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Phoenix's morning had been uneventful in and of itself - the drive up to Chowchilla was a task Phoenix had managed to snare Edgeworth into, as there were little to no bus routes to the area and the prison was four hours away from Los Angeles - but the weather had been perfect for a drive, even if they had needed to wake up early. While Phoenix had invited Edgeworth to accompany him in visiting Iris, the prosecutor had declined, and had dropped Phoenix off in favor of going to check in to their hotel.

After going through the vigorous security routines of the prison and filling out various paperwork, Phoenix had been taken to the Visitor's Patio, where he had been instructed to sit down and wait for Iris. The defense attorney was dressed simply - a navy blue turtleneck sweater and black slacks - but a few people turned to look at him as he passed by, a glimmer of recognition in their eyes. As Phoenix sat down, purposely choosing a table nearest to a window, he awkwardly scratched his head with his right hand and averted his gaze from staring eyes, not sure how to respond. Phoenix couldn't help but wonder how many of these inmates could have had a chance to not be here if their verdict had been the correct one, and he imagined that many of the people who were looking at him thought - or perhaps even knew - the same thing.

The whisper of voices and the occasional scraping of chair legs as they moved across the clean tile floor were the only noises that drifted to Phoenix's ears as he waited, and his thoughts moved to Iris versus his surroundings. Letting his gaze wander to the opposite wall, the paint white and boring, Phoenix wondered if Iris was doing well and if Sister Bikini had visited - it had only been ten days since he had last seen Iris, but after the events of his birthday and the signing of the new house, it felt like forever.

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05 March 2010 @ 08:56 pm
He'd been scooped. With a capital S-C-O-O-P-E-D, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. End Of A Legend. Hospital Showdown: One Last Quick-Draw For Zak And Valant? end quote. A dozen headlines, and not a single byline reading Spark Brushel.

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06 March 2010 @ 05:32 am
It had been, without any smidgen of a doubt, a good set of weeks.

The Gavinners had risen in popularity, their newest single "13 Years Hard Time For Love" flying off the shelves and into the mp3 players of many different fräuleins, and it was clear that they had hit it big. There were a few things that Klavier had done in celebration - first, it was to finally move out from his brother's apartment, and second, it was to buy a new guitar. Kristoph had become all too stuffy in the face of Klavier's needs, and it was through both his job and the accumulated income of his musical endeavors that he had "broke free", so to speak.

Ach, but there was one thing that still nagged at Klavier - he had made an error, had missed a set of notes - and perhaps, it was partially this that was holding back his success in the other side of his work. Klavier had spent a long while contemplating his previous conversation with Herr Edgeworth a few months before. It could have been hasty, he had surmised, to dig around in another's personal life so intrusively. There were other means to get to know another human being, Klavier knew - just like one beautiful fräulein needed to be wooed differently than another. Some needed jewels, others needed heartstrings, and he surmised that perhaps Herr Edgeworth needed a heartstring to be dangled in his face before anything was to be resolved or expanded upon.

So it was with this that Klavier found himself contemplating the best way sich entschuldigen, or to apologize - and for a long while, the answer had evaded Klavier. That is, until a package had arrived at his new doorstep from his mother, a housewarming gift.

The idea had then struck him - Herr Edgeworth was from Germany, Klavier had read - perhaps he would accept one of the loaves of sweet stollen from his home country in apology. His mother had doubtless spent a good deal of money in sending him something so fresh, and Klavier wasted no time in taking one of the sealed packages to work that day, wrapped up in tissue paper and placed in a richly colored gift bag.

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25 February 2010 @ 06:35 pm
Edgeworth couldn't sleep, but he couldn't say he was surprised by that fact; he'd awoken feeling rested, but with how poorly he had been sleeping lately, he had hoped to attain a little more rest before work. However, after Phoenix's less than appropriate departure nearly a half hour before, the prosecutor had tossed and turned, finding the bed to be uncomfortably large without the defense attorney beside him. Nothing about that morning had been typical, and although he felt a pang of shame for laughing so freely in front of Phoenix, he instead found himself plotting about ways to return the other man's serve later in the day.

