesn’t entirely account for the haunted look on her face, and the way Apollo feels just that much colder, too.

“I still wish I had gotten to try on the Amazing Nine-Tails’ mask,” Athena says. “I want to see what kind of magic powers it gives you!”

“That’s probably just a story,” Apollo says. Probably. “And you shouldn’t go around sticking your head in the evidence, anyway.”

The breeze has a bite to it and the shadows are long by the time they make it back to the office. Their investigation found them plenty more clues, none of which piece together, and more testimony leading to dead ends. The manor caretaker, Filch, is lying about something; the mayor’s aide, L’Belle, is lying about even more, brimming with red and an apparent preoccupation with Tenma Taro; and the mayor himself tried to lie and pretend he wasn’t being blackmailed into pushing for the municipal merger. And Apollo doesn’t have Trucy, Ema, and Klavier to count on. He has Athena to count on, as much as he can when she is stepping behind the bench as a barred lawyer for the first time, and they have whatever the hell is happening on the prosecution’s side to battle against.

“I bet Fulbright took it away so that he can get magic powers from it,” Athena says.

“I bet Fulbright took it because he’s the detective in charge of the scene and it might have something to do with the murder.”

“Apollo,” Athena says with a whine. “You are no fun.”

“I’m not supposed to be fun! We’re supposed to be solving a crime!”

She and Trucy would enjoy working together. The trouble is whether anyone would actually get defended without someone to keep them pointed at the goal.

The office door is unlocked as always, but the lights are on and Phoenix, in jeans and a t-shirt and no shoes, is lying upside-down with his legs hooked over the back of the couch and his head hanging off the side, on the phone. Apparently he has given up all concerns on making a good first couple impressions on Athena as her boss in a formal capacity. This doesn’t surprise Apollo. That he complains about having back pain and then continues to sit like this doesn’t surprise Apollo either.

“Yeah,” Phoenix says, his eyes turning toward the two of them and then back to the ceiling. “I know, but you know I’m very good at keeping secrets. Which – no, that’s not my pitch to get security clearance, that’s my pitch for you to just tell me even though I don’t have clearance t—” He sits up slowly, laboriously, and saying nothing, obviously being chewed out by whoever is on the other end of the line. “I know, I know. I get it. I’m just telling you that solving a cold case where I’m not allowed to know much more than the defendant’s name is not going to be a cakewalk.” Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he adds, “But the kids are back and don’t look happy, so I think I should deal with that first. – Uh-huh, yeah. We’ll see. Talk to you tomorrow.”

The phone cracks against the coffee table when he tosses it down. Athena winces. “Hey, Apollo,” Phoenix says lightly. “Athena. I finally caught a cab and got your luggage home.”

“I, uh.” She stands with her shoulders slumped for barely a moment before she pops back up, hands on her hips. “Sorry? Sorry that I can’t lie and say I’m sorry for leaving because I’m not. I’ve never gotten to help with an investigation before, and I got to see a crime scene with all the blood” – why does she sound excited about that? – “and everything!”

“Yeah, I won’t begrudge you that.” Is that sarcastic, or bitter, or does he actually mean it? Apollo can’t tell, still can’t read the man unless he lets him, and right now, Phoenix isn’t letting him through. “Good to get field experience. How’s the case coming?”

“You guessed right,” Apollo says. “Unhappily. If our client isn’t the killer, a giant bird yokai might be, and I have no idea how we are going to indict that.”

“Have you actually seen that yokai, or just some apparent evidence of yokai?” Phoenix asks. Athena taps her necklace and it projects a holographic screen with her crime scene scan. She points out the feathers and bloody footprints with real enthusiasm. Phoenix sits forward, a deep frown sending creases up his forehead. “So it might be a yokai, and it might be someone trying to trick you into thinking it’s a yokai.”

“That’s what the detective believes,” Apollo says. “That monsters aren’t real.”

“There’s also this photograph!” Athena says, shoving the newspaper under Phoenix’s nose, through the projected screen. “Someone saw it flying!”

