AN: I wanted to write about Miles and Franziska at various points in their lives. It came out a little bit sloppy, but there are parts that I like, and I figured I should release at least one fanfic this year, so here it is! The Pheonix Wright timeline is a little ridiculous with regards to Franziska, so if you find a six year old child genius unrealistic, blame Capcom for creating an eighteen year old lawyer.
SIBLING RELATIONS
The girl at the table can't be older than six - her stocking-clad legs are too short to reach the floor - but the expression in her eyes is one of sophisticated distaste. She is sipping tomato bisque from a silver spoon. Her hair is immacculately coffed, her grey dress spotless. She looks like a little queen.
"My daughter, Franziska Swanhilde von Karma," says Herr von Karma. "Franziska Swanhilde, this is Miles Edgeworth. He shall be living with us."
Miles looks at his shoes. They're new, but already they're starting to scuff. He is suddenly accutely aware of how bad his German really is; he's been studying day and night since the arrangements were first suggested, but he hasn't had a chance to practice until now. "I am very pleased to meet you, Fraulein," he says, haltingly. "Your father has told me of you-"
"Let's speak English," says Franziska abruptly. "Your German seems rather poor." There is only the faintest hint of an accent to her words. "No titles are neccessary between us. You may call me Franziska, and I will call you Miles. Take a seat, Miles. We will have dinner together."
The maid draws a chair for him at the setting across from Franziska. He sits down obediently. There seems no point in arguing with her, or mentioning that he's jet lagged and would rather sleep than eat.
Franziska turns to Herr von Karma. "Father," she says, switching back to German, "shall you be joining us tonight?"
"I shall not." Without another word, Herr von Karma turns around and leaves the dining hall.
The strange tense feeling Miles always gets when he's around - he's tried to get rid of it, reminding himself that the man has been nothing but good to him - goes as well. It's like a weight being lifted from his lungs. He still feels painfully out of place, of course, but at least one problem has been solved.
"So I hear that you're in Fifth Grade too," says Miles for lack of any better conversation starter.
Franziska nods. "As you say. I'm in the first year of Grammer School, although in fact I'm reading at a Fourth Year level. After I graduate from Grammer School I will enter law school."
"Wow." Miles knew that she was a child genius, but the idea of someone entering law school at age eleven is pretty weird. With a father like Herr von Karma, though, he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. "That's... unusual."
"Not in my family. My older sister also graduated from Grammer School early."
"Oh, you have an older sister?" Miles smiles. "That's neat."
Franziska shakes her head. "She does not practice law," she says cooly, as if that fact alone makes her an disgrace to the family. Then she glares at the maid. "Liesl. Miles is very hungry. Why have you not yet brought his soup?"
"I'm sorry, miss." The maid excuses herself from the dining room and returns in a moment with a bowl of tomato bisque for Miles. "Here you are, sir."
He tries a little; it's so hot it burns his mouth, but he forces himself to swallow. "So... you're going to be a lawyer, then?"
"I will be a prosecutor, Miles Edgeworth," says Franziska, as though explaining something to a small and dull-witted child. "What else would I possibly be?"
Miles is going to apologize or tell her that he's thinking of being a prosecutor as well, but before he can there is a shriek of anger. Franziska's little hand has slipped and now there is a spoonful of soup running down her dress. Her mouth tightens, looking down at her hand, enraged at its failure to obey her wishes.
"Liesl," she hisses. "Fetch the spot cleaner."
"At once, miss," says Liesl. Clearly she is used to this sort of treatment.
"Objection!" says Miles. The first time Franziska heard him say it she was utterly unconvinced, but he's getting better. Father told her that Miles's father had been shot and killed soon before he moved in with them. This would probably account for a great deal of his hesitancy when they started playing together. But as they say, time heals all wounds, and he is slowly gaining an edge of confidence that fortells a great law career.
She slams the gavel down on the textbook in front of her, then does it again for good measure. "Objection overruled! Your foolishness will not be tolerated in this courtroom, Prosecutor Edgeworth!"
"But your honour! The defense has no evidence for its outrageous claims!"
The defense lawyer, Herr Pl?chb?, sits wordlessly in his box. Franziska picks him up and does her best basso profundo. "But the truth is on our side!"
"Ah ah ah..." Miles wags his finger. "The truth is revealed by the evidence. And this court has made it abundantly clear that your client, Frau Kaninchen, is guilty of murder!"
Franziska decides that this is an excellent final statement, very impressive, and they deserve an appropriately dramatic conclusion to the trial. Frau Kaninchen shakes in the witness stand. Franziska slams her face into the carpet, and she decides to confess her crimes. "It's true! I did it! You win! Waaaaaah..."
"Your honour," and Miles takes a bow, as Father does sometimes when he is particularly pleased, "the prosecution rests."
The gavel goes down one last time. "Very well!" says Franziska. "The verdict is GUILTY! The witness is sentenced to life in prison!" Frau Kaninchen screams as she is dragged out of the courtroom by one floppy ear. Herr Pl?chb?, having lost another case, retreats to the toybox.
"Another successful case." Miles smiles at her. "Now shall we go down to the kitchen and see if Liesl has some snacks for us?"
Franziska nods. "I asked her if she would make merangues," she says, "I know you like them," and then she closes her mouth, because she hadn't meant that part to come out. It's not as though she particularly cares whether or not Miles likes anything.
But Miles doesn't seem to notice the comment, so it's okay. For now.
When they reach the staircase, Miles gives Franziska a boost up so that she can slide down the bannister, as this is one of her favourite things to do. "Race you to the bottom!" he says, with a grin, even though he must know he won't win.
