Disclaimer: I do not own Phoenix Wright, Apollo Justice, or Capcom in any way, shape, or form. This is a fanfiction revolving around the games, nothing more. )
On a side note, I've never actually played AJ, but I have been exposed to all of its spoilers. The wonderful site Court Records is my reference guide, so I apologize if the characterization or anything else is off.
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The sun radiated illumination through the windows at the top of the wall and it seemed to be yet another perfect day. Cumulus clouds danced around the heavenly body elegantly, never missing a beat, as if they were all ballerinas. A yawn came out from my throat, causing light tears to form around my eyes. I hurriedly wiped them away, not wanting to put my father into deep concern. Luckily, he was still sleeping, exhaling tediously in the form of snoring. While paying close attention to him, I reached over to a wooden chest on the floor beside my bed. It was concealing my extra notepad furtively. My father implored continuously for me to copy letters, paintings, anything of the sort. At times, it was difficult to negate his requests and never did I, frightened that something horrible would happen to us. It isn't a crime at all.
Drawing has always been my life, whether it was pleasant outside or melancholy. The notebook sitting in my hands had been a gift from my father a few years ago and I would use it every chance that was given to me. It was dull yellow in color and in the shape of a bear head, complete with two black eyes, a nose, and a mouth with the tongue sticking out. Seeing that silly smile make me relax a little and, thankfully, my father continued to sleep tranquilly.
I undid the pale sapphire ribbon and opened up the notebook, eager to begin drawing. A sudden noise disrupted the serenity and I jumped on reflex, stuffing my precious notebook back into the chest. Hastily I locked and pushed it back under my bed, sitting upright and stared at my father. He was scratching his charcoal gray hair nervously, a few drops of sweat gradually trickling down his cheek and forehead. The same clothes were on him, the green jacket with numerous paint splatters, a chocolate brown turtleneck underneath, and pants with even more paint splashed on. My father, Drew Misham, slipped into his turtle green slippers and walked over to me, sitting down.
My guarded eyes focused on his latest rough draft for a painting - a woman on the floor, hiding her face and placing her fragile hands onto her torso. I took a finger and put it up to my mouth, chewing down on the nail. This was my habit that I was sure I would never grow out of. Everything made me nervous, from the tick of a clock to a mouse scrambling across the floorboards, and I found relief through biting my fingernails.
"I need you to do something, Vera." Drew spoke quietly and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, trying to act maternally. Everyday usually started like this, but I was enthusiastic to help my father by whatever means.
"Yes?"
"Daddy has a client and her name is Lily Heather. She's a nice lady, Vera, and wants me to paint her something." There was noticeable pride in his voice. I was happy for him that more clients were coming everyday.
"Okay."
"I'd like you to draw something." He disappeared for a few minutes before returning, carrying a photo of a man. I studied him keenly, curious to know why his light pink sweater had a large "P" sprawled across it.
"Who is that, Daddy, her husband?" I asked softly, staring up at Drew. The person in the photo seemed too young to be married.
"I don't know," was his only reply. He glanced over at the golden clock hanging on the north wall and sighed. "Lily will be in a few minutes. Please tell her I'll be busy doing something else."
"Should I draw the picture while she's here?"
"No, Vera, not at all. Wait until after she leaves."
"Okay."
He left me alone on my bed to walk over towards his studio. My gaze followed his every movement, not wanting to lose track of where he was going. Drew sat down on the medium turquoise chair, mumbling something under his breath while turning the lamp on with a switch. His arm extended to reach up and seize a couple of drawings from the bulletin board. I turned my eyes back to the creamy tan door, patiently waiting for the woman to come while sitting on a small wooden chair.
The same emotions continuously echoed through my mind, slipping in and out of my conscience; apprehension. I was quivering from my short blue hair to my deep red-violet shoes. My petite fingers tapped the desk in front of me, which created inaudible noises that only my close ears could barely make out. To pass time, I closely analyzed. Drew was in the middle of something seemingly important, as his supplies were cluttered all over the desk and he would grab at them suddenly before tossing the objection into a drawer. Interestedly, I stared at him for a minute of two with my eyes glancing at the clock every other few seconds.
I got up and walked soundlessly over to him, standing behind the chair. I didn't want to see what he was doing, rather if I could draw to pass time. "Daddy?" He whipped around almost irritably, but was smiling from head to toe. "Can I use my sketch-"
There was a knock at the door, light and soft, like a bird's feather. I knew that Lily Heather was going to be a sympathetic person like my father had said. He gestured for me to open the door and I followed his silent instructions. My hand was quivering slightly, but I was able to turn the knob and let her in. I stared at the woman with a thin smile treading on my lips. Her gentle eyes shimmered like the night sky, which assured me that my previous suspicions had been false.
