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“So we have something to tell you,” Phoenix says, nervously, to the small crowd hanging out in the dining room eating various quantities of cheap but good Mexican takeout.
For all that he’s a public speaker, he’s never been great at actual… public speaking. And some of these people he’s known for decades, now. Some of them probably didn’t even know he was gay. He glances sideways at Miles, standing next to him. Fortunately, Miles seems to know what he’s thinking, and squeezes his hand encouragingly under the table.
“Me and Miles… we’re dating,” he says, all at once, rushing the words out. Like pulling off a band-aid.
There’s a pause, as people look around at each other, and Phoenix gets a sinking feeling in his chest.
“Uh… we’re really happy for you!” Larry grins, after a moment.
“You already knew,” Miles says, which is a lot more logical than the explanation that Phoenix had been coming up with in his head, that all of them hated him all of a sudden.
“Oh, uh, no!” Ema says. “No, uh, it was just…”
“You guys looked so close together,” Klavier chimes in. “It is not that we knew, but rather that it makes a lot of sense, oder?”
“Yeah,” Trucy agrees, and the assorted others around the table nod.
“Oh,” Phoenix says. “I… we were trying to keep it on the down-low, but… I guess that didn’t really work out, huh?”
“Oh, come on, Nick! You guys were like, super stealthy. Besides, what did you think would happen? We’re all gay here, it’s not like we were gonna freak out. Can someone pass the Cholula, by the way?” says Maya.
Huh, Phoenix thinks.
A rock star prosecutor walks into his boss’s office.
This is not the start of a joke.
Klavier Gavin steps in without knocking, because the door is cracked, and because when he glances around there’s nobody inside. There is, therefore, no problem with not knocking. He figures he can drop off the files he needs to drop off and then leave.
Except that, well, the office turns out to be pretty interesting. Klavier has never actually been inside without proper “adult supervision” (i.e. Prosecutor Edgeworth himself being in) so he takes the opportunity to look around.
His brother, once upon a time, had called this being-a-snoop-itis, back before their parents died. A funny little quirk of Klavier’s- his need to know everything about a person, his need to look in every drawer, every closet. His mother had had it, too. He suspects it is a quirk more befitting a defense attorney than a prosecutor, but his brother hadn’t had it, and he turned out-
This isn’t a line of thought he wishes to go down today, so instead he glances over at the nearest convenient object to look at. It’s a chessboard- the pieces are custom-cut, clearly sparing no expense. Black and white have been replaced by blue and red; the red pieces are sharp-edged, almost menacing-looking, and the small horses (do they call them “knights,” or are these the “rooks?”) are armed with swords that look as though they could actually be sharp enough to draw blood, despite being only stained wood. The blue pawns have heads that remind him a little of a porcupine, with sharp quills in the back. Other pieces, too, are carved elegantly. He picks one up, then sets it back on its space with a sudden, incomprehensible concern that Herr Edgeworth would fingerprint his chess pieces. He wouldn’t put it past the man.
The desk is what next catches his attention; some of the drawers have locks on them, but not all of them do. Gingerly he opens one. It contains mostly pictures- a small pile of photographs, so glossy he doesn’t riffle through them in fear of leaving smudges, but instead examines the first on the top, which… isn’t that Herr Wright and Trucy with him? That seems to be the case. There is a sticky note on top- Venice, 2024 - and with a start, he realizes what, in retrospect, ought to have been obvious.
Herr Edgeworth and Herr Wright have been dating. For quite some time, it would seem. Before he graduated Themis, he had been a great fan of both Wright’s and Edgeworth’s careers, and- thinking back over the old trials- he begins to see the threads. In the picture, Herr Edgeworth is smiling, a rare unsmug smile, Trucy clutching his hand. Herr Wright is leaning heavily against his shoulder, and clearly is the one holding the camera. The fake-sardonic veneer Wright has always worn, at least after he was disbarred- after Klavier got him disbarred- is replaced by an actual, genuine sunbeam-grin. That level of comfort...
No wonder Herr Edgeworth had been so standoffish. I got his partner disbarred. Oh, ich habe Mist gebaut.
