#how similar she and klavier specifically look and i needed a way to make a post about it without just going 'hey they look similar! odd.'

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

they're like weird distant cousins to me.

[bevioletskies]

spare me a little (of your love)

summary: Klavier always liked to express his love with flowers, so sending a beautiful bouquet to his boyfriend every now and then seemed like the obvious thing to do. However, there’s just one little problem - Apollo is very, very allergic to pollen.

word count: 5.3k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day two of seven (prompt: "flowers"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings, but doesn’t reference any specific plotlines otherwise. My source for flower meanings can be found here. Fic title is from the song Spare Me a Little of Your Love by Fleetwood Mac.

“The language of...flowers?”

“Oui, oui, mon ami!” Athena chirped, nodding eagerly. “That’s just one of the many languages I speak, y’know.”

Apollo eyed her skeptically over the top of his laptop screen. “...right. Elaborate, please.”

“Well, you know how people usually give roses to express their love?” Athena said, leaning across the gap between their desks. She didn’t even blink when she accidentally knocked over Apollo’s calendar and pen holder in one fell swoop. Apollo, on the other hand, shot her an affronted glance that she deftly ignored. “Well, each flower actually has its own specific meaning. It even varies from color to color! Par exemple, white roses symbolize innocence, while yellow roses symbolize friendship.”

“That seems unnecessarily complicated,” Apollo remarked. “Don’t most flowers come with a card? Why can’t people just write their messages instead?”

They turned at the sound of a disappointed groan coming from the middle of the room. “You’re so unromantic, Polly,” Trucy complained, peeking at them from over the back of the couch. “I almost feel bad for Mr. Gavin!”

“Hey,” Apollo protested. “I can be - I-I’m romantic!”

“If you say so,” Athena giggled, poking him in the shoulder. Huffing, Apollo prodded her back. Athena reached for a rubber band, fully intending to escalate things. She lowered her projectile dejectedly when Apollo raised his hands in surrender; he had no interest in losing an eye today.

“Sunflowers and tulips are supposed to symbolize happiness, right?” Phoenix asked. “Those are pretty much the only flowers I really know, so.”

There was a long, uncomfortably drawn-out silence. “...Daddy, your ex-girlfriend’s name was Dahlia. Her real name was - is - Iris.”

“Oh...right,” Phoenix chuckled, only mildly embarrassed. “Speaking of, do you know what dahlias and irises mean, Athena?”

Athena’s eyes were practically sparkling now. “Oui! Dahlias symbolize elegance and dignity.” Phoenix made a face. “...but, they also symbolize dishonesty and betrayal.”

“That’s more like it,” Phoenix muttered under his breath. “And irises?”

“Faith, wisdom, that kinda thing,” Athena shrugged. She then paused. “Y’know, if you want some ideas on the kinds of flowers Mr. Edgeworth would like, I can make some - ”

“Nope, nope, I-I’m good,” Phoenix interrupted swiftly, his face reddening. He had a vase of daffodils sitting on his desk, which Edgeworth had sent to the office a few days ago. None of them believed Phoenix when he claimed they were purely intended for decoration. “So why the sudden interest in flowers, Apollo? Is this, er...is this about Gavin?”

“If you’re not talking about your prosecutor, sir, I’m not talking about mine,” Apollo said firmly, turning back to his laptop.

“Sure, except I think your prosecutor’s fair game when he picks you up from work most days,” Phoenix teased. His tone was eerily similar to Trucy’s. If Phoenix wasn’t both his boss and his sort-of stepfather, Apollo would’ve picked up a rubber band himself.

A few hours later, Apollo was locking up the office for the evening when he heard the roar of a familiar-sounding motorcycle coming up the street. He turned, biting back a smile as Klavier pulled up beside the sidewalk and turned off his engine. “Your bike really is as obnoxious as you are.”

Klavier removed his helmet, pouting. “Achtung, is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”

“It is for me,” Apollo replied, kissing him briefly. “Hi.”

“Hallo,” Klavier murmured against Apollo’s lips, grinning as he pulled away. “Dinner?”

“Yes, please,” Apollo said, reaching for Klavier’s spare helmet. “I’m feeling...pizza and all the cheesy garlic breadsticks. Or maybe we can just get cheesy garlic breadsticks.”

“As nice as that sounds, you need more vegetables than the little bits you get in your cup noodles, baby,” Klavier said, patting Apollo’s hip affectionately. “Pizza, breadsticks, and a side salad, ja?”

“Fine, fine,” Apollo grumbled, settling in behind Klavier. “Turn me into a rabbit, why don’t you? Buy me a bag of carrot sticks the next time we go to the grocery store. Stuff my mattress with straw and newspaper - ”

“And people think I’m the dramatic one,” Klavier lamented, shaking his head in amusement.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were sitting on the floor of Klavier’s living room, pleasantly stuffed with pizza and breadsticks and a mediocre amount of Greek salad (“I’m not a fan of olives, you know.” “Not surprising, since the color doesn’t work with your complexion.” “Klavier, I swear to - ”). A random made-for-TV movie was playing in the background on mute, though neither of them were particularly interested in watching it.

“How was work?” Apollo asked, taking a much-needed gulp of cold water. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get the taste of garlic out of his mouth.

“Boring, unfortunately,” Klavier said with a grimace. “Herr Edgeworth didn’t have anything but paperwork to offer me. No trials, no investigations, nichts. You?”

“Same,” Apollo replied. “Mr. Wright’s mostly working with Athena this month, so they’re taking the big clients while I get stuck with the smaller cases. Not that I’m complaining, I mean - it’s a nice change from Khura’in. I don’t want every trial to feel like I’m going under, you know?”

“Nein, that would be terrible,” Klavier agreed. “Exciting, sure, but the stress wouldn’t be worth it. I already found a gray hair the other day, ach.”

Apollo snorted. “Just one? You should see mine - I’m gonna be completely gray by thirty-five at this rate.” He shuffled closer so he could snuggle up against Klavier’s side, letting his head drop to Klavier’s shoulder. “So...turns out, Athena knows all about the flower language thing. Figured she might.”

“Flower...language...thing?” Klavier echoed, confused. He then brightened. “Ah! From our video call with my mama the other day, ja? I didn’t know you were actually interested.”

“I wasn’t, not at first,” Apollo admitted, squeezing Klavier’s arm. “But...I want your parents to like me, and since she said she was taking an interest, I thought, y’know, why not look into it? And it sounds kinda...contrived, not gonna lie. But I guess it’s kinda sweet, too. Like a secret language between just two people.”

Klavier’s face softened. “Ja, exactly. My parents used to write love letters to each other when they were in school, so I think this is Mama’s way of starting a new tradition - buying Papa flowers so he can plant them in his garden. You should see our family estate in the summer, it’s absolutely stunning.”

“Sounds like it,” Apollo said, smiling. “Your parents’ lives sound so...peaceful. Baking, gardening, travelling...I know it’s a little early to start thinking about retirement, but still, they’re living the dream.”

“They’re not retired yet,” Klavier chuckled. “And stop making me feel like I’m dating an old man, bitte. You complaining about your back makes me feel like I have to start complaining about my back.”

Apollo hummed, tracing random patterns along Klavier’s forearm with his finger. He was pleasantly sleepy from a number of things - his long, if uneventful day of work, the amount of cheese and carbs he’d just consumed, and the warmth of Klavier’s skin against his. “Sorry we can’t all afford chiropractors and massage therapists, sheesh,” he teased, unable to hold back a yawn.

“Maybe we can get a massage together someday,” Klavier suggested, stretching luxuriously. “Ah, before I forget - since we were talking about my parents just now, they asked me the other day if it would be alright to text you and send you things, little gifts and whatnot.”

“Huh? They would do that?” Apollo exclaimed. “I only just met them, like, a week ago!”

“They’re a bit...much,” Klavier said carefully. “Even when I was in high school, every friend I brought home was a potential lover to them, you know? They wanted to know everything about them, to shower them with gifts and affection. Even when I started working, I would ask Papa if I could have some flowers from his garden - you know, an arrangement to thank Herr Edgeworth for giving me a raise, a bouquet for my manager when we got our first record deal - and it was always the same story. Achtung, it’s embarrassing, but they mean well. You don’t have to say ja if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d ask.”

“No, I - it’s okay, I’d love to get to know your parents more, I’m just surprised,” Apollo admitted. The thought of them liking him this easily made him both relieved and unnerved at the same time. “Should I, uh, get them something in return?”

“Nein, nein, let them spoil you.” Klavier cupped Apollo’s face in his hands, kissing him softly. “Just like I do.”

“Sap,” Apollo murmured, kissing him back.

_____

It was a sort of gradual thing, for the most part. Barely a day had gone by when Apollo found himself in a group text with Klavier’s parents; he quickly discovered how witty and sweet and whip-smart they both were. Klavier’s father sent gorgeous photos of his garden - and calling it a garden seemed almost too modest when it seemed to be the size of a soccer field - while Klavier’s mother sent book recommendations, even the occasional movie recommendation.

“I never thought I’d be at that point in my life where my boyfriend’s mother sends me three long paragraphs about how she ‘discovered’ the Legally Blonde musical, but here we are,” Apollo had mused to the other agency members.

“Did you tell her that Klavier reminds everyone of that song, the one that goes - ”

“No, Athena, I did not. I want her to like me, remember?”

Soon after that, gifts started to arrive. Apollo had requested they send them to the agency, given how little he trusted his apartment building’s security after they nearly let his cat escape not too long ago. Unfortunately, it was too late before he realized that sometimes, he trusted his co-workers - or more specifically, his sister - even less.

“Trucy, do you know who ate the last piece of pie? Y’know, the one I was saving for today, to celebrate the end of my trial?”

“...huh. No idea, sorry, Polly!”

“Wait - th-there’s graham crumbs on Mr. Hat, what the hell - ”

His sister’s betrayal aside, Apollo felt good about things, almost unusually good. He soon started texting Klavier’s parents just as frequently as he did his own mother, thanking them for their generosity whenever they sent the occasional box of pastries or discounted event tickets. They also exchanged anecdotes about Klavier, along with stories about their own lives. He even received celebratory emojis whenever he told them about his victories in court - over their son, no less.

“I’m starting to think they like you more than they like me,” Klavier had lamented, though he seemed pleased all the same.

Then, a month into their budding familial relationship, a problem arrived on Apollo’s desk in the form of a bouquet the size of his head.

“Ah-choo!”

Trucy and Athena, who had been standing by the latter’s desk, both startled at the sound. “Ay Dios mío!” Athena exclaimed, clutching her heart in shock. “Are you okay, Apollo? That was some sneeze. I thought we were having another earthquake!”

“Har, har,” Apollo said dryly, reaching for a tissue. “It’s just the - achoo - flowers, that’s all.”

“They’re beautiful - very classic,” Athena added, dropping into Apollo’s desk chair so she could get a closer look. “Red roses and white lilies, claro. Ooh, I see some red carnations and white chrysanthemums, too!”

“Well, I see a card,” Trucy said, plucking a small white notecard from between the leaves. “Let’s see what it says!”

“That’s for - achoo - me, thank you very much.” Apollo snatched the card out of her hands, then squinted through his watery eyes to read it. “I...oh. Klavier says his mom helped him make the arrangement, with flowers from his dad’s garden.”

“How sweet!” Trucy gushed, taking a moment to sniff them, inhaling deeply as her eyes drifted closed. “Ooh, and they smell amazing. Mr. Gavin is such a good - ”

“Ah-choo!” Apollo sniffled, wiping his nose carefully. “...dammit.”

“I didn’t know you were allergic to pollen, Apollo,” Phoenix commented; he was on the other side of the room, pouring himself a cup of tea. “You never had any problems with the flowers Edgeworth sent to m - I mean, to the office.”

“Maybe it’s a freshly-cut thing?” Athena guessed, ignoring Phoenix’s awkward laugh. “Or, y’know, some flowers are worse for allergies than others. Dahlias, for example, are the worst.” Phoenix made another face before turning back to what he was doing.

“You should tell him you’re allergic,” Trucy said, patting Apollo’s free hand in sympathy. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

“But…” Apollo hesitated. The others braced themselves, anticipating another sneeze. “...this is from Klavier and his parents, you know? I can put up with a sneeze or two if it makes them happy. He loves sending flowers, and his dad’s really into gardening, so...if I tell them, they’ll stop doing it, and they’ll be too understanding, and I - I can’t deal with that. The, uh, the niceness, I mean.”

“Poor you, having the sweetest in-laws in the world,” Athena teased, pouting exaggeratedly. Oh, the humanity, Widget added. Apollo would have glared at them both, had he not started sneezing again. “Como tú quieras, I guess.”

Hours later, when Klavier met Apollo at the agency, the sight of his face brightening when he saw the bouquet confirmed Apollo’s fears. “Ah, how wunderschön,” Klavier declared, beaming. “I was worried they wouldn’t hold up during delivery. Do you like them, liebe?”

“They’re beautiful,” Apollo said, as honest as he could be. “Thanks, Klavier. I, uh, I hope it didn’t take you too long to put together.”

“You know how picky I can be,” Klavier hummed, carefully drawing a carnation out of the vase between two practiced fingers and bringing it up to his nose to smell. “I don’t settle for anything less than perfekt.” He turned, smirking. “That’s why I’m dating you, after all.”

“Gross,” Apollo said, wrinkling his nose; the effect was ruined by his affectionate laughter. “Hey, is it okay if I press them after they’ve wilted? I was thinking I could keep ‘em in my journal as a nice little reminder.”

Klavier chuckled, reaching over to squeeze Apollo’s hand. “Of course, Forehead. They’re all yours, you don’t have to ask for my permission. And I’m sure Mama and Papa would be delighted to hear you’re planning to give Papa’s flowers a second life. We’ll have to send you more in the future, ja?”

“...ja,” Apollo said weakly, his heart sinking.

_____

The next bouquet arrived two weeks later, bigger and bolder than before. According to Athena, it consisted of pink and orange roses, pink lilies, and yellow alstroemeria. However, it seemed to be the handful of sunflowers that topped everything off that left Apollo’s nose running all day.

“I think the only sunflower I can stand to be around is my attorney’s badge,” Apollo had bemoaned.