"Of course," says Franziska, and he lets go of her waist. Only after she has begun her descent does she see her father standing in the hallway. By then it's too late to do anything. Manfred von Karma turns an icy glare on them, and even Franziska, who has seen this expression many times in her life, feels a shiver of dread run down her spine.
"I trust there is some explanation for this conduct," says Father darkly.
Miles stands stiffly at the foot of the stairs. "It's all my fault, Herr von Karma," he says quickly. "I was in the wrong. Fran... the Fraulein had nothing to do with it."
Father looks highly unimpressed. "Somehow, I doubt that." He turns to the door. "I must leave now. I have a hearing to attend. But rest assured that neither you nor Franziska Swanhilde have heard the last of this. I will not allow this sort of behavior in my house, and if you wish to continue living here, you will learn that."
With that, he walks out on them. Miles and Franziska are left staring awkwardly, nervously at each other. They go and get the merangues anyway, but all the fun has gone out of the afternoon.
"And?" Franziska has grown since he's seen her last, but as much as she tries to hide it with a strategical haircut, her face still has its little girl's roundness. She is sitting on her bookbag so as to appear taller. Miles finds this endearing. "How is your school?"
He shrugs. "Not bad, I guess. The food is a disaster."
Franziska smirks, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Ah, the famous cuisine of the British boarding school. I can't imagine how you manage it, Miles."
"Well, I've gotten used to it by now."
"You know that the chef at Our Lady was trained in the golden age of Chez Gusteau? I must have put on ten pounds since the start of term."
Miles sighs. "You're so considerate."
"I try."
"How is your school, anyway?"
Franziska's face lights up in that special, slightly sadistic way of hers. "Ah, it's wonderful. Everything is of the highest quality, of course, and the other girls respond delightfully to the whip. Even the classes are..." Her smile turns down a bit. "Well, marginally challenging."
If Franziska calls something "marginally challenging," it must be nearly impossible. Miles tries to picture her studying, spending long nights cramming textbooks into her head, and cursing when she can't remember in the morning.
"I hope you're getting enough sleep," he says, mildly enough that hopefully she won't be offended, as she usually is when he gets personal.
The look in her eyes tells him that he's said the wrong thing. "Enough."
"...That's good."
So the conversation moves to other, safer topics: what they're covering in classes, how Franziska memorized sections of the German penal code to recite to fellow students, how Miles's paper on Brown vs. the Board of Education recieved top marks.
There are things that he won't tell her about, of course. Losing his virginity to a Seventh Year in the bushes behind the dormitory. Overdosing on sleeping pills - which, as he tried to explain to the nurse, was a complete accident, he just hadn't realized he had taken too many until it was too late. Crying on his pillow because he was scared and angry and his father was dead.
Wishing he could see her more often.
Franziska's heart is filled with a savage joy. She feels like she could leap buildings. Her prosectutor's badge is nestled in the pocket of her pleated skirt, where it has been all day, warm from being turned over and over again in her palm. Finally, she has reached the top of the mountain she has been climbing for so long. She needs to call Miles - Miles will understand - he will congragulate her for this triumph.
Miles doesn't pick up the first time she calls. Nor the second.
Very well, she thinks, and calls the mansion. Father isn't there. She didn't expect him to be. She leaves a brief message about passing the bar exam and puts down the reciever. Then, without even thinking about it, she dials Miles again.
No response.
Maybe her sister is home. No, she must be out this time of day. She decides not to call her.
Instead, she dials Miles a fourth time. Then a fifth.
Nothing.
Suddenly her joy turns to rage. She slams the phone violently to the ground and grinds her heel down on it. But her weight isn't enough to break the plastic casing, and she is left kicking at the ground over and over, like a child having a temper tantrum: a thought that only breaks the floodgates for a new burst of anger.
WHY WILL HE NOT PICK UP
"Edgeworth speaking."
"Ah, Miles. Did you have a case today?"
"...Yes."
"As did I. My defendant recieved life without possiblity of parole. And yours?"
"Miles? Are you still there?"
"I..."
"Miles?"
"...I... lost."
"You WHAT?"
"I lost, Franziska."
"I don't believe it."
"It's true."
"It can't be..."
Click.
To Miles Edgeworth
Your last letter was appalingly late. You can't be so busy with work that you have no time to write, so I assume that you are simply lazy. This is unacceptable. I don't want to tell you where I'm living right now, but rest assured, all your letters will be delivered to me, so if you continue to pretend they got lost in the mail I will be angry.
Research on my paper is coming along very well. No, I will not tell you the subject; you'll know when it is released to worldwide critical acclaim.
Today I took a walk by the river. The weather here has been beautiful lately, and all of the people were out enjoying the day in the foolish way they usually do. For lunch I had tomato bisque.
As I was eating it occured to me that, as much as I admire Father, he has treated you very badly. Many times I have been angry at you for things which were not strictly speaking your fault. I wish to apologize. Truthfully, I have always cared for you a great deal, and so I felt your abscence sharply. But this is not your fault.
I understand now why you took time away from the law. It's very... refreshing.
Any rumours you have heard about my relationship with Adrian are false. She writes to me sometimes, and sometimes I write back. That's all.
Rereading this letter it seems quite ridiculous. I'm not usually this candid, am I? No matter. I'll send it anyway, and if you laugh, I'll know. And I will come back to punish you for it.
Perhaps I will see you again soon.
Sincerely,
Franziska von Karma, your sister.
PS: Take care of yourself.
END