Light filtered through the thin material of the curtains on the windows, and the room just felt too bright. Edgeworth was used to sleeping practically in tandem with the sun, leaving the glow of the morning more annoyingly foreign than pleasant. Lifting the comforter over his head, Edgeworth attempted to sleep under the darkness of the blanket, but it wasn't too long before he became too warm to rest comfortably. Giving up on sleep for the morning, he tossed the comforter off of himself, climbing out of bed and into his bathrobe.

Despite the differences in his morning, his rituals were very much the same - he showered, groomed, and dressed himself just as he normally did, and at the same pace - but he still found himself with too much time on his hands. He wasn't expected until eleven, and, without any cases to tend to, showing up early would have been a waste of time.

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It wasn't until after the jet had been chartered and he had been on board for nearly an hour that Edgeworth began to question just what in the hell was he doing. He couldn't really entertain the idea that this had been an overreaction - the twenty-thousand dollars he had bade farewell to refused to allow him the luxury of second thoughts - but it didn't feel right either. Flipping through his sparse mental Rolodex of individuals that he cared for, the prosecutor found himself wondering if Phoenix Wright - as usual - was the exception to the rule. No, perhaps not in this case. He would have done just the same for Franziska. This was merely a gesture of gratitude for all that Phoenix had done for him - nothing more.

By the time his flight had touched down and he had secured a taxi ride, he had fully convinced himself that was the case.

The hospital seemed busier than he had imagined it would be. Finding a nurse with any sort of knowledge pertaining to Phoenix Wright had been as difficult as finding stairwells that weren't intended solely as emergency exits. To say that he was impatient to see the defense attorney would be an understatement; not only had it been twelve hours since that fateful call from Larry Butz, but he had been navigating the labyrinthine hospital for near to twenty minutes before he was finally presented with a room number. Though he felt close to snapping from frustration, Edgeworth pressed on - he could always take it out on Larry after he had gotten his answers.

He had been partially informed on Phoenix's condition before entering - the nurse he had interrogated had dealt with the defense attorney earlier in the morning - and he was at least reassured by the fact that the other man had awoken a few short hours ago. Apparently, Phoenix was a little further from his deathbed than Edgeworth had thought (which, while reassuring, brought about the question of just why the prosecutor was there to start with).

The door to Phoenix's room was open when Edgeworth finally found it, and he didn't allow himself the moment that he desired to collect himself before entering. He had waited too long, and he wouldn't be completely assured that the defense attorney was all right until he saw him with his own eyes. The instant he was through the door, Edgeworth's gaze shot to the peculiar, white hood on the defense attorney's head, blocking the defense attorney's face from the prosecutor's line of sight. Furrowing his brow in confusion (just what on earth is he wearing?), Edgeworth moved to stand a few feet from the bed. "...Wright?" he said tersely, somehow managing to keep the uncertainty he that felt from his voice.
 
 
 
16 February 2010 @ 09:34 pm
Society is comprised primarily of fools, Franziska thought to herself as she exited the elevator, which had deposited herself in the courthouse's main lobby. She was almost convinced today's trial had been a waste of time, and the only thing that prevented her from being utterly convicted of this fact was that, of course, the defendant had been guilty and it meant one more criminal off the streets.

But with the mountain of evidence against the defendant and the defense attorney's valiant bluffs, moves so amateur they could only be pulled off by the likes of Phoenix Wright, proceedings had taken a lot longer than usual and when Franziska checked the time on her cell phone's display, she was surprised to see that it was almost three in the afternoon. It seemed she wouldn't spend too much time at the office today; she would just ensure that this case was properly closed. She slipped her phone back into her bag and made sure her whip was adequately coiled before fishing her car keys out from the same bag, holding them in her hand as she made her way across the lobby - another case must have finished recently as well, as the lobby was filled twice as many people as usual.

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04 February 2010 @ 01:15 am
It was Edgeworth's internal clock that woke him up just around sunrise, but he didn't have any business at the Prosecutor's Office until later in the morning. With the house signing that day and no investigations on his plate, Edgeworth wasn't as characteristically busy as he normally was. Of course, there was always some work to be done, and while he had no doubt that his lull in activity would change soon, the prosecutor was simply contented by the fact that he didn't have to part from the warm bed just yet.