After that came an arrangement of white daisies, red gerbera, and white limonium (or, as Trucy liked to call it - she liked practicing tongue twisters when she was bored - “linoleum”). Then green hydrangeas and Queen Anne’s lace, which admittedly wasn't so bad, followed by purple daisies and pink gerbera, which was very, very bad. Apollo did not like the fact that he was getting used to the taste of Benadryl. He did manage to get some reprieve when Klavier sent him a simple vase of pink peonies.

“They’re hypoallergenic,” Athena had informed him. “But...mein Gott, Apollo, just tell him already!”

“But if I do, i-it’s…” Apollo had gestured wildly, unable to find the right words. Athena and Trucy had exchanged glances, then shook their heads in eerily synchronized disappointment.

Pink carnations and pink alstroemeria, purple irises and white aster, yellow daisies and orange roses; Apollo was starting to think the Gavin family garden was endless. And while his journal had never looked prettier, every page decorated with carefully pressed petals, every other page detailed with a date and a description courtesy of Athena’s expertise, his nose had never looked worse, his skin pink and dry and irritated. He was getting too used to the smell of CeraVe as well.

Finally, a bouquet of red roses - thankfully, also hypoallergenic - arrived with Klavier himself. He seemed delighted to be at the agency while everyone else was present for once, chatting happily with Athena and marvelling at Trucy’s card tricks. He and Phoenix seemed awkward around each other, though Apollo supposed that was to be expected. Even now, they hesitated whenever Apollo brought the other one up.

“So what’re you doing here, Mr. Gavin?” Trucy asked after she’d successfully duped him three times in a row. Apollo had to stop her before she started charging him for it. “Is it date night?”

“Not exactly,” Klavier said, turning to Apollo. “I came here to ask you something in person, liebe.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not suspicious at all. What’s up?”

“I think it’s about time you meet my parents in person.” Klavier took both of Apollo’s hands in his, smiling hopefully. “So, if you’re ready...are you free this weekend? We could go to my family estate, spend the day - Mama would love to teach you how to make those puff pastries you like, and Papa wants to show you around the garden so you can see where all your wunderschön flowers came from.”

“I...oh.” Apollo’s face fell for a split second before he quickly regained his composure. “Sorry, Klav, that sounds incredible, but I-I was gonna stay with Mom this weekend. Maybe another time?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier replied, still smiling. While his smiles usually made Apollo feel warm and fuzzy, now all he was feeling was gnawing guilt. “Let me know when you have a free weekend, ja?”

“For sure,” Apollo promised, pecking him briefly on the cheek. “And thanks for the roses, even though I, uh, kinda ruined the occasion.”

“Ruined?” Klavier repeated, chuckling. “Ach, it’s no big deal, you’re busy. We have time, don’t we?”

“Of course!” Apollo exclaimed, far too loudly. Klavier didn’t seem to mind, though; he leaned down to kiss Apollo properly, humming all the while.

“Anyway, I should get going before Herr Edgeworth notices I’m not in my office,” Klavier said, reluctantly pulling away. The look on Phoenix's face suggested he knew that Edgeworth had figured it out long ago. “Auf Wiedersehen, süßer!”

The second Klavier left, Apollo let out the breath he’d been holding. He didn’t even need to look up to know the others were staring at him very judgmentally. “...I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You really shouldn’t lie to your boyfriend, Apollo,” Phoenix said gently; his voice had taken on the sort of “dad” tone that made Apollo feel even guiltier. “Er, that is, you shouldn’t lie to anyone, but you know what I mean. Are you really protecting his feelings by doing this?”

Sighing, Apollo collapsed into his desk chair, dropping his forehead to his desk with an audible thunk. “I know, I know. It was stupid from the start, but...I-I honestly wasn’t expecting him to send this many! I thought it’d be, y’know, for special occasions only, like every few months or whatever. Then I could deal with it, and he would never have to know. Not, like, just ‘cos he felt like it. Though I guess I really should’ve seen it coming, knowing him.”

“You really gotta tell him,” Trucy insisted. “Next time you see him, okay? Or else you’re never gonna say anything!”

“I will, I swear,” Apollo insisted, combing his fingers through his hair. He could feel more grays coming in by the second. “I have no interest in being the worst boyfriend ever, believe me.”

_____

It didn’t take long for Apollo to realize that while he was perfectly fine - or, at least, reasonably fine - with confrontation in the courtroom, he was very much not fine with confrontation in his personal life. The flower arrangements came less frequently now, and when they did, they seemed to be exclusively hypoallergenic. Klavier’s invitations, on the other hand, seemed more persistent.

“I don’t mean to push,” Klavier would say. “It’s just that exam week is coming up and, being professors and all, they’re going to be very busy soon. I was hoping we’d be able to spend some time with them before then.”

“Yeah, o-of course,” Apollo would reply, his stomach twisting every time, knowing full well he was about to turn him down again.

Another weekend went by, then another. There always seemed to be something, whether it was Apollo’s sudden frequent visits to Thalassa’s, Trucy’s sudden need for a magic show assistant, or that Apollo was just too tired to be good company. Eventually, Klavier seemed to simply stop asking. In fact, he seemed to stop asking him about anything at all.

“Do you wanna grab lunch?” Apollo had once asked Klavier while they were both packing up after the end of a lengthy trial.

“I don’t know.” Klavier had sounded tired, subdued; he refused to look Apollo in the eyes. “I think I’m just going to head back to the office and catch up on my emails. Take care, Herr Forehead.” He’d quickly swept out of the courtroom before Apollo could even say goodbye.

Apollo’s group text with his parents seemed to slow down, too, especially when it came to Klavier’s papa’s photos of his garden. Klavier’s mama, on the other hand, sent him short, stilted messages, now seemingly out of obligation instead of affection. Their near-radio silence, Apollo had to admit, was well-deserved. He knew he had to do something before it was too late, if it wasn’t already too late.

“I was surprised you wanted me to join you today,” Klavier said one morning as the two of them were taking a leisurely stroll around People Park, hand-in-hand. “Lately, I feel like I’ve been dating a ghost, achtung. We only ever see each other in court. Maybe at crime scenes, too, if we’re lucky.”

“And I’m surprised you agreed to come,” Apollo admitted. “I missed you, Klavier. Only...I, uh, I know that’s really my fault, not yours.”

“You do, do you?” Klavier sounded bitter. His grip on Apollo’s hand was looser than usual, like he was ready to pull away at any second, like he wanted to run. The thought made Apollo’s chest ache. “And here, I thought you were as oblivious as ever.”

“Hey,” Apollo protested, frowning. Then, he sighed. “No, you - you’re right. This is on me. Will you - I - listen, I have something for you, back at the office. Can we go get it before you head to work?”

Klavier nodded shortly. While his eyes had softened, his smile was still strained. “Ja, let’s go.”

Thankfully, the agency was empty when they got there, save for a certain something sitting patiently on Apollo’s desk. He set his bag down, then turned on all the lights, his heart pounding rapidly against his ribcage. “So these aren’t as nice as your dad’s, but, uh. This is for you...and your parents.”

“What do you - ah!” Klavier approached Apollo’s desk with wide, disbelieving eyes, his gaze fixated on the beautiful arrangement of white lilies, yellow tulips, and white orchids wrapped in white decorative tissue paper. “Apollo, these are...they’re lovely! Did you pick these out yourself?”

“Athena helped,” Apollo said, hovering nervously. “She said white lilies are for humility, yellow tulips can mean forgiveness, and white orchids symbolize strength. Fitting, since I wanted to...apologize. For being a horrible boyfriend.”

“I don’t know about ‘horrible’,” Klavier said, gently running a finger down the length of one of the orchids. “...but you have been distant. If you’re not actually interested in meeting my parents, or if you...if you want to end things, just say so, will you?” His voice cracked. “I might like a bit of drama every now and then, but not in my own life. Not in my own relationship.”

“What?! No, no, I-I don’t wanna end things at all!” Apollo exclaimed, his voice filling the room. He took a few deep, even breaths to calm himself. “Just...will you hear me out? Please?” Klavier nodded, though he refused to look at him. “I’m...I’m sorry for avoiding you and your parents. And before you ask...yes. I was doing it on purpose. It’s nothing that - none of you did anything wrong, okay? It’s me, i-it’s - it - I - ah - ”

Klavier turned on his heel, worried. “Apollo? Are you - ”

“Ah-choo!”

Klavier jumped. “Ach - Apollo?”

“I forgot there were asters in there,” Apollo grumbled, reaching for a tissue. He wasn’t sure which was redder now, his nose or his cheeks. “It’s - I - achoo - ”

“Apollo,” Klavier said slowly; if Apollo didn’t know any better, he would've thought he was trying not to laugh. “Are you, by chance...allergic to pollen?”

Apollo sniffed sharply. “...yes, dammit, yes! That’s literally what I’ve been trying to say - achoo - just now, until - achoo - my sinuses decided to - achoo - speak for me!” He was half-doubled over at this point, clenching a fistful of tissues in both hands.

“Baby, have you been rejecting my invitation to meet my parents because you’re allergic to all the flowers we’ve been sending you for the last several weeks?” Klavier sounded more incredulous than angry.

“...yes. Yes, I have, yes, I’m an idiot and an asshole and - achoo - I’m so sorry, Klavier, I - achoo - ”

“Bitte, say it, don’t spray it.” Klavier held up Apollo’s tissue box for him, keeping it - and Apollo himself - at a good distance. “Mein Gott, Apollo, I thought you wanted to break up with me! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?!”

It took another minute or so before Apollo finally stopped sneezing long enough to get a full sentence out. He sniffled again, wiping his nose completely clean. “...have you ever told, like, the tiniest lie to make someone happy, only for it to turn into a big...thing? And then you know you have to come clean, that it’s what you’re s’posed to do, but the thought of doing it makes you anxious, even if not doing it also makes you anxious, and then...it just...it, uh, it stays with you.” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Not that that’s an excuse, it’s just - that’s just what happened. I’m sorry, Klavier, I really am. I really do want to meet your parents, they’re so sweet and friendly a-and funny, I’m just...I’m bad at this. Really, really bad at this.”

Klavier sighed. Apollo held his breath, anticipating the worst. Then, Klavier wrapped him in his arms, letting out another sigh of relief. “I understand, liebe, and...I forgive you. Danke for explaining yourself.” He kissed the top of Apollo’s head. “Maybe we should’ve stuck to sending you pies, ja?”

Apollo laughed wetly. “I don’t know how you’re joking right now. That’s usually my job.” He lifted his head from Klavier’s chest to look up at him with a grateful smile. “I really did love the flowers, you know. When they weren’t attacking my respiratory system, that is.”

“Still, let’s not push it any further,” Klavier said wryly. “Now - two things, if you don’t mind. First, let me give you some moisturizer for your poor, poor nose. I’m not kissing you until I’m sure your skin won’t flake off in the process.”

“Ew, thanks for the gross visual,” Apollo grimaced. “And the second thing?”

Klavier smiled. “If you're alright with it, I’d like you to tell my parents what happened...in person.”

_____

The garden was just as beautiful as Apollo imagined it to be, given the dozens and dozens of photos he’d gotten from Klavier’s papa. It was full and lush and vibrant, with towering trees that provided ample shade, a beautiful gazebo with a built-in fireplace, a gorgeous two-tiered fish pond, and of course, a plethora of flowers, as far as they could see. Everything was especially beautiful, in Apollo’s opinion, from the relative safety of the conservatory.

“We’re not throwing you to the wolves, darling,” Klavier’s mama insisted, as if she were talking about actual wild animals and not her husband’s hobby. “We’ll stay in here for high tea so you can admire the garden at a safe distance, yes?”

“Yes, th-thank you,” Apollo stammered, relieved. “High tea?”

“Today’s menu is German chocolate scones and mini-sandwiches. With the crusts cut off for my fussy baby boy, of course,” she added, pinching Klavier’s cheek with a devious grin.

“Mama,” Klavier protested, embarrassed. His papa chuckled, settling into the chair across from his son; he still had a smudge of dirt on his nose. “I’m a grown man, achtung. I have my own health insurance and everything!”

“I really am sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Gavin,” Apollo said sincerely. Despite their kindness and generosity, he was still somewhat intimidated by them, by how tall and beautiful and well-spoken they were. As much as he didn’t want to think about his former boss, Apollo could see where he and Klavier got their good looks and charm from. “I wanted to make a good impression, but I, uh, I didn’t go about it the right way. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now, but...I kept it from happening for a dumb reason, and it led to me hurting your feelings and Klavier’s feelings. I’m sorry.”

“All is forgiven,” Klavier’s papa insisted, waving a hand. “Just promise you’ll stop by every now and then, alright? Our doors are open to you, Apollo. Consider us your parents, too, if you’d like.”

Apollo smiled softly. “I would, sir.”

“It’ll be a good, allergy-free time, I promise,” he continued with a teasing wink. “We’ll bake some bread, watch some home movies...are you interested in seeing - ach, what do the kids call it - Klavier’s ‘goth phase’?”

Apollo’s mouth dropped open. “...his what.”

“Papa, nein,” Klavier whined; he really did sound like a child now. “Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here, liebling.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Apollo said, his grin widening. “I would love to see Klavier’s goth phase. Did he dye his hair?”

“Oh, did he,” Klavier’s mama said slyly with the exasperated sigh of a parent who had dealt with too much. “It’s a miracle he managed to get back to blond at all.” She then got to her feet, smoothing out the front of her apron. “Anyway, Papa and I should go check on the scones now. You two sit tight, okay?” Before Apollo could blink, she’d dropped kisses on both his and Klavier’s foreheads, then disappeared down the hallway and into the kitchen, her husband in tow. He turned to look at Klavier, who was watching him nervously.

“I love them,” Apollo admitted. “They’re so sweet, Klav, they - stop looking at me like that, will you?”

“You can’t blame me for worrying,” Klavier said, kissing him briefly. “But I’m glad to hear it. Ich liebe dich, schatz.”

“Love you too, dork,” Apollo murmured against Klavier’s lips. “...so. Did you have a lip ring, or snake bites, or - ”

“Get out of my house,” Klavier huffed, pinching Apollo’s arm with an exaggerated pout.