Footsteps, coming down the hallway. His breath freezes in his throat, and hastily he shuts the drawer and darts behind one of the curtains. Somewhere in his mind he wonders if he will become some fucked-up modern Polonius should Herr Edgeworth return, but- to his great relief- the footsteps recede further down the hallway.
He should vacate the room now, in any case. His snooping has taken far too long.
He glances around the room one last time before darting back into the hallway and, as if nothing had happened, heads back to his office.
Distantly Apollo wonders if Mr. Wright had just forgotten he was there.
“Oh, no, come on, Miles, I couldn’t!” He’s laughing, his legs kicked up on the desk. “No, really, you don’t have to!”
This is hell. This is actual hell. I’ve died and gone to hell, and it consists of my sort-of-boss flirting with the Chief Prosecutor of Los Angeles over the phone.
He bends his head over his work and highlights a point, then tries to scribble another note on the Tobaye case. Even just reading the words is difficult with the “No, come on, Miles, that happened like a decade ago, you gotta stop flaming me for things I did when I was a brand-new attorney! Would you rather I let him go to jail? ...Aw, you don’t mean that.”
There’s a long pause, and then, “No, you’re right… yeah, no, I love you too, you pretentious fuck.”
Apollo freezes.
Mr. Wright is-????
Seriously? That is- the most- well, it’s not fucked up, but he does know the amount of trouble they could get in, right? Right??? What if their old cases were reopened, or if- oh, god, this explains so much. How they can still afford office space in Los fucking Angeles, instead of moving out to some suburb or even somewhere slightly less pricey than downtown. Why Mr. Wright has a bunch of random knick-knacks and random stories about random places in Europe that he’d apparently visited once for a little while.
Oh, God, how had he not noticed all the sexual tension in all the old transcripts? He had a whole case book in law school with an entire chapter practically dedicated to Mr. Wright’s trials, because it felt like every single one set a new precedent. Possession and spirit channeling. Defense attorney under duress, both direct and indirect. Animals testifying in court. Indictment of presiding prosecutors. Verdict repeal for last-minute witnesses. He’s read almost all of them. The banter between him and the State- that “State” must be Prosecutor Edgeworth, because Mr. Wright never had that sort of banter in his trials while Prosecutor Edgeworth had been abroad. Oh, man, it all makes sense now.
Mr. Wright still hasn’t even realized Apollo is still there. He’s still talking on the phone to Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth. Apollo whisper-yells, “WHAT,” and he doesn’t even look up.
He has got to get out of here.
Apollo doesn’t even bother with an attempt at stealth- he just shoves all the papers back into the case file they came from, tosses it in his briefcase, zips it, and hightails it out of the office while his boss is practically giggling at the Chief Prosecutor over the phone, during a work day.
Oh, God, I don’t get paid enough for this.
He thinks he’ll go do his work in the courthouse library. At least there aren’t any love-struck defense attorneys there, being distracted by things that'll only end badly.
Trucy Wright is just a little bit suspicious of Miles Edgeworth.
He’s a little like Mr. Kristoph Gavin, the one her daddy told her to never ever talk to except when she has to, and to never, never tell him anything about Daddy or Trucy, not even about how she’s doing at school. He has the same gray eyes and big hands, the same air of pristine pretention. They even have similar accents- when Mr. Miles Edgeworth crouches down to say hello, the words take her aback at first, though she’d never show it. Instead, she smiles instinctively- a magician’s misdirect.
But that is where the similarities end. When Mr. Kristoph Gavin had bid her a good morning, it was with a carefully calculated smile, that was so perfectly curated to make her feel at ease that she knew it had to be a fake. Mr. Miles Edgeworth doesn’t have that- his words are shaky, sort of nervous, like he’s wrong-footed by her. He doesn’t quite know what to do with her, and maybe it’s because she’s a child, or maybe it’s because he’s awkward in general. She’ll have to collect more data to find out.
The other difference is her father. When Daddy is with Mr. Gavin, he’s always impeccably friendly, but he has the shake to his hands that he gets when he acts- it’s just barely perceptible, but she’s gotten so much practice with Daddy’s tells already- just a month in- that she knows exactly how to spot his nerves. His thumb trembles, just the slightest bit, when Mr. Gavin comes in. He’s getting better at controlling it, too, and Mr. Gavin hasn’t noticed it yet. But Daddy acts around Mr. Gavin- as if he’s sad, resigned to his fate, as if he’s just some pathetic slob, in Mr. Gavin’s words. Specifically, the words were, “You’re not just some pathetic slob, Phoenix,” but Trucy saw the way Mr. Gavin’s lip tightened at the corner as if he was trying not to laugh at her daddy.
