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relicsongmel · 9 months ago

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Something I've always found fascinating about Raymond Shields is that despite seemingly having altruistic reasons for being a defense attorney, his reasons for trying to convince Miles to be one are anything but.

It seems understandable enough on the surface. After Ray comes around and agrees to work with Miles in The Imprisoned Turnabout, he sees remnants of Gregory shining through him despite von Karma's influence. Whether or not he recognizes that Miles' decision to become a prosecutor wasn't just born from that alone—that it was in tandem with wanting to distance himself from anything that reminded him of his father to alleviate the burden on his heart—is up for debate, but regardless: he acknowledges Miles as Gregory's son through and through and wants to capitalize on his dedication for pursuing justice in a way that he knows would make his father proud. He wants to let Miles in on the life he was robbed of at 9 years old—the life he once dreamed of living, where he follows in the footsteps of his father by giving everything he has to save people, by fighting like hell for the vulnerable and the condemned.

That said, as much as Ray dresses up his proposition by making it out to be as if he's looking out for Miles' best interests (and the best interests of society, even)...his motives for trying to get Miles to switch sides are almost entirely selfish. Ray's efforts (and most of his actions in general, really) are ultimately a product of his desperate attempt to cling on to anything related to Gregory out of an inability to move on from his death. Wearing his hat and coat, leaving the name of his office unchanged...and now, requesting that his son literally change jobs just because he can't bear the weight of his own loneliness anymore. Because he can't bear to think that the damage done by DL-6 is irreversible and Miles has moved on while he has stagnated for the past 17 years. Because he has an idealized vision of what he thinks Gregory would want and fails to realize that his son's occupation wouldn't matter to him as long as it brings him happiness and fulfillment. In his mind, letting Miles go means accepting the circumstances that brought him where he is and allowing both of them to move on. And that terrifies him.

It's even more deceitful when you realize that Ray's pitch comes at a very opportune time for Miles given his circumstances at that point: that is, he's under threat of investigation for prosecutorial misconduct and at risk of being stripped of his badge. Ray might fake incompetence, but he's not stupid—and he takes full advantage of Justine's warnings to try to sway Miles when he's in a more vulnerable position in terms of his job. Which is...pretty fucked up, to put it lightly. Despite having a better idea of where he came from compared to most people, through this Ray shows a lack of understanding of who Miles truly is and a lack of respect for what he's come to value, even if his path toward obtaining those values had some bumps along the road. But he's so blinded by his grief that he doesn't even stop to consider how much he's really asking of him, or what Miles is really searching for.

Ray was moved by Gregory. He values saving people. Defending the weak is an undeniably noble endeavor. But to ask that of someone else without consideration for their best interests is decidedly less so.

For all his occupation requires a certain selflessness, Raymond Shields is far more selfish than he lets on. And I for one find that contradiction fascinating to unpack.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright ace attorney #pwaa #aa #ace attorney investigations #aai2 #raymond shields #eddie fender #<-i'm not calling him that bc i strongly dislike that name. but just to prevent confusion #miles edgeworth #gregory edgeworth #aai2 spoilers #meta #my meta #hopefully this is coherent. i am currently at war with my fog headaches as we speak #aai announcement means i've got ray on the brain again. surprise surprise #sometime in the near future i also want to explore the possibility of ray losing his altruism at some point after gregory's death #or at the very least how it becomes less genuine. and he only keeps it up because it's what he thinks gregory would want #i have a LOT of feelings about how his need to keep up the good person act is EXTREMELY reminiscent of sister iris in that way #but this post is already long and if i write any more i may not have a functioning brain tomorrow soooo. another time unfortunately #↖️ this user is NOT normal about raymond shields ace attorney and you best BELIEVE she's going to make it everyone's problem

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out-there-tmblr · 7 days ago

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Young zaundads wip (52)

***

Silco gets word through the kitchen long before anything official is announced. They've been told to toss the bread out, which is pretty standard, but they've also been given recipes for fancy little Piltover pastries and tiny sweets made of sugar and egg whites. A topsider inspector wouldn't get that kind of food so there's someone much more important visiting next week.

"Does it matter who it is?" Vander asks, following Silco's careful steps up the slope to riverside.