“Hey! This isn’t your house, it’s your parents’ house, and they said their doors were open,” Apollo teased, laughing. Rolling his eyes, Klavier pulled Apollo into his arms, the two of them snuggled up on the loveseat. In the distance, they could see birds and butterflies fluttering among the flowers, a stray squirrel or two sniffing curiously at the edge of the fish pond. It was peaceful, serene. If it wasn't for the pollen, Apollo could see himself staying outside for hours at a time. “...but seriously, I’m looking forward to the video evidence.”

“I’m sure you are,” Klavier sighed, giving Apollo one last kiss before his parents returned with a large tray of sandwiches, scones, tea, and a vase with a single red rose for decoration - hypoallergenic, of course.

_____

a/n: Welcome to my second entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the fourth of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. Today, I have projected my allergies and anxiety onto Apollo, because that's what fanfiction is for, right? I hope y'all like my version of the Gavins; I've written them as cold and distant a couple of times, but I usually prefer to write them as warm and witty so that Klavier has a good support system in his life.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[ronsenburg]

i saw this post and IMMEDIATELY started writing an essay, so I moved it here so as not to clutter up someone else’s post...........

it absolutely blows my mind that, today in 2021, i honestly can’t remember what’s canon from the turnabout serenade case, what i read in a fanficition, and what is my own personal HC. like, it’s been more than a decade since i played the case for the first time and it’s probably been 5ish years since the last time i played AJ (definitely forgot to play it again before writing youngblood which is.... contributing to this) so i really don’t know if what goes on in my head is accurate, but, over the years, i’ve come up with a Lot of Thoughts, which i’ll discuss below. 

tldr; it’s all about power (the desire for, the subversion of, the need to maintain), but if you’d like the specifics, here you go:

daryan: i think the explanation that he did it for “the money” is a line. please don’t mistake me, daryan is an asshole and a murderer, im not discounting that, but in court ive always thought that he was playing the part that everyone- especially klavier- is expecting of him. he’s the bad guy. might as well make it a finale for the books.

i’ve always seen daryan and klavier as opposite sides of the same coin when it comes to family and career aspirations. where i imagine klavier came from a well off and well loved family before his parents died, i see daryan from a working class, difficult upbringing. i read a few papers on the psychology of children/parenting style of police officers and decided early on that daryan’s dad was also a cop. his mother is either dead or (more likely) left them early on. dad coped by working a little too hard, gambling/drinking a little too much, and was overall not around a lot and kind of an authoritarian/controller when he was. it left daryan with a lot of anger he had to cope with, about what it means to be a cop, the idea of a “just cause” and the ends justifying the means, and an issue with authority (which is laughable, considering what a bully he turned out to be. sometimes we emulate our parents unintentionally; it’s the only thing we have to model our behavior on). so daryan started off at a disadvantage. klavier started off loved and supported and surrounded by expensive belongings, but the death of his parents and the subsequent emotional and financial abuse by his newly appointed guardian/brother left him in a similar place by the time he and daryan met. i think it was probably the foundation for their bond, and i think it’s why klavier decided to become a prosecutor instead of following in his brother’s footsteps and why daryan ultimately decided to enter law enforcement as well. i think they had a lot of optimistic, idealistic thoughts on being better than the people that hurt them, on utilizing the law to make the world a better place. i don’t think klavier ever conceived that kristoph could have wanted him in the prosecutors office as another pawn to play, and i don’t think he realized how fluid daryan’s morality could be.

shipping alert—you guys know me, im crazy for the idea of a “best friends to on again off again lovers to tenuous coworkers to bitterly disappointed in but still harboring feelings for the other person despite being on opposite sides” dynamic between daryan and klavier. i honestly can’t separate the ship from the case and im sorry about it. if you read youngblood you know that i think daryan started to resent klavier pretty early on, when they were still together, when the band was still successful, because klavier was able to move forward and work through the issues of his past while daryan was seemingly stuck. yes, daryan had made detective and the gavinners were a hit, he’d risen above his initial social standing and thrown off the control his father, he had money and fame and a future. but everything he had was because of klavier. daryan needed klavier, emotionally, morally, financially. but even when klavier was professing his love for daryan, both privately and in the form of chart topping songs, he didn’t need daryan. it was obvious (and of course, healthy, but how do children of abuse learn what a healthy relationship looks like without help? especially when the only relationships you’ve ever had are codependent and, in some ways, just as toxic?) and so things spiraled. daryan got possessive and angry again and klavier got distant and they broke up and got back together and broke up and didn’t get back together but kept ending up back in each other’s arms for comfort and for support and because how the hell do you move on when the person you’ve been in love with since you were 15 is sitting next to you on a tour bus and is also your partner in a homicide case and singing songs he wrote about you on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans?

okay, shipping glasses off, sorry. but no matter how you look at their relationship, daryan’s promotion out of homicide was probably the most distance they’d had from each other in years, as it removed a large chunk of the daily “working relationship” aspect. and without klavier there to act as a moral compass, it was likely easier to slip back into his earlier thoughts about what constitutes justice and his intense hatred of being pushed around by someone who has more power than you. so enter the chief justice with a son who is sick, dying even, but can’t get the medicine he needs because there’s a government out there telling them no. The reasons are arbitrary: the medicine could be used as a poison and can’t be found anywhere else so it might come back to bite the country in the ass if it’s misused by criminals. newsflash: pretty much all medicine is poisonous if it isn’t used correctly, should we stop using penicillin entirely because some people might be allergic to it? they’ve essentially condemned a whole bunch of people to death because they’re worried about their reputation. and that doesn’t sit well with daryan, who is caught up remembering the bullshit justifications his dad would spout when he knocked him around, that kristoph would give when withholding every single penny of money klavier was entitled to until he agreed to do what kristoph wanted. it isn’t right, it isn’t fair and unfair laws shouldn’t have to be upheld, especially when they’re the unfair laws of a country you most definitely did not swear to uphold and protect. it was never about money, though daryan agrees to take it when the chief offers it to him, more for his comfort level than for daryan’s need or desire. it’s about justice and putting a bully in it’s place with a (seemingly) victimless crime that should be so easy given his role in the international division of criminal affairs and klavier’s sudden hard on for the country of borginia. seriously, how could this have been any more straightforward? daryan is capable of murder, though. all cops are. and if it came down to a “them or me” shootout, of course he’d pull the trigger. 

machi: when you come from nothing, the desire to have something of your own is overwhelming. the idea that machi is famous and financially set is disingenuous; he is not individually famous, he is Lamiroir’s “blind” pianist. yes, she views him as a son and seems to care deeply for him, but his main purpose in her life is to perpetuate a lie. machi has been abandoned before; what will happen to him if lamiroir suddenly remembers who she was in the past? what if she has a family and a true son of her own and has no use for him? what if their secret is found out and the public rejects him for his role in it? he is 14. what does he know about being provided for? about contracts and trust funds and royalties? he ended up in an orphanage originally because he was unwanted, and that led to a life of poverty and hardship. abandonment issues are rooted in fear and are rarely logical. i find it far easier to believe that machi did it for the money, but more for the power money might have given him towards independence in an unfeeling and capitalist world.

kristoph: i won’t get into this, because this is supposed to be about daryan and machi and the guitar’s serenade, and kristoph is not really involved in that at all. but i think everything that kristoph has ever done in the game, good or bad, is rooted in a pathological need to constantly be in control. i think that kristoph and klavier both have very intense personalities that they have sought to control over the course of their lives for the sake of their careers. kristoph believes that to be a good lawyer, you need to play your cards close to your chest, that to show your hand is to expose a weakness that the enemy can exploit, that to show no weaknesses at all places you in a position of power. klavier believes that to show his true self, to display his weaknesses and fears to the public, would result only in their rejection. as such, they both wear masks of their own creation even under the most intense of pressures: kristoph as pleasant and calm, klavier as magnetic and dynamic. note the primary difference in their rational? klavier wants to be wanted, while kristoph wants power. and power corrupts, after all. once you have it, what could be more overwhelming than the idea that you might lose it all? it can drive even the most rational people to commit acts of passionate irrationality in the name of holding on to that power. and kristoph has so many pieces involved in his strategy to maintain.  

[vickyvicarious]

Ace Attorney Daemons - Prosecutors

Animal species and reasoning behind each choice under the cut, as well as links to other groups of characters!

Miles Edgeworth - Great Pyrenees. I originally started looking at big white dogs because I wanted to see if something similar to Pess would be suitable, and I think I found one. This breed is big and fluffy, which frankly I think would be needed for Miles growing up with the von Karmas. But honestly, his daemon is intelligent and powerful. Generally calm, but capable of leaping into swift action. However, it is at the same time at heart a protector (of livestock, traditionally) more than a predator. I think his daemon settling in this form when he is a teen would be a great way to illustrate his true nature, underneath all the Demon Prosecutor stuff (I expect he and she would be at odds for a while). Additional details I like are that these guys do tend to be more reserved with strangers and can be somewhat stubborn, and also they do shed a fair bit. I just enjoy the image of Miles having to constantly brush his gigantic floofball of a daemon and lintroller all her fur off his suits. A final thing, which I didn’t really intentionally plan, is that all prosecutors have bird daemons except Godot, who used to be a defense attorney, and Miles. So he stands out a little bit there, which I think works well too - he would be all the more determined to prove himself as Bratworth once his daemon settled in a form atypical for the profession.

Franziska von Karma - Harpy eagle. I put Manfred in the villains list since there’s no space for more prosecutors here, but it just seemed fitting to me that von Karmas typically settle as eagles. They are sharp-eyed predators, generally solitary, and look incredibly fierce, just in general. As for the harpy eagle in particular - they are huge, first of all; their claws are the same length as brown bears’. They are among the largest eagles in the world, and sometimes considered the most powerful. This seems only right for Franziska. They mostly eat monkeys, but can go after pretty much anything as they are at the top of their food chain. They can fly nearly straight up and turn their head upside down, and wait nearly a full day to snatch their prey. Franziska too is maneuverable and ridiculously determined. The head-feathers you can see slightly lifted in the photo are pretty cool, too; they rise up into a distinctive crest when the eagle feels threatened, and it actually looks a bit derpy. Which reminds me somehow of Franziska’s scornful “fool” name-calling and how it can often get to the level of absurdity. They are monogamous and fiercely protective parents, which I think can be a nice match to how Franziska really isn’t so heartless after all. And another detail that fits really nicely with her initial rivalry for Miles is that harpy eagles usually lay two eggs, but typically only the first-hatched survives. The other is ignored or even killed by its older sibling.

Klavier Gavin - Superb lyrebird. Female lyrebirds don’t look nearly as impressive as the males, and they don’t do the dramatic dances either. But they are still incredible vocalists, able to imitate sounds from at least 19 other species. And their songs tend to be mostly used during foraging and defending their nest, as opposed to attracting a mate. Obviously Klavier needs a songbird for his daemon, but I think the female lyrebird specifically is great because of those details. Her less exciting (though still pretty) plumage might not match his outer image, but he is one of the best prosecutors of the series, dedicated to the truth from the very beginning. He’s a lot more serious than he might come across, and his daemon reflects that. The typical songs match up with that too; he loves music and his daemon does too, but it’s not what either of them care about most, and the subject of typical female lyrebird songs show that well. Similarly, though a bird like most prosecutors, his daemon is not a bird of prey. He’s never really been in it for ‘the hunt’, after all. One last reason I like the lyrebird for him is that, contrary to most daemons being quite around people they don’t know well, I suspect his daemon would be fairly vocal and probably sing with him in his band.

Simon Blackquill - Japanese mountain hawk-eagle. Before you ask, yes. Yes I did choose his daemon from birds who look most like Taka. I mean, of course. The wiki listed three, and I looked them all up and thought the mountain hawk-eagle appeared closest. As a bonus, it has a Japanese subspecies, which is fitting for samurai man here. They tend to be quiet most of the time, though they have a distinctive cry. This seems fitting for Simon, as he is generally not super talkative. They hunt their prey from a perch, going after small mammals on the ground or other birds, so the perching on his shoulder all the time doesn’t have to change either. Another fitting detail is that females are extremely defensive of their nests and young, apparently willing to fight to death to protect them instead of getting scared away. They also watch and feed their young for a while after they could be self-sufficient. This fits so well with Simon’s willingness to be put to death to protect Athena, obviously.

Godot/Diego Armando - Asian palm civet. I took a slightly different approach for his daemon, and just googled animals that eat coffee. But I’ll get to that in a minute. First, they are nocturnal, solitary, and can just be hard to locate. This fits well with Godot’s whole ambiguous/mysterious thing he’s got going. They’re good climbers and quite nimble/speedy but still vulnerable to predators. Fitting, I think, since he was caught both as Diego and Godot. He tends to be clever to a point but then make a fatal mistake. They also are pretty adaptable, getting used to urban life quickly, which can relate to him adjusting easily to becoming a prosecutor. However, I would be lying if I said the main reason I like this daemon for him wasn’t because they eat coffee. More than just that, the coffee cherries (of which they are said to select only the best) get fermented in their guts, and when they’ve been pooped out, are used to make a very expensive coffee called “kopi luwak.” Now, granted, when I looked this up it seems that the result doesn’t taste especially good and is pretty much just famous as a novelty thing, but I think Godot’s daemon would enjoy coffee just as much as him, and I find the fact that he could, um, prepare his own if he wanted, hilarious.

.

Detectives, Feys, Misc. Lawyers, Villains, Witnesses, Wright Anything Agency

[kikiofthevast]

Flags

Or: Four Times Someone Saw Pride Flags in Edgeworth's Office and the One Time He Saw Them In Someone Else's

Now on AO3!

CW: None really, minor fear of homophobia, i guess

Pairings: Implied Wrightworth, implied Klapollo

Summary: Read the lid

(Also, I recently read a fanfic with Edgeworth putting the Chief Prosecutor's office on the second floor and he would absolutely do that)

---

Miles Edgeworth did not usually decorate his office for the holidays. If you asked any of the other prosecutors who worked at the office, they would all tell you this, often accompanied by seasonally appropriate insults.

However, there was one instance in which he would decorate his office, and it was a decoration that went mostly unnoticed, or at least, it would have, if it wasn't something that the other prosecutors wouldn't have expected.

