While remembering a New Year's Eve murder mystery party, I had a sudden idea to write a fanfic. As Godot.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Perry and Sofia.

"Wine, Mr Godot?" Jake Marshall asked. "Texas special!" in case you're wondering, I'm at Marshall's for his cousin's engagement party.

"No thanks. Italian coffee?" I wasn't really a wine person. I preferred coffee. But, who didn't?

"Coffee? Yes. Italian? No. I've got Texas," of course. I gave in. Better than nothing. I guess. Edgeworth wasn't too keen on the wine, as we discovered earlier. He drank the whole glass (he would, wouldn't he?), but he refused more extremely quickly. I hoped the coffee was just as bitter as the argument earlier (did it actually matter who got to sit on the left side of the sofa? Apparently, yes). "Butler! Butler! Get here!" Marshall yelled up the stairs. There was no reply. "What's he doing up there? He better not be asleep!" and he disappeared upstairs. I moved up closer to Adrian, and immediately regretted it when I stepped on Marshall's cousin's fiancé, Perry's toe.

"That was really rather painful!" he stuttered. The only person who even pretended to pay attention was Sofia (Marshall's cousin). How does she survive? I didn't have time to make another sarcastic comment, as Marshall stomped downstairs, muttering to himself.

"Guess what? Downey's kicked the bucket. They'd shoot him for that in Texas!" but isn't he already dead…anyway, the butler's dead, on Perry and Sofia's anniversary. Brilliant. "Hate to ask, but could someone help with the food?"

"I will!" Adrian replied enthusiastically. Edgeworth and Franziska were whispering disapprovingly at the other side of the room. "Should the rest go through?" Adrian asked. Marshall nodded. The remaining five of us sat in our designated places. I was between Edgeworth and Adrian. Well, Edgeworth and a gap, for now.

DING DONG!

That, sadly (from an imaginative point of view), was Marshall's doorbell. With all this technology, surely he could have something a bit more…interesting? Anyway, the guy on the other side was Gumshoe. Looks like someone *coughEdgeworthcough*, had called the police. I think he forgot there were three prosecutors (including himself) and a patrolman here already.

"Gumshoe at your service, sir!" he shouted, tripping over a coffee cup on his way in. "Hey! You! Godot! Did you leave that there?" I tipped my chair back, and rested against the wall.

"If I did, would I admit it?" I asked him. He scratched his head. "Do you really have time to randomly accuse me of stuff when there's a dead guy upstairs?" he sprang back to reality, and sprinted upstairs.

"Did anyone tell him where the body is?" Marshall asked, carrying a two bowls of tomato soup. I shook my head sadly. Adrian followed with more soup.

Once we were served, had eaten, and said 'congrats' to Perry and Sofia, Gumshoe stumbled (literally) in with some information about Downey's murder.

"All we know is that he was shot, and it definitely wasn't suicide. He was shot in the right temple, yet the pistol was in his left hand," he managed to say, before collapsing in an armchair.

"That's it?" Marshall said, clearly disgusted that that was all the police could find in the time it took to eat (or maybe it's drink?) tomato soup.

"No! There's blood…on the other side of the pillow, pal!" Gumshoe exclaimed. Edgeworth began breathing heavily.

"The pistol…who does it belong to?" Gumshoe was about to answer, when he was cut short by Blithering Idiot from the Early 20th Century, a.k.a. Perry.

"U-um…it really doesn't matter, now does it, Mr Edgeworth? C-can we just, err, get on with the food now? Yes? Good!" I think Perry takes longer to string together a sentence than Gumshoe takes to put together an Autopsy. And that's quite a feat.

"Don't worry, pal. I haven't the faintest idea!" Gumshoe chuckled. "You guys carry on with your thick…juicy…pot roast…" yes, I'm looking forward to it too, but you don't see me standing around aimlessly. I'd be drinking coffee. And I'd probably be sitting down.