She sees a lot of things other people don’t.
But her daddy isn’t like that with Mr. Miles Edgeworth. He thinks a lot about what he’s going to say before he says it, but he’s not scared or nervous or acting. He seems happier when he’s around Mr. Miles Edgeworth.
The first night Mr. Miles Edgeworth is over, he stays late. Her daddy said that Mr. Edgeworth would be going back to his hotel, but after Trucy has brushed her teeth and washed her face, she sneaks back out into the hallway and peeks in.
Her daddy is hunched over on the couch, shoulders shaking. At first she thinks he’s laughing, but when she listens, she realizes he’s sobbing. And Mr. Edgeworth is holding him, face buried in his hair- whispering things to him that Trucy can’t make out, but that seem to be soothing, and genuine. His face is thunderously angry, but the glint in his eyes isn’t directed at her daddy- he’s furious, but he’s furious for Daddy.
Mr. Edgeworth looks up. Makes eye contact with Trucy, and instantly, his face softens. He smiles a little, almost resignedly. Trucy winks at him and disappears in a flash of her cloak.
She’s glad her daddy has someone who loves him. Mr. Edgeworth might have been suspicious at first, but she’s not dumb- she knows he’s her daddy’s boyfriend, and if her daddy trusts him that much, he can’t be all bad.
Pearl Fey has never been so mad in her life. How dare Mr. Nick! How dare he!
Right after Mystic Maya got rescued, too. She glares, silently, at him- he and Mr. Edgiworth are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the booth. Except they’re not really sitting- Mr. Nick is draped across Mr. Edgiworth, snoring, still a little bit pale with fever, and Mr. Edgiworth is halfway draped over him back, looking tired, too. Oh, it makes Pearl so mad!
She glares at Mystic Maya. Why aren’t you getting mad? Do something! But Mystic Maya seems very busy with her food, and only glances up for a quick minute to shoot Pearl a tired-but-happy face.
“UGH!” Pearl says, finally. “Mr. Nick! How dare you!”
“Whhhzat?” Mr. Nick opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times. Mr. Edgiworth gives him a concerned look, but obligingly removes his head from atop Mr. Nick’s head.
“How dare you! Right in front of Mystic Maya! Ugh! You… you! I can’t believe you’d cheat on your special someone like that!”
Mr. Nick and Mr. Edgiworth turn cherry-red. Mystic Maya just laughs. “Pearly, he’s not cheating. He’s not my special someone.”
“H-he’s not?” Pearls says. “No, Mystic Maya! You broke up with him?!”
“Pearly, we were never dating." Mystic Maya is still laughing.
Pearl stares, horrified. They were… they weren’t? “Mystic Maya,” she says, feeling her lower lip start to tremble. “How… how could you? But… you and Mr. Nick were so in love!”
“Oh, boy,” Maya says, glancing over at the other people at the table, who seem to be politely ignoring the commotion. “So, Pearl, two boys can love each other, and two girls can love each other. Just like a boy and a girl can, okay? And it’s not-”
“But,” Pearls says. She stares at Mr. Edgiworth, who suddenly looks extremely uncomfortable. “But Mother said-”
“Pearly, Aunt Morgan was wrong, okay?” Maya takes Pearl’s face in both hands. “She was wrong about a lot of things. She was wrong about you, and she was wrong about me, and she was wrong about that. It’s okay if you like girls, Pearly. And it’s okay if you don’t like anyone, or if you like both girls and boys. You don’t need to be ashamed about that or anything. It’s an option. And- and I just like girls, okay? I don’t like boys at all. So me and Nick- that was never gonna happen.”
“Oh,” Pearls says, still looking at Mr. Edgiworth and Mr. Nick. “I think I get it. Like Mr. Edgiworth?”
Mr. Edgiworth goes red, again, until he almost matches his suit. “Er,” he says.
“My brother is the gayest man I have ever met,” puts in Ms. Scary Whip Lady. Pearls twists to look at her. “And I have met a lot of men, Perlchen. So you are correct.”