---

I. Winston Payne

(Or rather, the unfortunate events that led to the not-as-unfortunate firing of Winston Payne)

Nobody really knew how Payne had figured it out, but somehow he had found Edgeworth's birth information.

The entire office was tense that day, Klavier's smile wasn't as prominent, Simon was stroking Taka a bit more forcefully than usual, and Franziska was unusually quiet.

There was an unspoken agreement to not bring it up to Edgeworth, as that morning, the chief prosecutor had already seemed tense and appearing as if the smallest thing would set him off.

And it did.

None of them really knew what had happened, but Payne was sobbing out crocodile tears as he came back up to his office, and packed up the little things he had before leaving as quickly as he had come.

None of them saw Edgeworth leave, but did, around an hour later. None of them knew why, and none of them asked.

Then the tense atmosphere seemed to lighten slightly and Franziska breathed out a sigh. "I am glad that my fool of a brother finally decided to get rid of that foolish excuse of a prosecutor."

The rest of them sat in silent agreement.

---

II. Klavier Gavin

Klavier hadn't necessarily avoided going into his boss's office, but he was definitely more hesitant to do so, as it wasn't too hard to connect the dots.

At some point in the near past, Payne had seen something in Edgeworth's office that was enough to get him to dig into his personal life.

Whatever it was, Klavier didn't want to get involved.

It was almost ironic, despite his life being drama, he wanted nothing to do with the drama that was happening in his place of work. Especially if it would result in him ending up in a similar situation to Payne.

He didn't have much of a choice, however, when Edgeworth had personally called Klavier up to his office, or rather down, considering that Klavier was going down two floors to see him.

Klavier never questioned it, after all it's inappropriate to ask about trauma.

He could barely even set foot in his own apartment.

Nevertheless, Klavier held his breath as Edgeworth's secretary acknowledged him and he opened the door to his office.

"-it really doesn't matter, Phoenix....no, I have two on me, there is no need to worry....Phoenix, you believed I would have come to work today completely unprepared? You clearly don't know me..." Miles Edgeworth sat at his desk, papers in front of him, phone in his hand and pen in his other.

Klavier cleared his throat, not wanting to interrupt anything, but knowing this kind of thing could and would go on for hours, he had to do something.

Edgeworth looked up at him and said into the phone. "My next appointment has arrived, I have to go...." Whatever was said on the other end caused Edgeworth to blush furiously and grip the phone tighter.

Klavier simply smiled patiently as Edgeworth hung up and turned his attention to him. "Prosecutor Gavin, thank you for being punctual."

"I know that you like everything to be in order, Herr Edgeworth," Klavier said smoothly.

Edgeworth looked away for a moment. "I would like to discuss the nature of your relationship with Mr. Apollo Justice."

Of course it was about that. "What did you wish to discuss about it?" His smile was so forced by this point that it hurt. Luckily, he had practice.

"Well, specifically the health and consent of both parties. I discussed it with Mr. Justice a few days ago, and he vouched that both of you were happy with the relationship."

"Herr Forehead is correct, he is one of the things that I hold most dear and our relationship is one that I greatly treasure."

Edgeworth nodded, a small smile on his face. "That is all I needed to hear. The way you interact makes your statement very clear to me and I simply wished to know if anything...unsavory was happening."

"How would you know then, if I was lying?"

"One does not live with living lie detectors and not pick up a few tricks," Edgeworth replied with a wry smile.

Klavier's eyes left Edgeworth and caught on an unusual spot of color on his desk that he hadn't noticed before.

Two small flags, one containing stripes that were pink, blue, and white, and the other white, purple, and gray with a small black triangle on one side.

"Pardon me for asking, but..." he trailed off as he pointed at the flags and Edgeworth gave him a small smile.

"Let's just say that this year, I finally felt more comfortable in my own skin."

Those words stuck with Klavier as he left, going back to his desk and working. After a while, he caved, and looked up the flags.

He never knew there was so much more than just being gay.

---

III. Franziska von Karma

Franziska had a strange habit of kicking in the door to Miles's office and yelling at him for one reason or another. Once because his useless pining was growing to be too much, once because Godot had spilled coffee on her outfit, once because Klavier was being too loud in the lobby, you name it.

Today, it didn't particularly matter the reason, but Franziska was back from her short trip to Europe (only a few days, simply to check on personal affairs, according to her. It was actually just Franziska taking Adrian Andrews to Germany) and the first thing she did after getting back to work was burst into her brother's office.

"Miles Edgeworth!" she yelled, flashing her whip.

Miles didn't look up from the papers on his desk. "Good morning, Franziska. I trust your trip to Europe was pleasant."

"It was," Franziska looked proud of herself. "I simply came to inform you that I have returned."

Miles smirked. "Phoenix informed me. He told me he could hear the crack of your whip over the horizon."

"That fool is one of the most foolish fools I have ever met. I do not know what you see in him, Miles Edgeworth."

Miles didn't reply, simply humming and stacking the papers on his desk and setting them off to the side.

"What are those?" Franziska said suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at the two flags sitting innocently on his desk in a small cup.

"I thought they would be appropriate. Why, is there a problem?" Miles's eyes were suddenly steely and flashing as Franziska took a step back and Miles stood up suddenly.

"I just believed that they were foolish enough to befit a fool such as yourself," Franziska replied after a moment, genuine care showing in her eyes.

Miles smiled a genuine smile. "Thank you, Franziska."

"It is foolish to thank me for such a trivial matter."

"It is not trivial to me, and so I thank you."

Franziska huffed. "I suppose you are welcome, Miles Edgeworth."

---

IV. Phoenix Wright

"Nice office you have here," came Phoenix's voice from the doorway. Miles looked up to see him leaning against the doorway with a smile on his face.

Miles huffed and rolled his eyes. "You've seen it before, Phoenix." The man in question continued to smile at him.

"Doesn't mean every time I see it, it's less beautiful." Phoenix's words were followed by a blush from Miles.

"Are you flirting with me through compliments on my office?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Maybe years of experience with the way you flirt and fluster me."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Are you admitting that it actually works?"

"I'm not admitting anything."

"You're terrible, you know."

"Shut your mouth."

"Make me."

Miles shook his head, regretful about the fact that it would probably distract him from his work. He expressed this sentiment to Phoenix, who placed a hand on his chest in mock hurt.

"Of course! How could I be so blind! You're clearly married to your work! I should have known this day would come!"

He flopped back onto the couch resting against the wall, fanning himself.

Miles tried to push down the smile pulling onto his face. "Please take your melodramatics out of my office. You can faint dramatically on Prosecutor von Karma's desk."

Phoenix pouted. "So professional, Miles. Using your fancy titles and names for people. Besides, if I fainted on Franziska's desk, she'd whip me until I couldn't walk anymore. She'd probably tell me 'If you want to faint, then you can just stay like that, fool.'"

"Nonetheless, Phoenix, I do have work to do, unlike a certain attorney."

"Oh ha ha, laugh at the defense attorney who can't get a case."

"You're so famous for your skill, I'm surprised that people aren't queueing up to offer you a case."

Phoenix scoffed. "I'm also known for being picky about my cases. The particularly hopeless ones, especially. I'm such an unpredictable force that I'm usually a last resort."

"You are not a last resort."

"I was your last resort. And that wasn't intended to be self-deprecating."

Miles didn't have a response to that, moving back to his desk instead.

Phoenix's eyes drifted over to his desk, and his eyes caught on the small flags. He smiled again.

"I like the flags," he said.

Miles smiled back at him. "Thank you. It took me a while to find a vendor that sold the ones I required."

"Well, I'm glad you're being a little more open with yourself. Don't ever feel like you have to do more than you already have."

Miles snorted. "You sound like one of those encouraging Tumblr posts."

Phoenix's eyes lit up with the clear sign that he was getting an idea. "You have Tumblr?! What is it?!"

Miles flushed a deep red as if he hadn't meant to say that aloud. "I do not have a Tumblr, Wright."

"Ooh, you aren't calling me Phoenix, this must really be serious," Phoenix joked. "I don't need to have my Magatama on me to know that you're lying, Miles."

"It is irrelevant."

"It is important."

"Please do not tell anyone."

"I won't if you tell me your username."

"Are you blackmailing me, Phoenix Wright?"

"Who can say if I am, Miles Edgeworth?"

They stared at each other for a moment, before Miles caved and put his head on the desk and Phoenix smirked in triumph.

"I would move the world for you," Miles muttered.

"I know," Phoenix replied. "And I'm going to take advantage of it."

---

I. Miles Edgeworth

Miles was out walking Pess, as he passed the WAA. He had really just been wandering, having a sort of vague idea of where he was. He knew the city rather well, and perhaps walking by the Agency was a subconscious effort by his brain to see Phoenix, as he really hadn't spent time with him in a while.

He opened the door, and was almost hit in the face with a marker.

The Agency was a mess, really. Trucy's magic props had been mostly cleared out, leaving Miles to assume they were probably piled up in Phoenix's office. Athena Cykes and Apollo Justice were sitting at a table with Trucy who was showing them pictures on her phone.

Miles cleared his throat, and three heads shot to him.

"Hiya Mr. Edgeworth!" Trucy exclaimed with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

Miles smiled back at her. "I was passing by, and I decided to drop in." His eyes drifted, gaze caught by the large rainbow flag hanging on the wall. "What is that?"

Athena looked embarrassed. "Um, the boss said it was a good idea and, uh, if you don't like it..." she trailed off, and Miles raised an eyebrow.

"You can shove it!" Widget interjected cheerfully.

Miles smiled to himself. "It's quite alright, I do like it. It adds a bit of needed color to this dull palette."

"Says the man whose entire office is pink," Phoenix interjected, stepping out of his office.

Miles sputtered indignantly. "It's wine red, Wright. And this office is so beige, I'm sure even Larry could see it needs improvement."

"Are you suggesting I paint my walls?"

"I'm suggesting that the flag on the wall should be the start of some interior decorating."

"As fun as it is watching you two argue like a married couple-" ("We are married!" Phoenix exclaimed) "-could you take this somewhere else? We're trying to work here," Apollo said, grabbing a marker and throwing it at Phoenix, who ducked it expertly.

Phoenix smirked. "I technically assigned it to you, so I can distract you all I want."

Miles looked over at what they were "working on" and saw that they were coloring in templates of multi-striped flags with different colors.

Athena seemed to be filling in one that he recognized as the aromantic flag, and she had a completed bisexual flag off to the side. Apollo was working on a demisexual flag and had a genderfluid flag completed.

"Justice," he said, not adding a title, "have I been unintentionally misgendering you?"

Apollo looked a bit taken aback by the question. "Um, no, not really. There might have been a couple times, but you didn't know."

"Please let me know if I do so, then."

Apollo nodded, and Miles gave him a small smile.

"What are the chances none of us are cishet? Well, maybe except Mr. Edgeworth." Trucy exclaimed, and Phoenix laughed.

"Trust me Truce, Miles is probably the least straight of all of us."

Miles smiled a little bit more, taking a deep breath. "I am a transgender panromantic demisexual, or you may refer to me as 'distinguished pan'."

Athena snorted.

"I'm glad you decided to share," Phoenix said, slightly exaggerated. He wiped a fake tear from his eye. "I'm just so proud you're coming out of your shell."

"More like the closet," Apollo joked.

"My closet is indeed rather large. It's no wonder I was able to live in it for so long."

They continued to exchange quips and jokes for a while until Miles remembered that he needed to take his dog back home.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Chapter 17: still not a date because if it was it would be pretty bad and also too much fae magic to be valid

Chapter summary being a very belated callback to the title of Chapter 2; anyway you don’t want to read any note from me, you’re just here for the boys

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3] 

Going down in the elevator, Apollo realizes first that he doesn’t know what Klavier’s car looks like and won’t know how to find it – and second, that the prior realization is ridiculous, because it’s Klavier Gavin and he has a damned aesthetic. What is Apollo thinking, that he won’t know on sight?

Except that all prosecutors, not just the rock star, have a big salary, and a lot of them seem to like flashy cars (not that Apollo knows anything about cars). He wanders through them, stopping by a bright red one, before deciding that red isn’t Klavier’s color and continuing on.

And he’s right, because Klavier’s car is obvious. It’s a few shades darker and more purple than his bike and his jacket, but similar enough that Apollo wouldn’t feel remiss in saying that apparently, Klavier only really likes one color. The the license plate reads “G4V1NNR” and the band’s logo is emblazoned in white on the trunk. “Classy,” he mutters to the empty lot. He’s not sure why he’s surprised, but he is – Klavier has been at his most reserved, lately, and that is what has been at the forefront of Apollo’s mind.

He wonders where Klavier will go from here, without the band.

He gets a text from Klavier with the address. Some forty minutes outside of the city, in the same direction as the mountains, but they’ll be much further away than he was with Trucy. Safer? Doubtful. He can’t tell if there’s actually something there, some house, or if they’ll just be trekking into the woods again. It’s a strange picture, to imagine Klavier Gavin going hiking. It’s all a strange picture, Apollo here next to this car, their entire little quest, and there are no words that aren’t strange when strung together in an attempt to explain to Clay why he doesn’t know when he’ll be back “after work”. Definitely he’s leaving out the part about the faery ring, but then it sounds like a date, and there is no way that Clay will ever let him live if he makes it home without dying of curses.

Vongole arrives first, a misty white bullet streaking toward the car and then leaping, passing right through it and materializing inside the vehicle. “Nice vanity plates, Narcissus,” Apollo calls.

“Ja, but we can’t all be gods.” Klavier grins, twirling his keys around his finger. “Shall we be off?”

“Does she do that often?” Apollo asks, pointing to the hound that has settled in before either of them have opened the doors. The interior seats and dashboard of the car are lavender. God help him. The nicest car he’s ever sat in is an aesthetic monstrosity. Vongole stretches her neck forward between the seats.

“If I don’t open the window for her, she just sticks her head through the ceiling,” Klavier replies. “Quite unnerving.” Vongole swings her head about and knocks the top of her skull straight into Apollo’s face. “You’ve stolen her seat.”

“Uh-huh.”

This is going to be a long ride.

