Blood. Dirt. Flowers. Blood. Dirt. Flowers.
A tiny store on the edge of the city of angels. It was well known; not many florists actually stocked flowers anymore. Opening the door the first thing a customer would notice was the smell strong of chocolate. Chocolate lilies and roses. But on this particular day, if someone walked a little further into the store, a more sinister smell would become clear. Blood. Spilled potting mix. Head smashed with what could very easily be identified as a flower pot, the body of a young man collapsed behind the check register.
It was rare for Mr Edgeworth to give him a case. Atticus Flynn was an alright prosecutor… barely. The only time he was in court was when the Paynes were sick or off at some gross family event. So, as horrible as it was, he was ecstatic over the murder at some quiet local florist. Plus there was no grieving family for him to upset this time!
From the crime scene it seemed like a pretty obvious case. There was a motive, a weapon, and a suspect in jail. But if Mr Edgeworth gave him the case, there must be some twist. It sounded so easy. The young prosecutor turned to his less than willing detective. They hated working together. She was just back from investigating a case interstate and Flynn already missed Gumshoe.
"What have you got Valerie?"
He turned to the dark-skinned detective. She shrugged and held a lifted fingerprint to the sun. Her black hair had new ridiculous neon pink highlights that made it look almost spiky when pulled into a pony tail. Flynn would have to help her untangle it later; she'd accidentally tied it with a rubber band instead of a hair elastic again.
"Fingerprint, not the suspects though. Maybe that's why we got the case."
This was why they were partnered together. With his talent in evaluating crime scenes, seeing the world like a hidden object game, and her ability to forensically analyse evidence with her mind; they were almost unstoppable. Trusting they could stand being in the same room for more than 5 minutes. Valerie Mason, coroner turned detective, raised an eyebrow as she double then triple checked the evidence. Traces of her old occupation lingered with her: a lab coat, 'handy' scalpel, and the constant faint smell of formaldehyde.
The prosecutor dismissed her idea with a lazy wave of his hand.
"No way. This is an open and closed case." He made her stand where the body was found, using another vase lying around the destroyed florist shop to react the scene. Flynn snuck up behind her from the only exit not on security camera and barely missed her head swinging the vase. She didn't flinch, instead glaring at him while biting her lip. He found the dumb faces Valerie made when angry hilarious.
"The murderer found out he was going to dump her, grabs the vase and bam," he explained confidently.
"Nice theory but our client is not guilty."
The voice startled them both, Flynn accidentally throwing the vase across the room. Hopefully no one would notice in the mess of potting mix and dead flowers. Two men stood in the doorway. They were eerily familiar; a tall brunette in an iconic green scarf and his younger friend with almost white blonde hair. Just as Flynn put his finger on where he'd seen the blonde's face, Mason towered over both of them smirking. It emphasized just how tall she was (179cm without the heels), and just how small the defense attorneys seemed.
"So that's what Mr Edgeworth is planning." She addressed the blonde directly, ignoring his comrade. "If this is your first case, you're not going to win. We won't go easy on you just because of your reputation."
A wave of protectiveness rushed over him. He knew Valerie used her height to scare people, he was pretty short himself. But the blonde was tiny even to him and looked a mix of confused and terrified. Flynn shoved her away, making her lose balance and nearly trip.
"You're not even the prosecutor Mason. Go update an autopsy report."
"You'll be the one needing an autopsy report soon." She glared at him but walked away, deliberately hitting into the brunette's shoulder as she stepped out the door. It was probably because she didn't like the cocky look on his face.
The three men stood around awkwardly as the tension dissipated from the room. Flynn analysed the pair. The tall one was under dressed. A long green scarf sat unevenly around his neck. He wore another green shirt over a black long-sleeved thermal, fighting off the winter chill. Actually he looked kind of like an art student but looks were always deceiving, especially in this business.
Flynn realized he probably looked more like a bum than that of a prosecutor as well. Wearing a hoodie to the crime scene wasn't his brightest idea. Plus he'd been called into work early, so messy dirty blonde ringlets of bed hair finished the street look perfectly. These weren't even his usual glasses. The prosecutor accidentally grabbed his old reading pair when running out of the office to get a head start on investigating. Square blue wire frames were held together at the bridge with masking tape.
