July 21, 2024
Eldoon's Ramen
1:00 PM
"Nick? Niiiiick~!"
With a start, the raven haired prosecutor snapped out of his thoughts. He'd been so lost in thoughts of dark halls and shady coworkers that the stark contrast of the sunlit noodle bar was almost jarring. "What? Oh, sorry," he said to his two lunch mates, Maya and Pearl Fey, "I was thinking about work."
Maya raised an eyebrow. "I never thought I'd say this, but you work too hard, Nick. You have to enjoy life a little more! Edgeworth is a bad influence!"
Before Phoenix could laugh outright at that statement, Pearls butted in, "Mystic Maya, Mr. Nick was always a very hard worker when he was on a case! He was just too awkward to go out and get new clients."
"You mean too lazy," the elder medium snorted derisively.
Once again, Phoenix found the futility in trying to argue that he was not Wright. Especially with these two. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not a defense attorney," he said mildly. The very thought of hunting down work made him shudder. Perhaps because he was overloaded with cases as it was in the severely understaffed office. "If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't thinking about work-work. I have a new coworker."
"Oooh~ Is it a she? Is she pretty~?" Maya asked, leaning forward in interest as she waited for some juicy gossip.
A snort escaped him before he could stop himself. "Blackquill? No. He's this felon that Miles pulled out of prison. He's way too obsessed with Japan, he keeps a pet hawk in my office, and he asks too many personal questions."
Maya and Pearls stared in astonishment. "Mr. Nick, did you just call Mr. Edgeworth, Miles?" the younger asked in amazement.
Phoenix went red. "Wh-what? No, I- I mean, I did, but-" he stammered, a full on fit of awkward mortification threatening to dissolve him into jelly. Finally, he recovered, "Th-that's not the point here! Was that really all you got from what I said?!"
"Well, yeah," Maya replied, as if he were the dunce. "Nobody calls him anything but Edgeworth. I forgot he even had a first name!"
Oh good grief.
"Do you want to hear about the felon coworker or don't you?"
"Okay, yes, yes, I'm listening," Maya replied, putting her hands in her lap as she straightened up. The very picture of an attentive listener. "So he asks a lot of personal questions, huh? Maybe he's just trying to be friendly."
"He's a self-confessed murderer! I'm not about to share my life story with him!" Phoenix cried, utterly flabbergasted.
"Why not? What's he going to do about it?"
This level of careless disregard was just beyond him. Then again, he was coming to learn that was just what Maya was like. It had to take a special kind of eccentric to be a spirit medium after all. What was irritating was that he didn't have a good answer for her. Really, what could Blackquill do with the information? He apparently had this so-called Power of Suggestion tactic he used in the courtroom, but Phoenix had yet to see it in action. He had no gang ties in prison and he was on death's row. Not to mention he was constantly under armed guard. He was effectively impotent.
But the idea of becoming friendly with him was galling.
"Let's just talk about something else. Tell me more about Kurain."
~o~
July 21, 2024
Prosecutor's Office
1:45 PM
When Phoenix returned to the office, the telltale sign of armed security indicated that Blackquill was still around. Probably alone in Miles' office. Where he always was when he wasn't working on cases with Phoenix, having one of their little secret meetings.
Like they'd been doing for weeks now. (Well, okay, just a little more than a week.) He never had a moment alone with Miles anymore. Blackquill was always around, hovering, observing. Making snide little remarks as he probed him with personal questions.
An ugly heat like liquid anger pumped through his veins at the thought. Doing his best to ignore it, he turned his attention instead to the office manager. "Anything come for me over lunch?" he asked.
Fräulein Maisel handed him a stack from CID. "Your English is getting so good!" the brunette complimented, making him blush. "I can hardly hear your accent anymore. No one would even guess you weren't from around here."
"Maybe that's why he's not the favorite anymore," a slimey voice sneered beside him. Phoenix glanced over, to see the unenviable sweaty frame of the office gossip sliding into view. Ugh. Stu. The man that Miles had dubbed 'the Toad' pressed up against Fräulein Maisel's desk to pick up his own files, his sticky stomach spelching against the clean glass. The fact that he was still around was a testament to the sad state of affairs in the prosecutor's office. Barely competent, but ethical at least. At least in terms of the courtroom. Outside of it, however...
Stu's wet, beady eyes glanced up to him, an unpleasant smile stretching over his lips. "You've lost that exotic touch. Now he's more interested in jail bait."
That ugly heat was back again, burning in even greater intensity.