They are both quiet on the way out of the city, through the streets under the bright afternoon sun. Klavier hums with the radio, and when one of the Gavinners’ songs comes on, he sings along but with words that are not always the ones on the recording. It makes for the weirdest duet Apollo has ever heard, breaking apart and then coming back together, the overprocessed voice from the radio and the Klavier next to him.

His phone buzzes. He braces himself for whatever Clay has to say, squinting down at the screen through one eye, like that will make his best friend more comprehensible or less embarrassing.

“My roommate has a message for you,” Apollo says. “That he’d rather I not die, because he doesn’t want to have to find a new best friend, or more importantly – wow, priorities! – someone to cover my share of rent.”

“Tell him I will do my best to return you home before your curfew,” Klavier says.

“Shut up.”

Apollo doesn’t write that, because the only response Clay deserves for both the rent remark and his other instructions for specifically Apollo, which were “u know u gotta hit that now” and “use protection”, is FUCK YOU. He shoves his phone back in his pocket, deciding now that he will not design to respond to or even check what Clay next has to say, and looks back out the window at the city outskirts. Vongole has indeed stuck her head through the ceiling. Klavier is still humming.

“My high school is somewhere off one of these exits,” Klavier says after the twenty approximate longest minutes of Apollo’s life. “I forget which.” He straightens back up from craning forward to look at the signs above the highway. “Themis Legal Academy – you’ve heard of it?”

“Yeah.” Who hasn’t, really? Most of them at Kristoph’s office hadn’t had that head start, though; Kristoph had rolled his eyes at mention of the school and called it “pretentious.” Pieces, coming together again. “But then didn’t you get your badge abroad?”

Klavier glances at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Yes,” he says slowly, dragging the word out, apparently assessing what Apollo knows, and how. “Two years at Themis, two in Germany via Themis, came back, started a band, fucked up my first case, the rest is history.”

“Ah,” Apollo says. Klavier fiddles with the radio. “Yeah, I did, uh, regular public school, college, those things for ordinary average people.”

Klavier looks right at him to raise his eyebrows in disbelief. “Ordinary?” he repeats, his tone pushing toward sarcastic. “And average, nein, my brother would never settle to hire average.”

Apollo shakes his head. “Yeah, I thought I had it made right out of school, and look where I’ve ended up.”

“In a cool car with the world’s most gorgeous rock star? Still not doing too badly for yourself, I might say.”

“Do people often tell you you’re insufferable?”

Klavier drums his thumbs on the wheel. “Besides you and Fraülein Detective, no, so I find the pair of you a nice change of pace.”

He’s impossible to even insult properly. (Except he did offended when Ema called him a “diva”, so Apollo has that one stored away if he needs it.)

“Not that my brother’s approval should be a litmus for measuring anything,” Klavier adds softly. He looks at Vongole in the rearview mirror and smacks her in the approximation of her chest area. She pulls her head back down inside the car, her ears pulled back in surrender. “Do you think it strange?” he asks. “That I should still call him my brother?”

“No,” Apollo says. “Not really.”

(He doesn’t know what Dhurke is, father or fae and thief, doesn’t know what he would say to him if he deigned to make good on that promise of a lifetime ago, but he knows Nahyuta. He knows his brother is his brother, or maybe he only still hopes he does.)

(He’s thought more about them in the past six months than he has in the past six years. There’s too much weirdness, intertwined with too many painful family histories, for him not to think of his own.)

“Hm,” is all Klavier says in reply.

They turn off the highway after another ten minutes, and it feels again like Trucy leading the way, twisting onto roads smaller and smaller while around them the trees get larger and larger. It might be a driveway that Klavier turns them down, and Apollo hopes it is when he idles the car and gets out to lean on the door and stare at the tree downed in their path, the way the asphalt has broken up into cracks that grass and flowers poke through. “This is it,” he says, ducking back into the car and shutting it off. Vongole vaults through the windshield and down, tearing off into the trees with her legs a blur.

“So what exactly is this?” Apollo asks.

Klavier points up the drive. “We aren’t going that way, but my parents’ house was up there.” He slams the door and it rings loud through the bare trees. The wind swirls across the ground, scooping up the crackling fallen leaves and tossing them about. Apollo shivers. It’s colder here. The sun doesn’t quite seem to reach. “That’s where Kris grew up.”

“Wait,” Apollo says, rubbing his arms. “If he grew up there, then that’s – unless – we’re still in our world, right?”

Klavier rests his elbows on the roof of his car and stares at him. “Herr Forehead,” he says, very seriously. “Of course we are. Of course he grew up here. Kris is the changeling who was switched for me.”

It is obvious – it is incomprehensible. It makes sense, of course, and doesn’t at all. “How old are you?” Apollo asks. Two years older than Apollo, according to his Wikipedia page, but that doesn’t mean anything anymore, not in this territory, not with the fae.

“Technically, if we are to speak by strict calendar terms… thirty-two.”

That’s how old Kristoph is.

“But…” Klavier idly snaps his fingers together. “Actually… I have no idea.” He wiggles his fingers noncommittally. “Somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-six, we figured? Time moves strangely in the Twilight Realm,” he adds, quieter now, and Apollo has to strain to hear him over the wind and rustling leaves. “Especially for human children. So Kris stole my life and my name and my place in my family and now I’m the younger brother.”

He pushes himself back off the car. “Shall we go do what we came here for, or would you prefer to have nothing to do with my life and leave now?”

If Apollo’s come this far, some time weirdness and the chill in the air isn’t going to send him running, but he appreciates the offer. “Which way are we going?”

Klavier steps over a fallen tangle of branches and leads him into the trees. There is no semblance of a path, no place where the grass is beaten down just a little bit as a hint. “The house burned down years ago,” Klavier says. He snaps his fingers together and flips them into a point in that same direction. “Lightning and old wires. We’d moved out long before, after our parents died, but we never got it sold. Or Kris never did; he’d insisted on handling that all himself.”

“When did they die, if you don’t mind me asking?” Apollo puts out a hand to stop tree branches from snapping into his face. The uneven ground, littered with more branches and rocks, causes him several times to stumble in the wake of Klavier’s long stride. Several times he stops and turns back to watch as Apollo catches up.

“Kris was twenty.” A branch snaps beneath Klavier’s foot; he kicks at it but doesn’t send it flying far. “So I was… twelve, on my new, fake, birth certificate.” He shakes his head, snaps a twig off a branch that has come too close to his face. “Funny, ja? To be a lawyer and have all of my paperwork be lies?”

(Me too, Apollo could say, and still he doesn’t.)

“To have had my first and most recent cases be so concerned with a forger, and my parents bought my rights to exist in this world from someone such as that.” The shrug of Klavier’s shoulders is a motion of heaviness and sadness. “Or perhaps it was Herr Misham himself, and that is how my brother knew to go to him for his dirty work. Perhaps we just come full circle again, repeat ourselves.”

“But you did have a real birth certificate,” Apollo says.

He trips on a bush that seems to reach out to hook his foot, and Klavier catches him by the elbow to help him back upright. “Yes, and it was being used by someone else.” His words clip dryly. “What – you think my parents recognized immediately one morning that this little blond baby was not the one they put to cradle the night before? You think one day they renamed their eldest son because they realized what he was and that the name they had chosen was his? Nein, Herr Forehead, do you need me to spell it all out for you?”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with doing that in court,” Apollo says bitterly.

Klavier’s grin, hard at the edges, grows a little softer as it shrinks. “My name, or that was mine when I was born thirty-two years ago, is – was? – Kristoph Gavin. And when they took me, my brother took my name, and I became just some nameless lost child in the high halls of their cold Court.”

The trees open to the low grass of a riverbank. The river – no more than a stream, actually – splashes up against the rocks in the midst of its flow. Klavier takes a running start and bounds it in one leap. Apollo could, probably, as well, but fear and the memory of water choking up in his lungs stops him, roots him like the trees into the ground.

(He and Nahyuta are catching frogs, and their river is large and deep and fast, and Apollo knows if you run at the rocks in the middle, hit them right and spring again, he can be a frog and hop his way over. Nahyuta is faster but Apollo has a head start and he lands on his hands and knees on the other side, jumping back up, panting, and calling to his brother. Nahyuta frowns, his eyes recreating Apollo’s path, careful, calculating, trying to see ahead instead of just barreling forward, and then he runs and jumps. The rock is slick with water at its sides, and Nahyuta lands wrong, too far to the side, flails and falls and the bank crumbles as he claws at it. Apollo lunges for his brother’s hand and can only go in after him, with him, for the current to sweep them away together.)

“Herr Forehead, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Apollo lies. The bottom of the stream is within view. The worst that will happen is that he soaks his shoes and has to wear different ones – not that he has another pair of dress shoes – tomorrow, and Klavier mocks him forever. And that is not ideal, but it’s better than the alternative, and he forces himself to take it at a run – falters at the edge, gets one foot on one of the rocks in the middle and the other straight into the water. If he falls, at least he’s going forward, might make it halfway on the bank, still won’t have any face left to save.

Klaver grabs him by the hand and drags him the rest of the way to solid ground. His hands are calloused and cold and Apollo, trying to kick some water out of his shoe without taking it off, waits for the mockery.

And waits, because Klavier’s attention has been drawn from him across the field they now stand in. The grass is longer on this side of the stream and dotted with tiny wildflowers. The flowers are thicker and all yellow about three yards away and on approaching Apollo can see that they form a thick circle about six feet wide. Inside there is no grass, only churned dirt and chunks of rocks. “Here we are,” Klavier says. He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles. Vongole appears like a blinding streak of white lightning, sprinting down from between the trees and stopping for barely a second to look at Klavier. In a flurry of tail and legs she wheels about to face the faery ring and begins to dig around it, tearing up grass and dirt in huge chunks and flinging them about.

Klavier steps back far enough to avoid the flying sod. “So we don’t burn the whole forest down,” he says to Apollo’s questioning look as he sprawls out in the grass, his arms folded behind his head and his shirt riding up his stomach. Apollo glances away. Get it together, Justice, honestly.

Apparently it’s not just the glamour that makes him attractive. Unfair, really. Apollo sits down in the grass, knowing he’ll regret it when he has to deal with laundry, and pours water out of his shoe.

“So that’s where they tossed me out.” Klavier’s eyes are fixed on the canopy of trees that doesn’t quite reach out above them and the cloud-spotted sky in between. “Their magic burned itself out around me and dropped me there, and I – got up, crossed the stream, and walked home. I used to come back out here, sometimes, when we still lived at that house, just stare at it for a little while. It freaked Kris out.” He rolls to his side and props himself up on one elbow, a sculpted statue with a weathered and cracked face. Somehow, he only looks more tired. “Then after our parents died, we moved to an apartment in the city, I went to Themis and then off, and I’ve not been back here ‘till now.”

“How…” It’s an intrusive question, but all of this is intrusive, and Klavier invited it; Klavier told him he could stick around. Klavier asked him to come. And all this after Apollo indicted his brother on charges of murder, twice. If there’s a line to cross, Apollo isn’t quite sure where it is. “How long did you know your parents?”

Klavier holds up two fingers. “Not long,” he says softly. His hand falls to the grass, his eyes falling shut.

“I don’t know anything about mine,” Apollo admits. “Never met them. Grew up in foster homes around here, mostly.”

(It’s not a lie, really. He put in the qualifier “mostly”, and more than half his life should count for such. It’s not a lie; it’s just him becoming like Kristoph, like Phoenix, like Klavier, and their faery ways of toying with the truth.)

“I’m sorry,” Klavier says. He looks taken aback, blinking sharply. They’ve never made small talk, closest they’ve ever come was the conversation about schooling in car, and even that looped back to Kristoph, back to the dark shadows hanging over them. Their conversations have been about magic or cases or about Klavier, his band, with Trucy around as facilitator, or his career, or his brother. Klavier didn’t know how long Apollo worked with Kristoph; Klavier doesn’t know much of anything about Apollo.

And he’s still the person that Klavier let find him, not anyone else who was looking, not his coworker the witch who Klavier just seemed to know better than he knows Apollo.

He’s the one who knew Kristoph; he said that about his bandmates. They didn’t know Kristoph. Apollo did, and he had the magatama, and it’s luck that he’s here now. Luck, the magatama, and Phoenix, always pulling strings and counting cards, who told Apollo that he needed it.

(If it’s chance, he’s still glad he’s here.)

“Mine were good people, as I can understand,” Klavier adds. “That they loved us both, that they didn’t just turn me back out into the cold, that they never called Kris anything less than their son even when they knew for sure.”

“What exactly happened?” Apollo asks. “Why did the…” The faery ring so close, dismantled though it is being, stops his tongue. “The Fair Folk, let you come back?”

Klavier laughs bitterly from the back of his throat, making a horrible grating sound that can’t be good for a singer. “They let me do nothing. I won from them my freedom, made a deal with all the brazen stupid confidence of a child who was one for too long. What would they have done had I lost, I wonder? I didn’t ask; I set my terms for freedom, and they agreed.”

“What did you do?”

“I learned to play music there – it’s strange. The whole Court felt like music – their names, among themselves, they are not names but like sounds, birdsongs and bells and whistles – and all that, and they never tried to pick up an instrument themselves. So I was to, instead, and I did, because I was better at that than I was at lying. And one day I got the fool idea that I would stake my freedom on my playing, and however they judged me, they decided I had earned it, and so…” He makes a throwing motion with his hand. “They tossed me out here.”

Vongole trots over to them and deposits a thick chunk of dirt and grass at Apollo’s feet. “Um,” he says. “Thanks?”

She has solidified into a more doglike shape, enough that he can see her tail swishing back and forth. For all the digging she has done, her paws are not dirty, but the proof of her work is clear to see. She is substantive and not, ghostly and not, and though she doesn’t appear to breathe, when she flops down in front of Klavier, it is with a heavy sigh. He buries his fingers in her fur. Apollo wonders how soft she is.

“And I knew where I was to walk to find the home I was stolen from, and I walked there and I knocked on the door, and Kris opened it.”

Apollo imagines it – Kristoph, an only child, smart and ambitious and beloved of his parents, looking down at a child who looks so much like himself walking up out of the woods. Would he think that Klavier was the fae child? Did he know before then that he himself was--

She didn’t know. Changelings often don’t.

“He didn’t know,” Apollo says. Klavier looks at him, silently, his jaw working. “Kristoph, I mean.” It is weird, calling his former boss by his first name, but Gavin is both of them. “What you said about Vera, about changelings – you know that because he didn’t know.”

