notes for my brother froggy, whose birthday passed days ago and whom I love very, very very much. Happy birthday, Froggy - I love you (WITH THE POWER OF TEN THOUSAND SUNS) and even though there have been some things that have changed, I hope at least, this kind of relationship we have, will never change. In other words YOU ARE A POOHEAD I love you. (did not just type 'ove' you nope.)
to my brother;
Miles Edgeworth had already made himself present in her life before she knew how to question why it was exactly he was there in the first place. By the time Franziska turned ten, his solid presence had become something that kept her grounded, something that kept her always striving for goals that were beyond her feeble reach; something that was constant and natural, like air. It felt as though Miles Edgeworth really was a child born out of her mother's womb, felt as though he really did share blood ties with the von Karma family. It felt as though he was one of them, regardless of his appearance and his background. And so for a few years until Franziska really knew, Miles Edgewoth was, in a sense, a part of the family. A son. A sibling; a brother.
At the same time, Miles Edgeworth wasn't like a son. He wasn't like a sibling; wasn't a brother. It had been Miles Edgeworth who would spend hours in the study reading books until late at night. Miles Edgeworth, who sat at the dinner table every evening to poke his fork around his vegetables and eyed Manfred von Karma carefully, searching for that hidden father figure within him. It was also Miles Edgeworth, who, when Franziska woke up in the middle of the night, would crawl into his bed with a framed photograph and sniffle quietly into the unfamiliar smell of his pillow. (He would never know, but it was Franziska, until the age of thirteen, who would sneak into his room with a glass of water and perch herself at the edge of his bed, observing her brother's tear-stained cheeks to wonder why exactly they were there.)
He showed signs of distancing himself in his final years of high school in Germany. Often, his composure would waver, and Franziska would catch him with his eyes low, with an expression that Franziska had never seen. Sometimes it was confusion. Other times, it looked like regret. Often, Franziska caught Miles Edgeworth on his laptop, scrolling past universities and schools in America, and it made her angry that he was still searching for the life he'd left behind, that he hadn't the heart in him to immerse himself completely in a world that Franziska tried to convince him be belonged in.
"You're a von Karma," she would tell him, frowning. "Not in blood, not in name, but in spirit."
Miles Edgeworth was quiet for a long time. "I know," he would say, finally. "I know."
"If you know, then you must act like it," she'd snap, pointing her riding crop at the sleeve of his jacket. "You are becoming a fool. You pine so desperately to return to your former American life, don't you? My papa didn't take you in for nothing, you ridiculous excuse for a younger brother. Let go of your past and return to your present to plan for your future. That is what we von Karmas do."
To this, Miles Edgeworth did not answer. He clenched his fist and looked out the window, and as he did so, the fury in Franziska's stomach grew.
"What do you have to look forward there anyway?"
He looked up; his eyes narrowed. "I have nothing back there to look forward to," he said. Franziska glared at him with her arms crossed.
"Did you think I was a fool, Miles Edgeworth? Did you think I wouldn't notice the cluttered pieces of paper hidden in your drawers and the letters you receive from former acquaintances? The lies you tell yourself when you say you don't want to return?"
He said nothing.
"You are a fool, Miles Edgeworth," she said quietly. She stepped forward to reach up and touch his cheek. "Above all else, you are a fool."
He let out a bitter chuckle. "Foolish for trying to reach out to things out of my grasp?"
Franziska let her fingers trail across his cheek absently. "Tell me, little brother—how do you reach for something that is simply unattainable in the first place?"
.
She watched his first trial in America on tape, watched and rewatched it until it was worn out and the words inscribed were fading.
Manfred walked in on her fourth time and scoffed at the screen, shaking his head.
"He's still a child," he muttered under his breath.
Franziska continued to glare quietly at the screen, eyes trained and focused on Miles Edgeworth's red jacket. "Papa," she said suddenly. Manfred grunted in response. "Will I receive the opportunity to perform in court in America as well, Papa?"
Manfred scoffed again. "You speak of nonsense," he scolded her. "You will excel here, like I did. That boy," he said, frowning at the television screen, "you see, his fate lies in America. He is a different case. He was bound to the country from the very beginning." He lowered his voice. "He will start his achievement there, and he will end there. That is how it will be."
"What about me," Franziska asked, tearing her gaze from the screen and looking up at her father. "What will I achieve? Where will I achieve it? How do I—"
"You ask too many questions, Franziska," he snapped at her. "Those who question their figures of authority will learn nothing and will go nowhere." He wagged his finger at her like he often did in court. "You will excel according to your own progression. Miles Edgeworth—he is different from us." She heard the bitterness in his voice.
"What makes him so different?"
Manfred stilled at this question. Finally, he spoke. "Everything," he hissed.
Franziska noticed how the knuckles of her father's hands turned white, noticed the way his jaw was tense as he spoke. She continued to stare at the Miles Edgeworth on the television screen. From where she sat, his actions looked practised. Looked flawless.
Then she thought about the Miles Edgeworth she had grown so accustomed to. She thought about the Miles Edgeworth who, before leaving Germany, had wandered around listlessly like someone who simply didn't belong. She thought about the Miles Edgeworth who dropped to the floor in the fetal position whenever the earth shook with tremors.
