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the-bar-sinister · 5 months

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Lucifer Was an Angel As Well (35287 words) by thesavagesabretooth

catch up here A sheltered young artist with a tragic past finds herself caught in the web of dark affection by a beautiful and sinister murderer, and his carefree rockstar brother.

August 31, 2028– 9:15 am

When Justine had said that she wanted to meet with Miles Edgeworth, he had suggested a lovely cafe a little way from the prosecutorial office. Now he sat there across from her in the neat, wrought iron chair at the wicker table next to a large glass window that let in the sunlight and the view of the cafe's garden.

Justine had taken some time after her talk with Kristoph Gavin to recompose herself, to wipe the nostalgic affection from her face and still her emotions back into the gentle hum of impartiality and gentle serenity. A judge, not a boxer. An arbiter of justice.

She smiled serenely at Miles as she lifted her coffee to her lips and took a long sip.

“It's a lovely day for this sort of thing, isn’t it?”

"A trifle warm for my tastes," he chuckled, leaning over his coffee cup. "Which is why I didn't get us a table outside. But it is lovely. And it's nice to see you."

Justine and Miles had met fairly often since the end of the Blaise Debeste affair. Not weekly, or anything close to it, but often enough that they remained in one another's lives.

She’d always been happy to see him, both for his keen intellect and wit and for all the help he’d given her in sewing up that sordid mess. He’d become a trusted friend, someone she regarded with affection, and the only one she trusted in the seat of Chief Prosecutor at the moment.

“It’s lovely to see you, too,” she smiled with her eyes closed. “Things have been rather busy lately, haven’t they? That whole Organization affair…”

"Ugh, it certainly has," Miles huffed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm still surprised we managed to get it sewn up– and I'm still dealing with the paperwork from Interpol."

Justine laughed musically. “Oh I think we’ll be suffering Interpol’s paperwork for the next year! Such, my dear, is the price of justice and judgment.”

"One of the less regrettable prices, admittedly. If an annoying one," he chuckled. "What about you– you've had your own cases to oversee, of course."

“I’ve been kept busy. ...as one of the premier judges of our district, I’m afraid I haven’t had a moment to relax and be myself.” She sipped her coffee “though I did carve out a little time today.”

"I'm pleased you did. It means I can carve out a little time too, and pretend it's still considered working." Miles chuckled and shook his head.

She raised her finger to her lips with a playful smile.

“I won’t say a word, Miles. It’ll be our little confidentiality.” She hummed quietly. “I hesitate to say, there…is…something somewhat work related we should probably discuss.”

Miles sighed, and stirred more sugar into his coffee. "I was afraid that you'd say so. But let's."

“I visited Kristoph Gavin.”

She had to say it as simply as possible. If she sugar coated it, glossed over it or implied she’d only ever find excuses to continue dancing around the issue.

"I see," Miles nodded. "He's a popular man all of a sudden. I gather his little 'community service' request has come to your attention."

“It had...yes. I’d even gotten copies of the various transcripts, letters and his psychological profile delivered to me.” She sipped her coffee again, looking up to meet his eyes “we went to school together, you know.”

"I didn't know that," Miles said thoughtfully. "But I suppose I'm not surprised. The age lines up– not that I'd pay any attention to that."

She laughed again, smiling faintly as she leaned on her hand.

“Same class. I was valedictorian of the Judge course at Themis, and he was in the Defense course.” Nostalgia warmed inside her, and she smothered it before it showed on her face, “Once upon a time I had a talent for getting him into trouble.”

"Difficult to imagine, admittedly."

“Knowing me and him now? I imagine so!” Justine laughed again with a trace of a grin. “Back in school I was a bit of a spitfire, you know. Captain of the boxing team, even.”

Her expression softened “Amy’s death changed a lot for me. And Kristoph– well. Back in school he was delightful company. Kind and studious, but just as likely to cause trouble as I was.”

"You make it sound as though the two of you were thick as thieves, Justine." He leaned over the table toward her, sipping his coffee. "I had no idea that you'd been close."

Justine sipped her coffee with a pensive frown.

“We were very close. My job as judge kept me busy, enough that I suppose I didn’t have the chance to ever really talk about it with anyone.” She sighed quietly. “we were lovers. The power couple of Themis Legal.”

Miles Edgeworth made a choked noise and seemed to fight not to spit out his coffee.

"Power couple? Is there anyone in my circle of friends who hasn't fucked Kristoph Gavin?" He grimaced, low over the table, and grabbed his napkin, wincing as he went to smooth his hair, and apologize. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. I was just surprised."

Justine coughed, and her face turned bright red. She fanned herself with a quick glance around the restaurant.

“My WORD Mr. Edgeworth! He’s always been…a passionate man. I suppose I’m not surprised. But ah, yes.” She brushed her hair over her ear “...a power couple. I regret that my duties made it difficult to see him in the years leading up to… his ‘mistakes’.”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck. "You're hardly his keeper, Justine, whatever your relationship might have been."

“I know, I know..” she leaned on her hand “it’s just difficult to see what’s become of him since then.” With a sigh, she shook her head. “Regardless…he’s going to be back in my court soon enough.”

"I'm sorry about that," he sighed. She watched him add yet another sugar packet to his dwindling coffee. "It's been causing a lot of distress in general, and I've been reminding everyone, and myself, that we have to stay impartial about this."

Justine blinked at him quietly for a moment. He..didn’t quite get the right emotional read there, but she felt almost bad correcting him.

In truth, she was excited to see Kristoph back in the courtroom. Interested to see where he would go from there, despite the pain and distrust of his past behavior. The betrayal of his fall to criminality. That old spark of affection refused to die, despite her impartiality of judgment and action.

She kept the objection to herself with a gentle smile. “It's alright. I suppose we’ll see what he makes of himself…I hear he’s also…made a friend.”

"You mean Vera Misham? If there's someone else I'd like to hear it." Miles sounded a bit exasperated– even exhausted.

“Oh I’m sure there’s others.” Justine chuckled grimly. “...but no I do mean Miss Misham.”

He leaned on his hand. "Yes, I discovered recently that they've been corresponding for some time. I had a serious discussion the other night about how worried I ought to be about it."

“I’m curious your conclusion on that , actually," Justine mused. “I've read some of the letters for myself. I did my research before visiting Kris, after all.”

"I'm glad to hear it. I have to say I'm interested in your perspective, since it seems you have a longer one than the most of us," he said. "Provisionally, my judgment is that Vera Misham is an adult, and my interference in her friendships– however strange or unsavory I might find them– would be stepping on her autonomy."

“I would agree with that, honestly.” Justine chuckled softly. “...though something Kris said to me took me aback. I admit I’m not close with young Misham, but…well…he said ‘people often forget to ask her about herself’. Has anyone asked her what she feels about him? About their ‘friendship’?”

"Ah– I have no idea, honestly. My sense is that they haven't," he said. "Its… interesting that Kristoph said that to you. As neither of them has mentioned their letters to me at any point. Nor do I think they've mentioned them to anyone else. I found them by accident, and my impression was that they were meant to be an open secret."

Interested that Kristoph said that… Was Miles suggesting that Kristoph was trying to manipulate her perception of the relationship?

She supposed it was possible. The logical part of her certainly saw it as so. But her old ties to sentimentality left her hoping Kristoph wouldn’t try to play head games with her he knew he would lose.

She sipped her coffee.

“Interesting, The way he phrased it…I think he was implying people tend to speak for her.” She closed her eyes. “...perhaps it was him expressing irritation with all the people interrogating him on the subject.”

"Justine I hate to say this, but as far as I'm aware, you're the first person who's asked him about it at all. He doesn't get many visitors, and I haven't raised the question since I haven't seen him since I discovered it."

Justine’s eyes widened. “Oh. Hm. I certainly didn’t expect to be the first…”

"Indeed," Miles sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid you were. That said, you at least, may have a point about people speaking for Vera and making assumptions rather than asking her what she wants…"

“Why thank you, Miles.” she chuckled. “...it seems to be an unfortunate problem…likely due to her tendency to be rather quiet.”

"Yes, she has difficulty self-advocating," Miles said with a sigh. He finished his coffee and gestured for a refill as the waiter passed. "I have to admit, I've probably played into that. You know I can be a little overprotective. But now she is self-advocating. To be put in charge of Kristoph Gavin."

Justine froze halfway through waving for more coffee herself “...she said what?”

"She wants to be put in charge of him as his detective. In five days time she's entering Police Academy to become a detective and forensic investigator. Something that the two of them seem to have discussed extensively in their letters."

“My my…” she brushed her fingers against the gavel at her hip. “I did see some mention of her joining the academy in what I skimmed…she wants to be assigned to him, then?”

It seemed the girl’s attachment to Kristoph’s magnetic charm was stronger than she'd thought. Not that she could blame her– back in Themis, she’d been drawn to him too. The power couple who’d change the face of Law and Order once they graduated; the long nights on campus where neither of them were supposed to be instead of going home.

“Are you going to authorize it if she graduates?”

"Despite my better judgment, I've all but promised to." He sighed. "I spent the last day or so skimming their letters just to be sure, but– if he manipulated her into this, it was so subtle even a suspicious mind like my own can't see it."

Justine nodded slowly.

“Yes…I was certain you’d say that.” She leaned on her hand again “it sounds as if they talked about a possibility and she became enamored with it– and she came up with the desire to work with him on her own. Kristoph…he’s done some terrible things, but not everything he does is a grand manipulation.”

“...during Themis, I can say for certain it wasn’t. Half of the nonsense situations we got into wouldn’t make any sense as part of some ‘greater plan’."

"I'll be honest, Justine," Miles sighed. "His crimes don't really make sense as some part of 'greater plan' either. For all that I want to accuse Kristioph Gavin of manipulation– and I do, and I'm sure he's guilty of it– I don't know. He tried to poison her, but all of his advice that I've read between them seems… really genuine. Solid. It makes me feel a bit inadequate."

Act first– act passionately– and then come up with a grand and intricate scheme to make it work in the aftermath. That's what Kristoph had been like in high school.

It’d been one of the things they’d bonded over at first. Act first– act passionately– it was advice that worked as well in the ring as it did in the courtroom or during investigations. He’d always been like that, in a way that drew her in.

She didn’t see that as having changed at all.

“It likely is genuine, Miles…though I’m sorry to hear it makes you feel inadequate. I’m certain you’ve been a wealth of advice and attention for the poor dear” she sighed. “...in school, he always was the type to passionately rush in– and then engineer whatever scheme or trick around mitigating or getting the best result out of what came after. Same as me, with that whole Blaise affair.”

"I suppose that does track," he murmured, crossing his arms over the table. "With his behavior. Order an expensive forgery before you're even certain you need it. Forge evidence and realize you've got a mess to clean up afterward and engineer a murder. Club a man over the head for being a terrible father and then manipulate the crime scene…"

She spread her hands. “All leading to a series of terrible choices, and attempts to mitigate them that turn into a disaster…and land him in jail when the threads are untangled…. I love…d…Kristoph Gavin.”

Closing her eyes, she sighed. The past tense was ambiguous even in her own mind. “But I also knew him better than most, and hearing everything that he’s done– lining it up with his behavior– it makes sense with the man I knew, even if I’m left asking ‘why didn’t you just ask for help, you prideful fool’. “

"Prideful fool might be enough to explain it," Miles sighed. He took a sip of his coffee. "I can understand some of it. Back in those days especially, you know? Obviously I don't condone attempted murder, or forged evidence, but we both know it was prosecutorial standard de rigueur at the time. I can imagine Gavin thinking that what's good for the goose was good for the gander. A little cheating on both sides– to make things fair."

That sounded very much like the Kristoph Gavin Justine had known in school. A little cheating to make things fair– and then realizing he had to find some way not to get caught.

She laughed, though there was more pain in it than she expected.

“He was always fond of trying to ‘make things fair’ in his way…a little cheating here and there to tip the scales into equilibrium. Of course, every time he tried it was a whole thing to try and save face without being caught.” Her smile spoke to the fond memories that flashed through her mind. “He and I always did love our little machinations, even if we debated where the line should be drawn endlessly.”

"Maybe if he really just got… carried away… I ought to be more open to giving him a second chance this way." He rubbed his jaw stiffly. "I'm giving Lana Skye her chance, and lady justice knows the kind of things she was accessory to. And Diego Armando– who very much did kill someone."

“And let’s not forget Interpol’s love of forgiveness.” Justine leaned on her hand with a soft sigh. “Was what he did reprehensible…yes, absolutely. But Lady Justice is a merciful Goddess, and in her will we must acknowledge…if they deserve a second chance…”

She gestured towards him with fingers spread and a beatific smile “then Kris deserves the same.”

"I suppose there really is no escaping that conclusion," Miles nodded. He picked up his coffee. "Lady Justice is merciful– and we're trying to bring more of her justice and her mercy to our courts. I can only hope that our faith won't be thrown in our faces."

“Let us pray.” Justine chuckled “...and selfishly, I’m hoping Krisoph behaves.”

She picked up her coffee with a soft huff of breath. “now…how about you catch me up on everything else that I’ve missed lately, dear Mr. Edgeworth.”

September 2, 2028 – 8:15 pm

Three days ago, Vera had talked to Klavier Gavin, who had revealed a lot of secrets about his brother, her beloved guardian angel.

Two days from now, she'd be moving into her dorm at the police academy, where she'd study for ten months to become a detective.

A few hours ago, Klavier Gavin had texted her, and asked if she wanted to go out drinking with him– to celebrate her new path of education; and she had said yes.

Vera Misahm had a lot on her mind. The anticipation– excitement, fear and concern– of the police academy hung heavy on her shoulders even as she puttered around her apartment with the desperate hope that it may relieve some of the pent up anxiety.

Pearl would be a comfort…the academy would be a grueling slog through unpredictable social interactions, exercises that would test her body and mind, and the need to constantly prove herself as more than ‘weak and frail Vera Misham of the first Jurist Trial ever conducted’.

It was terrifying. It was necessary. She had to become a forensic investigator no matter what.

As she dropped herself at her drafting table she looked down at the half finished painting before her.

Strings hanging down from a dark attic and ensnaring the half formed figures below in tangled knots as they stood within a courtroom.

That brought to mind the other heavy and confusing weight around her neck.

The Gavin Family secret– and the secrets of her guardian angel and her own admissions about his hold on her heart.

