/AN: Grant that I actually haven't played this far so some characterization/plot points may not be up to snuff but I found this hilarious prompt on the kinkmeme and figured I'd try my best to fill.
Light seeping through the window caused the headache the woke up the stern prosecutor. He sat up, although he regretted doing so as his head throbbed, and tried to remember the events of the previous evening. There had been a Prosecutor's Ball, that much he did recall, but much past the cheers and toasts of champagne, his memory gave out. With a scowl, he ambled about his room, trying to collect himself enough to not retain his inner fury at his inability to hold his liquor.
Simon eventually managed to make himself presentable enough to check in to the office late. He realized how badly things must have gone when snickering met him at the entrance to the first floor lobby.
"Öch, zhe man of zhe evening graces us with his presence," a gaudy German accent called.
"Gavin," the black-haired man growled in begrudging greeting.
"Ja, mein friend. You," the overly-energetic prosecutor winked, "Must be zhe luckiest drunk man alive to have pulled ZHAT off."
Simon arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean by...that?" he inquired, unsure that the churning of his stomach had more to do with the possible answers to the question or a side effect of the worsening headache.
The blonde draped an arm over the other prosecutor's shoulders, which looked rather comedic given the height difference between the two, and allowed his 'charming' wide smirk play on his face. "Shall I tell you?" he teased, only receiving an agitated face in return. "Right, right," Prosecutor Gavin nodded, patting Blackquill's shoulders, "I'll explain all if you'll join me." In pursuit of the truth, the bird-lover followed stiffly.
Once in Gavin's office, he quietly took a seat as the other dramatically plopped into his desk chair, grinning far too wildly for his guest's liking. Something told him that no good news would come of this.
"You and a certain fräulein were the first to get drunk, you see," the blonde began, withholding some laughter.
"Who?" Simon growled simply.
"Öch, von Karma, of course!" Klavier threw his head back for a short laugh, "Ah, zhat one could never hold her own.."
This, of all things, made the man who had seen death row pale. "Von...Karma?" he asked, just to be sure.
"Ja, ja!" the other prosecutor continued, "Und she put zhat whip of hers to good use. I had no idea zhat you of all people would obey such gaudy commands as zhat one."
He had thought it impossible, but Blackquill felt his frown deepen. If Prosecutor Gavin of all people called something 'gaudy', that could only spell something god-awful. His stomach churned again. No, this would not be good at all.
"C...commands?" he managed, despising the taste of the word as it left his lips.
"To strip dance, of course!" Klavier continued smugly, "Und for being as drunk as you must have been, you moved very well to the music. We all had no idea zhat you had zhat in you!"
Prosecutor Blackquill did not take that as a compliment. At all. "Was there...anything else?" he sighed, holding his throbbing head in what could only be compared to as mortified agony.
"Well, she took you to her office after zhat, so who knows? Edgeworth did try to stop her, but she raised zhat whip of hers and he backed down," the blonde said, looking all too...delighted by the idea.
The black haired man felt bile rise in his stomach at the thought. "You know," he muttered, "I don't want to hear the rest." With that, he left the blonde prosecutor a chuckling mess in his office as he headed to his own.
He hoped that no one else would ever bring up the exploits, although he secretly felt grateful that von Karma's whip had a certain silencing ability of its own. Sometimes it's just better not knowing, he figured, especially as far as gossip-lovers are concerned.