"Of course not. It's not about which house they belong to. It's that they're coming to see the outcome of a project that directly impacts our plans." Silco tilts his head sideways to look up at Vander, mouth curved in a satisfied smirk. "They're celebrating something. Announcing something. They've got the ventilation shafts working."

Explained like that, it seems obvious. It also explains Silco's sudden good mood: sheer relief. It's month end tomorrow and they've both been haunted by the risk their plan is doomed before it even starts.

It would be nice if it made tonight's labour unnecessary, but it only makes it more important. A trading ship had fair winds and arrived two nights early, so they need to pay for the steel and move it down to the crevasse.

They need a better name for the area. Calling it the crevasse makes it sound like the fissures, like an area too inhospitable to have a proper name. Vander keeps thinking of it as their land, but that's going to change once other miners start building and living there. Silco keeps calling it Zaun because he's amused by the idea of their own little kingdom.

Silco smiles and pays for the materials, and commits to ordering more. Vander does his best to keep his own face friendly, even as he knows they don't have the money to buy more. He doubts they have more than thirty bronze in the safe right now. But Silco acts as if everything is under control, at least until they start moving the steel struts.

"The ship won't be back for another three weeks," Silco says through gritted teeth. He's really not built for the heavy labour his bright ideas involve. "We'll have more coin by then."

"Enough to pay for that much?"

"We'll each withdraw as much as we can tomorrow and we'll have enough."

"Even if tomorrow night's a disaster?" Vander doesn't think it will be. He certainly hopes it goes well but it's a big risk. A bigger risk than he's honestly comfortable with.

Silco shoots him a dirty look. "As long as we have three miners agree to pay for materials, we'll be fine."

"And if it's less than that?"

"I don't know, Vander," Silco snarls back, lifting the metal strut higher. "We'll talk to Babette about fleecing another one of her clients. Start robbing topsiders. I don't have a plan for this failing."

They stop talking. Quietly, they carry the strut down to the market only to find the door already unlocked and Felicia inside, swaying to the soft music. Connol and Benzo have their heads bent over some metal contraption, gears spread out on the low table between them.

Half of the room is currently piles of building materials – too big and too heavy to stack in the store room upstairs. The strut gets piled with the other steel supports.

"Hey, Benzo," Vander calls out, watching Silco shake out his hands, "I'll pay you in whiskey if you help me move the rest of these."

He looks over at Silco for permission, since it's Silco's personal stash he's offering, and Silco nods. "There's half a bottle of Noxian whiskey upstairs."

Benzo looks from one to the other, and then shrugs. "Sure."

"I'm going to check inventory," Silco announces. He's not the type to apologise for snapping in anger, but neither is Vander. They've got work to do. "Make sure we know exactly what we have on hand."

***

Vander's not sure what he was expecting. He knew there were a few miners interested. He was sure they'd have a few groups show up. What they actually get is the downstairs room of their market packed with people, chatter bouncing off the walls and growing louder. Vander grins. There's a buzz of excitement like goosebumps on his skin.

Silco clearly doesn't feel the same way. His face is ashen and his eyes keep darting around, like he's searching for an exit. (Impossible with so many people crammed so close together.) The plan had been for Silco to explain the terms to them, to talk them through the planned street and gauge interest.

Clearly, they don't need to worry about the level of interest.

Vander leans sideways, ducking his head down to speak softly. "Do you want me to talk to them?"

Silco swallows, eyes wide and still looking panicked. The last time he looked this scared, they were trapped in a cave in, digging for their lives. "I can do it," he says unsteadily.

"Yeah," Vander agrees because he knows Silco has enough determination to make himself do anything, "but do you want me to?"

After a considered moment, Silco gives a short nod. Vander rests a hand on his shoulder, but Silco's narrow shoulders are tensed and tight beneath his hand.

"Oi!" Vander yells out at the top of his lungs and for a stunned moment, the chatter pauses. "Listen up! I'm going through this once, and then I'll answer any questions, and then we're drawing lots and allocating space for anyone who's interested."

There's a low murmur of people whispering to whoever they came with. Vander gives it a moment to quiet down and then he starts explaining their idea. Most of the miners have already heard it, or heard it through a friend of a friend, but they all listen.