Vera brushed her fingers over one of the sketched strings to the figure below.

‘The one lie you must never believe– that you are the only one’. That was the line that kept coming back to her in strange waves of emotions she couldn’t understand.

Was it desire? A sick eagerness that hammered in her heart, a curiosity to know who else was tangled in his web alongside her. Would she want to help them? Or draw them deeper in? Did the idea of not being the only one excite her?

Was it jealousy? The sick and cloying feeling in her ribs that lead her to worry if she’d be discarded. She remembered– remembered Klavier’s smile as he called himself useless.The hold Kristoph still held on him even in his fury– and the acceptance of her into their twisted family. Was it any worse than her own?

And why, despite the darkness and the jaws of the trap as they snapped around her, was she so happy?

Why was she so certain that the very acceptance Klavier showed her as he embraced her tight would be the thing to seal her into Kristoph’s life forever?

She knew what it felt like. It felt like surrendering to her wish.

To be his. His detective. His adored detective.

Her heart beat in her chest as her shoulders shook. Her guardian angel was a demon for certain. A twisted devil drawing her into his web of emotional conquests and leaving her head spinning as she rested her face against the canvas with shaking breaths.

She couldn’t help but feel the pangs of guilt as she thought of how badly she might disappoint them– Miles Edgeworth who’d done so much for her; been a fatherly and warm presence since she woke up from her coma. Trucy– who’s own history with the man was complicated and fraught.

And Klavier, who held her with barely restrained tears and welcomed her to the family and what he knew would be surefire heartbreak.

None of them would be happy with her secret desires.

None of them could dissuade her from the thorny path she’d chosen.

All this and more was still circling her mind when she got the text from Klavier that he was outside.

Will you come out, liebchen? Or shall I come in?

She startled at the buzzing of her phone, even as it brought a smile to her face

Come in. I’ll just be grabbing my purse.

A moment later and Klavier let himself in. He didn't knock, and her door was unlocked.

"Guten Abend, liebchen!" he cooed as he shut the door behind himself.

“Guten Abend, Klavier!” Vera dipped into a curtsy. Her outfit was a little more ornate tonight, a pretty dark retro dress with a fringe of deep blue lace and a bow at the back. Something Trucy had told her while shopping was a ‘gothic lolita’ kind of look that she thought might look nice on her. It matched the ribbon she wound through her braid, and brushed around her stockinged legs as she dipped.

“I’ve never been out drinking before…” She gave him a small smile. “So make sure I don’t go too crazy…”

"I promise, liebling!" he grinned, putting his hand on his heart. "Well, to the best of my ability in any case! But look at you! I love your dress! I was thinking perhaps we'd have to go out shopping first, but you're all set!"

Klavier himself was dressed much like he'd been when she went to visit him– in another belly shirt with low jeans and crossed belts. But this time he was absolutely covered in jewelry– and what appeared to be body glitter.

“Trucy took me out shopping recently and absolutely insisted on this one.” Vera flushed with a little twirl. When she came to rest, the flush only worsened. The man was practically sparkling in her hallway light. “You look great…like…a star. The uhm…astral one. Not …the kind you already are..”

He laughed happily and put a hand on her shoulder. "Too much, ja? But I like it. It's not like I won't need a shower in a few hours anyway."

“Just enough.” She said with a little smile, bumping him with her shoulder. “as long as you don’t blind the other motorists on the ro—”

She paused and thought for a moment “we’re going to take a taxi or the bus, right?”

He laughed again and bumped her shoulder with his in return. "Ja, ja liebling! I'm not that crazy I promise. The taxi is waiting outside for us. It's no problem."

“Then you won’t blind the motorists…a-and you probably won’t be mistaken for a disco ball.” She lightly teased him as she pulled her purse onto her shoulder.

“I’m ready, Klavier.”

"I won't mind too much being mistaken for a disco ball if it means eyes are on me and they throw me around," he teased back. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to the door.

She walked closer to him, trembling with excitement and nerves. She’d put on perfume– it was an outing after all, with her guardian angel’s handsome brother. She couldn’t help but wonder if Klavier recognized the scent as he did her shampoo when he’d first caught her in her admiration.

It was one Kristoph had recommended, after all.

She laughed, her hand covering her mouth as she looked up at him.

“as long as they don’t carry you away. I’m going to be sticking to your side all night.”

"You had better! Gott! I would throw myself off a bridge if something happened to you." He walked a little closer to her still, and waved at the taxi waiting outside her curb. "But let's not speak of these things. You smell very nice."

Vera flushed, and her smile grew a little wider.

“Thank you…I figured if we’re going out, I-I should wear one of the good perfumes I’d gotten.” She gave a nervous little wave at the taxi, her short heels clicking on the concrete sidewalk.

"Another of his, I imagine?" he teased. He opened the taxi door for her, and bowed like she was a princess.

“We already know I can’t fool you, Klavier,” she dipped into another curtsy before she slipped inside with a nod “it is. I ah, I actually bought some shortly after the first few letters.”

"The first few, ja?" He slid into the taxi next to her. "Is it something that brings you comfort? You can tell me to shut up, by the way."

“I don’t want to…” she shifted in the seat until she rested her head near his shoulder. “I like your voice– and conversation.”

She gave him a timid smile. “It is..it brings me a lot of comfort. When I was feeling especially anxious about the outside, I’d sometimes put some on…b-but I’d always wash it off if someone like Mr. Edgeworth or Mr. Wright were visiting.”

"Hah! Probably a good idea with Mr. Wright at least." He leaned toward her, shaking his head and smiling widely. "Even though that's a shame. It's nice to wear it tonight. It'll be nice to smell like something more than alcohol!"

Tonight, Klavier smelled quite strongly too– a musky odor mixed with what might have been orange blossoms. It was a low, seductive kind of scent, completely different to the kinds of scents in her own, Kristoph-advised, cabinet.

“It will be! Alcohol’s a bit of an…intense smell." She rested her face against him for a moment, taking in the scent with eyes closed. “You smell really nice too…please don’t mind if I stay close…you’re likely to smell better than anything at the bar.”

He scooted even closer to her and put his arm around her again as the taxi wove through the dim streets.

"Ja, unless you find a dance partner you think smells nicer. But thank you for saying so. My brother once said, 'Klavier, you say you like to smell like a man, but I think you really like to smell like men.'" He chuckled and shook his head. "Not entirely wrong."

It took a minute for it to fully click in Vera’s head. When it did, she turned a vivid pink.

“Oh.” She leaned against him with a shy laugh. “I m-mean, if that’s what it smells like I can’t b-blame you!”

He winked at her. "Too kind, liebling. So– you've never been drinking. I assume you haven't been dancing, either?"

Vera shook her head with a laugh. “N-not even once. Though when I was younger I’d sometimes try dancing to music on our radio when father was out of the house.”

"You'll enjoy this, then," he promised. "Especially after the first drink makes it easier to dance in front of others."

She looked up at him with her serious stare, before she nodded. “I know you won’t let me embarrass myself, so I’ll follow your lead.”

"The wonderful thing, fraulein, is it is almost entirely impossible to embarrass yourself in front of drunk people!"

#justine courtney #miles edgeworth #kristoph gavin #klavier gavin #vera misham #ace attorney #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #darkfic #dark fic #fic: lucifer was an angel as well #the new age of the law universe

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mars-ipan · 1 year

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let’s be honest it was only a matter of time before i babygirlified an old man

closeups and (many) design notes under the cut :)

ok design notes time (these r mainly for the narrator bc. well. stanley has an actual physical appearance):

- while thinking of how to design the narrator i got the idea that he took one of the models in the audience for the ending where stanley gives a speech and edited it to make his “human” form

- because of this i wanted to include a bunch of little things that he “got wrong” during the process of mimicking a human. most of them get ironed out when stanley points out how weird they are but some of them stay

- to name a couple, his teeth are all flat- no canines or molars. also his little headset + glasses have nothing that actually attach them to his head. they just Are There. not to mention his interesting fashion sense of tie + turtleneck + blazer (he defends this choice no matter how much stanley laughs at him). he’s just weird enough to be slightly uncanny- it’s an imitation, not the real thing

- since i’m indecisive as hell he’s a bit of a shapeshifter. he actually doesn’t use his physical model in-game a lot and tends to just show up in things. shadows, reflective surfaces, screens, etc. even more often than that he’s just his voice

- bc he plays the guitar in the out of bounds ending i am now convinced that he can play many instruments. that little piano in the memory zone before the first review? yeah he’s there playing that in-game he’s just not visible to you

- designing his hair was SO DIFFICULT i literally went searching thru the tag for inspo and i liked so many different things. after a struggle (you can see a slicked-back attempt in the shadow idea doodle) i eventually decided on the style shown in his main drawing. every time i draw it i fight so hard to make it distinct from miles edgeworth. to make this easier the cowlicks aren’t too pronounced and the larger bang is more of a fringe. it still sometimes looks like miles edgeworth whoops

- some of my favorite fanon design things are the Line™ tie the square glasses and the little gay ass highlight so i knew i had to include them. those were my only definite choices going into this

- once again bc i’m indecisive the narrator can scale his model up or down as he pleases. he prefers to be bigger than stanley but stanley complains that it “makes his proportions weird” because he’s “short-coded” so sometimes he goes to a more human size.

- the narrator being stout just makes sense to me it’s correct in my soul (i actually think i drew him too skinny in most of these. i just didn’t wanna redraw shit bc i am tired but if/when i draw him again he will be less skinny)

- i wanted to work with shape language a lot because the narrator’s whole character is a voice- i wanted to make sure i captured the vibe of some stuffy old writer who has an undeniable silly streak. so he is squares and circles (his tie is the only triangle save for maybe the hair)

- for similar reasons stanley is squares and triangles. felt right

- speaking of stanley his soul patch is a goatee now bc i hate soul patches with a boiling passion. so now it’s a goatee

- i also gave him a little beauty mark by his right eye. i don’t know why i just knew in my heart that it was correct

- stanley uses asl and not bsl because i want to learn asl sososososo bad and this just might be the thing to get me to actually do it. he can project his thoughts to the narrator but he doesn’t like it so he almost always signs

#martzipan #the stanley parable #should i tag stannarrator. i probably should #stannarrator #fun fact this file is saved in my art folder as 'old man yaoi.png'#oh also i'm not fully decided on the colors i chose so these r more indicative of value than hue #ANYWAYS. hyperfixation go brrrrrrrrrr #i've drawn so many things for the first time in this. asl. a chin grab (it was so difficult to pose that btw i still wanna fix it). wrinkles #tbh still don't fully know how wrinkles work but i think i got it.#besides it would not be a human narrator design to me if it didn't have wrinkles #anywho. what if you and the narrative doomed... each other?#this was inevitable i am a sucker for mutually assured destruction #i deffo have fav doodles in here btw. those being the tbh the catboys and 'you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid'#what are they if not silly

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thefandomcassandra · 9 months

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hallowed be thy unknown Ch2: Haunted Turnabout 2: Bugloss, Baby's Breath, and Lavender

Waking up for a second time in a holding cell in the metropolitan detention center was a markedly different experience than the first. Having slept instead of passing out meant that her body didn't hurt as much, even if her head ached. Crying a lot dehydrated her and she didn't drink anything but cocoa the day before. Maya rolled off the cot and fumbled for her phone. Thankfully, along with the wiretap and the autopsy report shoved in her sash, she hadn't dropped or broken it.

She has kept it in her grasp the whole time she was out, like a teddy-bear or some other comfort item.

"Battery is fine, from what I could see." Maya jumped and let out a strangled noise. She had forgotten Phoenix was here. Judging by how he was smirking at her, not even disguising his laughter, he was banking on that.

"Don't do that to me!" Maya rubbed at her eyes with the ball of her hand, the pressure alleviating the dull pain in the back of her eye sockets. "I almost threw my phone at you."

"Please don't do that. It's evidence."

Maya sighed through her teeth. "What time is it?"

"I...think it's maybe eight? Nine?" Phoenix hummed as he floated lazily on his back. His scarf brushed the ground, the ends phasing gently through the cell floor, making him look a little like some kind of strange mushroom. "The trial is supposed to start sometime around ten, so we have an hour at the least to prepare."

"Let me get a drink first." Maya shoved her phone in her sash and padded to the sink in the corner of her cell. After taking a few sips of water out of her cupped hands, she splashed her face and shook her hands dry. Then she started undoing her hair.

"Trying to look presentable?"

"I'd rather not look like a murderer when I have to argue that I'm not actually a murderer." Maya combed her fingers through the full length of her hair, wincing as she caught on a few snags. "Besides...it's soothing."

"I'll bet. All I ever had to do was gel mine." He did look like his hair was a simple affair. His morning routine must've been quick.

After a few minutes of combing her hair, Maya spoke up again. The water she drank did wonders to soothe her hoarse throat and lift her spirits. "So, let's prepare. What do I need to know?" Busy hands, busy mind. She was doing her best to not give herself space to sink into the mire of grief that was waiting to swallow her whole.

"General or specifics?"

"Start with general, then narrow it down." Putting her hair up was a time-consuming thing but it was a daily ritual she was used to. Any sense of normality helped right now. "What can I expect in a trial like this?"

"Well it's a murder trial. Probably open gallery, probably meant to be solved quickly, or that's what the prosecution is banking on."

"You mean Prosecutor Edgeworth? He's going to want this to be over with?" She sneered, deft hands pulling her hair up as she talked.

"Even Edgeworth doesn't want to be at court before noon. Preparing for a trial is an hour or more's worth of effort and ten am is a real early hour, let alone nine or eight. Are you a morning person?" Phoenix looked over at Maya, who rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, uh, trial...trial...trial..."

Maya finished working on her hair and leaned back a bit, resting on her hands. "Open court, early trial, in and out."

"Man I miss burgers," Phoenix whined.

"Shut up about burgers." Her stomach growled at the thought.

"Trial, right..." He seemed to find his train of thought from before and hopped back on. "You're looking to appeal to the judge using evidence and facts to get the ruling you want. Pointing out contradictions in testimonies, connecting evidence to each other, and arguing your point using logic is the whole deal."

That sounded easy enough. Maya was halfway decent at puzzles so it couldn't be any more difficult than doing a word-search or sudoku. Just...publicly. In front of people who wanted her to go to jail for life. No pressure.