Oh, so they’re special someones. “That makes a lot of sense!” she chirps. “Thank you, Ms. Scary Whip Lady!”
The rest of the table breaks into loud laughter, and Ms. Scary Whip Lady looks positively touched, so Pearl must have done something right!
In retrospect, Maya doesn’t know how she didn’t see it earlier.
She’s tired, after everything- after being kidnapped, and after being haphazardly rescued by Detective Gumshoe, and after Nick had scooped her up into the biggest hug, almost crushing her, and definitely soaking the shoulder of her outer robe. She’s seen Mr. Edgeworth kind of skirting the proceedings; they’d been invited to dinner at the Gatewater, but there’s still a little while left before that. As she watches, Mr. Edgeworth slips back into the empty courtroom, and Nick trails after him. Nobody else seems to notice- the others are busy talking about Franziska’s last-minute triumphant return or recounting the play-by-plays. So she takes her geta off so they don’t click against the floor, steals in after them, and slips into the gallery unnoticed, crouching behind some seats to watch.
The courtroom is made so that every word is audible- the high vaulted ceiling with domed glass at the top means that words echo around the space, and the seats are raised so that every single person has a good view of the things happening in the center. So her gaze is unobstructed as Nick steps forward, jabs a finger into Mr. Edgeworth’s chest, and snarls out, “I thought you were dead.”
“I… I apologize,” Mr. Edgeworth says, glancing away and wrapping one arm around himself. “Is that what you want to hear? I truly am sorry, Wright-”
“That was a lot of fucking with my emotions for just a single sorry, Edgeworth! You- for an entire year-” Nick takes a deep breath. “I thought you were dead! I mourned you- I fucking- I thought I had killed you, Edgeworth! I thought I had killed you, and you were gone, and-” oh, Maya should not be watching this- “and I- fuck, I hate you so much, you know that!?”
“I know,” Edgeworth says tightly. “I think it would be impossible to not know, Wright.”
“Fuck,” Nick says. Laughs, actually, but there’s no mirth behind it; it’s a sort of fucked-up, twisted laugh that Maya has never heard from him, ever. “Fuck, your accent, Edgeworth. It- you fucking spent a year there, and you’re already- fuck. God, I hate you! Your idea of a good time is to run away and vacation in fucking Germany, huh?”
“I assure you it was not a good time for anyone involved.” Mr. Edgeworth looks- pinned, like a prey animal. Maya doesn’t think she’s seen him so repressed-looking since he was on the stand for his father’s actual literal murder. But Nick takes a step or two back, one hand flying to his neck, and from under his collar he pulls a familiar-looking rock.
Her magatama glows green, sparkling in the late afternoon light that streams through the sunroof.
“Edgeworth,” Nick says. His voice is unreadable, but strangely measured. “What are you hiding?”
“Wright, I…” If Maya squints, she can see him sweating. “I’m hiding nothing from you.”
“That’s a lie,” Nick says.
“It…” Edgeworth is practically hugging himself with the amount he’s hanging on to his right arm.
“I don’t think you’re lying about not having a good time,” Nick says. He’s not bluffing- Maya knows what that sounds like. “But… you’re definitely not telling the entire truth.”
“Please,” Edgeworth says. “Please, can we not do this here?”
“I thought you were the paragon of truth, now?” Nick laughs that twisted, angry laugh again, but tucks his magatama away obligingly. “Like you’ve ever had a problem being cruel in court.”
“Wright,” Edgeworth says, and-
His voice is choked. Thick with emotions that Maya… doesn’t think she’s ever heard from perfect Prosecutor Edgeworth, even during that last trial with Gant where he was practically having a breakdown on the bench. Like a physical blow, it hits her, knocks the air from her lungs.
Edgeworth is in love with Nick.
And even worse- when she thinks about Nick’s behavior over the past few months, the grief, the sudden moments where his face would twist up in horrified recollection, the late, broody nights- she realizes it’s fucking mutual.
Nick loves Edgeworth back. Oh, Mother. Oh, holy Mother, this cannot be happening.
She can’t take this anymore. She slips away from the courtroom, still holding her geta- and her breath.