They've marked out plots of land. Every miner will pay ten bronze per week for as long as they live there. Each miner will have to build their own home and pay for materials, but there are three simple plans they can provide with instructions and a list of what's needed.

"I've talked to most of you before," Vander says, grinning at the whole roomful of miners listening to him. "Working together is going to get this done faster. It won't be easy – hell, we're still working on getting power and water here – but it'll be ours. Together, we're going to make this work."

There's a roar of applause, boots stomping on the rock floor. Vander feels Silco flinch at the wave of noise but he covers it quickly, chin high to stare his fear down.

When the crowd goes quiet, Vander explains how they're going to draw lots. There are small squares of paper, sliced out of Silco's precious notebook, for everyone who wants a piece of land. They just need to come forward and give their name. When everyone's done, they'll draw names out and everyone can pick ere they want to be.

"And before you ask," Vander says, standing at the map drawn onto a white sheet pinned to the wall, "this blue mark is where we are, the red mark will be Babette's and the dark blue mark will be a bar, eventually. The rest is up for grabs."

It takes longer than Vander expects to get everyone's names, probably because half of the miners need Silco to write it out for them. But eventually it's ready to draw names and it becomes a celebration. People cheer when someone raises their hand and steps forward to the map. Some squint and take their time choosing a plot, others seem to point at random, selecting any empty spot. Dutifully, Silco writes each name on the map and writes a second record in his notebook, plot numbers and names. There's usually a second cheer as the person melts back into the crowd and they draw the next name.

***

It's a relief when curfew draws near. It's a joyous night but Vander is tired of talking to people and taking payments and organising orders. Thankfully, Silco has stayed by his side the entire night, noting everything down and quickly tallying how much can be bought with sixty-five bronze and which supports are needed first.

Vander had almost offered to deliver it to the plots, but Sico had quickly interrupted. "Vander can help, but you'll need to come tomorrow to collect the materials after shift end. You don't have to collect them all at once."

"What was that about?" Vander asks when they have a moment to talk.

"You'd be exhausted if you moved that for everyone," Silco says reasonably. "We have enough space here to store things and it might prevent petty squabbles."

It's only a few hours but it feels like a lifetime later when everyone starts leaving, heading back to the mine before curfew. Vander offers the room upstairs to their friends, but Benzo shrugs and says he'd prefer sleeping on a mattress. Felicia laughs and says, "Maybe some other night," with a meaningful glance at Connol, and Connol goes bright red.

Soon it's just him and Silco left, and the sudden silence almost echoes in the room. Silco's glancing from his notebook to the pikes of wood and steel like he's considering counting it all out tonight. Tomorrow will do fine, Vander decides, stepping up behind Silco and wrapping his arms around Silco's chest. "Should we go home?"

"I brought gas masks," Silco says over his shoulder, "if you want to stay later."

If they want to test if the ventilation has been turned on yet, if they want to see how much of the Grey slithers out of the mine at night.

"Not tonight." Vander drops a kiss to the crown of Silco's head. "Tonight went well."

Silco stares at the wall, their fabric map and the names scribbled across it. "Twenty-three plots claimed. I would have been happy with five."

"They won't all build at once." Already people are grouping together, deciding to build one home at a time.

"Fortunately," Silco replies drily. He curls a hand around the back of Vander's arm. "We wouldn't have enough if they all wanted to start building."

Vander hums in agreement. "You could feel it, you know? How much they all want this. How much it means to them."

"How much they trusted you when you promised them they could do this."

"They can," Vander insists. "We can. We're going to build this into a town, into a home. Our home. Someday we are going to leave that mine behind and live a life, right here."

"Maybe not right here," Silco says, leaning his weight back into Vander, hands tight on Vander's arms. "You did say you wanted to run a bar."

He can almost picture it. Somewhere warm and open, full of their friends and neighbours. Music playing on the jukebox and the two of them behind the bar, pouring drinks and stepping around each other. A room upstairs, big enough for the fancy bed Silco loves.

"Sounds good to me," Vande says, stealing one more kiss before they lock up for the night and head down to the fissures, back to their bed.

***

#zaundads #my current wip #i really want that to be the end but I need to think about it in the clear light of morning #as opposed to the tired fog of midnight #it probably needs a little more polish but the bones are here

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