"Sometimes you want to get a little...creative to prove a point, but that's the basis of a trial. You just need to know the law, the evidence, and the flaw in the witness' testimony."

"Creative? Like lying?" Wasn't lying in court a crime? She was pretty sure that was perjury.

"No, no!" Phoenix laughed. "More like...coloring outside the lines? Suggesting the sky is red to prove it was sunset, not midday. Nothing quite like lying."

"I don't know exactly what you're suggesting but I'll bet I can figure it out as I go."

"Yeah, it won't be that hard. It's a little like improv."

"I know nothing about theater."

"Nobody's perfect."

"Specifics, then, since I think we've covered the basics of this case." Maya quickly changed the subject.

"One last bit of general knowledge: there's a chance we will get more than one day out of this trial. Barring the occasional recess, we have three days and a handful of hours to make our case. We have to be deft with our arguments. No messing about, even if you want to bite the witness' head off." Was he warning her about April May? Did he think she was incapable of controlling herself?

Considering how aggressive she got with Prosecutor Edgeworth in questioning, that was actually a fair worry to have.

"Now...specifics. You have the autopsy report still, right?"

"Right." Maya fished it out of her sash and unfolded it. Mia's name, age, and death stared her in the face in dark black print. She winced and folded it back up again, shoving it out of sight once more.

"The wiretap and your phone are our secret weapons. Don't pull them out or mention them unless we're in a bind and have nothing else." Phoenix looked surprisingly stern about that. "But the autopsy report is a piece of evidence we have access to immediately. That's free game. Use that."

"Use it how?"

"Odds are that during the trial, more evidence will be added to the court record over time. That evidence is, in accordance with evidence law, legal and fair use for both sides. The autopsy report is one of those pieces of evidence. They'll likely add a floorplan of the office as well, if only for tracking the victim and killers movements. Also anything found at the scene of the crime that might be relevant, like the receipt with your name on it or the glass from the light stand. We have to start building our defense based around that."

"We know who actually did it though!" Maya reached for her phone.

Phoenix's smile strained, twisted with sorrow, and Maya stayed her hand. "We can't prove it. Not yet." He was right and she hated it. "But we can, if we're careful and smart, prove May tapped the office. That will discredit her as a witness and buy us another day to gather evidence and testimony. Maybe we can even get her to give up her boss."

Maya's fingernails bit into her palms as she squeezed her hands into tight fists. "Okay. Okay. And all I need to do is listen to what you tell me and argue like my life depends on it?"

"Not quite 'argue', but yes. Like your life depends on it, because it does." Phoenix gave Maya one last lazy grin and righted himself in midair. "You got this, Maya. Remember what I told you."

"Imitate Mia." She took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. "Right. Thanks, Phoenix."

"You're welcome! Now, chin up, here comes the cavalry!" Maya stood up as he said that and turned to face the door to her holding cell. Two of the faceless cops were there to take her to the courthouse, fighting the stubborn cell lock.

When the door opened, one of them walked in while the other remained outside her cell. "Miss Maya Fey," one of them called out. Maya stepped forward and offered her hands. The officer cuffed her and motioned for her to follow them.

"Have you eaten?" The cop in front of her asked. Maya frowned, unsure of what they were after.

"No?"

"There should be snacks in the defendant's lobby. Detective Gumshoe asked we prepare them for you."

Oh. "That's...kind."

"That's Detective Gumshoe for you!" The cop sounded delighted just talking about the large man. "He's a real sweetheart. One time he brought a baker's dozen variety box for everyone working a rough shift. I almost cried."

"I did cry," the other cop added.

"Detective Gumshoe sure seems like he's beloved." Phoenix whistled in awe. He was walking in lockstep with Maya, half-in half-out the wall next to her. "That's something to consider. Nice of Lana to let us borrow such a good man."

Detective Gumshoe...he was one of the more kind people Maya had to interact with yesterday. If it wasn't for the fact that he seemed to worship the ground Prosecutor Edgeworth walked on, he might even be her friend. But he did, so he wasn't.

The rest of the walk to Defendant Lobby No.1 was moderately silent. Even Phoenix was deep in thought, worrying the ends of his scarf as he floated. Maya, too, was thinking a lot.

Thoughts about evidence and arguing and who really killed Mia. Thoughts about Prosecutor Edgeworth and April May. Thoughts about all the people in the gallery who would be watching her, judging her. The short, chubby girl in weird traditional clothing who was being accused of killing her sister. They'd think she deserved the verdict being handed to her, that she was a weird little cultist or something.

Maya took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. Be like Mia. What would Mia do? She'd ignore the whispers. She'd hold her head high.

The inside of the defendant's lobby was nice and, like the cops had said, there were snacks. Bottled water, a bagel with a single serving of cream cheese, and a small orange. A halfway decent breakfast, actually.

"That's really nice of Gumshoe, actually. Wow."

Maya didn't bother responding, just immediately smeared the inside of the bagel with cream cheese using a plastic knife from a package of disposable utensils. Then she took a huge bite and washed it down with water. It was the best bagel she'd ever had.

It sat a little heavy in her stomach but that might've been her nerves.

"Remember: be professional. Be like Mia. Don't talk out of turn without objecting first. Don't push too hard. Watch your language and your tone. Don't get too emotional." Phoenix coached from where he was floating near the door to the courtroom.

Maya took another bite out of the bagel, her handcuffs rattling a bit as she did. "Be calm, be like Mia. Be calm, be like Mia." She accidentally inhaled bagel crumbs and coughed for a couple moments. Water fixed the issue but it put her off food for a second so she idly peeled the orange to kill time.

"Please don't die." Maya had the feeling Phoenix wasn't joking when he asked her that.

"No dying before my trial." She ate an orange slice. Juice dripped down her fingers and she frowned. "I wonder if I can clean my hands before I enter..."

"Wipe down using the water and a napkin before your fingers get sticky," Phoenix advised.

Maya scrubbed her fingers clean. With a full stomach, she felt better about her chances. Now she just needed to get the cuffs off and she'd feel way better about her chances.

Being uncuffed did nothing to calm Maya's nerves, it turned out. She just had full range of motion with her arms now. Yay.

The courtroom looked enormous and intimidating from her place on the witness stand. The judge—an older bearded man with a stern face—was sitting feet above everyone else, peering down his nose at both benches and the witness stand. The gallery was filled with murmuring masses at about the same level as the judge. On either side of the witness stand, forming parentheticals when viewed from high-up, were the prosecution and defense's benches.

The only unoccupied parts of the courtroom were the defendant's seat and the defense's bench—both of which should be filled by Maya, but she was too busy sweating bullets at the stand. Well, actually, Phoenix was standing behind the defense's bench but he was visible only to Maya, so it looked empty to everyone else.

"Stating the case, checking to make sure both sides are ready, opening statement from the prosecution, then the first witness." Phoenix laid out the starting part of the trial for her as he stood at the ready. This was the most professional she'd ever seen him, his posture rigid, his face stern and a little unreadable, and his feet firmly on the ground. He was taking this seriously. She should too.

Opposite him, Prosecutor Edgeworth looked as clean-pressed and as cold as he was the day before. Nothing about him had changed and that made Maya a little frustrated.

Couldn't he at least pretend to feel guilty about pinning her with a murder charge? Even a little bit?

The judge banged his little hammer—gavel?—on his podium and the idle chatter of the gallery faded to silence. "Court is now in session for the trial of Maya Fey. Am I to understand that the defendant will be representing herself?" The judge's voice, while it did betray his age, was firm and carried well through the vaulted hall.

"The judge is 'Your Honor'," Phoenix supplied.

Maya straightened up and tilted her chin, trying her best to imitate Mia as she spoke. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Is there any reason why?"

Phoenix shrugged at her. "Can't hurt to be honest?"

"I was unable to find a lawyer willing to push for full acquittal and have been studying law in my spare time." It's not technically perjury, right? Only half of that statement was untrue.

Prosecutor Edgeworth snorted derisively. "Please. Do you really think that you can hold your own here? Let alone overturn the charges against you?"

"I believe that the truth will prevail. I didn't kill Mia. That is the truth." Maya didn't even need to pretend to be Mia then. The frustration she felt at being talked down to was enough to banish her nerves.

"Very well," the judge sighed and gestured for her to take her place at the bench, "Let us begin."

"The defense is ready," Phoenix offered.

Maya repeated with gusto. "The defense is ready, Your Honor."

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor." Prosecutor Edgeworth was playing this by the books, it seemed.

"Your opening statement?" The judge prompted.

An opening statement, Maya remembered, was a way for the prosecution to summarize their case against the defendant. The cliffnotes version of all their paperwork, as it were. If they still used juries in trials, the opening statement would be the hook to entice the jurors' attention and sway their ruling.

"Your Honor, the defendant was found unconscious at the scene of the crime on the night of the murder. An eyewitness account places her there during the act, as the perpetrator and the prosecution has decisive evidence that points to her as well." Prosecutor Edgeworth tapped the stack of papers in his hand on his bench, settling them and putting them down as a show that he was done recounting the facts of the matter. "While she vehemently insists she is innocent, there is no doubt in our mind she is guilty of manslaughter, if not outright murder."

"A bold but understandable claim." He won over the judge easily, it seemed. Maya bit back a frown.

"Thank you, Your Honor." Prosecutor Edgeworth gave a little bow. It made Maya's blood boil. She wanted to clonk him on the back of the head with the Thinker. Asshole. "The prosecution calls its first witness, Detective Gumshoe, to the stand."

From beside her, Phoenix let out a held breath. "Listen closely. The court stenographer will provide you with typed versions of any and all witness testimonies as they occur but hearing how things are said are just as important as hearing what is being said."

Maya nodded and turned her attention away from smug-ass Prosecutor Edgeworth and to the enormous man taking to the witness stand.

"Witness, please state your name and occupation." Like the judge, Prosecutor Edgeworth spoke with authority and force. Maybe there was a trick to talking like that. Maybe she should ask Phoenix what it was.

"Dick Gumshoe, homicide detective for the local precinct, sir!" Detective Gumshoe looked tense, even as he saluted.

"Tell us about the investigation," Prosecutor Edgeworth commanded.

Detective Gumshoe nodded and began. "The victim, Miss Mia Fey, was found dead at about ten pm on the fifth. Her body was leanin' against the wall beneath the window of her office. She'd been struck once by a blunt object and that's what killed her."

"The murder weapon?"

"He's getting evidence added," Phoenix explained.

"This statue of the Thinker." Detective Gumshoe reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a labeled bag out. Inside was the murder weapon, the so-called 'statue'.

"It's been processed. See the label there?" Phoenix pointed at the laminated label on the bag. "That has the casefile, identification, time of recovery, verification date, and supplementary information on it. If we need to get a closer look, we can request to see it or I can just float over and take a peek so you don't have to put on gloves."

You probably would need gloves to handle evidence, wouldn't you.

Maya suddenly realized something, pulled the autopsy report out of her sash, and unfolded it, trying to smooth the creases out of it against the bench. This was going to be important soon enough.

"Now, continue your testimony." Prosecutor Edgeworth didn't even give Detective Gumshoe a second to rest, immediately demanding he keep talking. No wonder he was starved for praise. "You arrested the defendant at the scene, in spite of her being unconscious, correct? Explain yourself."

"Well, see, we had decisive evidence she did it, sir. That's why me and the boys clapped the unconscious defendant and dropped her in the center." Prosecutor Edgeworth raised a singular eyebrow. Detective Gumshoe swallowed and started to speak again, spurred on by whatever emotion that stirred in him. "I was one of the first to arrive on the scene. Got there about five minutes after the call came in. There was the body of the victim layin' there but so was the defendant. She was out cold and that was worryin' and all, but she was breathing. After checkin' she was good, we picked Miss Maya up. The whole reason we even grabbed her is coz the eyewitness said she did it, which is pretty damning. Anyway, I stayed behind while she was bein' processed so I could help with the investigation and found some hard evidence."

"Defense?" The judge turned to look at Maya. She straightened up and made direct eye-contact with him.

"Yes, Your Honor?"

"Your cross-examination?" Oh. He was prompting her. How kind.

"Of course. Thank you, Your Honor." Maya looked at the papers the stenographer handed her.

Each line of Detective Gumshoe's testimony was typed out with immaculate accuracy. Maya was impressed with the quality. Court stenographers were to be feared.

Still...Detective Gumshoe's testimony wasn't openly incorrect. Mia had been dead when the police arrived. Maya had already passed out, too, so she was unable to explain herself. April May said she did it so Detective Gumshoe was telling the truth by quoting her as the reason they arrested her.

She must've been making a face because Phoenix clicked his tongue in amusement. "Remember when I said sometimes you need to say the sky is red to prove the sun was setting?" Maya barely nodded at him but he seemed to pick up on it anyway. "This is similar. When you can't find an immediate problem with a testimony—like this one—press every statement. The witness is bound to slip up eventually, accidentally undoing their entire testimony with one misplaced word."

"Alright." Maya turned to face Detective Gumshoe, the transcript in her hand, and began her cross-examination by starting from the beginning.

"You said you arrived first on the scene, about five minutes after the police were called?" Maya locked eyes with the detective.

He gave her an asymmetrical and very sincere grin. "Well, yeah! The motto of the precinct this month is 'fast response'!"

"They've had less complaints, that's for sure," Phoenix noted.

"And the witness, April May, is the one who called you from her room in the Gatewater?" Maya wondered if he had any exploitable opinions about her.

"Yeah." The smile on Detective Gumshoe's face faltered a little, but didn't disappear entirely. "But you already knew that, didn't you, pal?"

"He's got you there."

"True." Maya swallowed a flash of shame and continued. "I just wanted to make sure of that fact."

"Please refrain from wasting the court's time with pointless questions," Prosecutor Edgeworth added. Maya's grip on the transcript tightened. She had to force herself to loosen her fist so she could read it again.

"Of course." Turning back to Detective Gumshoe, Maya scanned down the transcript a bit.

"Ask about why they arrested you, an unconscious minor." When Maya shot Phoenix an accusatory glare, he rolled his eyes. "I know, but maybe you can get an extra mile out of your age. No harm in trying."

"So you found a dead woman and an unconscious minor and simply arrested the latter?" Maya tried her best to sound neutral but she was pretty sure that she just came off as irritated.