Detective Dick Gumshoe has never been one to snoop around other peoples’ businesses, particularly not terrifying prosecutors who control his paycheck, and yet.
He had only meant to deliver a new file to Prosecutor Edgeworth, along with a couple reports on some new evidentiary findings. But Mr. Edgeworth is inside, audibly pacing, and muttering to himself, which is never a good sign for Dick’s salary. He hesitates outside the door, instead.
“Wright,” Edgeworth is saying. “Wright, Wright, Wright. Dear God, Wright, why did it have to be you? Of all people, why did it have to be-” His voice breaks off in a way that is incredibly uncharacteristic of Edgeworth, which is even more concerning to Dick. “Why did it have to be you? You- idealistic, romanticizing idiot, Gott in Himmel, ich hätte nie gedacht, dass… of all people. Wright. Fuck.”
Dick thinks about it. This Wright guy must really be something, if he’s got Edgeworth this worked up. But he’s let this go on too long.
He knocks. “Mr. Edgeworth, sir? I’ve got that evidence report!”
There’s a noise from inside, a sort of thump, and then Edgeworth opens the door, looking perfectly put together as always. “Gumshoe. You remembered to knock, this time. I’m surprised that one got through your head.”
“Aw, Mr. Edgeworth, you don’t gotta be mean,” Dick says, even though it won’t change anything. “So what’d you think of that Wright guy? I mean, he really defended the Steel Samurai! And he even got a not guilty verdict!”
Mr. Edgeworth’s face is suddenly thunderous. “Wright!” he hisses, snatches the evidence out of Dick’s hands so fast he has to check for paper cuts, and slams the door in Dick’s face.
Wow. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Mr. Edgeworth so out of sorts. That Wright guy must really be something else.
Hm. Now that he’s thinking about it, Mr. Wright had gone pretty red when he’d mentioned Edgeworth, too.
Oh.
Oh. Tough breaks. Exes, probably, and it sounds like it didn’t end well for either of them. Poor guys.
Hopefully, they’ll be able to reconcile soon. ’Cause now that he’s thinking about it, Mr. Edgeworth had looked pretty out of sorts before the Fey case, too, and the way Mr. Wright had looked at him… maybe there’s still something there.
For Edgeworth’s sake, he hopes there is.
He could use someone like Wright.
The judge that oversees most homicide cases for the Los Angeles District Initial Court has seen a lot of cases in his time.
As such, it follows that he’s seen a lot of prosecutors and defense attorneys over the ages. There’s always a certain tension- back before the Initial Trial System was implemented, they’d call it the deposition effect . They still call it that now, of course, but depositions aren’t a thing anymore, so it has less... je ne sais quoi.
Anyway, the judge has been working here for decades, now. Feels like he’s been there forever. To be honest, he’s kind of getting tired of it. He’s seen a lot of defense attorneys go up against a lot of prosecutors, and he’s seen a lot of defense attorneys go up against Prosecutor Edgeworth, in particular.
Prosecutor Edgeworth’s ruthless- the judge knows every lawyer employed in the Los Angeles district, and he’s particularly concerned about Prosecutor Edgeworth. He’s vicious, almost sharklike, and he seems to take pleasure in tearing apart attorneys. But the judge knows he wasn’t always like that- he remembers a time where Prosecutor Edgeworth was just a little kid, sitting behind Mr. Gregory Edgeworth, or standing beside him as his “co-counsel” and helping find contradictions with a very serious look on his face and a bow tie.
It’s not the judge’s place to speculate, but the evidence never lies, and the evidence says von Karma’s reign as God of Prosecutors has changed Miles Edgeworth. The ad hominem attacks are the fingerprints, the cruel smirk the murder weapon. The ruffly thing at his neck, the waggling pointer finger, the ostentatious outfit- access, means, motive.
Things change the first time that the new defense attorney, Wright, faces Edgeworth.
It’s a tragic story. Ms. Fey had been a defender of justice and a dedicated servant of the courts; she had been a brilliant mind, a fierce legal advocate, and, as near as the judge can tell, a half-decent mentor. Still, Wright’s debut had been nothing special- the way he pulled contradictions from nothing was exactly the way she did it. Quick learner, and young for a lawyer, though.
