"Disorder in the Court"

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My name is Miriam Webster. I am a stenographer. My nieces and nephews think my job is boring, but I've regaled them with stories of what I have witnessed in the courtroom.

I have seen prosecutors wield whips, throw coffee mugs, and play air guitar. I've seen temper tantrums, screaming matches, ridiculous hairstyles, facepalms, and cock contests.

It is said that artists suffer for their art. I have truly suffered for my transcripts, as I have had to keep a straight face in these proceedings.

This is one of the many, many odd happenings I have witnessed. It was just after Phoenix Wright had been cleared of the suspicion surrounding forged evidence, but before he was re-licensed by the state board. His ardent apprentice, Apollo Justice, was presiding over the defense in that day's trial, with Wright in an advisory role. The trial proceeded normally. Well, as normal as it could be with these two. It's no coincidence that most of the weirdness I have seen has occurred while either or both has been at the defense bench. I think they're magnets for that sort of thing.

I should mention Mr. Wright's adorable young daughter was also present.

The judge had just called a recess. The prosecutor, Winston Payne, took out a hand mirror from his briefcase and checked out his gray locks.

"Looks like ol' Winston's confidence is still intact," Mr. Justice said to Mr. Wright. "That can't be a good sign."

Mr. Wright, who must have mastered zen training in the seven years since his disbarment, was calm. "I wonder how he's managed to keep his hair. Since his first loss made most of it fall out, and well, he hasn't exactly been on a winning streak since."

Mr. Justice arched an eyebrow. "Oh? He's bald, Mr. Wright. He must be. That has to be a piece."

"Objection!" Mr. Wright responded. "That is what little remains of his real hair!"

"Ha ha ha, bullshit!" Mr. Justice gave his classic, confident smile. "I'll grant that it might be made from his hair, but it is still a wig."

"Then how has it grown?" Mr. Wright asked. "How can he flip it? It is his real hair!"

"It's a bad toupee!" Mr. Justice insisted. "I'm willing to bet on it."

"You're on," Mr. Wright said. "You're treating us to Burger Meister if it is his real hair!"

"Trucy, if you would?" Mr. Justice nodded to Mr. Wright's daughter.

Trucy slipped behind Mr. Payne without a sound, gripped his gray locks, and pulled.

There was the horrible sound of tearing as Mr. Payne's hair came off into her gloved hands.

Trucy smiled and held up her prize triumphantly as she returned to the defense's bench. "It was attached with Velcro!"

Mr. Justice's smile broadened into a grin. "What did I tell you? Rejoice, Trucy. Your daddy is treating us to Burger Meister!"

Trucy hopped up and down in delight. "Yay! Can I order fries?"

"Yup, and a burger," Mr. Justice said. "Right, Mr. Wright?"

Mr. Wright grumbled.

For a few minutes, Payne was silent. Unmoving. Like a statue. Then he let out a shriek that shook the rafters. He bolted from the courtroom.

The judge had no choice but to rule in the defense's favor.

I know the epilogue to this little tale. I know, because I was delivering copies of my transcripts to the Chief Prosecutor later that day. I heard him on his phone as I was approaching the office. Miles Edgeworth's voice was level, but I've known him long enough to tell when his voice is hiding seething rage.

The first thing I heard was, "Wright, you better have a damn good explanation for this!" Then silence. Presumably Mr. Wright answering. Edgeworth continued. "For the past two hours, Winston Payne has been crying in my office! I'm afraid to leave him alone! I am never getting these tear stains out of the carpet! I know he was a thorn in your side, but this was just cruel!"

And that, my friends, is the real reason Gaspen Payne joined the Prosecutor's Office to avenge his brother's honor.