"Objection!" Prosecutor Edgeworth shouted from across the court. The sound of his hand against the desk startled Maya and she dropped the transcript. "The defendant's age does not matter in this regard due to, quote, 'hard evidence', unquote, given to the investigative team on their way to the crime scene."

"Counter: your age means processing you for arrest should be handled differently than an adult."

"Objection!" Maya did her best to shout back with gusto. She felt a little silly. "As I am underage and not legally an adult, aren't there different ways to process my arrest?"

"Is that a concern, Miss Fey?" Prosecutor Edgeworth snidely asked. "Detention without notifying your guardian?"

Maya gritted her teeth and steadier herself. "No, Prosecutor Edgeworth. I am simply pointing out that, with regards to my arrest, I believe it was mishandled."

"Then the prosecutor's office will take that up with law enforcement at a later date. It has no bearing on this case or the charges against you." Cool as a cucumber, the prosecutor waved a hand at her, dismissing her concerns.

"Objection sustained," the judge banged his gavel and that was that.

Maya's cheeks were hot with embarrassment.

"Chin up. That was a long-shot anyway." Phoenix wrapped and unwrapped the end of his scarf around his hand as he thought. "Damning evidence is vague and Edgeworth called it 'hard evidence' before so I think Gumshoe is adjusting his wording on the stand. Try that."

"Detective Gumshoe, you arrested me due to an eyewitness account, correct?" Simple sentences meant she had less space to trip over her words. Direct and to the point would be better overall.

"Yeah?" Detective Gumshoe looked confused. To be fair, it was a strange start to a line of questioning but she had an idea on how to approach this.

"What made you and your, quote, 'boys', unquote, decide to blindly believe her? This so-called 'hard evidence'?" Pointed words, pointed questions. She was trying her best to find a chink in his armor.

"Well, like you said Miss Maya: we had hard evidence."

"There we go." Phoenix was grinning. "Assume the evidence was the testimony. That will discredit him on that front."

It felt bad to attack Detective Gumshoe like this but...life or death. Her life or death. "In what world is what some pink voyeur's opinion considered 'hard evidence'?"

"Whoops. Watch how you say stuff."

"Hey!" Detective Gumshoe frowned at her, upset either by her choice of words or her accusation. "When did I say Miss May's statement was the 'hard evidence'?"

"You certainly didn't say what 'hard evidence' you did have." Prosecutor Edgeworth wagged his pointer finger at the detective. "It's not a stretch to assume you meant her statement as opposed to anything else."

"W-well yeah, no!" Detective Gumshoe backpedaled. "That's not what I meant though! Miss May's testimony is a whole different thing! The evidence is, uh..." He rifled through his pockets again and pulled out another evidence bag—smaller and flat. "Here we go!"

"There it is." Phoenix's expression became grim. He stared at the new evidence.

"What is this?" The judge asked.

"This is the 'hard evidence' that I said called for Miss Maya's arrest. It's got her name on it in the victim's blood." He sounded so proud of himself.

Across the courtroom, Prosecutor Edgeworth looked smug and satisfied. It took everything Maya had to not gnash her teeth and scream in frustration.

"...how would she have even had time to write your name?" That...was a good question. She just had to find an opening.

"Detective!" Detective Gumshoe jumped to attention. "Testify to the acquisition of this evidence."

"Yes sir!" Once again, the detective began his testimony. Hopefully this one would be easier to disprove. "The blood is a positive match to the victims. In addition, we found blood under the fingernail of her right index finger. This points to her having written the name of her killer! That is, unfortunately, the defendant."

"Mia is right-handed so asking about the finger would be pointless because they'd assume anyways. We can't contest the blood test because it is a positive match. But why would the killer try and frame you?"

"You may now cross-examine the witness," the judge prompted. Maya gave him a polite half-bow and quickly scanned the new transcript handed to her. She was steadily accruing a pile of papers. It made her wish for a manilla folder or some kind of binder to hold them all.

"Detective, you said that the v— that Mia wrote my name on this paper in her own blood." Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths. "What makes you think that the name she wrote down is that of her killer?"

"Well isn't that how it always goes?"

The courtroom fell silent. Even Phoenix, who had been rather laid back to this point, looked befuddled. "Does - does he think that this is a movie?"

"Detective Gumshoe," Prosecutor Edgeworth spoke through his teeth, low and controlled, "You're telling us that you not only based your arrest on a singular witness but also a piece of evidence that is more common in fiction than in real life?"

To his credit, the detective did seem to realize he was being chastised. He flinched and began fiddling with the lining of his jacket, averting his eyes away from the prosecutor's bench. "Well, I mean, uh...why else would she have written it? It's her blood, usin' her finger, on a piece of paper she had lyin' around in her office and all. Who else could've done it?"

"The killer perhaps?" Maya tried to keep her indignation from showing. It wasn't his fault he watched too many action-and-or-mystery films.

"Right, right, the autopsy report. That's a huge contradiction!" Phoenix almost lifted off the ground with excitement. Maya nodded and turned back to Detective Gumshoe.

"You say that Mia wrote my name down with her own blood to prove I was the killer, correct?" How to go about wording this. What would Mia say?

"Yeah. In movies, victims write their killer's names down all the time."

"That's clearly impossible!" It felt good to have an excuse to yell in court. It felt good to have an excuse to yell in general. "According to the autopsy report I was given, her recorded cause of death was: blunt force trauma, instentaneous." Detective Gumshoe stared at her, confused. Time to deliver the final blow. "There's no way that she could have written my name in her own blood if she died instantly!"

Phoenix whooped from next to her. "There we go! That's a wonderful contradiction you've found! That should throw the prosecution off their game."

And yet...Prosecutor Edgeworth seemed unbothered by her accusation. In fact, he seemed also amused. He chuckled and waggled his finger at Maya. "Aren't you getting ahead of yourself Miss Fey?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"When did you get this autopsy report of yours?"

Why was he asking that? What did the time she got the report even matter? An autopsy report was an autopsy report! It was a record. You don't just change records!

"Yesterday, during my investigation." If he was surprised she was allowed to investigate despite being under arrest, he didn't show it.

Instead, he just laughed and clucked his tongue at her. "Now, now, Miss Fey. I'm afraid that information you have is out of date."

"What?" Maya looked over at Phoenix. He shrugged at her, as confused as she was.

"On my orders, the coroners inspected the victim again and we have more accurate information about her death. As it is: she did not die instantaneously. There is a possibility that she was alive for a few minutes after she was struck, giving her plenty of time to write down her killer's name for the authorities to find." Prosecutor Edgeworth produced the new autopsy report. A copy of it was handed to Maya.

She seethed as she stared at the new information, the paper crumpling in her grip.

Victim: Mia Fey (27, Female) Time of Death: 9/5 at 9:00PM Cause: Single blunt force trauma. May have lived for a few minutes after being hit.

May have lived for a few minutes after being hit. May have lived for a few minutes. Well wasn't that convenient.

"That's...underhanded." Phoenix frowned at Prosecutor Edgeworth. He seemed more bothered at his tactics than the actual fact of the matter. "It's not unheard of for an updated autopsy report to be requested, but usually it's with good reason. I don't know what reason Edgeworth might have had for requesting a re-examination but it's certainly put our one good point out to pasture. I guess we can only wait to tear into May, right?"

"Right..." Maya hissed through her teeth.

"Do you still believe you have a leg to stand on with regards to her dying message, Miss Fey, or do the facts no longer support your supposition?" Prosecutor Edgeworth smirked at her from across the courtroom. "Do we need to continue to bother the detective or shall we let him remove himself from the stand now that he's said his piece?"

"I don't think we should put poor Gumshoe through any more. He looks like he's going to cry." True to Phoenix's word, the detective was hunched over, his eyes shining as he looked at the floor. "Let's let this go for now."

"I hate him," Maya muttered. She took a deep breath and straightened up, then exhaled. "Your Honor, I am done with my cross-examination of this witness."

Prosecutor Edgeworth bowed to the judge and the gallery. "Thank you, Miss Fey. The prosecution will now call its second witness to the stand."

April May. Maya was not looking forward to seeing her again.

Detective Gumshoe left the stand and went to stand somewhere on the side of the prosecution while one of the bailiffs walked April May into the courtroom. The gallery erupted in noise. The judge banged his gavel in an attempt to wrangle everyone into silence.

"Order! Order!"

Maya glared daggers at April May, whose sweet perfume permeated the courtroom long before she did. The woman, however, paid Maya no mind and just leaned forward so her shirt showed off more of her cleavage while she winked at the judge.

"The witness will refrain from wanton winking." The judge scolded as he banged his gavel again, trying to quell the gallery. Maya suddenly had so much respect for the old man. He wasn't entertaining her nonsense.

"Witness, your name and occupation?" Prosecutor Edgeworth prompted.

April May pursed her lips, then spoke as if she had to dig deep to remember anything important. "April May. I'm a professional."

Phoenix grimaced. "A professional what? Liar? Seductress?"

"You claim to have witnessed the crime and can identify the killer, correct?" Like the judge, Prosecutor Edgeworth was not rising to her bait. Maya was less impressed by his stoicism. She would have paid money to see him trip ass over teakettle because April May decided she wanted to get her claws in him.

"Uh, yeah?" April May pressed a manicured finger to her lips as she thought. "I was in my hotel room at the time, but I saw everything. Obviously it was the defendant, right?"

"Hey!" Maya wanted to tear her a new one but Phoenix stopped her before she could continue.

"Don't. Wait for cross-examination. If we misstep you might be found in contempt of court and your defense will be thrown out." Maya took a deep breath at his insistence and straightened herself up. "Remember: we have the wiretap, we have the recording of your call with Mia. We can find a contradiction in her testimony easier than Gumshoe's because we know she's lying."

"What, am I wrong, little miss killer?" April May sneered at Maya, then went back to making doe-eyes at Prosecutor Edgeworth. "I'd recognize her anywhere! Even at the distance I was at. I could tell it was her as clear as day, Mister Prosecutor."

"Your testimony then, Miss May." For the first time since this trial started, Maya was glad that Prosecutor Edgeworth was curt. It meant that April May wasn't going to get away with much.

"Okay!" April May leaned forward again and began to speak. "So at nine pm that night I was looking out my hotel room window. The view is super pretty up there, you know? Across the street I saw one of the rooms was lit up and the silhouette of someone was in it. Two someones, really. There was this person with long hair being attacked by the defendant. The lady dodged to the right and tried to run but she couldn't escape. The little killer smacked her on the head and she slumped out of sight and never got again, I promise. That's when I called the cops, coz I'm such a good citizen and all..." She leaned over the witness stand and kicked her leg up, staring piteously up at the judge, who was unmoved by her brazen display.

"What a crock." Phoenix was immediately unhappy with April May's testimony, not that Maya was any happier. "Between her way of saying what she saw and her supposed luck in noticing something going down across the street, it's not as if we don't have a lot of places to pick apart. The important thing though...that's her description of you. When we were in her hotel room, how good of a view did she have of the office window?"

"Not a very good one," Maya muttered. "She shouldn't have been...able...to notice...details..." That was what was important.

"As you can see," Prosecutor Edgeworth was saying, a smug air about him, "airtight proof that the defendant is the one who assaulted the victim. The prosecution rests, Your Honor."

"Well," the judge mused, "That certainly is a rather decisive testimony, like the detective said."

"The prosecution did not want to waste the court's time, Your Honor. That is why we brought forward Miss April May so soon." What was Prosecutor Edgeworth even playing at? Did he expect her to just roll over?

"Well, let's start pushing."

Maya grinned at April May as she was handed a transcript of her testimony. "My cross-examination, Your Honor?"

"Is that truly necessary?" She glared at Prosecutor Edgeworth as he wagged a finger at her, almost scolding her. "I am well aware of your sister's...proclivity for dragging a case out long past its prime. Have you also learned that cowardly tactic?"

What was he on about?

"He's hoping to intimidate you into stepping back." Phoenix seemed upset by this. "I don't know why he had to bring Mia into it though."

Jokes on him. "It is my right, as the defense, to cross-examine every witness, right?"

"That's correct." The judge was on her side here.

"I am exercising that right and nothing the prosecution could say will dissuade me." Maya sneered at Prosecutor Edgeworth, all teeth and malice. "Unless he is worried I might uncover inconsistencies in Miss May's testimony?"

"By all means," Prosecutor Edgeworth bowed at her, his sarcasm obvious, "examine away Miss Fey."

"You may begin, defense."

Maya turned her ire to April May and immediately found the part of her testimony that felt the weakest. "April May, you said that you saw...Mia and myself in the office that night from your hotel room, right?"

"Yep." She popped the end of her word, idly examining her nails. If she was hoping the cold shoulder might make Maya back off, she was wrong.

"I visited your hotel room yesterday to see how good of a view you might have had. While you can see the office without issue, I do think you couldn't have been able to identify myself or Mia at that distance, let alone if we were backlit."

"Oh?" That got April May's attention. Her pupils narrowed and she bared her teeth at Maya. "Maybe you should get your eyes checked, little killer. I could see perfectly well. Your sister was this slender lady with long hair and you were short and kinda fat. Hard to miss."

Phoenix frowned. "Why did she choose your silhouette to pick on?"

"Was that all you noticed about my sister and I? Our height and build?" Maya had a vague idea what was bothering Phoenix but she wanted to make April May do all the heavy lifting.

"Aside from you fighting, isn't that all that matters? You're not memorable." Well that was a blatant lie.

Maya smirked. Got her. "I think you're wrong, April May. Any other person wouldn't have been focused on how short or fat I was. The first thing most people notice about me is my clothes." She stood in a way that showed the judge her traditional clothing.

"Your clothes are distinctive," the judge nodded at her. "Where are they from?"

"Why does it matter?" April May interjected. She was unhappy about losing control of the narrative but that didn't matter. Maya had already started chipping apart her cutesy persona.

"I'm from a small mountain village called Kurain. We're pretty traditional like this, though we've recently had more modern touches to our homes like phones and televisions."

"And how, pray tell, does any of this have to do with Miss May's testimony or its accuracy?" Prosecutor Edgeworth seemed somewhere between bored and irritated.

"If she can't be trusted with details, how can we be certain she saw everything clearly?!" Maya was riding the high of the judge's approval a little.

"I just didn't think that all those trifling little details even mattered!" April May pouted and batted her eyelashes at Prosecutor Edgeworth. He seemed unmoved. "I saw all of them, of course, but if you need them in my testimony I can put them back in, like how I saw the defendant kill her only sister with that clock."

