rip my computer is broken. sorry guys, I'll try and fix this
in the meantime: idefk ok what am I doing
Kristoph Gavin didn't really believe in luck. Or coincidence.
It was easier, that way. It was easier to avoid the unpredictable variables, to keep himself from relying on them or using them.
Luck was an explanation for when there was none, and Kristoph wasn't content to accept that there wasn't an explanation, ever. Every piece of evidence had its place, every lie had a root, and every deed had a justification. To write it off as luck or coincidence was a lie within itself, a compromise for the weak.
Kristoph Gavin wasn't weak.
He'd grit his teeth, mind whirring for a solution. He'd never accept that there wasn't one, because that'd mean the variable was real. If luck was real, it was impossible to predict. If coincidence was real, there was no way to control it.
Kristoph Gavin needed control, he needed meticulous rationale. Evidence may be everything in a court of law, but every thing needed its place. Explanation gave evidence its sway, the weight necessary to make it everything. Evidence was nothing until you could justify it, and justification never happened under weak claims like luck or coincidence.
If luck or coincidence were real, Kristoph had lost control. If Kristoph had lost control, he'd lost everything. He'd become a slave to his own life, deprived of the only purpose that ever mattered: his own. Luck and coincidence couldn't exist, because then Kristoph lost everything. So they didn't exist, in Kristoph's mind.
That was why finding himself here again was so agonizing, seeping into Kristoph's skin like a deadly poison. Kristoph couldn't understand why he always ended up on this side. All he knew was that it couldn't be luck. Or coincidence.
Yet, here he was; listening to another seemingly open-and-shut case turned on its head by one Phoenix Wright. The very name made Kristoph shake, how did he keep this up? Every single one of his cases were never what they seemed, there was always a third person or an impostor or a different scene.
Take today's case, for example. Open and shut: a man with a winning lottery ticket, a waitress with nothing to lose and everything to gain. A cup of poisoned coffee and two witnesses later, it was obvious who the guilty party was… right?
No, no, of course not. Of course it was a puppet show by an aggressive loan shark, created for one witness' benefit and acted out by the murderer and his assistant. Of course there were six people at the scene, not four, and of course the murder had occurred at a different time than they'd originally believed. How silly of Kristoph, to think that any sort of reason applied.
And yet… Phoenix Wright was sloppy, yet brilliant. He used his evidence as extensions of his logic, blending the tools seamlessly into an unbeatable case. It looked ridiculous, it looked illogical, but one cross-examination of a parrot and you'd been beat. Phoenix Wright had won again.
Of course, the man was a defense attorney, not a prosecutor. Kristoph was a defense attorney, by all logic; he should be exempt from Phoenix Wright's destructive wake, right?
Logic never applied to Phoenix Wright, and Kristoph's case was no exception. Phoenix Wright only proved his clients innocent, not the true perpetrators guilty. They were arrested, and charged, and then another trial was planned for them- a trial more open-and-shut than Phoenix Wright's original had seemed, trials that were impossible to win.
No matter who took them- Payne, Von Karma, Edgeworth, Blackquill- there was no way to lose for the prosecution. All they had to do was quote Phoenix Wright, to take out the evidence and describe the case the man had built, and boom: automatic guilty verdict. They were done.
Kristoph didn't know why each of Phoenix Wright's proxy trials ended up in his hands; he didn't know why he ended up defending the murderers Phoenix Wright had sniffed out. All he knew was that he'd lost, again, and Furio Tigre had been proven guilty: just like every man and woman before him, every murderer who'd seemed safe before Phoenix Wright's eyes fell on their case.
Kristoph couldn't hide his scowl as he closed up his briefcase. His record was being destroyed, his good name tarnished, and all because of Phoenix Wright. All because he was the unlucky sap who had to defend the murderers he'd all but proven guilty. It was too easy for the prosecution; they weren't even the final nail in the coffin! All they had to do was roll out the proverbial coffin, smirking at the judge and taking the win with every semblance of graciousness.
So naturally, the second Kristoph had a real case, he'd be fired from it. No explanation from Zak Gramarye, nothing more than the simple two words. You're fired. Give the evidence to your replacement, Kristoph, and go away. The world doesn't need you as more than a straw man for Phoenix Wright's castoffs, after all.
Kristoph set his jaw. "If you don't mind me asking, who is it that's replacing me, exactly?!"
He should have known. There was only one name Zak Gramarye could possibly say then, it was foolish to hope otherwise.