Short blonde was the only one dressed for the occasion. He looked a combination of warm and classy in his white buttoned tail coat. The sleeves were too long for him and folded back with a cheap pair of cuff links. A cravat was tucked into his collar, pinned to it a small, red broach, adding some personal flare. It almost reminded Flynn of a certain frilly boss but most things did these days. Either way the blonde was definitely the kid from the Legal Academy newsletter: a special article about miracles, flukes, determination and perfect scores that would make Von Karma roll in his grave.
"Hi! I'm Atticus Flynn; it's nice to finally meet you." He stuck out a hand to both grinning. They accepted and suddenly the room was free of all tension.
"Icarus Quinn," the brunette motioned to his shorter friend, and then to himself. "Samuel Foster."
Flynn didn't know the nice way to admit he'd never heard of Foster, but Icarus Quinn had created quite a stir before he even graduated. Both attorneys and prosecutors had been waiting in anticipation for him to pick a case to defend. It was near impossible to get a perfect 100% on the bar exam. Let alone, someone attaining such a high score and choosing not to work for the prosecutor's office.
'He must believe pretty strongly the client is innocent,' Flynn's smile dropped a little when his train of thought took the express to conspiracy land. 'Is Mr Edgeworth really trying to test him?'
"He heard you were the prosecutor for the case." Samuel waved his hand in front of Flynn's face, trying to get his attention. He jumped again. It was far too easy to make him jump; the prosecutor was little more than a twitchy nervous wreck.
"Sorry? Oh, yeah. I'm the prosecutor. It's not looking too good for you guys." He had to wait as Samuel signed what he just said to Quinn, and then wait some more for a response.
"Anything you can prosecute I can defend better..." Flynn's heart skipped a beat but Samuel scrunched up his nose. "That barely made sense."
"Hey, that's from Annie Get Your Gun! You know; the musical?" Icarus lip read what he said and nodded in agreement. Flynn loved musicals. Quoting Les Miserables in court had landed him on minimum wage for prosecutors and that wasn't the first incident. Along some moral guidelines, asking a widow if 'they both reached for the gun' was inappropriate and 'callous to the point one could question his humanity'. For the deaf-mute defense attorney to acknowledge his history with musicals said two things: a) The kid loved the classics and b) He'd been doing his homework on the prosecutor.
They'd lost Samuel somewhere.
"I hope you know what he's saying because I am not translating your dork outs." The blonde frowned and quickly signed something. Samuel turned to give him his full attention laughing. "Quincy you're deaf. Why do you watch musicals?"
Puffing up his cheeks to silently show his frustration, Quinn shoved his hands in his pocket. Flynn felt the line was inappropriate. They didn't seem like close friends and no one had heard of them working together. Plus Quinn had already proven he could do even more than most with their hearing.
"How do you sign 'uncultured swine'?"
"I am not!" While Samuel went on about how his wealthy family owned a museum, and his happy childhood, Icarus taught him what to sign. Flynn mimicked him and made the translator turn beet red. The other two started laughing. Attracted to the sound of happiness, like a maggot to rotting flesh, Mason dragged the prosecutor away by the ear.
"Idiot; don't fraternize with the enemy." She started lecturing him about their 'true intentions' to get evidence and facts off him. Flynn barely had time to send the others a fleeting wave.
"Just because he's the defense and I'm a prosecutor doesn't mean we can't be buddies!" He whined, being shoved into the squad car. Mason rolled her eyes in the driver's seat and started the engine, heading back to the Prosecutor's office.
"That's exactly what it means," she replied.
He went to argue but, knowing there was no point trying to reason with her, slumped into the seat.
"Get your head out of your -" Mason shot him an icy glare. "Dark age of the law."
"Poor recovery, barely a three out of ten," she laughed at him; very clearly AT him.
A horn shrieked and Mason swerved to avoid an oncoming car, shouting curses even though she'd been on the wrong side of the road. Holding onto the door handle so tight his knuckles turned white, Flynn shrieked at the maniac with a license.
"Just watch the road!"
Icarus watched the car pull away, completely intrigued by the prosecutor he'd already decided would be his rival. It was a childish ambition turned reality. Finally he had his own rival, just like all the courtroom greats before him. Atticus would be the Edgeworth to his Wright, the Gavin to his Justice. The list went on. He's read almost every court transcript with his idols in it. They'd defeated the odds and become the greats of law. Why couldn't he?