“Did either of you see that?” he asks, accepting it from her and quickly scanning the front page. “Or anything yokai-like?”

“Trucy’s friend Jinxie who found the body said she saw it fleeing the room,” Apollo says. “And she and Trucy and I all saw -- I think it was probably a person in a Tenma Taro costume? Way back before the murder, during the festival. The village people say that it can steal your soul if it looks you in the eye.”

“That’s bullshit,” Phoenix says, holding up one finger. “I obviously don’t know much about souls” – the frown has returned to his face, his tired eyes turning up to Apollo – “but I’m pretty damn sure it’s not that easy.”

“I’d hoped as much,” Apollo says. Athena now has her head cocked, like an owl trying to listen intently for its prey, the entire year that she hasn’t been around. “Have you ever been to Nine-Tails Vale, Mr Wright? Have you ever seen a yokai?”

“I’ve gone up a few times with Trucy.” He opens up the newspaper but turns it over again too fast to have actually read anything. “Wanted to make sure it was safe for her and Jinxie to be hanging around there, so I’ve looked around and never seen anything – maybe they’re on a different wavelength than fae things.” He grins and his eyes flash blue. “Or maybe they’re just the stories that my grandparents leveraged to threaten me into going to bed.” Athena laughs and Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “No? Neither of you had that experience?”

Athena shrugs. Apollo shakes his head. (Dhurke didn’t need to use boogeymen to keep Apollo and Nahyuta in line. The regime’s very real soldiers were more than enough of a danger to keep them close. Datz was the one with outlandish stories, but those never had a moral or purpose, and Nahyuta liked them because there was absolutely no way he could see what was coming next.)

“So we’re still where we started, not knowing what’s real and what isn’t,” Apollo says. What must Athena think, them talking so seriously about yokai? And Apollo had tried to tell her earlier this afternoon that he didn’t believe Tenma Taro is the killer. “Couldn’t some of the yokai be fae creatures? There’s—” He remembers, a bolt from the blue, one of the puzzles that Trucy dumped on his head with no forewarning. “Like, kitsunes. Isn’t that—”

Phoenix sighs for a very long time. “Yeah. If we try to create taxonomic classifications we’re gonna be here all night. Words don’t actually mean anything, and in my head I put them more on the fae side, shapeshifters of any sort, even kitsunes and tanuki and—”

“Tanuki!” Athena grabs Apollo’s arm. “That’s it, Apollo! The caretaker, Mr Filch – he looks like a tanuki, and in the Fox Chamber there were those statues—” She releases him to turn Widget’s projection of the scene toward the door, the statues, one broken, flanking both sides. “That’s got to mean something! I’ve put it together! I’m connecting the dots!”

“I don’t think you are,” Apollo says.

“I’m connecting them!”

“Hey.” Phoenix shrugs. “Shooting in the dark sometimes gets me somewhere. Don’t bank on it, but you never know.” Standing, he puts his back to them and heads for a bookshelf. “You’ve got some evidence and witness testimony, at least?”

“And no idea how it fits together,” Apollo says, and then, with Athena looking at him and Phoenix here with them, it feels like an admission of failure, a plea for help that he doesn’t need, because he’s pulled it together with only vague advice from Phoenix before. “So same as ever.”

“Oh,” Athena says. “So this is how cases are supposed to go?”

“Maybe not ‘supposed to’,” Apollo says, “but it’s how it always ends up being.”

“If yokai are anything,” Phoenix says, still focused on the bookshelf, pulling one book down, “they’re other strange things that got tossed out of the Court and fell through the cracks.”

Apollo doesn’t know why he thought Phoenix was actually listening to him. It’s a step forward and then two steps diagonally back any time he feels like Phoenix is anything of a mentor or a guide or someone to lean on.

“Exile’s a common enough fae punishment; over the centuries there’s probably been plenty of things that can’t go back to the Twilight Realm but never start to blend in here.”

“Centuries?” Athena repeats. “How long do the fae live? And wait, what’s the Twilight Realm? Do you—” She turns to Apollo. “Do you know what he’s talking about? You’ve been over all this?”