"Oh!" Phoenix leaned forward across the bench. "Wait! Isn't it..." He walked to where the Thinker was being held and read the label. "Yeah! It's still marked as a statue! Maya, object to her statement. Use the transcript where Gumshoe added the evidence in."

The wiretap. Maya leaned forward and slammed her hands on the bench as hard as she could. "Objection!"

April May, Prosecutor Edgeworth, and the judge looked at her in confusion.

"April May, you said that the murder weapon was a clock, correct?" Maya shuffled through the pages of the transcript until she found the part she was looking for.

"Uh, yeah?" April May seemed unconcerned.

Maya smirked. "However, there's no way you should know that. The Thinker was submitted as a statue, not a clock."

April May hissed, not unlike an angry cat. "Wh-what do you mean?!"

"April May, there is no way you should logically know that this heavy object is a clock." Maya gestured to the evidence in its little bag. "So why did you?"

"Uh, um...I heard it, that's right!" She was grasping at straws. "It says the time when you turn its head, right?"

"True, if the clock wasn't hollow right now." Phoenix was grinning with Maya, his eyes focused on April May as if he was a predator watching his prey. "Keep going. You've got her."

"While it is a clock, I doubt you'd be able to hear it from where your hotel room is. Also, it's not as if the clock was working that night."

"Objection! How would you know it was a clock, Miss Fey?" Edgeworth leaned forward as he asked, clearly unhappy with how out of hand things had gotten. "You were in Kurain until the day of the murder, correct? That item was a gift given to the victim but a few days before she was killed."

"Now it's time for the phone call." Phoenix seemed unbothered by the pushback. "You can prove your knowledge and disprove May's claim at the same time."

"My sister called me the day of, remember? She asked me to take care of the clock, which she had emptied of its mechanical parts."

"Are we supposed to take you at your word?" Prosecutor Edgeworth sneered at her.

"I don't expect you to." Time to put him in his place. "That's why I have proof."

As Prosecutor Edgeworth staggered from the force of her words, the gallery erupted into noise. The judge banged his gavel. "Order! Order in the court! What do you mean by this, defense?"

"The police confiscated my phone when they placed me in the detention center. While they had it, they checked my call history as well as my messages. What they didn't check was my recorded calls." Maya pulled her phone out and quickly navigated the menus. "If the court would listen to this, I'm sure all will become clear."

The recording played, the courtroom silent as everyone listened to two sisters happily talk about seeing one another. Maya watched Prosecutor Edgeworth as it finally got to the point where Mia admitted to hollowing out the Thinker—a clock—and storing documents in it. He was grimacing, clutching at his arm as he listened.

April May, on the other hand, looked plain furious.

"As you can see, Your Honor," Maya put her phone down on the bench in plain sight, "while I knew the Thinker was a clock—and a broken one at that—April May should not have!"

"W-well it's not like this is a particularly special clock," April May tried to recover her position. "I've probably seen it before, in one of those novelty stores in the mall."

"That's a complete lie." Phoenix looked almost surprised by how brazen she was being. Maya didn't understand why though. "Larry made that. There's only two of them in existence and one is evidence for a prior murder case." Oh. Alright then.

"Objection!" She didn't have to do that but something about loudly objecting to what April May was saying felt good. "There is no way you could have seen this in a store, novelty or otherwise."

"What are you saying?" April May sneered at Maya. "Everything is in stores and if it's not, it's online. Just because you live in the mountains where you have to barter clothes for chickens—"

"You wouldn't be able to find this in a store because it's handmade, April May. There's only two of these in the entire world: this one and the one in an evidence locker in the precinct." That was where cops put evidence after cases were done with, right? Evidence lockers? If she was wrong, nobody was refuting her.

"What?!"

"Mia didn't tell me much about work but I do know that during the last case my sister took, a Thinker clock—the sibling to this one, in fact—was used in a similar fashion. It's not left police custody since, so to speak. You should have no way to know this is a clock!" Maya slammed her hands on the bench and gave April May a fierce smile.

The woman bared her teeth and clutched at the witness stand. "How—?"

"Objection!" Before she could get any further, Prosecutor Edgeworth interrupted her. He was trying to regain control of the trial. "Miss May could have easily been present at said trial, which is why she knew the murder weapon was a clock."

"Unlikely. Time to pull our other trump card, Maya." Phoenix turned his full attention to her, his blank eyes somehow sparkling. "Time to prove April May was tapping the office phone."

"Objection! From the very start of this trial, April May has been lying about a crucial detail and that is her knowledge of the crime. There is no way she could have the information she does—such as my relationship with the victim or the true nature of the murder weapon—without having heard it firsthand." April May had, in fact, said that Mia and Maya were sisters. That wasn't something that had been said in her presence before that moment.

"Just what are you suggesting?" It was going to feel so good, taking Prosecutor Edgeworth down a peg.

"I'm suggesting that April May was tapping the Fey & Co. Law Offices."

The judge quelled the gallery's surprise. "Order! Order! What are you saying, defense? I hope you have evidence to substantiate your accusation."

"I do." Maya pulled the wiretap from her sash and presented it to the judge. "As you can see here, Your Honor, this is a wiretapping device. I found this inside the dresser of April May's hotel room, alongside the screwdriver she used to retrieve it the night of the murder."

Again, the gallery exploded with surprise and shock. Again, the judge slammed down his gavel. "Order in the court! Are you saying you stole this from the witness' hotel room?"

"Bring up how loose the phone base was. Try and use Gumshoe to corroborate that." Phoenix looked as on-edge as Maya felt.

"When I was examining the crime scene, I noticed the base of the office phone was loose, as if someone had sloppily put it back together." April May glared daggers at Maya but she didn't care. "If you need to, you can confirm that with Detective Gumshoe."

Prosecutor Edgeworth was glaring at the detective, who seemed to be mumbling something to him. Then he turned to face the judge. "I have been informed that yes, the office phone seems to have been disassembled and yes, the defendant didn't touch anything at the crime scene so she could not have been the one to tamper with it." Ha ha.

"Having seen that, I figured that maybe someone tapped her phone. In the witness' hotel room, a screwdriver was poking out of the dresser drawer and that piqued my interest. That's where I found the wiretap."

"I was under the impression your investigation was under strict supervision as a probationary act." The judge frowned at her but Maya couldn't even pretend to feel bad for stealing evidence. "Am I wrong?"

"Take the penalty."

"I take full responsibility for my actions."

The judge shook his head at her. "Consider this your first ever penalty in court. It will not happen again, understood?"

"Of course, Your Honor." Maya gave him a half-bow, unwilling to show him how much she was grinning. She was so close to an actual result. She was so close to buying an extra day. Now all she had to do was drag April May's employer out of her.

"Good. Now, Miss May, did you wiretap the victim's phone?" The judge turned his stern gaze to April May.

The woman looked furious, like a snarling beast. Her nails dug into the witness stand, her pupils slits, and she was baring her teeth at Maya. When the judge asked her that, she took a breath and smoothed down her hair, pulling her fake cuteness around her once more. "Um...why does that matter?"

"'Why does that matter?' That's a felony!" Phoenix was taken aback at her attitude. "If she keeps this up, we can get her whole testimony thrown out."

"Because, Miss April May, wiretapping is a serious offense that you will be charged on when we are done with your testimony." Prosecutor Edgeworth's voice was tense and monotone. If Maya had to take a guess as to what was bothering him, she'd say it was how she had the upper hand now—even if she didn't have definitive proof to finger the real culprit. "Be honest."

"For once in your life," Maya muttered under her breath.

"I mean, the trial isn't even about that, is it? It's about murder and I know that little brat murdered her!" Riding the line between saccharine and cutting, April May glared daggers at Maya, who returned the favor. "What harm does a little tippity-tapping even do?"

"Aside from calling your entire testimony into question: implicating you as the true killer!" If Maya sounded a little smug, it's because she felt smug. They had her on the ropes and Maya had done almost all of the legwork. What a rush! "You had to have retrieved the wiretap between when Mia called me and when the office was locked down as a crime scene. That gives you plenty of time to have entered the office, killed my sister, removed the wiretap, left the office, and then called the police."

April May hissed and clutched at the witness stand, her fingernails gouging out lines in the wood. "You can't be serious?"

"Like a murder charge."

"I didn't kill her! I was in my hotel room!" She was cornered.

"Where's your proof then?" And that is when Maya got a little too cocky.

Something changed in April May's posture and she smiled oh-so-sweetly once more. "Coffee."

"Huh?"

"I had iced coffee at nine pm on the dot." She laughed, high-pitched and sugar-coated. "It was delivered by room service. The bellboy can prove I couldn't have left my room at the time of the murder."

Phoenix was shocked by her sudden change. "She has an alibi? Was that coffee ordered on purpose? It had to have been. I know I saw more than one name on the guest book when we were there but I can't remember if she had someone rooming with her."

"Shall we get the bellboy to corroborate her alibi?" Prosecutor Edgeworth asked the judge.

The judge nodded at him. "Fetch the bellboy of the Gatewater Hotel."

"As it stands, the prosecution already subpoenaed the bellboy when questioning the current witness revealed the existence of her alibi." Prosecutor Edgeworth smiled at Maya, almost daring her to object. "He is in the prosecution's lounge as we speak, politely waiting his turn. Is this amicable to the defense?"

"Huh?" Maya didn't understand what he was asking.

"Do you really want to waste your time trying to prove Miss April May could be the true culprit by cross-examining the bellboy or are you willing to admit defeat and take my gracious offer?" His gracious offer of a manslaughter charge.

"Looks like May isn't the only one being catty right now." Phoenix laughed at his own joke. "But in all seriousness, take the chance. We might be able to prove her boss was there and that's more important."

"The defense believes that, in spite of what the prosecution might say, the wiretapping is relevant to the murder and, as I stated at the very beginning, I stand by my original goal of a full acquittal. I didn't kill Mia and the wiretapping proves I wasn't the only one who knew where she was going to be at the time of the murder." Trying to remember all the fancy lawyer words as she got emotional was hard but she was managing. Maybe when all this was done, she'd get her hands on a word-a-day calendar or something. Expand her vocabulary.

Prosecutor Edgeworth clicked his tongue in disappointment and wagged his finger at her. "If that's how you wish to proceed, so be it. The prosecution only has one request."

"And that is?" The judge asked.

"If the bellboy's testimony reveals nothing of value, then the trial will end and the defense will stop trying to drag things out."

Phoenix sighed. "I don't know why he's being so aggressive. This is just a murder case and he and Mia weren't even friends! He's taking this so personally."

"Deal." Maya didn't even hesitate. If Phoenix had seen someone's name with April May's in the guest book, then the coffee had to have been an intended alibi. She stared Prosecutor Edgeworth in the eyes, unwavering. His cold gaze seemed to slide right off of her.

"Then by all means, have at it." He bowed to her. She did her best to swallow her anger and simply rolled her eyes.

April May was arrested and led away while the bellboy was brought forward to the stand—still carrying a tray with tea on it, of all things. He looked pleased as punch to be standing on a witness stand for a murder trial.

Maya wasn't too fond of him on virtue of he'd already been rude to her, but his slight glory-chasing made her like him even less.

"Your name and occupation?" Prosecutor Edgeworth prompted.

"I am but a humble bellboy, sir." That wasn't the answer he wanted but that was the only answer he was going to get it seemed.

"You work at the Gatewater Hotel, do you not?"

Phoenix nodded in surprise. "Edgeworth is doing a great job leading his witness."

"Can't I object to that?" Maya hissed to him.

"Not any more you can't. Used to be able to though." Phoenix did not elaborate.

"I do, sir! Fourth generation bellboy! I say that this scandal will drive traffic up, up, up!" The bellboy laughed, a sound like the ringing of bells.

"I see...and the night of the murder, the fifth, Miss April May ordered room service?" Prosecutor Edgeworth didn't bother straying from his intended questions. Maya got the feeling that he wouldn't let her get away with as much faffing about as he did earlier. She'd have to be careful when cross-examining this one.

"Indeed I was." The bellboy blushed a bit. "I remember it well."

"Your testimony then."

The bellboy nodded and shifted the tray on his hand. "Of course, sir. That night, at nine pm on the dot, I delivered to Miss May room service. She answered the door, of course, and paid for her drinks, then I went on my way. That is all I saw."

"That's...hm." Phoenix stared at the bellboy. "His testimony is pretty nothing."

"Press?" Maya whispered.

"That sounds good."

"Defense?" The judge prompted.

"Thank you, Your Honor." Maya took the transcript from the stenographer and looked it over before she started her cross-examination. "You say she ordered room service at nine on the dot? Are all your room service requests so specific?"

"It depends, really. Miss May's was very punctual but sometimes we are asked for by name, so it's not an wholly unusual request." He seemed nonplussed by her asking this.

"Hm." Maya read some more, trying to find the weak link. "April May ordered drinks, plural?" That seemed odd. "She said she ordered an iced coffee."

"There were two drinks, yes ma'am." The bellboy was surprisingly forthcoming. "Eighteen dollar total, really. Plus tip." He blushed at that.

"That's an expensive coffee," Maya frowned. "But could she have drank two iced coffees before they both melted? Especially if she had called the police over a murder?"

"Are you asking the witness this?" Prosecutor Edgeworth looked bored. Maya wanted to throw her phone at his head.

"Oh, uh, no. Sorry. Just thinking aloud. Although...," she had touched on something interesting, "did you go back to get their dishes?"

"That was handed by housekeeping, ma'am. I simply tend to customers' needs as they arise." The bellboy shook his head, blushing lightly.

Wait. "You said April May gave you a tip?"

"Yes she did. It was quite shocking, considering, but she gave me an embrasser as payment for services rendered." The bellboy was beet red.

Maya blinked at him in confusion. "A what?"

"That is French for 'embrace', is it not?" Prosecutor Edgeworth supplied.

"Yes it is, sir. A kiss, as it were, sir. On the cheek, no less. I shan't forget it for years, I think. It was an exhilarating experience, considering." Oh, he was just flustered because she was attractive to him. Hm.

"What a cheap tip." Even Phoenix was unimpressed.

"As the defense can see: while Miss April May might be guilty of wiretapping, it has no bearing on this murder case and her alibi remains rock solid." Prosecutor Edgeworth looked dead at Maya as if he was daring her to keep fighting. "Shall we end this farce and get to the resolution so we can all get home?"