"Your insinuation is extremely disrespectful, Herr Ferguson," Phoenix snapped, unable to stop himself as his hackles rose. "The chief prosecutor is an honorable and ethical man. There is nothing going on between the two of them." He hoped. "I demand that you apologize immediately."
"Oh come now. I'm just saying what we're all thinking," Stu said lightly, holding up his hands in placation.
"You most certainly are not," Fräulein Maisel interjected, her entire posture riveted with displeasure. "You've always had it out for Mr. Edgeworth. Even when he first started here. I heard you were the one that spread all those rumors that gave him the Demon Prosecutor reputation."
Phoenix's head whipped over to the oily toad. "That was you?!"
"I neither confirm nor deny," Ferguson replied, taking a sudden interest in picking at his fingernails. Which meant that he was as guilty as sin.
A sharp, twisted anger boiled up inside of him at the thought of that injustice, that prejudice, needlessly thrown onto someone so young. And that it was Miles...
"Du Hurensohn!" the growl ripped from his throat.
"Just what is going on here?" another party entirely cut into the conversation, before Phoenix could even think of laying hands on the other man. He looked up to see Miles Edgeworth's hard gaze looking over the scene. Blackquill was right behind him, much to his irritation. "Herr von Karma, I do not condone such language in this office. And you," he turned to Stuart, "I hope you are not antagonizing your colleagues. If you have to make me choose between keeping either one of you, rest assured that I will keep the better performer. Do you understand me?"
That would be Stuart Ferguson's death knell, if there ever was one.
"U-understood!" Stu replied quickly, suddenly drenched in cold sweat. "Well, better get back to it. Work, work, work." With that, he fled.
Typical. He'll say whatever he likes about Miles behind his back, but he can't take the heat.
"Oh, Mr. Edgeworth, please don't be angry with Phoenix. He was just defending your honor," Fräulein Maisel unhelpfully put in. The raven haired prosecutor went red with embarrassment.
She didn't have to put it like that!
His embarrassment only mounted when Miles glanced in his direction. "Oh? Is that so?" he asked lightly, an amused smile stretching over his lips.
Kill me now.
For his part, Blackquill let out a huff of laughter. "That's quite the guard dog you have there, Shochou." Phoenix twitched at the pet-name. "Like your very own German shepherd."
...Okay, kill Blackquill first. Then you can kill me.
"That's quite enough," Miles said, his own amusement shutting down. "Don't the two of you have work to do?" Of course, that was a given. When wasn't there work to do?
However, the convict gave their chief prosecutor the side-eye. "Depends. Are you going to supervise us again? Can't imagine we can actually get anything done with you hovering like a mother hen."
Undaunted, Miles responded, "You know very well I can't leave you alone. If at the very least so that Phoenix doesn't pick up your bird-brained analogies."
"He'll never learn to fly if you don't push him out of the nest first."
"And risk cracking him like an egg? I don't think so."
"Now who's the one using bird analogies?"
Phoenix and Fräulein Maisel stared back and forth as the two prosecutors sniped at each other. He had the distinct feeling that the pair of them were no longer talking about work. Maybe it had something to do with this strange arrangement of theirs. (Although he couldn't help but feel a little happy they were clearly not getting along.) Coughing lightly, Phoenix butted in, "Herr Edgeworth, es ist okay. Ich kann alleine mit Blackquill arbeiten. Sie sind beschäftigt."
Taken aback, Miles replied, "Bist du sicher? Ich möchte, dass du in Sicherheit bist."
A pleasant warmth spread throughout Phoenix's chest at the other's concern. "Danke, Herr Edgeworth. Aber die Wachen werden gleich draußen sein."
"Would it kill you two to use the Queen's English?" Blackquill cut in, folding his arms over his chest. It earned him a baleful glance from his fellow prosecutors.
"We were discussing your arrangement," Miles replied tersely. To Phoenix, he said, "If you feel that strongly about it, I must insist you use the conference room to work. The glass one. Under no circumstance will you be out of the guards' sight."
"Verstanden," Phoenix agreed. In German, just to piss Blackquill off a little more. Lost his exotic touch his foot.
Doling him a small smile, Miles said, "Very well. Get to it then. I'll be in my office if you need me." That decided, he headed off back to his office. Likely to attend to all the work he'd been putting off while he was babysitting the two of them.
Phoenix let out a long sigh as he watched the other man's back as he departed. Was this really better? Oh well, at least he had the two of them separated. It irritated him to see them joined at the hip.