When the car narrowly avoided a collision and sped away, Icarus winced and looked away. Maybe there was a smarter prosecutor waiting for him.
Samuel had stopped paying attention again, throwing his arms up in the air and getting tangled in his ridiculously long scarf as he complained about 'nerve of people'. As usual Quinn was blissfully ignorant to it all.
"He was really nice." He signed quickly to the taller man beaming.
"You missed everything I just said didn't you." Sam started down blankly at his boss. Of course he missed everything he just said. Having worked with him for almost 4 months he should have been used to the idea Quinn couldn't hear him, but his boss was so good at faking it.
"Yep." Icarus grinned and went back to looking around the crime scene. The deaf-mute defense attorney. His mum put him up for adoption when he was diagnosed deaf. At 19 he managed to get a job stocking shelves and worked ridiculous hours to pay for law school. Being deaf, everyone told him he couldn't be a working lawyer even after he managed to graduate.
If it wasn't for Samuel he probably would've ended up in some firm stacking papers for the rest of his life. He was a blessing, hidden behind the guise of a spoiled rich kid attitude. Most of the time he was bearable, and the rest of it Icarus just looked away and focused on his work. For reasons no one really understood, Fosters dropped out of the Themis Legal Academy after just passing a year studying to become a prosecutor. He spoke fluent sign language thanks to deaf family members, a seemingly useless skill becoming one of the most important things in his life.
They met at public library, both trying to find the same law-book. Sam was teasing the shorter boy by holding it over his head, until he started to cry. Then he realized Quinn couldn't hear him. Apologizing in sign over and over they went out to coffee. He paid. Icarus was reading the book he ended up borrowing out. After a few more coffee outings and awkward study dates to help the only one still in law school, they came to a very shocking conclusion.
'Quincy' (Sam meant it in an endearing way) was the brains. Fosters was the voice. They could defend together. It was madness. It was exciting.
"Did you find it?" Sam signed disinterested, hands flopping lazily to match his mood. The atmosphere in the room changed though, as Icarus stood with the dirty object in his hand. He'd known it would be there. He never understood how, but somehow Quinn always knew where the right evidence would be. They'd missed it the first day there and rushed back hoping the prosecution hadn't found it. Luck. Or maybe Quinn's eidetic memory? He'd been going over the crime scene in his head all night, running into Sam's room at 2am jumping on his bed. Other than the odd fight the roommates got along just like a bunch of kids.
But the tiny ceramic figurine in his hands was the evidence that could turn the whole case around.
Quinn wasn't nearly happy enough about it. Sam thought of his deaf boss as the happiest, giddiest, most adorably short defense attorney to ever exist. He was shorter than Apollo Justice yet more cheerful than the legendary Phoenix Wright. Something definitely wasn't right. The trial was only a day away.
That was it. Sam knelt to his roomie's height just to mock him. 'Do you miss your prosecutor friend?'
'Yes.' Icarus started to blush a little. It was painfully obvious on his pale skin and painfully cute. Having his own rival prosecutor was somewhat of a childhood dream for him.
'You'll see him tomorrow.' He ruffled his hair and got punched in the gut for it. The throw was weak, but Sam was obliged to treat it like something serious. Plus the emotional wound remained. 'Okay, okay I deserved that.'
Icarus walked off with the evidence bagged, officially giving Sam 'the silent treatment'. This was normal for him; a regular punishment for treating the brains like a kid. To make it up to him he'd had to buy cotton candy. It didn't really help his case, cotton candy for the big baby but it always worked. Not even Icarus knew why he loved cotton candy so much. It was an unhealthy addiction. Plus the carnival was in town.
"Quincy, wait up!" Sam knew he wouldn't stop and chased him to the car. The blonde was already smiling in the driver's seat, shuffling over when he opened the door.
"I want the blue kind." Was it possible he spoiled Quinn?
"You'll get what you're given." Sam signed back, pulling on his seat belt.
"The blue kind." Icarus smirked a little when Sam gave up and started the car. He had his decisive evidence, and now he would have his blue cotton candy. Samuel didn't fight. This was the Quinn he knew. Atticus Flynn the musical prosecutor couldn't stop them. Neither could his pain of a detective Valerie Mason. The trial tomorrow would be easy.
Because Icarus Quinn always won.