“There’s been some cases where it’s come up,” Phoenix says.

“And he always tells me after the fact,” Apollo adds.

Phoenix doesn’t acknowledge that statement, but he doesn’t try and object to it, either. Athena’s frown is deepening. Apollo doesn’t like this look on her face, the one where she looks like she’s staring straight down into his heart and is disappointed to find out how rocky his relationship with Phoenix actually is. She should get used to that feeling of disappointment that happens around him.

“Twilight Realm is – Faeryland, you’d call it,” Phoenix says. “And I’m not actually sure about their lifespans. I don’t know if they know. Usually they just cut each other down in their prime in power struggles.”

Athena’s entire posture collapses, her hands sliding off her hips and her shoulders slumping. “Oh,” she says. “That’s very sad.” And she’s blinking rapidly, like to stave off tears, and already Apollo has noticed – how could he not? – that she wears her entire heart on her sleeve, ready to show almost every emotion almost all at once.

“I suppose,” Phoenix says. He looks back at them over his hunched shoulders, something sheepish blinking across his face, like he’s never considered that angle. When he turns, he has a book open across one palm. “Mia and her mother wrote a lot of things down,” he says, a statement out of nowhere that maybe, if Apollo is lucky, will tie back to something they were talking about. “Tried to keep track of lots of things, denizens of the Court and exiles and all. Most of it gives me migraines if I look at it, but Mia made some notes in the margins and one of the things I thought I remembered – which I was right—” He squints down at the pages and then raises it toward his face. “Fuck, do I need glasses?”

Athena’s lips are pursed, her cheeks puffed out, a grin and a laugh swallowed.

“Some of the weirdest little things that get thrown out of the Court don’t land properly. They aren’t as humanoid as the true fae, they can’t marry in with humans and fade away – they can’t ever fully physically be here. Not quite corporeal, blinking in and out. And—” Again, he raises the book back to his nose. “And definitely would avoid someone like me who’s rubbed elbows with all seven of the fae royals from the past two generations.”

“She scribbled all that in the margins for you?” Athena asks. “That was nice.”

Phoenix laughs. “Not all of it,” he says. “We talked – a lot, about everything, in the early days.” The sad, wistful look in his eyes is one Apollo has seen a few times before. It’s the softest he ever looks. “Most of that was part of it, but I needed to jog my memory again with any little thing.”

“Oh, yeah,” Athena says. “Of course. Makes perfect sense – that’s psychology.” Phoenix chuckles, but like the wheel of her emotions that she’s already displayed, Athena moves past the cheer of having an answer and getting to name-drop her favorite subject, and once again turns up sadness. “I can’t imagine, though. Losing your home and then just being stuck, just, lingering, and you’re trapped in between and don’t have anywhere to belong.”

“Are you tearing up again?” Apollo asks.

“I wish there was a way to help,” she continues, wiping her eyes, but not quickly enough. “You know? Like even if they’re monsters – were they always? I’d probably be grumpy too if that happened to me.”

Psychoanalysis of yokai is not where Apollo thought this day would end up.

“One challenge at a time, Athena,” Phoenix says. He sets the book down on the bookshelf but doesn’t slot it back into place. “I know you became a lawyer to save people – exactly what you said, that if being a defense attorney was a way to help people, and your ability could help with that, then you knew you had to.” Even while deflating a little at his first comment, a grin starts to spread across her face, and there’s something almost like envy curling tight in Apollo’s chest, that there was something more than a blessing on her eye that drew him to her, that he remembers this about her, cares to remember. “But that doesn’t have to be everyone and everything, all at once. Damian Tenma is your client. Don’t worry about the yokai beyond what ones might have been involved in the case.”

Athena nods, her chin jutting out. “Tomorrow, Mr Tenma,” she says. “And the next day, everyone else!”

Phoenix closes his eyes and his eyebrows raise like he’s trying to roll his eyes behind the lids. “It’s a start,” he says.

#roddy fanfics #fae au tag #fic: the witches of los angeles

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