Phoenix Wright.
Kristoph bit back his scream, nodding with a tight-lipped smile. It hurt when it stretched across his face, bunching up his cheeks, but no matter. Too many cases of Phoenix Wright's had given him a poker face, an impenetrable mask of unbothered bliss. No one knew just how frustrated Kristoph was, how every loss burned inside of him. Over, and over, and over again- the cycle never ended, and it wouldn't until Kristoph took a stand.
If Phoenix Wright could beat Kristoph by proxy, then surely the reverse could be applied to him.
"Kristoph…? Odd seeing you at the prosecutor's office the day before a trial."
How to break it to Klavier? He looked genuinely concerned, pausing with his hand on his guitar. "Ah… I won't be appearing in the trial, actually."
"Huh? Why not…?" Klavier's brow furrowed, he looked more worried now. Adorable, really.
"I won't be facing off with you on your first trial, apparently." Kristoph spat, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It was true, though; he'd been robbed- by Phoenix Wright, no less.
Klavier's face fell. He was naïve, wasn't he? It was interesting, it seemed like Klavier truly did care about Kristoph…
"…but in exchange, I brought information." Kristoph said it with a smile, watching as confusion reappeared on Klavier's face.
"Information…?" Klavier asked.
"The attorney who'll be there in my place tomorrow is not to be trusted." Kristoph said bluntly, jaw set. It was odd; he did feel a little protective of Klavier, even though the boy wasn't anything more than a tool in Phoenix Wright's undoing. Klavier looked excited, though, as though he was wondering. Who could be bad enough for Kristoph to warn him now…?
"Don't even give him the benefit of your respect." Kristoph couldn't stop himself from saying, even if Phoenix Wright deserved it. Klavier looked a little lost now, Kristoph would have to get back on track. "Listen, I want you to call in a special witness…"
Klavier had been antsy, in the lobby before the trial. Kristoph was appropriately supportive, clasping his shoulders and promising him that he could do it. He couldn't deny that he was slightly fond of Klavier; after all, he had such a neediness to him, an insatiable desire to please. It was wonderfully useful, especially when a tool was in order.
The trial went off without a hitch, despite Kristoph in the gallery holding his breath. He smiled at Klavier when he faltered, and the boy performed wonderfully.
Kristoph wasn't able to help himself from laughing when the invitation to the bar meeting arrived- subject: one Phoenix Wright and his impeding disbarment. He had half a mind to hang it to his wall, the most successful gambit he'd ever pulled: Phoenix Wright was nearly disbarred, Gramarye and the Mishams were as good as dead, and Klavier and the rest of the world couldn't be more oblivious.
He was the only one to vote against disbarment: it was an easy move, to be the sole opposition. All it took was a sad smile to the distraught Phoenix Wright, lips pursed in empathy to the man in the chair.
"W-what?!" Phoenix Wright had asked, as though it was the end of the world. His knuckles were white, gripping the arms of the chair, eyes stretched wide in panic. They flicked around like a caged animal, scanning every member of the board. "I… I-"
It was so satisfying, to see the great Phoenix Wright at a loss for words, when his own words had destroyed Kristoph too many times.
Phoenix Wright shook, though with anger or anguish Kristoph couldn't tell. There were tears brimming in his eyes when he handed in his badge, fingers lingering on it for only a second too long. The look on his face… the sheer, hopeless loss was the best vengeance Kristoph could ever ask for.
Of course, there was the false Kristoph to maintain. It was all too easy to flash Phoenix Wright a smile, offer him a sympathetic pat on the back and a small "I know it wasn't really you." It was all too simple to appear with Phoenix Wright every once in awhile, watching the tears he couldn't show his daughter.
"Y'know, Kristoph?" He'd sniffled pathetically one night. "I think you're the only real friend I've ever had. I mean, you're the only one I have now."
The smile then had felt more natural than any Kristoph could remember, and all it took was a tilt of the head to make it seem sympathetic. "Not to worry, Wright. There's nothing I'd like more than to be your friend right now."
At the end of the day, maybe there really was such thing as luck. Maybe there was a reason Kristoph received Phoenix Wright's old cases, maybe coincidence paired them together like this for some higher reason.
Kristoph didn't know. He suspected he never would.
All he knew or cared about was that he'd bested Lady Luck, and now he had the disbarred Phoenix Wright to show for it.
thanks for reading! see you guys later hopefully