But when Ms. Fey died, Wright turned into a veritable monster in the courthouse. At first, he’d been shaky, and the judge had been worried; he certainly wouldn’t have suggested any attorney defend the person accused of killing their mentor- but Edgeworth’s face when Wright came into the courthouse-
Just for a moment, he had looked shaken.
The judge knows tension when he sees it- and not just the simple tension of the courtroom. These two have a sort of crackling lightning between them, a back-and-forth volley that could bring the entire judicial system to its knees if they harnessed it right. He hasn’t seen this sort of tension… ever. Not once, ever.
He can’t wait to see it again. And, he thinks as he sees the self-satisfied smirk on Wright’s face as he snatches victory from the jaws of defeat, the fury on Edgeworth’s face as he pounds the table after his loss- they can’t wait to see it again, either. He has a feeling those two have a story nipping at their heels, and he has a feeling it is far from over.
Larry Butz is pretty sure Nick has gone insane.
“No, I’m serious,” Nick insists. They’re sitting on the quad at Ivy U. Nick has a magazine spread out over his lap- Edgy, glaring over his shoulder, surrounded by paparazzi as he stalks down the courthouse steps. The caption, glaring, reads Dark Suspicions of a Demon Attorney. “I’m switching to law.”
“But… but we were going to graduate together,” Larry sputters uselessly. “Come on, dude. Are you seriously going to leave me behind for the law? For Edgy?”
“Look at him,” Nick says. His voice is desperate in a way Larry hasn’t heard anywhere but the stage- when he’s acting a character, but Larry doesn’t think Nick’s acting now. “Look at him. This isn’t our Miles. He looks so tired and angry. I have to know why.”
“Dude, he’s probably just angry because there’s lots of paparazzi,” Larry reasons.
“I don’t think that’s it,” Nick says. “And… I’ve already thought about it.”
“Are you sure this isn’t just because of… her?”
“It’s not. It’s not. I mean, it is a little bit, but it’s not- I mean, look. This thing- it’s accusing him of forging evidence, Lar. Imagine if the prosecutor for my trial had forged evidence?”
You would have died, Larry thinks. You almost did anyway. “I think I get it,” he says aloud. “But you know the theater department’s going to riot.”
“Yeah, well, tell ‘em if they stopped calling me Penis I might not have switched to the two-year.”
“Ahh, that joke never got old,” Larry says, giving Nick a one-armed hug. It’s a silent concession. If Nick wants to follow law, well, what’s he gonna do? He’ll support the spiky idiot anywhere he wants to go. “Besides, you and Edgy always had that thing. I’m not even surprised anymore.”
“Wh,” Phoenix sputters. “We did not.”
“Yeah, bro, you totally did.” He has vivid memories of Phoenix unsubtly sneaking a handmade, carefully-printed Valentine into Edgy’s bag. “You two were like, tight.”
“Oh, my God, we were not, shut up!” Nick punches his shoulder. “Okay, but for real. You have to help me talk to my guidance counselor.”
“Okay, here’s my script for you,” Larry says. “Ahem. My name is Penis Wright, and I’m actually Elle fucking Woods in disguise-”
“-oh my god shut up-”
“-so I’m following a booooyyyyy to law school!”
“Dude, that’s not, it’s not like that!” Nick blushes furiously red.
“Did you or did you not mail him another letter this month?”
“Oh, God, don’t remind me. Yeah, I did.”
“Love!” Larry sings. “I’m doing this for love! And love will see me through-”
“-SHUT UP-”
“-yes, with love on my side, I can’t loooooose, and Harvard can’t refuse-”
“I’m not going to Harvard, Larry, Jesus-”
“A love so pure and true, don’t lawyers feel love too-”
“We Are No Longer Friends,” Phoenix announces very loudly, which is a threat he’s made about a bajillion times, so Larry doesn’t give it much thought at all.
“All right, dude. Just, y'know, if you see Miles, punch him for being such a dick for me, okay?”
“He’s not a dick,” Nick says, determined. “He looks scared. And I’m gonna save him.”
“Oh my God. Dude, you are into this.”
Franziska von Karma has never seen such pathetic behavior out of her kleiner Bruder, but apparently there’s a first time for everything.