“Now you’re using whatever’s behind that big forehead.” Klavier reaches out and prods him in the forehead with one finger. “Yes. He was eighteen and then – there I was.”

So Klavier was ten, roughly, after eighteen years in the Twilight Realm. Kristoph had already had time to grow up, probably about to head to college, or just had – and Apollo can’t imagine him ever being anything but so staunchly certain. He must have been sure of himself, of who he was and what he wanted to do with the world at his fingertips.

“I suppose now that maybe he resented it,” Klavier says. “That he thought he was human, and found out he wasn’t from his little brother-doppelganger who didn’t have a name or even the faintest idea of what it meant to be human simply appearing on the doorstep. Our parents homeschooled me for those two years, to try and accustom me to what is normal.”

“I don’t think you did a good job of learning it,” Apollo says. “Rock star prosecutor, really, you thought that was normal?”

“Why shouldn’t I have? It used the two skills I learned best from the court – to entertain, and to lie.” He grins a little, and in Apollo’s eyes it eases the red flash in the twitch of his fingers from lie to not well conveyed sarcasm. “Why are so many of the Fair Folk lawyers?”

“Because it’s the closest they can come to lying,” Apollo answers, almost rote now.

He doesn’t stop grinning, entirely, but it falls to a sad smile, his lips pressed together. “Ach, so you heard that punchline from him as well.”

“I was never really sure whether it was a punchline or a serious answer,” Apollo admits.

Klavier’s grin springs back wider. “He did that on purpose,” he says. “The double-take, that was always the real punchline for him.” And there, he looks away, the smile frozen beneath his tired eyes. “I learned how to be human from him, little sense as that might seem to you. Our parents were there, quite certainly, but he was – me. He looks like me, he sounds like me, he has the name and life I should have – so I looked to him.”

Kristoph Gavin may not have grown up with the fae, but he knew, innate or learned, their pettiness, and murdered two men and ruined many other lives for it. Klavier falling apart over missing keys and a missed cue makes more sense than ever.

And their uncanny resemblance, when Apollo always thinks that Klavier seems like his brother – it’s the other way around.

“And that is it, ja?” Klavier sits up. Vongole lifts her head, sighs, and lays it back down. “I came back and named myself; my parents got the papers, somehow, to give me an identity and an age, got their second son; they died, we moved, then Kris packed me off to Themis’ dorms; then Germany, and you know it all from there.”

Yes, Apollo knows from there, and what Apollo knows now of Klavier’s history is more than he knows of his own. Klavier knows where he grew up, that he was stolen and why he was relinquished; Klavier knows how his brother is like and unlike him. Apollo knows none of it for Apollo, and all of it for Klavier.

Well, except for that one new piece.

“You named yourself?”

“Herr Forehead.” Dammit, and he had been doing so well at keeping up with Klavier. “You didn’t think my parents really named me this?”

“I don’t know!” It wasn’t something he dwelled on: it was simply Klavier, like the rest of his tacky showboat aesthetic, and Apollo moved on to more important things. “My name is literally Apollo Justice, so how am I supposed to know what people do or don’t name their kids?”

Klavier is still chuckling, shaking his head so that his hair begins falling loose again. “I named myself,” he says, sounding more serious than he looks. “After the instrument I won my freedom with.” He looks back at Apollo, pale blue eyes peering out at him, and forestalls the question that he must see on Apollo’s lips. “I took up singing, and guitar, after I came back. In the Court, I played the piano.”

“Do you still?” All the things he could say – what is he supposed to say? – and it’s just more questions to distract Klavier from laughing at him about the matter of names. Nothing in his rhetoric classes was meant to prepare him for dealing with an exhausted and broken-down courtroom rival’s life story.

“No.” Klavier plucks up a piece of grass, pressing it between his forefingers and bringing it up to his lips to make a loud, piercing whistle. Vongole scrabbles upright, her ears swiveling about, her eyes burning brighter. The grass falls slowly when Klavier lets it drop and Vongole snaps at it with her long jaws. “I could never make it sound right, the way it did back then, so I stopped trying.” His eyes are glazed-over, half dead, and his words ring with that same level of exhaustion, carrying with them a knife to Apollo’s chest. I stopped trying aren’t words he thinks he should hear Klavier of all people say.

“Lamiroir and Herr Tobaye were the closest I’d ever heard to the music I remember,” Klavier continues. “Of course I had to perform with them, ja? Of course I had to give them the biggest stage I could.” He shakes his head. “Ah, dear Lamiroir – I hope she’s doing well. She doesn’t deserve all that she has been through.”

Apollo might not agree with Klavier’s musical sensibilities for his band, but when it comes to Lamiroir, their tastes align. Her voice still seems like something out of a dream.

“I suppose we should get to what we came here for,” Klavier says heavily, rolling up onto his feet with some visible reluctance in having to do so. From his jacket pocket he takes a box of matches.

“D’you think it’ll be that easy?” Apollo asks. The ring, encircled by the torn-up earth, is made of perky, alive plants. Those don’t burn easily; those aren’t tinder. “Should we have gotten gasoline?”

Klavier shakes his head. “Winter’s things don’t do well with fire.” He strikes the match, crouching to touch it to the thick canvas of flowers, and he springs back, dropping the match into it, as the flowers are engulfed in an instant blaze, like they were dealt with by Datz with gasoline and a flamethrower. Smoke rises from the conflagration, white, almost clear, almost like mist. In some way it resembles Vongole, but when Apollo looks for her, she has retreated halfway to the river, pressed low to the ground, ears back and hackles raised. She, too, doesn’t do well with fire?

The flames burn themselves out in a few minutes, crackling until there is an abrupt silence, almost as quickly as it began. It leaves no ashes behind, but the ground looks wet, like something melted there instead. “It seems quite silly, now,” Klavier says. “That it should be so easy, after it haunted me for so long.”

If he was any good at reassurance, Apollo would have said something profound and helpful long before now. Of course, the one person to manage to get through to Klavier had to be the worst one for the job, probably.

“No changing that now, I suppose,” he continues, offering Apollo a weak grin. He puts his back to the ruined ring first, striding away with a feigned confidence that almost succeeds. Apollo casts one last look at the damp, destroyed earth, and follows. Klavier has already stopped, one hand in his hair, staring up at the trees. “No going back, quite sure as I am that we might like to.” Another weak grin that holds out a second or two longer than the first. “Just not sure where to go from here.”

“Story of my life,” Apollo mutters.

Klavier laughs. “Ach, well, we have each other’s good company for it, ja?”

“Not exactly the way I’ve wanted to be in the same league as a rock star, but sure, I’ll take it.”

“You are near my level in the courtroom, how about?”

“Near?” If Apollo is good for anything, it seems to be as a distraction from the harrowing distant and recent pasts, which could almost be okay if it wasn’t Klavier’s particular brand of carrying on an irreverent conversation that he has to deal with. “I’ve beaten you three times in court, Gavin!”

“I should hope you did; your clients were innocent of the murder charges.” That he specifies murder charges stings: Vera the forger, Machi the smuggler, Wocky the gangster. My kingdom for a client who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, no other weirdness. But Klavier is near-impossible to argue with outside of court, so Apollo will just settle for the next time they face each other in court and Apollo kicks his ass, again.

On reaching the stream again, Apollo takes the jump at a run, and doesn’t hesitate.

“Have you ever heard it alleged that the fae can’t cross running water?” Klavier asks. He plucks a stone up from the dirt and tosses it into the water. The ripples momentarily interrupt the flow but the water soon comes back together like nothing ever parted it.

“No,” Apollo says. “Isn’t that vampires?”

“Vampires aren’t real.”

“I know they aren’t. I’m just saying, isn’t that what—”

“Perhaps. I did hear it about the fae, once, though.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Apollo says. “How could they not? Like, what counts as running water? I don’t think Mr Gavin ever had trouble walking out on rainy days because, oh no, there’s water running on the sidewalk—”

“Forget I asked,” Klavier says, but even with a hand over his mouth he is unabashedly snickering.

“No,” Apollo says. “I won’t, because that’s stupid, and I’m going to argue it.”

“I didn’t say it was true!” Klavier throws his hands in the air. “I asked if you had heard it, and I did not say that I—” He stops, folding further over himself, hands on his thighs and shoulders shaking with laughter.

“What?” Apollo asks.

“Imagine Kris, stranded on the street in front of his office, all because he can’t just step across the gutter.”

“I told you it’s stupid,” Apollo says, but Klavier only looks up at him, wheezing with laughter again. “I mean – you have the water right here, your house wasn’t too far, didn’t you ever…?”

Klavier straightens back up. His hair is falling loose and he pulls it down entirely, again, slipping the hair band onto his wrist. The shadows cast by the sun are lengthening, the light spilling golder on them both, and it breathes a bit of colorful life back into Klavier’s hair. Vongole, too, seems to take on a lesser yellow-gold hue. “Oh, he came out this way after me, certainly, but he just stood on this side and yelled at me to come back. Never crossed, which is why I thought about it. I suppose maybe he was afraid to get too close.” With a flick of his head, he tosses his hair back behind his shoulders. “He was certainly afraid I would get snatched again. Sounded frantic every time he called me back, if you can believe that.” His eyes harden. When he speaks again, he has abandoned his accent entirely, and if Apollo has thought he sounded like Kristoph before, he was wrong. That was Kristoph breaking through an accent faltering with stress and anger. This is intentional. “‘You know how worried I am that one day I’ll come out here and you’ll be gone, Klavier? That I’ll be too late to get you home again? What do you think you’re doing?’”

The tone he puts to Kristoph’s voice is half-scolding, half apparently-real concern. Was that how Kristoph really sounded, or just how Klavier remembers him? Apollo can’t square away the way Klavier’s imitation borders on frantic with the Kristoph he saw speaking to him in that trial – the Kristoph that Phoenix implied existed further behind closed doors, further belittling and dismissive.

Maybe the changeling was just like the fae of the court, in wanting a human child who had the ability to lie.

Or maybe that was before something shriveled up inside his heart. Maybe once he loved his younger twin.

“I’m sorry,” Apollo says. “I can’t imagine…” Imagine what? To be stolen away? (Wasn’t Apollo?) To find out what someone he clearly loved and admired was truly like? (Apollo admired Kristoph. Apollo loved Dhurke, but he doesn’t know what he truly was.) To so painfully lose a brother?

(He wonders who Nahyuta has grown up to be.)

Klavier doesn’t say anything. Maybe it’s better when Apollo distracts, redirects, argues. Maybe it’s better not to try the emotional stuff, the comfort, the condolences, now that he’s not a kid anymore, sitting next to Clay and screaming “I’m fine!” at the stars. He doesn’t think Klavier would take to that so well. It’d get him smiling again, but only to make fun of Apollo again.

They walk back to the car with no sound but the rustling leaves. When Vongole streaks between the branches, she is silent, and nothing moves with the breeze of her passing. Apollo expects the walk to take longer, the way he got lost with Trucy, Clay, and Ema, but Klavier cuts a confident path back through the trees and the driveway and the car appear before them. Vongole is nowhere to be seen; Klavier whistles again, and she materializes, still but for her wisping feathery fur off her legs and tail, on the hood of the car.

“Where did she come from?” Apollo asks. “Like, originally?”

“Kris summoned her, I would presume.” Klavier watches Vongole step through the windshield and into the passenger seat. “What he sold, when, and for what exactly he wanted a hunting hound, I don’t know.” He leans against the hood, propping a foot up on the bumper. “She met me off the plane. I wasn’t sure if she was an omen, I was about to die, or what.”

“Yeah,” Apollo says. “Me, too, when I saw her outside my apartment the first time.”

Klavier frowns. “I suppose she had to be up to something once Kris was behind bars, before I was back.” He says it more like he is musing to himself, not trying to pull Apollo into that thought at all. “She still does wander off sometimes,” he adds, louder, “but she’s so decided I am her handler and sticks around.”

“She’s turned up at the office, too. Mr Wright was the one who told me that she was yours.”

Vongole’s head emerges from the car roof. Apollo jumps.

“I hope she hasn’t made too much of a nuisance of herself,” Klavier says, his voice low and dangerous and clearly a warning to the hound, who lowers her head and shrinks back down into the car. Klavier tilts his head back up toward the sky.

“Could you see the mountains from your house?” Apollo asks. He’s noticed all afternoon that Klavier keeps casting glances to the sky, looking for something.

“No, fortunately.” He pushes himself up off the car and moves around to the driver’s side door, shooing Vongole into the back as he does so. “About fifteen minutes up the road there’s a spot along the shore where you can see them. Kept coming back there even after we moved.”

He doesn’t ask. He leans on the door for a moment, looking at Apollo, twisting a few strands of hair around his fingers. Apollo pops his door open. Then: “Sure.”

Even with the magatama’s steady glamour-breaking effect, Klavier’s eyes still seem to light up.

-

“Oh, hell no,” Apollo says.

“That’s quite a bit more protestation than you gave the faery ring.”

Apollo crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, because I trusted you that it really was dormant or whatever. I don’t trust high cliffs or bottomless expanses of water!”

The “spot” that Klavier mentioned is a high, steep cliff overlooking a rocky beach. If it weren’t October, with the chilly wind biting with more strength at them, they probably wouldn’t be alone. It would probably be beautiful, for anyone who isn’t Apollo. But he is Apollo, standing at the side of the road next to Klavier’s car, and Klavier is halfway up the slope, grinning down at him.

“You don’t have to stand at the edge,” Klavier says. “I used to come out here a lot – brought Daryan too, sometimes. Stood on the edge and neither of us died, ja?”

Apollo huffs but follows him up.

If he looks back out at the road or toward the land, he is fine. If he doesn’t look down, he is fine, until he looks out over the ocean and thinks about how easy it would be to drown, to plummet down and down and get swallowed up by the horrible maw of the dark waters. He plants himself ten feet from the closest edge and ignores everything that Klavier says to coax him up higher.

The mountains jut out of the shore, in the same direction of the sinking sun that glitters coldly across the water, in the far distance along the coast. They look small, even though Apollo knows otherwise, having stood beneath their shadows less than a week ago. “The big one right along the water is Mount Mitama,” Klavier says, pointing, though it is obvious which he refers to.