"Not yet!" Maya let all of her carefully crafted professionalism slip away in the wake of the terror she felt at the thought of failing after getting so far. "The - the defense would like to ask the current witness one more thing!"

"Just one more," the judge warned, "and if nothing comes of it, I will come to my conclusion. Are we clear?"

"Of course, Your Honor!" Maya furiously tore through her transcripts. "Thank you."

"Tick tock, Miss Fey." Prosecutor Edgeworth had never looked more smug or more punchable than in this moment. "Pick your question carefully."

"The check-in." Phoenix gasped. "I don't remember if she had someone with her but we can figure it out if we ask about the check-in. Edgeworth likes to keep his witness testimonies controlled. If we ask anything out of what he was told to talk about, we might get something."

Maya nodded. "Mister bellboy—"

"No need for the formality, ma'am."

"Witness, then." She didn't have time for his quibbles. "When did April May check in to the Gatewater?"

If Prosecutor Edgeworth had any concerns about the relevancy of her question, he didn't raise an objection. Instead, the bellboy gave it some thought before responding, "Well she checked in some time before the incident, ma'am. It's not as if she had only been staying for a day or anything like that. Still, I wouldn't forget her any time soon. She's my type, you see, and it was such a disappointment after all."

Wait. "What was a disappointment?" Please let this be what she thinks it is.

"She checked in with her lover, ma'am." It was. Maya was so excited she could almost cry but the trial wasn't over.

"Objection!" Now the demon prosecutor had a problem? Too late.

"Objection overruled." The judge was as interested as Maya was in what the bellboy meant. "This seems to be a pertinent line of questioning. Witness!"

"Ah, uh, yes sir." The bellboy flushed again. "Rather, uh, what is it?"

"Why didn't you mention that she was sharing the room before?" Maya was pretty sure she knew the answer.

"You didn't ask, ma'am." The bellboy gestured towards Prosecutor Edgeworth with the tray. "The gentleman over there instructed me to not offer information unless I was asked so..."

"And yet..." Prosecutor Edgeworth was sweating bullets. It was nice to see him put on blast.

"It's not technically illegal to coach your witnesses like that. It's just...scummy." Phoenix frowned again. "I suppose since I told you to do something similar in questioning, I've got no leg to stand on."

Maya was finally ready to claw her way to victory. "Witness, the man who checked in with April May, did you see him when you brought up the coffee?"

"Objection! How is that relevant?"

"Objection! April May has an alibi for the murder but she was wiretapping Fey & Co. Law Offices so she had access to sensitive information such as when my sister would be alone, waiting to hand off evidence for an upcoming case to my care. Evidence, I'll point out, that is missing as of right now." That wasn't relevant at the moment but she needed to say it aloud so there was record of her acknowledging it for later. "However, the man who checked in with her had access to the same information through her. If her alibi stands and he doesn't have one, it stands to reason that he must be the killer!"

"Objection sustained. Witness?" The judge watched the bellboy intently.

"I, uh...I don't believe I saw him, Your Honor."

The court exploded with noise as the gallery roared. Maya leaned back, hands on her hips, and smirked at Prosecutor Edgeworth. The man was leaning against his bench, eyebrow twitching as he grimaced.

"Order in the court! Order now!" The judge banged his gavel a few times and the chatter died down. "So you are suggesting that Miss May's so-called 'lover' could be the true killer of this trial?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Do you truly think one wayward lover is enough to acquit you of sororicide?" Prosecutor Edgeworth tried to recover ground but Maya was ready.

"Let's not forget that you are the one who coached the witness to hide the existence of this man. The act of concealing him makes him suspicious enough, never mind April May's illicit activities that night." She stared him down, unwilling to let him try and undo all her hard work. "I hold fast to my belief that, if he is not the true killer, this mysterious man has some ties to the crime and we cannot continue without finding and serving him."

The judge banged his gavel. "The defense raises a good point. While we cannot prove that this man is anything more than a red herring, the evidence brought before the court indicates he must have some relevance. We will reconvene court the following day after law enforcement and the prosecution look into this man." And, just like that, she had done it.

One more day and the possibility of getting the true culprit in court so they could prove her innocence. Now all they had to do was track him down and force him into court.

Victory has never tasted so bittersweet.

#the sheepy writes fic #hallowed be thy unknown #ace attorney #gyakuten saiban #trials and tribulations spoilers #ace attorney spoilers #long post #ao3 link in title #so technically this one was done and posted on the 24th #but i never got around to posting it on tumblr #so hello tumblr happy belated ''almost christmas means it wasn't christmas yet'' gift from me #im proud of how i handled the courtroom stuff #making it not quite a 1:1 game novelization #be prepared to think edgeworth is being a dick for no reason (he has a reason but its bad)#my ''cannot be brief'' disease kicked in and i wrote another 10k lmao #maya deserves to bite someone i think #ive somehow given hallowed!maya some very apollo traits #anyway pls enjoy this fic ive drawn art for it and while i havent posted it anywhere one day i will

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kijimha · 6 months

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tw/cw for cannibalism, murder, violence, uhh etc

Telling people the lore of Vincent: The secret of myers for no reason. Yeah.

The main character wakes up in a fancy guest bedroom with no memories of where she is or why shes there. Looking at the view and some magazine/pamphlet thing she notices she's in the G4 district, rather far from the factories.

She leaves the room for a moment and finds a cyborg thing that's terrifying. It's proportions are off, its body is splitting in half, its oozing blood and an odd yellow substance. Not knowing what to do and her fight-or-flight instincts being activated, she runs back to the room. She has a massive headache and she cant fight that thing alone.

She locks the door and at first it starts pounding on it, but eventually silence falls once again. She goes back to sleep.

Waking up she finds a random ass man watching her sleep and shes rightfully panicked. The man is named Victor Blake, having a unique appearance with colors consisting of pink and having robotic arms and eyes. He doesn't mention how or why he got them, since he seems uncomfortable with the topic

Later on our main character meets the head of the mansion, Vincent Edgeworth, who seems to be close with Victor. They explain that the MC was passed out on their doorstep, and that they did not find her, but rather the butler- Draco- found her.

All she had were a few unimportant objects and a card for Myers Corporation. She asks what/where that is, and- for a moment- an unpleasant look on both Victor and Vincent's faces flash. Vincent stays silent as Victor tells the tale.

Myers Corporation was originally a company that made robotic limbs and parts. Though, people started mysteriously disappearing and no one knew where they went. People started suspecting the company had something to do with it, and turns out it was true. The company was using humans as cattle feed for the cyborgs they built, but due to a lawyer denying they knew it was there, the company wasn't shut down.

Turns out Victor and Vincent were old employees at that place. Vanora decides to check out the abandoned building.

To keep this short ill run down what happens quickly

She enters the building and finds the butler that helped her, Draco. They have a brief conversation and decide to explore the place together. MC chooses the left road, Draco the right. Suddenly an alarm goes off and something is chasing them, most likely a cyborg. Draco pushes MC into the left lane and he's left outside alone.

MC finds another woman there, a mutant named Zalmona, who refers to MC as 'that detective'. According to Zalmona, she was framed for a murder. She was walking along to her apartment until the lights suddenly went off and she saw someone sprint out of a room, leaving the door open. Upon looking into the room, a man was ripped apart and was possibly still alive. She told the man to hang on as she would get help quick, but people came and assumed she was the one who did it. Remember this case, itll be important

Anyway they move along, solve puzzles, get out. Zalmona has this watch she uses to teleport out and MC is left alone once more.

To keep it short again ill do the major points and make the lore into small sections

What is the relationship between Victor and Vincent?

The two are hinted to have a romantic relationship with one another. In college they attended the RMU, a prestigious school in G4. This is also the college where Albert had his post-secondary education. Vincent was the 2nd top student right after Albert. He focused on his studies and he and Victor were roommates. Despite not getting along at first the two grew closer together. After graduation they were at a bar, the bar where Victor gifted Vincent the tie he wears in the present. They both get into Myers Corporation later on, which is seen as a huge achievement as thats difficult to do.

Who is the leader of Myers corp?

The leader of Myers is Mr. Myers, or more known as Monsieur M. His name is unknown but it is speculated it starts with an M and has 4 letters. The MC, whose code name is Vanora (not her real name as some mistake it), seems to be working for him. Monsieur M sent Vanora to destroy a 'secret weapon' that Vincent had to ruin the company.

What did Myers have to do with Vincent?

Vincent was no ordinary worker there. He was the lawyer that helped the company get the murder case off their backs. After Vincent no longer had a use, they got the man into a car accident, breaking a lot of his bones, yet he was still alive. They decided to do an experiment of sorts, taking Vincent and replacing his skeleton with an endoskeleton (what they use for robots/cyborgs/animatronics). They would make him consume human flesh as that was what cyborgs did. Remembering the tie that Victor gave him, Vincent escaped, murdering the members and continuing to go on a hunt to murder them later on.

Vincent also committed the murder that Zalmona was framed for. The man he killed was formerly a worker at Myers Corp. The lights going out suddenly must have scared or startled him, since the murder was sloppy and rushed, leading him to exit the building quick and be seen by Zalmona.

Does Vanora, the MC, get killed?

Well no. First, Vanora is not even herself, but she is a clone, an experiment of Myers Corp just like Vincent was. At the end of the game- chapter 4- Vanora is being chased down by Vincent since she, too, was a target. She eventually murders Vincent by breaking him apart, having no remorse or even a reaction, despite knowing all the things Myers did to him. After killing him, she finds Draco (draco is vincent's brother, not just his butler), and she kills him too after hugging him, finding out he was a cyborg as well.

Wait, Draco was a cyborg?

Vincent and Victor made Draco with the help of a former Myers worker, Winston Loomis. They gave him the role of a butler and Vincent's younger brother.

Why did Vanora hug Draco beforehand?

I'm not sure. Vanora and Draco had a romantic relationship in the past before Vanora's memories got wiped. It's unclear why she didn't kill him immediately and instead gave him a sense of twisted comfort.

Does Victor also get killed?

No, he is alive, but he may as well feel dead inside. His boyfriend and somewhat friend got murdered in front of him. It's also unknown if Victor knows that Vincent is a cyborg or not, but he most likely does.

What does Vanora do in the end?

In the end, after completing her mission, she goes back to the building. Monsieur M is waiting for her, giving her praise, while also asking her why she seems to be crying, suggesting she regretted killing Draco or at least felt remorse for it.

Does Albert play a part in VTSOM?

Yes. At least he will in later chapters, I think. When Vanora snoops through Monsieur M's computer in a flashback, she finds that there's a picture of him and Albert with bright hearts in the background. Their relationship is unknown, but it's shown visually that Albert dislikes Monsieur M due to his uninterested expression. That's the first time we see Albert look bored/annoyed.

Oh my God this is long but I have no regrets. Thanks guys

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tamaharu · 10 months

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in the spirit of tossing out unfinished wips - a bit about edgeworth after the end of 1-5 i liked but never did anything with. bout 450wds or so:

The day after Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth dies, he boards a one-way flight to Anywhere, Europe. To be more specific, Corbeil-Essonnes, a commune in Paris. He rents out a house at an admittedly higher price than he'd prefer, but he has money to burn, and he's never wanted to burn it up more.

His first thought was to go to Germany, to Franziska, but he doesn't want to stay there or with her, and he believes she'd want it even less. The last time they talked properly was, oh, after the Steel Samurai case. Lambasting his failures, as usual. She hadn't spoken to him since, and his last communication was a lengthy email that had been sitting in his drafts for quite a while about her father. He'd written a lot of very difficult things lately, and he had managed to send it just as he laid the note upon his desk for the cleaners to find.

So, France. He speaks passable French, understands less, but hopefully with a couple of refresher courses, his German, and - despite him thinking that no-one in another country should be required to understand English at risk of being torn apart by insensitive tourists - his English, Miles should manage.

France. As he stands in his temporary house for the first time, the elderly landlady switching between French and strongly accented English as she goes over the amenities one last time, his mind finally catches up with him.

He's been letting his logic take a backseat for once, allowing the emotion of it all to overtake him, sweep him away. A first. (No, wait, again with the Steel Samurai...)

He looks around the rented house where, even if it's a little cheaply built as all rentals are, the French architectural style is nothing like home. His landlady knows nothing of him, nothing of prosecution, she just knows he can pay.

There's a bustle of people out there on the street. Paris, France. All with their own thoughts and feelings and lives and languages, unconcerned about some finely-dressed man walking alongside them. Not all of them are a crime or a criminal waiting to happen, no nails to his hammer. That's impossible. Everyone's guilty and everyone's innocent, which means that nobody is.

It doesn't matter. It's not his jurisdiction anymore. He's no prosecutor here. He's simply Miles Edgeworth. And that means that it's okay, in the middle of his landlady's speech about how to kick the faucet to make it work when it acts up, for Miles to burst into tears.

"Eh?" She says, bemused. "Le robinet n'est pas si mal que."

#saw someone in the knitting tag mention how they frogged all their stagnant wips and sure. might as well do the same.#selk.write #ace attorney

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styx1an · 3 years

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A Chat about Chat

A short fic about how Chat came to be a singular being, written by yours truly. By all means, this isn’t canon, it’s just my interpretation of things.

Word count: 1,863

Fandom: RTGame, Miitopia (NGL I’m a little displeased with how I wrote the ending, but oh well!)

You know, there is this odd sense of irony in knowing how terrified Chat was of Magical John when they aren’t even human nor a singular being in the first place. Wait, so you didn’t know? Of how they became such a being in the first place? (They chuckle.) Then I suppose that means I’ll have to tell you their story. Well then, shall we begin the tale of Chat? (You see the twinkle in their eyes. They must’ve been waiting a while to be able to do this.)

> You nod. You’ve been waiting a while to understand Chat’s origins. Tonight, like many others, belongs to the storyteller.

> You shake your head. No thanks, you think you’re too tired. Dawn shall rise anew soon, and you will not waste your time with tall tales.

(They nod, pleased with your decision.) Then I shall begin to relay their tale.

Our tale begins in the vast lands known as Twitch, a domain that belongs to another, a far crueler being whose tale is for another time. It is a place where one is free to express their opinions and whatnot (as long as it suits the many whims of its Amazonian overlords, of course), and many are versed in the easy to learn, but difficult to master art of gaming. Many such masters have gained a large following, and even if they do not possess such skill, more often than not their humor and charisma paves the way to fame.