He is sitting on his bed. Staring at a letter. As he has been for the last thirty minutes. (Which is not to say that she has been counting, but rather to say that she has walked past several times in the past thirty minutes and he has been there every time, so it is safe to say that it is consecutive.) Further investigation reveals that he appears to be attempting to read the words through the envelope.
She’s had enough of this.
“MILES EDGEWORTH!” she announces, entering her room.
“Franziska!” he yelps, hiding the letter very fast under himself as if he had been doing something illicit, and then calming himself back to his regular standard of collected-ness. “Could you find it in you to knock, dear sister?”
“What are you doing?” she asks, electing to ignore his protests as she snags the edge of the envelope and yanks it out from under him. “Phoenix Wright? Isn’t that the fool whose letters our Papa burns every month?”
“Yes,” Miles says. “Herr von Karma has asked me to dispose of it personally this month. I- I was doing nothing illicit, only- I wanted to know what he had written.”
“So open it,” Franziska says. “Peh! A fool you are, if you did not even think of opening it!” She makes to tear it open, and Miles stills her hands with his own, a look of frantic panic on his face.
“I thought of it,” Miles says hurriedly. “I did. But- but I am not allowed to read them. It would be-” he pauses in the manner he always does when he is trying to find the right word- “bad of me to read them. Herr von Karma would be very mad.”
“Peh,” Franziska says, because she knows when she is beat, but she would frequently rather die than admit it. “Fool. Is this not something sentimental to you? Be free from sentiment, little brother. Feelings-”
“Feelings only weaken your argument,” Miles says dully. “I know. But, Franziska-” he hesitates- “I… I cannot get rid of these feelings. I feel them too much. They are too strong, and I cannot beat them down. They are… useless. Unnecessary. But I cannot eliminate them.”
“Foolish!” She strikes the bed next to Miles with her riding crop and a measure of irritation, careful not to graze his knee. “Lose these sentimental feelings! This Phoenix Wright is a foolish fool, and you ought to forget about him!”
“As always,” Miles sighs, “dear sister, you are right.” Still, when he takes back the envelope, he stares at it a measure longer before tucking it away in a drawer where he cannot look at it.
She huffs at him and leaves the room, confident that she had helped, even in some small way. After all, if her brother was feeling unnecessary feelings, it is her duty to help him eliminate them.
Still, she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have someone she cares about so deeply as to feel sentiment for them.
Ms. McElaney, of classroom B102, is sick and tired of playground duty.
Jesus. It’s like after they fired Ms. Hunt for pulling that weird “class trial” stunt, she was the only teacher willing to step up and take her place with the regular school stuff, apart from the sub. It’d be nice if they gave her a pay raise to match it.
“No running,” she yells after a couple kids, who are darting across the blacktop, then leans back and sighs. She wishes she had a drink. Everyone’s hiding in the shade, since it’s nearly May, and Los Angeles isn’t known for being cold, but her “post” is apparently this metal bench out in the scorching sun.
Near her, there are a couple kids sitting under a tree. She’s seen them before- the one with hair so mousy it’s almost gray, and the one with spiky hair. Usually, the gray one is wearing a collared shirt and a cute little bow tie, but today since it’s hot he’s got a tee shirt on that says allegedly across the front. The spiky one is speaking animatedly.
They sit there a lot, even in the fall and winter when it’s not as oppressively hot, sometimes with their little blond friend who tries to eat worms. She likes watching them, mostly because the gray one never stops watching the spiky one, and the spiky one always seems so happy to show off whatever he’s thinking about to the gray one. It’s the kind of friendship she never had in school- the kind you only really see in movies, where they never argue and there are no hissing-spitting-crying fights like the other elementary school kids have. Sometimes the gray one says something, with a serious or thoughtful face, and the spiky one always seems to listen.
Damn. She needs a friend like that.
She hopes these two stay friends for a while, at least. Friendships can be tricky to keep up through the changing environments of middle and high school, but...
Her watch beeps out a quiet alarm at her, and she sighs, turns it off, and gets up with a grunt. God, she’s getting old. She blows the twee-tweet on her whistle that means recess is over, and watches the kids go racing towards the entrance. The spiky one and the gray one hurry over, holding hands.
Yeah. If anyone’ll stay friends for the rest of their life, it’s those two. They’ve got good things ahead of them.