“Do you think they keep people’s souls stored there or something,” Apollo asks, “or d’you think it’s just a name?”

Klavier brings his hand to his face to block the sun, frowning into it. “I have no idea,” he admits. “I wouldn’t put it past them, but I don’t know why they would keep them here, and not with them.”

“What was it like there?” Apollo asks. “If – if you want to talk about it.”

Klavier laughs softly. “After everything else, Herr Forehead, this is easy: I don’t remember.”

“You don’t—?”

The sunlight glints off of Klavier’s jewelry and puts something of a halo around him when he turns to face Apollo again. “I remember it in broad strokes, the way I’ve told the story to you, ja? Me, the piano, my bargain – and so very little of them. What did they look like – what did they wear – how did they decorate their halls – how was their very world arranged? I don’t know. I remember mountains, mist, and snow.”

“Was it cold?”

He shrugs. “Not as I recall. I’ve heard that, of course, that they live amongst the ice, that they are the ones who change the weather—” He shrugs, again. “But whenever they bring their cold snaps, neither my brother nor I ever seemed to notice, so I would not be the person to ask.”

As Apollo wondered. “You adapted,” he says. “And he was meant to be there.”

The wind buffets against them again, straight into Apollo’s face as though straight from the mountains. “Like that,” Apollo says. He reaches up to find that his bangs are now stuck backwards at a more-or-less 45-degree angle. “It’s freezing here. Do you just not—”

“It’s quite windy, ja,” Klavier interrupts, dragging his hair away from his face, “but the cold, no, I’m not really noticing.” His mouth twists and, still holding his hair back with one hand, he sticks out his tongue, making the most undignified picture of him that Apollo has ever seen and he can’t help but laugh. “Oh, see how you like getting hairs in your mouth,” he says irritably.

“I don’t really have that problem,” Apollo says, and before his brain can unhelpfully supply anything further on any of this, he adds, “That cold thing would be useful if you lived somewhere where it snowed more than three times a year at the whim of the fae.” Hell, it would be useful to Apollo here, now, always.

“Ah, but I do like the sunshine far too much to retreat off to Michigan or what-have-you. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“With my luck, I’d just keep finding prosecutors who are worse and worse than you. Like…” What was the name of the first prosecutor he faced? He knows he’s forgotten it before. The handful of other cases he’s stumbled into, the ones that leave no real impression on him besides the paycheck, nothing else weird, he’s not surprised he forgets – but the rest of Phoenix’s trial is so burned into his memory. “The prosecutor on Mr Wright’s case. He had a really screechy voice?”

“Coming from you, that really means something.”

“I am not screechy!” Apollo winces, and Klavier raises an eyebrow, at the way his voice hits an indignant high pitch on the last word. Point not proven. “Okay, fine, maybe a little, but at least I’m realistic about how I sound and don’t get up on a stage and subject everyone to it!”

Klavier actually looks offended. Apollo never can figure out in advance what insults will land and what won’t. “But, ja, I know the prosecutor you are talking about,” he says, clearly having decided that the redirect is the least painful way of losing this round. “Quite horrid hair he has, too.”

“God, how did I forget that?” Being reminded, Apollo can summon up the memory of his reactions to that prosecutor, but none of the visuals. “What’s his name?”

“I have no idea.” Apollo snorts. “I think he’s cursed, personally,” Klavier adds, sounding somewhat defensive. “I do try to know my coworkers.”

“Mr Edgeworth said the Prosecutors Office isn’t a coven but I’m not sure I buy that anymore.”

“No,” Klavier says. “Do not believe him.”

(If Nahyuta didn’t stray from his plans, if through all these years he followed through, would he fit right in there?)

“Though don’t tell him I said that,” Klavier adds.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He waits to hear why and doesn’t get an answer. Maybe Edgeworth really doesn’t like Klavier much. “I guess I can’t talk, what with the office I work at.”

“You have quite the ratio of magic to employees.”

“Yeah, with Trucy and Mr Wright, and then Vera has been hanging around a lot too now, and it’s everyone but me.”

Klavier is quiet for a few moments, his eyes narrowed, assessing that sentence. “How is Fraülein Changeling doing?” he asks.

Apollo wonders if he feels guilty for what happened. Or responsible. “Better. I think she’s very lonely, and very lost about what to do with herself, but as bad as Mr Wright is at being a mentor, he’s actually pretty good with her. I mean, he’s a father, so I’d hope so, but Trucy’s really different than Vera, but he’s still… seems to have it handled. He knows a lot about art, like a weird amount, and they start talking, and I get lost.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have expected that.” With an absent gaze away from the sun and the mountains, Klavier fails to wrangle his hair up out from the wind. “I do hope you’re right, that he can help her. It would be nice to see one person somewhere in a changeling story find a happier ending.”

-

They don’t say much more after that about anything that really deeply means anything. But they don’t leave right away, either, sit instead on the hood of the car and watch the sky turn orange and the sun sink toward the shore. Klavier says that he misses the stars when he’s in LA, and Apollo agrees, mentions that he used to haunt the Space Center planetarium for that reason (doesn’t mention that while Clay loved the science-y technical parts, Apollo liked to hear of other constellations and other stories than the ones Dhurke told but know that these were the same stars that Nahyuta would still see, like he did when he was perched in a tree and calling down to Apollo to climb up to him. It comforted Apollo until it didn’t). They swap stories from high school, Apollo’s the delinquent miscellany of unfulfilled crowded public school kids, Klavier’s half the kind of pretension to be expected from a place called “Themis Legal Academy” and half surprisingly misadventures out of Germany (and surrounded countries accidentally stumbled into). It’s the strangest kind of small talk, to pick up these little inconsequential bits and pieces about Klavier after he has already shown Apollo his heart and the history locked up inside it.

And he still sings along to the radio on the way back to the city, changes the channel when Atroquinine, My Love comes on and then sings Guilty Love differently than he did that afternoon. When Apollo points it out (he thinks he can remember Dayran saying something about something like this, but fuck that guy), he says he’s never satisfied with them, but record labels and bandmates who aren’t perfectionist divas (Apollo’s words, not his) made him put them out before they truly fit what was in his head.

The lights of Los Angeles have swallowed up the rest of the horizon by the time Klavier says, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Apollo asks. For ten minutes they hadn’t spoken, and before that their conversation was about Klavier’s (not group-friendly) lyrics process, which is, if anything, a reason to apologize to his bandmates, not Apollo.

“That you ever had to be caught up in this – with Kris, with me, any of it. You shouldn’t have had to. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Apollo says, and Klavier looks at him so sharply that Apollo thinks he should have heard his neck crack, almost yells at him to put his eyes back on the darkening road ahead of them. “Not really – I mean, I got to stop Trucy from losing her other father and being all alone. I got to help her get to the truth about her family; I got to help Vera, and Mr Wright, and… and you, too, I guess.” Apollo stares straight out the windshield as he says it; Klavier isn’t looking at him either. “No going back, so… it’s what it is.”

“I suppose we do all need you,” Klavier says softly. “And better than you resenting that you don’t need us.”

And he leaves it at that. They leave it at that, until they pull up in front of Apollo’s apartment building and Klavier turns the car off. “What are you doing?” Apollo asks. Dread is starting to settle in his stomach – not the real serious kind of dread, but the kind of dread that Clay has a talent for invoking.

“I should apologize to your roommate for making him worry about how to pay the rent, ja?” Klavier says with a wink.

Apollo slams the door. “No,” he says, as Klavier pops out the other side. “You shouldn’t. It will be embarrassing for all of us.”

“I don’t get embarrassed,” Klavier says.

“I’ve noticed,” Apollo says, directing the worst glare he can at the car and making sure that Klavier sees him doing so. “Everything about your aesthetic sense screams ‘I have never felt shame in my life’.”

“That is true.”

While unlocking the door to his apartment, Apollo considers opening it just far enough to rush inside and slamming it in Klavier’s face, but he can hear the TV on and he knows that Clay, just inside, would ask what the hell is going on, and Apollo isn’t getting through this one either way. “You are the worst,” he says to Klavier, yanking the keys out of the lock with more force than necessary and brandishing them in his face.

“What did I do?” Clay, sprawled on the couch, asks.

“Nothing yet,” Apollo asks, tossing his keys on the coffee table and considering whether he should just keep walking and take shelter in the kitchen. “You’ll see in a sec.”

“Now, Herr Forehead, you aren’t going to stick around to introduce us?”

Clay sits bolt upright, upending his laptop onto the floor.

“This is Clay; Clay, you know who this asshole is.”

“Oof.” Clay rolls up onto his feet. “That bad, huh?” His eyes are huge, but all things considered, he’s doing a good job of keeping his voice steady and not horrifically loud. “Hi, I’m, uh, Clay Terran.”

“Klavier Gavin, as you knew, I’m sure.” Klavier glances at the floor, at the well-worn salt line laid down over itself, and gives an appreciative tilt of his head as he steps over it to shake Clay’s hand. As Apollo watches, his eyes shift their hue to assess Clay. “I’m here to apologize for whatever concern you had that you were going to have to put out a missing persons report.”

Clay meets him with a very big grin and a very enthusiastic handshake. “Oh, yeah, no worries.”

“Hey!” Apollo shouts.

“I mean, like, yeah that would be pretty bad, actually, to have to pull his body up out of a ditch in the morning but I wasn’t too worried because last weekend he fell in a faery ring and he’s doing fine, so I think he’s kind of unkillable at this point.” There’s Clay’s nervous chatter, and there is information that Apollo did not want divulged, not least because he doesn’t particularly want to talk to Klavier about the Gramaryes. That’s Trucy’s story, not his.

Klavier slowly turns his eyes toward Apollo, arching an eyebrow. “Did he really,” he says, the words coming out almost like a drawl, and definitely closer to Kristoph-tone than Apollo would like.

“That’s just sort of how his life is now I think,” Clay says.

Klavier’s eyebrows raise higher. Apollo has absolutely no way to signal to Clay to shut the hell up without Klavier noticing. He could and probably should do it anyway.

“At any rate, I should be going,” Klavier says. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Clay gives a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Uh, yeah, you too!”

“See you around, Herr Forehead. I look forward to beating you in court.”

“As if.”

He leaves behind him an unimaginable silence, the kind that leaves Apollo considering the miniscule creaks in the floor from the slightest shift of his feet. “Dude,” Clay says, finally, still standing where Klavier left him, staring at closed door. “He really does have a fucking pet name for you.”

“Yeah you could call it that, but you’d be wrong.”

“So what the hell was that?” Clay asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, that was great, you’re turning red and I got to find out that he’s even prettier in person” – the weight of the magatama in Apollo’s pocket tells him they were looking at two different Klaviers, and Clay got the one that Apollo used to know – “but you, like, ditching out of work in the middle of the day to go hang with him, that’s totally not like you even if I’d encourage it.”

“Mr Wright was talking about magic,” Apollo says, “and we had a… revelation. About what’s up with…” He gestures at the door. “Him. So I went to ask him about it.” It seems stupid now that he says it, none of the urgency now that made him commit magatama-theft and abandon his day job. “And he hadn’t answered any of my texts, anyway,” he adds, which sounds even stupider.

“Kicking down his door wasn’t going to be my next recommendation, but I like the way you think,” Clay says. He finally manages to tear his eyes from the door and look to Apollo. “So he’s not a witch?”

“No.”

“Alright.” Clay retrieves his laptop, turning it over to make sure nothing is broken. “We still need to go grocery shopping, so you’ve got about fuck-all for dinner now that you’re late, by the way.”

“Great.” Apollo is in the kitchen before he fully comprehends the turn of the conversation. He sticks his head back out into the living room. “You aren’t asking what he is?”

Clay’s hand reaches up over the back of the couch and waves dismissively; otherwise, he has disappeared entirely from view. “It’s one thing to speculate when he’s like, some celebrity guy who you had a court run-in with, like, twice, but after you dropped everything and had this look on your face when I asked just now, like you thought you were gonna have to explain what he’s if not a witch and were horrified by the prospect. So, nah, as long as he’s not gonna kill you and/or steal your soul, you keep his secret. I’m not gonna pry.”

“Oh.”

Clay’s arm hooks over the back of the couch again and he raises himself up to glare down Apollo. “Dude, honestly, what do you think, I’m a douchebag or some like sleazy tabloid writer?”

“No,” Apollo says. “I’m just – I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you look pretty dazed,” Clay says. “Which, like, fair, you spent a bunch of hours alone with the guy, I would be too.” He folds his arms under his chin. “I’m surprised at you, though, that you would go off to god-knows-where with Herr Not-Really-That-Human. Long way from where you started.”

“I’m already in over my head,” Apollo says. “So what’s more, really?”

“I think you’re head-over-heels.”

“No.”

“It’s a good joke, admit it.”

“Nice turnabout, but no.”

While he’s in the kitchen, digging through the pantry – they really are down to crumbs and scraps, aren’t they? – his phone chimes.

-Vongole made it home before me -ate everything I had in the fridge for tonight - >:(

Apollo snorts.

you should probably stick some iron to it

He returns to the living room with a bowl of cereal, checking his phone for the response. Clay smirks, like he knows, except he can’t know, because Apollo does have other people he texts. Or, well, maybe just Trucy. Maybe that’s kind of sad.

-do you suppose they can make fridges entirely out of iron

or go the high budget rock star solution I guess

-

In the morning, Apollo finds a text received at 3:27 am.