Sometime during the night, Edgeworth had come untangled with Phoenix, and he'd managed to support himself on the edge of the bed as the defense attorney sprawled himself out amongst the remainder of it. The comforter that they shared was partially buried underneath Phoenix, wrapped haphazardly around his limbs with only the corner of it remaining to cover the prosecutor. Shifting to face Phoenix, Edgeworth offered a scowl to the sleeping form of his lover before attempting to gingerly tug the comforter loose. When this wasn't successful - and the movement had done nothing to stir Phoenix - Edgeworth gave up, deciding instead to settle close against the defense attorney's side, leeching his warmth and taking up as much of the comforter as he could without prying it from the defense attorney's death grip.

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29 January 2010 @ 08:23 am
Edgeworth was glad that the meeting for the new house was quickly approaching, if for no reason other than he was becoming quite annoyed with the fact his car had been his safe haven when he needed time to think prior to entering Phoenix's apartment.

Of course, he had his own room, but its only purpose for the majority of his time living there had been for storage. Ever since the Feys had been enlightened on their relationship, he had spent most of his nights in Phoenix's room, and for him to suddenly venture into his own room for an extended period of time when a norm had been established would make it seem as though something was wrong.

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The remainder of the dinner passed quickly and without much conflict; Kristoph ate his botan ebi, much to Edgeworth's chagrin, Phoenix and Kristoph shared a sushi platter, Edgeworth thoroughly enjoyed his non-bloody steak, and Franziska managed to sneak a small amount of wine from Edgeworth's bottle. And after everything, Phoenix was served a birthday dessert, and flushed bright red as nearly the entire serving staff sang to him.

In truth, Phoenix hadn't expected the dinner to go so well once he'd realized the tension between Franziska and Kristoph. However, Franziska hadn't once taken out her whip, even while Phoenix had almost tread in the wrong direction conversationally, and Kristoph and Franziska had managed to squeak past strangling each other. And while Edgeworth had been initially cranky towards being kissed in front of company, Phoenix couldn't say he regretted doing it.

After the group had finished eating, paid the bill, and left the table, both Kristoph and Franziska had given Phoenix his birthday gifts. All of them had then parted ways, save for Edgeworth and Phoenix, as they were both going home together. The air was relatively cool outside the restaurant - Phoenix surmised the temperatures were in the low 60's - and as he and Edgeworth made their way down the stairs and into the parking structure, Phoenix shivered. Phoenix's clothes were still damp, and he hoped he wouldn't catch a cold - all he needed was another illness to combat after his multiple visits to the hospital in the past few months.

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Initially, Phoenix hadn't known what to think of Franziska's words. The hypocrisy and endless contradictions seemed to wind themselves together like the molecular structure of a piece of DNA, continually complicated and seemingly impossible to untangle. However, Phoenix didn't have a chance to respond to Franziska's words before Kristoph and Edgeworth spoke, and as a result Phoenix moved on from the general subject, instead deciding to address Franziska's question for the moment. Removing his hand from Edgeworth's lap, Phoenix's expression turned contemplative as he considered his answer. The answer wasn't as simple as merely saying a defense attorney existed to find the truth, as a prosecutor was part of the larger picture as well as the opposing side - neither side was mutually exclusive from the other. Edgeworth had taught him that much over the years - and Franziska should have known better. She had been there, and how she remained in denial was still beyond Phoenix.

A pair of waiters appeared by the table a moment later, one gathering up the towels and small plates in his arms and moving away while the other shifted to offer the bottle of wine that Edgeworth had ordered in both hands from his right side, presumably for verification. The first waiter then came back to the table, placing an empty glass next to Edgeworth for the tasting before moving to the opposite side of the table and delivering Kristoph's glass of wine to him. He then reassured Phoenix that his martini would be on the way shortly, and left the table.

Once Phoenix had successfully pulled his attention away from the waiters, he looked back over at Franziska. He felt incredibly uneasy having to explain this to her, as the concept was almost childishly simple to Phoenix after everything he had experienced, and he tried to word it as delicately as possible without hitting any of her nerves. Phoenix knew that Franziska's win record was important to her (even while she had lost cases to him), and it seemed to be based almost entirely in her father's illogical need for perfection, so he decided to attempt avoiding the mention of it entirely.

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