"Oh, what's this?" She bent down and picked up a breathing pile of fur. Star opened her sleepy azure blue eyes and was instantly awoken, licking Lily's face playfully.
"M-my puppy, S-star," I stammered nervously, speedily grabbing her out of the woman's arms. "Sorry," I mumbled under my breath. Lily blinked, startled for a moment, and then laughed. The sound of it was harmonious and calmed down my jumpy nerves. I watched her take a hand and place it on my shoulder, squeezing it gently before she began to walk around the studio without a single word.
I stared at her clothing, wanting to ask her if that man was her husband. I wound up saying nothing, pondering on whether it would be impolite or not. The nervousness in my brain wasn't on the verge of calming down whatsoever. I inhaled sharply, the sound of it coming out as the kind of yelp a dog would make when stepped on its tail. Why couldn't Drew handle the client instead? I wondered, a bit frustrated. He knew I don't work very well with strangers and yet he's letting me handle Lily. Shrugging some of the inner tensions off of my shoulders, I followed the woman patiently.
"When will my request be done?" she inquired rather absentmindedly. My father and I exchanged an abrupt glance. Neither of us knew the accurate answer to her single question.
"Perhaps a day or two," he finally answered after several awkward moments. "I'm a very busy man, I'll have you know." A chuckle emerged from his throat before he went back to his work. Lily stared after him, seemingly unfazed.
"Very well." A humane smile spread across her face. It lasted only momentarily, then she frowned. "Is this your work, Mr. Misham?" I hadn't even noticed Lily over by Drew's desk until she pointed a finger at the volcano painting.
"I beg your pardon?" Drew squinted at her, confused. I knew he was trying to waste time.
"The volcano. Did you paint it?"
"Yes, of course. This is my studio," he said, rather straightforwardly.
"But it's different," Lily persisted. "The style of this painting is different from the style of the painting behind it."
"Are you an artist? I think not. So how would you know, Ms. Heather?" So Drew did know that she wasn't married. I blocked the rest of the dispute from my ears, almost ready to leave the studio. And yet, I still couldn't no matter the reason. If my own father did not have the audacity to leave, there was no way I could possibly do that. I would get lost in the silhouettes of surrounding people and no one would be there to save me.
Although the argument had seemed to be heated, Lily's face was composed and serene the whole way through. Star was squirming in my arms - I hadn't noticed I was clutching her so tightly. She leaped onto the floor below, nearly knocking me off balance. The puppy jovially walked in and out of my legs before I finally caught her. With her tongue flailing out in a silly way, I was able to relax while staring into her large, shimmering eyes. A worried expression fluttered across my face and at once I hugged Star closer to my torso, desperately trying to keep the white dog warm. The frigidness came all at once and I grimaced, soundlessly begging for Drew to turn down the cooling machine. He was completely wrapped up in his argument, as if he were in a box tied with a ribbon, not able to view anything else except for Lily. I could see the woman getting slightly aggravated, eyebrows furrowing forward, lips forming into a thin smile. Frustration replaced the anxiety rushing through my brain and I was unusually close to yelling at the two.
Luckily for me, Star was somehow able to detect my inaudible anger and she jumped out from my rigid grip once again. Speechless, I watched as she started to bark at Drew and Lily with her long ears hanging and her tail between her legs. The upper lip on her muzzle curled backward, almost in a way to warn the two that she wouldn't cease in her barking. After what seemed like hours, Drew cleared his raspy throat and nodded at Lily, whose thin smile turn into a smaller, yet more blissful, one. "Good day, Mr. Misham," she said courteously, head bowing down slightly. Grabbing her umbrella, intertwined with pale cerise lace, the woman nodded over at me and left Drew Studio. I knew she wouldn't come back until a day or two from now, just as my father had said before the argument. Soundlessly I grabbed Star and walked over to the other side of my "home," sitting down on the bed that had belonged to me since I was extremely young.
"Daddy," I whispered. Even though he could not hear me, I knew that he was expecting the words to come from my lips. "Daddy, I'm sorry." A tear rolled down my cheek, but my body had already placed itself under the bed sheets, the fabric of it muffling my own voice so badly that even I couldn't understand myself. This way he wouldn't be able to see my sadness.
"Tomorrow's another day, Vera, tomorrow's another day..."
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More will be coming soon, I promise. Thank you for taking the time to read this - it's greatly appreciated! :)