-thank you

[psiioniicarts]

You know that Ace Attorney AU you thought no one cared about? I wanted to ask, what about the people before Dual Destines(sorry for bad spelling)? If you've gotten that far, that is. If you haven't, that's fine!

oh OH shit shitt WOW OKAY, I’m sorry I don’t know how late this ask is, I’ve just been all over the place these past few months-

I don’t have any sketches to give you, since I haven’t had time to think about this AU but I DO. HAVE SOME THOUGHTS ON PRE-DUAL DESTINIES CHARACTERS. If any you’s haven’t seen my other posts about my Mythical Creature AU for Ace Attorney, there’s my first one with Phoenix and generals of the other characters, deeper details on Apollo and Athena (and Phoenix), and deeper details on Klavier and Blackquill and Edgeworth. I’ll uuuhhh see if sketches can happen later but I’ll share the stuff I have written down for some characters:

Gumshoe is a golem, an “animated anthropomorphic being that is magically created entirely from inanimate matter (specifically clay or mud)”

Class HL (Human-Like), subclass AH (Artificial “Human”), like Athena

Under his clothes, you can see the seams of his different parts, like where his arms meet his torso, and also can see his “magic seals”, the seals that keep him from falling apart/going berserk

He doesn’t have a particular master, he mostly just serves the police department in general, but he has an affinity to serving Edgeworth

His skin has the texture of stone, and he is prone to chipping, but is incredibly tough

Pretty quiet for a big stone guy, but people like Apollo and Simon can hear him by the slight stone grinding noise he makes when he moves

Maya (and by extension, Mia and Pearl) are spirit puppets, of a sort

I couldn’t find an exact name for the thing I’m thinking of (if you have a name please lmk), but basically spirit mediums in this universe essentially can be of any monster origin, but undergo a process that essentially turns them in “living husks with no spirit”

They’re technically “dead”, but still have their own free will and being when not “hosting” a spirit

The process just make their spirit disappear or “vanish”, so that their body is “empty” and capable of embodying other spirits

I’m still figuring out this sub plot, but here’s what I got so far: Maya and Mia are kitsunes; Maya had four tails, Mia had seven, and Pearl had three

Most of the Kurain family are kitsunes

When kitsunes reach nine tails, they fully “mature” and become powerful beings

Few Kurain members are allowed to reach that potential anymore, as they become harder to control, so many are put under spirit training early, as once they become a spirit puppet, they are incapable of gaining the rest of their tails and reaching that potential

Mia thought that was a load of BS and that’s why she left, so she wouldn’t be restricted by that rule. Unfortunately, she died at only seven (due to…unrelated reasons)

Maya ended up being the one to undergo the training instead, and technically finished by the events of the first game (she still had to refine the art, but at four tails she finished the main ritual and thus was stopped at four tails)

Morgan, her aunt, is one of the only nine tailed foxes in Kurain, and she forced Pearl into training early, sensing her immense potential, and wanting to stunt her early so Morgan could keep power

Which is why Pearl is only at three tails

There is a way to continue getting tails after the ritual, but those tails are not as long and seem short and are a different duller color than the others

That being said, older Maya has continue spirit training but also training on gaining all her tails, since “That’s what Sis would’ve wanted”

Currently, she has the four tails plus three paler, shorter ones, and has been helping Pearl too, who now has three plus a fourth

Maya, Mia and Pearl are classified as HL (Human-Like/”Previously Human”)

(side note: not ALL spirit mediums are kitsunes, and Ray’fa isn’t a kitsune)

Franziska (and by extension, Von Karma) are vampires

Class HL, they have to wear the the same restricting bracelet as Edgeworth

Vampires in the modern society technically only need to drink blood once a month at bare minimum, but receive three packs of “Monthly Supplied Blood” (MSB) from the city hall to keep them satiated, human blood that is donated by donors every month

The “craving” of blood is more of a myth, and vampires don’t crave it unless they are starving

Other than that, they are entirely capable of eating regular food (except garlic, which I’ve researched and I’ve found has perfectly acceptable reasons as to why it repels vampires)

The normal aversions remain, though modern vampires find ways around said things (sunblock/clothes or umbrella for sunlight, careful avoidance of crosses/silver)

As a side note, modern mirrors aren’t backed by silver anymore, so the Von Karmas can see their reflections

Another side note, in this universe, vampires can be made OR born, but vampires can only breed with other vampires, thus the Von Karmas are what you’d consider “purebred

Ema and Lana Skye are Khajiits

I uuuhh, dunno if those are creatures outside of DnD but I don’t care

Basically, humanoid feline creatures

Class H2 (Half Human), subclass PLM (”Predatory Land Mammal”), like Blackquill

Unlike were creatures, is permanently a humanoid cat creatue

Just, look up Khajiit and that’s pretty much what they look like

Prone to cat-like behaviors, but don’t bring them up or tease them about it or you’ll probably end up with a massive scratch to the face

Wears the same collar as Blackquill and Phoenix

“Shut up, you glimmerous fop, I’ll take a bite out of your sushi smelling ass”

Ema resembles a tri-color cat, and Lana a striped tabby

Mostly humanoid with similar leg build to Blackquill or Apollo, and fully formed human-like hands but with claws and pads

..Dahlia and Iris are succubi

Class H2, subclass DC (Demonic Creatures)

Wear the same collars as Kris and Klav to keep their “seducing voice” under control, though Dahlia found ways to work around her collar and used her voice uncontrolled until she was caught by Mia

Have a “true form”, with isn’t anything above just them but with wings, tail and horns and some other…details

I haven’t gone into deep thought about them yet

I thought about Investigations characters too, but I only have one so far due the obviousness of it

Lang is a werewolf (I’d be a fool to make this local furry anything else)

Similar to Blackquill in creature detail department, might as well read that post before continuing here

Unlike Simon, spends most of the time in the most human form a werewolf can take, human looking with only the ears and tail showing

When he can riled up, he can start shifting into a form that looks more like Blackquill, but keeps himself under control most of the time

Where Blackquill has thicker fur with a big rounded snout and paws, Lang is skinnier, with sharper features and sleeker, shinier fur

Has longer teeth and claws, but isn’t as powerful as Blackquill

That’s all I got for now, I’m still trying to think of creatures and details for other major characters like Godot/Diego, Kay, maayyyybbbe Maggey if you consider her a main character, Ray and Sebastian. If you have ideas, I’m always open to hear them, just leave a reply or send me an ask (admittedly, I’m having a harder time with charactes like Ray and Sebastian since I didn’t play the second Investigations game, and I didn’t finish Trials and Tribulations so Godot/Diego is giving me grief too). 

(I DO have idea for post-Dual Destinies characters like Nahyuta and his family, Ga’ran and Ray’fa, etc., so I only need suggestions for the main characters listed above, and any other main characters pre-Dual Destinies I haven’t listed)

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Okay! Here’s the last of the non-canon outtakes featuring Franziska and Phoenix’s arrest. This one follows that which I linked there. Phoenix and Franziska argued a little more, she stormed out, she and the rest of the family complained about Phoenix, which is where that bit with Diego came from, and then she has an idea. I like the part that gives some more insight into her relationship with Phoenix, as I discussed in the other outtakes post how close they used to be, and I most especially mourn the material of Franziska and Kristoph going head-to-head, but it just cannot fit with the overall arc I wanted.

But there’s actually not any rules, so if I want to post scrapped plot threads, who’s gonna stop me? Nobody that’s who. 

She has never actually been to the office, despite it being one of Phoenix's frequent haunts; come to think of it, she cannot recall ever having gone to the Borscht, either. His physical presence faded from her life and a ghost tried to fill the hole caused by his absence. Traffic is heavy even at this time and she rehearses potential opening statements as she curses at the other cars and the slow crawl they are locked into. It is 4:52 when she pulls into the lot, scrambling from her car; on a Friday, he may have already left by now, leaving the work to the junior partners - though if he has, she is marching back to the detention center and telling his client that along with all of his other vices, he isn't even a dedicated attorney.

Gavin's office is like Grossberg's: much larger than Mia or Phoenix's holes-in-the-walls or even her father's office, hosting more than two attorneys, and the decor is as tacky and indulgent. Her feet sink into the plush carpet and she glances over the polished surface of the waiting room coffee table before she looks around for someone to speak to. There is a desk that looks like it is the reception area, but no one at it. 

[This connecting segment never got written, but here she meets Apollo and asks him if Kristoph is still here because she needs to speak with him. Apollo asks for her name and she gives it as "Franziska Edgeworth" which ends up a brick joke with Apollo much later.]

Despite the fact that the boy - probably not a boy, he can't be that young if he works at a law office, at least 17 - said that Gavin was about to leave, he is sitting at his desk when Franziska enters his office, his hands folded in front of him like he has known to expect her for longer than he has. He can't have expected her. "Do shut the door behind you," he says, gesturing to it.

The office is well-decorated, fancy - more like many of the prosecutors' offices she has seen, nothing like any of the defense attorneys within her own family. She takes her time returning to the door which she left to swing ajar behind her, scanning the bookshelves and the coffee table. The latter holds a decorative paperweight, and the former, bookends, all heavy looking (injuries appear consistent with a strike from a blunt object and given the location of the wounding to the head the attacker appears to be shorter than the victim); on the desk there is a letter opener (stab wound to the throat, though shape of injury does not appear consistent with any kind of knife), but for that she would have to move toward him, away from the door. Better to run, for several reasons: the other attorneys are still in the office and would hear any skirmish taking place within the room, but Gavin would not risk his reputation chasing her down in front of them. She could claim self-defense - she would claim self-defense, she is not her father, she would not strike first - but she is the interloper in this office, and the only witnesses are people who have reason to be sympathetic to Gavin. 

The door clicks closed. "What brings you here, Ms von Karma?" Gavin asks with a smile that could be pleasant if she did not know the true nature of the man. "Or - you didn't happen to change your name, did you?" He leans forward, his head tilting almost imperceptibly, but the light of his desk lamp catches on his glasses and for a moment the flash of the light hides his eyes behind them. 

"No, I didn't," she replies. "However, I thought it best to be discrete, given that it is very much not customary for a prosecutor to show up unannounced at a defense attorney's office."

"And your reason for such is...?" One eyebrow arches. He nods at the chair in front of the desk. "Please, sit down."

"No thank you. I intend to keep this brief." She touches the back of the chair and gives one of the legs a nudge with her foot; solid, heavy, more likely to become a liability to her should she try to pick it up and use as a weapon. "Phoenix Wright."

Gavin's expression does not change from the tiny, closed-lipped smile he has been giving her. Cool under fire in the courtroom; why should he not be outside of it as well? "I do not make it a policy to discuss my cases with the prosecution, Ms von Karma."

"I am not prosecuting this case. What I am is a friend of the defendant’s, and concerned about him, and so have come to check in on how his case is progressing.”

Gavin does not respond right away. Instead he stares at her, as though through her. "Then ask him," he says. "It is not as if the police refuse a prosecutor come to speak with a detainee at any time of day or night. You have left your office early enough that even were you a defense attorney, you would be let in without trouble." The languid smile does not leave his face. "I think one of two things, Ms von Karma: either you have something you wish from me specifically, or you and the accused are not as close of friends as you thought."

Franziska blinks. "Pardon?" The part of her paranoid enough to assess Gavin as a threat is the part of her that keeps her mouth moving; she cannot allow him to know that she suspects him, but he has given her a different opening. "Phoenix and I are not - what, exactly?"

If she plays this right, she can make him hand her an alibi. 

"You can hardly blame him, can you?" Gavin says. "How careful he has to be with his reputation since he was disbarred -- and for forging evidence, at that."

"He did not--"

Gavin holds up a hand. "You don't need to tell me that," he says. "I was, as you recall, the one person in the Bar Association--"

"--who voted in his favor. I am aware."

"But you understand where this places him. Whatever the truth, to the rest of the world, he forged evidence for the sake of personal victory. It hardly helps appearances for someone so accused to spend a great deal of time with a von Karma, now does it?"

For a moment she is struck silent. Phoenix pulled away from all of them, not just her. He closed himself off from everyone; he stopped confiding in Miles even though they live together, he drifted from Mia, Maya complained that he stopped texting. It wasn't just her--

-- Maya could coax him out to lunch when she came home from Kurain, Mia dragged him to get occasional haircuts, Ray saw him at Trucy's magic shows whenever Phoenix went -- Franziska went to Miles' apartment and only ever found him sleeping, she went to the office and saw his daughter more than him, she went weeks at a time without him answering her texts, she got her news of him from everyone in the Edgeworth-Fey grapevine but him, she stooped to texting Larry, she --

-- she wasn't abandoned by her oldest friend in the world because of what her goddamned father had done --

-- was she?

Gavin pushes his glasses up and his face curls in a smile that does not touch his cold eyes. "You never realized?" he asks. "I thought you more observant than that. We all have our blind spots, I suppose."

This morning in the detention center was the first time in years he was so open with her, and he wasn't open. Of everyone he locked his heart away from, it was her most of all. Her oldest friend in the world, who supported her every aspiration, who celebrated her getting her badge before him, who grinned at her for countless trials across the courtroom, setting her adrift as soon as her name became slightly inconvenient because of his own mistake.

She can't take this as an excuse for coming to see Gavin. She can't let this go. "He wouldn't," she says. "He believes in me -- not for a rumor -- nor for what my father did --"

"No? Then let me be frank with you -- I have looked into your court record, quite extensively. For a prosecutor, you have a very even ratio -- except in one particular instance. You have a perfect loss record against your own brother."

"Where are you going with this?" she snarls. She knows the bluffing sort and Gavin is not it -- he sees several moves ahead instead of just the backs of his opponent's cards.

[I unfortunately forget precisely how this line of dialogue would end. He basically implies she's corrupt and has been throwing trials to Miles, and turns it into a threat somehow -- I think he was going to threaten to bring an investigation down on her head. There was also going to be a jab somewhere obliquely referencing Klavier what with Kristoph remarking on Franziska's "remarkable loyalty" to her older brother, enough to hand him victory.

[She would then storm out and go back to the detention center to speak with Phoenix again. She tells him that she went and spoke with Kristoph, and that finally makes Phoenix crack. He has a speech that is something similar to what he says in Acing the Turnabout to Miles about being terrified that Kristoph is going to kill any one of them who investigates too closely. 

[His fear gets to Franziska; we see her paranoid edge earlier with her looking for a weapon when going into Kristoph’s office (which by the way that paragraph is one of my absolute favorites I’ve written), and it returns here She doesn't want to go home alone for fear of walking into her death and she calls up Lana to accompany her home, because Lana knows what it's like to have someone making those threats toward her. She picks Lana up at the office where she works with Mia and Diego and two of them go back to Franziska's apartment, find it fine and empty, but Franziska packs a weekend bag and crashes with Miles for the weekend. She tells him it's to help him and Trucy; this is true, but it is also her being afraid to be on her own, and her afraid to leave then on her own. She doesn't know if Kristoph would target them.]