One example of the latter would be RTGame, a man of sizable repute. Aside from the frankly ridiculous story of the origin of his moniker, he is also known for doing some… questionable things for the sake of entertainment. There are still tales of his quest in the bathtub along with Gilbert (yes, the very same Gilbert on the quest to defeat The Darker Lord Khadgar!), the night of the Painted Wall’s Communion, the birth of Mr. Compost- But my dear, we are here for one of his lesser-known exploits, one that would change the world as we know it.

> You lean closer to the campfire, watching the storyteller with a renewed interest. Where does the tale lead? Where does it end? You need to know.

> It’s getting even later. You think some rest will be needed before tomorrow’s travels begin. Perhaps the rest of the story can wait another time?

It was a dark and stormy night. The then-Dark Lord Von Karma had just been unleashed upon the land, and I Want Die set along the path of salvation with his fellow party members, Mr. Bean the Warrior, Goofy the Thief, and Mint the Horse. He was pleased with the ease with which they vanquished monsters and saved (literal) faces, but the lack of actual conversation within the party had begun to get to him. Mr. Bean had nothing to offer other than a simple “Bean!” every now and then, and Goofy terrified him with all the “hyuck!” and talks of absolving the world’s many sins. Mint is a horse and therefore cannot participate in a verbal conversation unless you happen to understand what her neighs meant. She also happens to be the most normal member of the party, strangely enough.

Either way, I Want Die longed for a proper conversation.

And God took notice.

It was inevitable. The fourth party member was always going to join, whether he wanted one or not. It shouldn’t be notable in any way whatsoever, yet here I am regaling this tale to you.

It is not how Chat had come to join the party that I wanted to explain, but rather how they came to be.

Do you remember the man I had called RTGame? I hope you had not thought of him as irrelevant to our tale, as he is the patron saint of I Want Die’s adventures. Surely you know of the vast armory that belongs to the party? The various delicacies fed to the team? All his work. Along with his followers’ contributions, of course.

Chat was what he called his followers, the ones who watched his various endeavors as he traveled across the land of Twitch. Oftentimes the crowd would conversate with him (hence their name), offering jokes and sardonic commentary whenever he did anything remotely comedic. Other times, RT would have to tell them off for being such a rowdy bunch- the usual group of thousands could never keep quiet for long.

It happened that Chat witnessed I Want Die’s pilgrimage along with RTGame. They all looked upon him with a jolly sense of humor (after all, their master is well-versed in the art of comedy), some wondering where his travels will bring him. The others who knew how it would all end kept silent at the behest of RTGame. Either way, every single one of them was enjoying the show he had put on for them.

And came the time to summon the fourth member.

As per usual, RTGame withdrew into his workshop, closing the curtains around him so no curious onlooker could see inside. But that did not stop Chat from yelling their predictions and demands.

“EDGEWORTH” one cried.

Another begged for a certain “End Mii!”

“CHAT CALM DOWN!”

“!uptime”

“69420toesucker just subscribed for 5 months!”

“TURG”

RTGame smiled at them. He wasn’t surprised at all at their reactions, rather it was something he had hoped would happen.

“Alright then Chat,” he said, “here they are!”

His pale, thin hands reached out to open the curtains-

And unveiled a faceless, empty husk of a being.

Under any other circumstances, Chat would’ve rioted, demanded justice against the irony of sending a faceless doll to retrieve the faces of others. But they had no time.

Almost in an instant, the skies darkened. Clouds swirled up above with vibrant shades of violet, cobalt, magenta. Bright blue lightning strikes a tree and dissolves it into dust. Somewhere distant, something roars. The air feels thick- something magical, something electric is positively buzzing. Magic truly is in the air.

And thunder strikes once again.

The crowd is gone.

Silence fell. All that is left is the master and the doll, no longer an empty husk.

> You look up to the storyteller, their eyes reflecting the blazing flames. You have a feeling that you know how this ends, but you’d rather have them confirm it first.

> You’re sleepy. As tempting as it is to continue listening to their story, you must admit that the very idea of slumber is even more tantalizing.

RTGame had managed to do exactly what he wanted. Chat’s consciousness, placed inside of a single, physical being. A puppet controlled by a hivemind would not be very easy to control, yes. But the idea intrigued him. And wouldn’t it be better than having a large gaggle of people constantly behind him, watching his every move? It could help I Want Die on his journey too.

So it is settled. It happened that one of the members of his temple had just crafted a rather nice puppet, in case RT needed one. And he did come to use it. It does look a little plain, as both body and head are painted in the same shade of bright white. However, the face was not white like how it was in the beginning, but a disturbingly pitch-black space. No, that’s not the right word.

Rather, it was like a void had formed. That’s also not the right phrase to describe it either, as there were drops of ichor dripping down onto the ground, dissolving the once green grass. But I digress.

Chat broke the silence that had fallen between them, wailing as a cacophony of noises and emotions spilled out. Despite what RT had done to them, they were still determined to voice their opinions. Quite in character, really.

“RT WHAT”

“NO NO NO”

“!uptime”

“I'M ON TV!!!”

“bazingabanana just gifted 5 subs!”

“that’s kinda meta”

As their voices grew louder, ichor kept pouring out of the void. As expected, RT thought to himself. He still needs to act fast. So with a quick snap, he fastened a wooden mask the temple-goer made; the same shade of white, a pair of beady black eyes almost as dark and soulless as the void, bright purple ears.

The yelling and complaining didn’t stop of course. Still, as their voices were muffled by the mask, it was an arguably better experience than the previous ear-splitting wails. And it was less deadly too. Ichor had stopped dripping down onto the grass, which meant that the constant sizzling would finally stop.

Now, one last thing.

RT stared into Chat’s eyes.

This in itself wouldn’t have been quite a remarkable action had it been anyone else, but it’s Chat that we are talking about. The very sensation of doing something as simple as gazing into a hivemind’s many souls wasn’t anything ordinary, either.

It felt like you had just plunged one of your hands into ice-cold water in the middle of winter and not only are you freezing, you’re scared and you don’t know whether you’d come out in one piece.

They all stared back. Thousands and thousands looked upon RT, all different yet whispering the same things, each claiming to be an individual yet virtually nothing distinctive belongs to them. A true hivemind. It’s exactly what he wanted, but he wondered if perhaps other troubles would arise.

He let himself go from their gazes. It asks too much of him.

“Alright then, Chat. Ready?”

A gaggle of voices reply, sounding their agreements.

“OK then!”

I Want Die finally opened the inn door, after convincing himself that he’d like this new friend. That this one would be neither an anime villain, a comedy star or a horse. Someone with actual rational thoughts and words to speak.

In front of the door stood a short figure, clad in a purple mage’s robes. Their pitch-black eyes looked at I Want Die, and a chorus of voices came from their permanent smile:

“Hi, I’m Chat!”

And I Want Die wondered if he had forgotten to cross off ‘hivemind’ off his list of potential party members.

Chat’s introduction ends here, of course. But not their tale. The journey was far from over in fact. The party had yet to meet the Royal Court, witnessed the court’s love affair, or get kidnapped by the Dark Lord Von Karma. Even the party wasn’t complete, as it was only the first party I Want Die would encounter in his tale of redemption.

And it’s not the only story either. You haven’t heard of Magical John’s past life, or how Cupcake isn’t as pure as she seems. Gilbert’s fear of the kitchen. How Jefferson came to be, and Obama’s past life with Mr. Bean.

But I’m afraid I must stop here, for it is late already, is it not? Our journey must continue tomorrow. Let us rest. Goodnight, may the stars shine for you. (They head off into their tent, leaving you alone with the flickering embers of a dying fire.)

> You bid the storyteller goodnight. Perhaps they’ll tell you another one of their stories, underneath the moonlight once more.

#rtgame #magical john #well i wrote! dont like how the latter half was written but ok #miitopia #writing #rtgamecrowd

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tfwlawyers · 3 years

Note

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I��m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

#bluefaewren #replies #parent trap au #attempting to write tag

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sa-gt-tarrius · 2 years

Note

please talk about the borrower! Gavin bros they are in my head and won't leave

I have SO many thoughts about them… I think the plot of aa4 would be incredibly different if the gavins were borrowers. Spoilers ahead!!

My friends on the server also put forward some really cool ideas, so credit to them for helping me workshop this AU!

Klavier and Kristoph have travelled across the ocean looking for a safe place, after being discovered by a couple humans in Germany. They eventually find themselves in the Wright and Co. Law Offices, where they make their home. Unfortunately, they only speak German, and most beans in this new country speak English. This is going to be difficult.

Luckily, they manage to get by just fine for a while. Klavier and Kristoph begin the slow, arduous process of learning English while struggling to find food. They’ve set up their home in a law office that only has one attorney, so they have a lot of free time to roam and borrow supplies.

Kristoph takes an interest in law and starts stealing books, case files, and reports. He also takes an interest in botany and toxicology. Who knows why?

One day while out borrowing, Klavier and Kristoph are caught by a man—the same man who discovered them back in Germany. Why is he here? Did he chase them all the way across the ocean?

The man, Miles Edgeworth, accuses Kristoph of tampering with some crucial evidence, which led to his friend getting disbarred. Klavier is shocked. His brother would never do such a thing! But before they can get any straight answers, Kristoph slips out the top of the cage theyre kept in, leaving Klavier in the hands of the human.

Miles takes Klavier to his home, and Klavier is scared out of his mind. Why did his brother abandon him? What was Miles going to do with the borrower in his grasp? Was Klavier going to survive?

Surprisingly, Miles doesn’t seem to bear any ill will towards Klavier. He feeds him, gives him new clothes, and explains that Kristoph is not a very good person. Kristoph had developed a grudge against the attorney they borrowed from, and took actions to make sure the attorney got disbarred. Klavier doesn’t believe a word of it, but he appreciates the care he’s received.

Klavier learns that Miles is a prosecutor. He decides he wants to learn about the law and help capture criminals like Kristoph. Miles is hesitant at first, but he can’t deny such an eager request to attend court just one time. Klavier is so bright-eyed and passionate about the legal system.

As technology advances, the courts begin to incorporate virtual court hearings using video chat. Klavier begs Miles over and over to pleeeease take the bar exam so he can be a real prosecutor!! Miles can’t say no. Klavier has good puppy-dog eyes.

They develop a system. Klavier pretends to be a foreign prosecutor who still lives in Germany, which is why he can’t attend trials in person. While this is happening, Klavier’s keen interest in music drives him to post a music video on YouTube, which goes viral overnight. Klavier is now a famous musician AND prosecutor, and nobody knows that he’s really a borrower.

Kristoph, meanwhile, makes his home in an entirely different law office so he can continue his studies. He meets another borrower, a young lad named Apollo, and takes him in. They study and survive for many years until one day, they get discovered by Phoenix Wright, the same man that Kristoph had gotten disbarred. Phoenix is livid and angry—and Apollo is terrified and confused. Just like before, Kristoph manages to escape using Apollo as live bait for Phoenix to capture instead.

So now we have Phoenix, who has captured a very terrified Apollo, along with Miles, who harbours a rockstar prosecutor who is secretly a borrower. Their first trial together should be interesting, to say the least.

#I’m writing a fic RIGHT now djsgjs

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the-bar-sinister · 5 months

Text

Lucifer Was an Angel As Well (3645 words) by thesavagesabretooth Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Ambiguous Relationships, Dubious Morality, Post-Canon, Inappropriate Behavior, vera has a crush on the man who almost killed her, not ship and not not ship but a secret third thing, Extremely toxic, Vera Misham-centric, Kristoph Gavin-centric

Summary: Miles Edgeworth has been looking out for Vera Misham since her father's death, but he's not the one she considers her guardian angel.

The letters had started almost immediately after the devil was locked away from the sunlight, and she keeps them hidden from everyone despite their influence on her.

Meanwhile in jail, Kristoph tries to weave another spell, and regain some measure of control.

August 02, 2028– 2:05pm

In October it would be two years since Vera's father had been killed, and she had been put on trial for his murder. It was still a little bit unclear to her how exactly prosecutor Miles Edgeworth had ended up in her life, but he had been waiting in her hospital room when she woke up, and since then he had helped her make arrangements in her life.

So far, most of those arrangements had involved helping her understand her finances, securing her living space, and managing her enrollment in an accelerated adult learning program to officially obtain her high school diploma.

Now the fancy dressed man– who was by now the chief prosecutor– was helping her arrange the next step in her education.

He took a sip of his coffee, sitting comfortably in her kitchen with her.

"You're sure this is what you want, Vera? I remember last year we had discussed an art program."

Vera’s hands wrapped around the mug before her, letting the coffee inside warm them as she nodded firmly.

She’d thought about it for some time, of course, turning it over and over in her head on one of her many sleepless nights. She’d written back and forth about it, and debated it both internally and externally to always the same conclusion.

Art had stopped bringing her joy, at least as a career choice. Every time she’d put the brush to canvas with the intent to create something she could sell and survive off of, her father’s spirit hung heavy over her and crushed her creative spark to nothing. With the joy smothered from her dearest hobby, the idea of it becoming her job felt like an ever tightening box.

“I don’t want to make copies anymore.” she said softly. “That includes copying my father’s life. My eyes, my hands, could help people like how Apollo Justice and Mr. Wright helped me.”

Mr. Edgeworth sighed and sipped his coffee, before putting it down on the counter with a little click. He shook his head.

"I understand, Vera. Sometimes it seems like everyone that this justice system touches ends up becoming absorbed by it. I wondered if perhaps you'd escape the… pattern."

Curse. Mr. Edgeworth hadn't said it. But that was what he meant. Maybe he was right. By now of course, Vera knew about the chief prosecutor's own history. The death of his father. The trial of Manfred Von Karma.

The beginnings of the great prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, in circumstances strangely reminiscent of her own. He’d been dragged into the mire of the legal system. Maybe it was a curse, a fate imposed on those touched by the scythe of death on its path through someone else that you’d find yourself entangled in the complicated and difficult world of the law and justice.

But Vera was no stranger to curses. She sipped her coffee.

“Sorry Mr. Edgeworth…but I’ve talked it out and come to a de-decision.” Her voice dropped low. “I want to be a forensic investigator. Like Miss Skye.”