"So," she whispered to herself, as her father left the room; as she stared at Miles Edgeworth's pixelated smirk onscreen, "looks are deceiving."
.
Phoenix Wright was an enigma. Franziska watched the way the lines in Miles Edgeworth's face hardened, the way the bitterness of his entire being travelled through his veins and harbouring in his chest in response to every single rebuttal Phoenix Wright made. It was something small, something no one else would have noticed, but Franziska could tell, even on the poor quality of the recording.
She didn't know what it was about him that seemed to intrigue her little brother as much as it did. Phoenix Wright was unprepared in court, was foolish and loud, made funny faces, slammed his desk whenever he didn't need to, and made too many penalties. She didn't even know how anyone could have allowed the blubbering fool to pass the bar exam.
The very first time she met Phoenix Wright, she was infuriated. Phoenix Wright was just as foolish, just as loud, just as ridiculously ridiculous as she'd seen him on the recordings. Why, she thought, her frustration growing with every objection she made. Why, why why why why why.
"I don't understand," she told him after the case is over, "how my Papa and my foolish little brother had so much trouble with a ridiculous fool such as yourself." She cracked her whip at the floor. "Would you mind explaining this to me, Phoenix Wright?"
He looked at her, surprised. "I, uh," he stammered, "I'm not... so sure?"
She growled. "That is not an acceptable answer!"
He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Any answer is as good as any, I think."
She let out a frustrated noise. "You buffoon! How do you—how do you, of all people—"
Phoenix Wright watched her duck her head and groan. "You... you're acting like you know me better than you should," he said hesitantly. "And I don't really remember associating myself with the other members of the von Karma family."
"Miles Edgeworth," she gritted out. "It's Miles Edgeworth." She didn't care about her papa in that moment. (Manfred von Karma was a selfish jerk alive, and it's not a very surprising idea that he'd be like that in death, too.) "Miles Edgeworth, you foolishly foolish fool! Miles Edgeworth."
It is enough to see the wretched look Phoenix Wright's face twists into for her to know that the effect Miles Edgeworth had on Phoenix Wright was the same as the one Franziska had been seeing in Miles Edgeworth from the very, very beginning.
.
Miles Edgeworth saw her off at the airport.
"Stay safe," he said. His face was contorted and he shuffled his feet around awkwardly. After all, what was one supposed to say during those sorts of times?
"I will," she said. "Germany isn't that far away."
"No," Miles Edgeworth agreed, "but far enough." Slowly, he placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it slightly. "Franziska," he started, but she heaved a little frustrated sigh and shrugged his hand off.
"You always did do that, didn't you," she bit out. "You run away from those who care most about you."
He flinched.
"When you die," Franziska continued, "I'm not going to sit around and cry my guts out to give a foolish speech about my foolish feelings and how you meant to me and the gap you're going to leave in this world." She stopped. "You don't have to run off anymore," she added quietly. The whip she was holding dropped to the ground. "There's nothing to run from, you foolish jerk. You have no more excuses. Don't go somewhere I'm not allowed to follow."
He looked at her for a long time. "There were some things I had to finish dealing with," he explained. "I never meant to leave you behind." He paused. "I didn't think. When it came to dealing with things like this, I didn't think."
"So you forgot about me."
Miles Edgeworth sighed, and that time when he reached over to touch her shoulder, she let him. "I never would have left if I didn't know you were going to be okay, Franziska. You're strong. You're intelligent. You can do so many things without my help."
"I needed you," she whispered. "To provide challenges for me. To pick me up from school. To lend me textbooks. To teach me. To be a brother."
Miles Edgeworth gave her a wry smile. "I didn't think I was a bad one."
She glared at him, but it faded out quickly. "I... need to be leaving." She picked up her whip and dragged her suitcase closer to herself.
"Do you need help?"
She scowled, whipping around. "I do not need your help," she huffed. "I never need your help, Miles Edgeworth. You said so yourself."
He shrugged. "I did," he agreed. He watched her walk off, and frowned. "Franziska," he called.
She turned around and crossed her arms impatiently. "What is it you want, fool?"
"Stay in touch. Write letters. Send email. Call, once in a while."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why would I want to do that?"
He raised an eyebrow."I thought it would be obvious. You'll miss me."
"There is nothing to miss," she said quickly, rolling her eyes. "There is nothing at all to miss, Miles Edgeworth."
"Don't kid yourself."
"I am not!"
Miles Edgeworth watched her leave. He heard the small squeaking of the uneven wheels of her suitcase and listened to the soft clacking sound of her lock. Just before she went through the doors, she looked back at him.
He waved.
She rolled her eyes at him. But Miles Edgeworth saw the tiniest of smiles playing on her lips—something he hadn't seen in a while, but also something he would witness more often.
.
Franziska broke a lot of things during the first week back in Germany. She broke four plates; the first two out of furstration and the next two out of anger. She broke two promises she made to two different friends, and the mirror she kept in her room. As it fell, her knee bumped the corner of her dresser accidentally, and she cursed as she watched the bruise form.
It seemed to intensify in colour as the week passed. Pink to red. Purple to blue. Green to yellow.
"Hallo," she said absently into the phone, as she ran her fingers over her bruise.
"Meine Schwester," she heard.
She smiled.
And she knew, at the very least, that this bond was something that would never break.
Owari
2012.04.24