"If that's what you've decided, then I won't try any further to dissuade you." He smiled a rather sad little smile and Vera managed her own fragile one in return.

“Thank you…maybe I’ll..I’ll get the chance to work with you someday, Mr. Edgeworth.”

"Perhaps you will. About all this– I heard you'd also been talking to Pearl Fey about the matter."

She nodded. “and I have been…Pearl and I have talked a lot about it, actually. She was …one…of the people I talked to when trying to figure things out.”

"I know she's been quite enthusiastic for herself," Edgeworth said thoughtfully. "Was she the one who suggested it to you?"

She hadn't been.

Vera was absolutely certain Miles Edgeworth wouldn’t have approved of the one who had. Her fingers tightened against her mug, a minute and easily missed sign of her internal spike in nerves.

If Apollo Justice were here, she was certain he would have noticed right away. The one who had suggested the path through the police academy had been another person entirely. A demon hovering over her shoulder, or her guardian angel, she wasn’t entirely sure.

“No, Mr. Edgeworth…she hadn’t. But when I told her I was thinking of joining too, she got rather excited.”

"A fine coincidence, I suppose." Edgeworth nodded, satisfied. "The two of you have a lot in common, in some ways."

“We do, Mr. Edgeworth?” Vera cocked her head. “..I mean, I feel as if we do, we’ve found a lot of common ground…but I’m curious what you mean.”

"Well. Without meaning to offend," he said carefully. "You were both raised in a quite sheltered way by a parent who was then… removed from your lives."

“Ah…”

Vera had heard a little on this, here and there, in her conversations with Pearl. She’d always gotten the sense it wasn’t exactly something she liked to talk about– which was fair. Her own memories of her childhood with her father were complicated and entwined with the gut-wrenching feeling of poison pulsing through her body.

“That’s true, isn’t it..? Leaving us a little adrift when they were gone...”

Miles nodded again. "Ms. Fey I think is a little bit ahead of you in working through that in some ways, and I think a little bit behind. Perhaps the two of you can help uplift one another during your time at the academy."

Vera leaned forward.

“I’d like that. Pearl’s a stable presence. Nice. Maybe we could dorm together?”

It was better than the mortifying ordeal of being set up with a stranger.

"I'll see what I can do," Mr. Edgeworth nodded. "It shouldn't be a problem. Beyond that– I want you to know that if this doesn't work out, it isn't a problem or a failure, Vera. There's no shame in trying something and then wanting to change tracks."

It was a nice sentiment, but she had no intention of backing out. She’d been raised since she was a child to be an unknowing accomplice to forgery and corruption. Her talented eye and clever hands had rarely created anything beautiful that wasn’t a fake designed to put money in her father’s wallet.

As much as she loved art, this was something that could be all her own..just as she’d said in the letters to the man who’d suggested the academy in the first place.

“I know Mr. Edgeworth,” she smiled warmly at him. “I promise. But I know I can do it. I bel-believe in myself, as frightening as it is.”

He nodded, and raised his coffee cup to her. "I believe in you too, Vera. I shall be watching your career closely."

August 02, 2028– 3:15pm

I shall be watching your career closely.

Miles Edgeworth couldn't know that he wasn't the only person who had said– or at least who had written– those words to her in the last few days. With the chief prosecutor gone now, she was alone in her apartment. Just her, and her correspondence.

She sat at her quiet drafting table, unused paints and brushes gathering dust from where her lack of inspiration left them, pen hovering over an empty page as she scanned the opened letter pinned just beside it.

A simple envelope, and a letter scented with a gentle perfume written in careful handwriting.

Her pen swayed in her fingertips as she read it over once more and formulated her reply to one of the most constant presences in her life since the death of her father.

The letters had begun sometime shortly after she’d awoken from her coma, when she’d been getting settled in the new chance at life Apollo Justice had given her…and despite her better judgment, despite the good sense of men like the sort wielded by Miles Edgeworth, she couldn’t stop herself from responding.

There had been no apology.

Perhaps that was the most striking thing. No apology whatsoever. The letters had simply started with the tone of a casual correspondence.

Dear Vera,

I hope that you're keeping well and you haven't had trouble with your accommodations due to recent events. I'm afraid mine leave much to be desired…

That first letter she'd received almost two years ago– it was so casual. So pleasant.

She’d crafted a frame for it, though she never dared display it where her rare houseguests may see it and wonder. It sat, protected by hand-carved wood and glass, in a quiet drawer next to her drafting table.

It’d been just like its sender– so polite and affable, even when tugging the strings of its trap taut around you. It’d been a comfort to see that he hadn’t changed.

She’d responded in a haze.

My life is in a state of flux, but Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Justice have been very kind to me. I may lose papa’s house, but I’m told I should be given assistance to pick an apartment of my own. Are yours so terrible? Perhaps something can be done…And just like that, she’d gained herself the strangest pen pal. A correspondence course in life after tragedy, penned at the hand of the devil himself. And yet– here, 2 years later, she still had pen to paper again behind Miles Edgeworth’s back.

Two years later, and she had two years worth of letters saved and boxed. She'd received one twice a week, almost like clockwork in that time. More than 500 letters.

It was her little secret, the secret joy and the secret shame all in one, bundled away for her eyes only.

Her correspondence with the man who’d tried to end her life–and the man who’d ended her father’s.

She began the latest letter, chewing nervously on her lip.

As I’d mentioned in my previous letter, I’ve gotten accepted into the LAPD Police Academy with the intention of entering the detective course on my way to becoming a forensic investigator. Mr. Edgeworth checked in with me, but I think he’s worried about the idea of me getting involved in law because of what happened to my father.

Fathers.

Fathers were something they'd discussed over the course of their many letters.

The devil had never apologized. But he had spoken of his own father. A tyrannical man who had been a famous defense attorney before a sudden and surprising heart attack had made his children orphans.

Any sensible person would have hardened themselves to the story in the face of the devil’s evil, but Vera only ever felt stings of sympathy as she’d responded back. It was through him that she’d started to see the wounds her own father had left on her, and see the lingering spirit of Drew Misham for what he was.

Sympathy for the devil had lead her to respond about a life in isolation after the kidnapping attempt, a father who used her talents for financial gain, the loneliness of being raised in a gilded prison by a man so selfish he’d make a child with a gift into a criminal who knew nothing of the world.

He seems to think our idea is me falling into a curse that befalls those who lose their parents to criminal violence, that it’s somehow inevitable that we’re drawn into the Goddess Justitia’s world of crime and punishment. Maybe he’s right, in a way. Do you think that’s a bad thing? Or is it natural to feel drawn to it like a moth to flame? Some insight from my guardian angel may help.

Her guardian angel– the devil had often referred to himself as such, after Vera herself had used the phrase. And he generally had plenty of advice for her. The advice hadn't even, as of yet, involved poisoning anyone.

Either way I don’t intend to change course. Pearl Fey, a friend of mine, is going to the same academy. We’d talked about it often after your suggestion and I honestly hope we get the chance to room together. She’s a good person, someone who I think understands the difficulty of growing up like I have. I think I can sway Mr. Edgeworth on it, but if you know anyone who can help I’d be happy.She smiled to herself as she wrote it in elegant script. No…he’d never offered to poison anyone, or for her to. It might be shocking to many, and even herself, but her guardian angel had always given her sound advice. Despite the incident that had left her comatose and sickly, he’d never steered her wrong. Maybe that was why she was so drawn to him and his every written word.

I know things don’t change often in prison, but I hope things have been going well. Did you receive my last painting? I thought maybe if you hung it up it’d make your accommodations a little less stifling. I haven’t had much of the spark to draw lately, but when I thought of your cell I was struck by inspiration.

He'd sent her a picture lately, of his little cell. It wasn't much to look at, though she supposed that it might be considered opulent for a prison. There was a bookshelf, and a little table and chair, but not much in terms of decoration. The photo, evidently, had been taken at his request by a friend whose name he hadn't mentioned.

As comfortable as a cell could be, it was still a cell. Something she knew well from her time cloistered in her father’s moldering old house. So with the inspiration of such a bare confinement, she’d been spurred to take up the brush once more and finished an original painting…an abstract painting of the sunrise as viewed through crystal fingers.

I want to hear all about what’s been happening there, if it’s not too much to ask. Are the guards treating you well? You’ve been on my mind once again…It’s likely too much to wish that you could see me on the day I graduate from the Academy, but I daydreamed that I saw your face in the crowd and could see how far I’d come from the frightened forgery you once knew.

It was unlikely, of course, that she would ever see him outside those bars. Or even outside that smiling picture that he had sent her, settled elegantly in that chair, by the table in his cell. The devil had been convicted of two murders. He had never spoken of it, and the specifics of his sentence were not public record– it was entirely possible that she would not be receiving his letters for many years to come.

It shouldn’t hurt so badly to imagine the inevitable. Vera knew–the devil was a wicked man, they’d all said it to her time and time again. Mr. Wright, Edgeworth, she’d even seen the pain in Mr. Justice’s eyes when he talked about him. He’d even said it in court. ‘Because I am an evil man’.

But even with all the evidence, even knowing he was the devil himself, she couldn’t help but see him as the angel she’d met all those years ago. Her heart felt tight in her chest at the very thought of the day her letters went unanswered.

I’ll imagine you there. I A tear hit the page to her surprise. She hadn’t been aware she’d started to cry, and yet the evidence lay there smudging the ink.

Evidence, as the devil himself said, was everything.

And the evidence said that Vera Misham cared very much.

She dotted the paper with her sleeve, leaning back in her chair with a quiet hiccup as she attempted to compose herself. Her face felt hot, and her breath felt ragged as it did on the stand years before, when the charge of murder nearly fell on her shoulders.

…can’t imagine a graduation without the one whose encouragement made it possible. I hope that I’ll make you proud, Mr. Gavin. Her hand shook above the page, speckles of ink joining the damp tear marks from her quivering pen.

August 02, 2028– 3:45 pm

"You know, I keep thinking. It's nice, in its own way, to see you on the other side of the bars, Lana." Kristoph smiled his soft, seemingly guileless little smile at her as she stood in front of his cell door.

Lana Skye had been free now for about a month and a half, after more than ten long years in these walls. So why did she keep coming back?

Maybe it was simply the amount of time she’d called the state penitentiary her home. She’d become quite the staple in the lives of many of the men and women who passed through its barred doors.

Lana Skye, the fallen Chief Prosecutor had been there to offer advice, debate, and friendship to most everyone at one point or another. So maybe instead it was those lingering connections to the unfortunates still behind bars and their untold stories that kept bringing her back.

“I’m glad it can bring you at least a little comfort, Kristoph,” she chuckled as she adjusted her scarf. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same to you.”

"I suppose I have to lie in the bed I've made, don't I?" he agreed, cheerfully enough. "Unless someone were to overturn my sentence I suppose. Not very much chance of that."

“As we all must, my friend…but who knows. I’m not Chief Prosecutor anymore…but I can certainly put in a good word for you should you ever have a parole hearing.” Lana sighed quietly, tucking a lock of her hair over her ear.

She wasn’t chief prosecutor any longer. In and of itself that was a relief, even with the loss of authority and influence that could have helped those she’d gotten to know. But, somehow she’d found herself back in the prosecutor’s office, starting from the bottom by the grace of her old protege Miles Edgeworth.

“I don’t want to see a brilliant light like your own flicker out behind bars if I don’t have to. You’re a smart man, Gavin…” she placed her hand against the bars, “and if I’ve learned one thing behind bars, it’s that everyone has more to their story than the verdict lets on.”

"You have a keen eye for that sort of thing, Lana." He lingered near the bars, arms crossed and thoughtful. "You may not be the chief prosecutor any more, but I know that you have the ear of the new one. And I have heard some interesting things about what he intends to do with the position, and has been doing already."

“Yes…he’s asked me advice on it a few times since my release. He’s looking to change the system from the ground up through some rather unconventional methods. One of which, I’m interested to say, was allowing my re-hiring into the prosecutor’s office despite…” she trailed off for a moment before her expression firmed and her eyes hardened, “my part in Gant’s little game.”

Gavin, on the other hand, smiled a little wider, and drummed his fingers on his elbow. "Yes, Mr. Edgeworth truly seems like a man interested in second chances, doesn't he? It was only last year he had Blackquill prosecuting cases from death row."

Lana chuckled.

“A bold move, honestly. It worked out well for dear Simon. I’m proud to say he’s back prosecuting cases free of his chains already and has been doing quite well for himself.” She crossed her arms as well, a mirror of his posture, and hummed as she put her fingers to the bottom of her chin. “He seems to believe very much in second chances, and of revisiting facts once thought concrete to find the truth hidden within. He’s a good man, Gavin.”

"I believe that, you know," Kristoph said with a smile. "One wonders how he came by such goodness. But perhaps you could tell the good chief prosecutor that I am eager to be of use to him, in whatever capacity he might put me. Defense attorneys aren't the purview of the state of course, but I'm a flexible man, Lana. Let him know that."

Lana chuckled as her finger hooked against her chin.

“You know, Mr. Gavin…I was going to offer the same thing.” She closed her eyes with a smile “I’ve gotten to know you over the last two years or so… and I think you’d be a great candidate for his rehabilitation project. I know you’re flexible, and willing to do what must be done, so I’ll bring it up to him during my next meeting, alright?”

"I appreciate that, Lana. Even if it comes to no more than a way to pass the time until the end– well, it's very boring with you gone. All I have to do with my days is read and correspond."

And cry, perhaps. If Lana understood the meaning of the dark bruises, puffy under Gavin's eyes.

Lana would never insult a prisoner’s pride by pointing it out. She had been no stranger herself to private tears known only to herself and the guards who pretended not to listen. So she simply smiled instead with a bow of her head.

“It hasn’t been the same without the chance to speak to you more often, Mr. Gavin. I’ll confess, I do miss it.” She closed her eyes. “I’ll see about getting you some sort of diversion. A new book, perhaps, or a correspondence game– though it sounds like you have something of the sort going? I remember you asking me to take that picture of you, after all.”

He chuckled politely and bowed his head. "You've caught me, Lana. I am fortunate enough to have my own little correspondence game. But I'll never say no to another diversion."

#vera misham #kristoph gavin #miles edgeworth #lana skye #ace attorney #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #darkfic #dark fic #archive of our own #ao3 #fic: lucifer was an angel as well

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