In no time, Phoenix and Blackquill settled to work in the enormous glass conference room. A tense silence prevailed over them. Several cases spread out in front of them, each attorney reviewing the evidence that the police had gathered in their investigation. Phoenix couldn't help but tsk at some of it. Circumstantial evidence. He hated circumstantial evidence. There just simply wasn't enough there to be certain they had the right person. The best they could do was subpoena some witnesses to see if something stuck, but they were just so unreliable.
"I can hear you hemming and hawing from all the way over here," Blackquill remarked dryly from the other end of the table. "What's got your goat?"
Phoenix sent him a dull look. He couldn't really justify not answering, as it was work related. "I'm thinking of sending these back," he replied. "We need more than this."
Blackquill frowned. "Why? I saw all of those. The right lawyer could get those convictions with the right jury."
"It shouldn't be just about getting convictions," he argued back. "It should be about making sure that we have the real culprit."
At this, the other prosecutor, a felon himself, laid down the pages he was reading, to stare intently at him. It was a little unnerving to receive that undivided attention. That dark gaze in that hollowed face, hands folded across the desk like they were chained there. "Phoenix-dono, how long have you been prosecuting?"
"Five years. And I'll ask you to use my last name."
"Five years. Now Phoenix-dono," of course he was ignored, "you must have seen all kinds of cases. Including cases where all the police have to go on is a hunch. Where they know they're right and they fight tooth and nail to get their man. Sometimes, the evidence just isn't there for a guilty act and never will be. Are we supposed to just let a murderer go free without a fight?"
"What happened to innocent until proven guilty?" Phoenix argued back.
"What happened to finding justice for the victims?" Blackquill replied calmly.
A bark of laughter. "That's rich, coming from you!"
"That is neither here nor there," the felon replied, completely unphased. "The fact of the matter is, you've got the wrong mindset for this line of work. You think like a defense attorney."
Unexpectedly, the words cut deep, as painful and as bloody as any sword wound. A fire rose up in him, burning with unadulterated fury. His hands clenched into fists, eyes blazing as he threw himself to his feet. "You... you take that back!" he snarled.
Unperturbed, Blackquill merely raised an eyebrow. "So, that's your trigger. Interesting," he said, mostly to himself. By now, they had gotten the guards' attention, watched through the open door with their hands ready on their weapons. However, Blackquill went on undaunted, "Why so defensive, Phoenix-san? It should have been just an innocent remark."
"Because I'm a von Karma, damn you!" Phoenix hissed. "I can't be anything but a prosecutor! I'm the family's last hope, the only one left who can save their reputation!" For months, months, when he was broken, it had been pushed into him again and again, mercilessly until he was- until he-
"What of Franziska von Karma? Is she not also a prosecutor?"
"Her record is broken," he snapped.
"So is yours," Blackquill argued, mercilessly pressing his advantage now. His dark eyes brooked no quarter. He leaned in, staring deep into his soul. "You lost five of your first cases. Your logic is flawed. Try again."
"She's not even in Germany anymore. She works with Interpol."
"And you coming over to America is any better?
Phoenix seethed. Why was Blackquill getting on his case like this? What was he getting out of this?! But he couldn't stop, not when he saw red. Logic flew right out the window, the very second he flew off the handle, "At least I understand them. I'm the only one who understands them! What they've been through!"
"What does that have to do with being a prosecutor? You'd do just as well being a defense attorney, saving the falsely accused," Blackquill pushed. He was on his feet now, his fearsome presence pressing into him, while his words slipped through the cracks in his walls, "Face it, lad. Your story is a walking mess of contradictions. Now tell me, what is it that makes you so special?"
"I... You..." Phoenix struggled, unable to come up with an argument. (When had that happened before?) He couldn't think straight. Everything was starting to spin.
"Come on, man!" the felon cried, pounding his fist against the table, sending a shock through him. "None of those guttural caveman grunts! Words!"
"I... I have to be." Why was it suddenly getting hard to breathe? He was getting dizzy. "I have to... I'm the only one that can save them..."
Something grabbed him by the arms, keeping him steady before he could crumple to the floor. Blackquill's words came low and fast now, "You're not their saviour, Wright. That's not your job." Then distantly, "Don't you all interfere! I'm not done with him!" Rough fingers grabbed him by the chin, keep his vision on the black eyes fixed to his. "Who told you these things, Wright? Who made you believe this?"
Drowning. He was drowning. He couldn't breathe. The water was closing in.
I'm going to die!
"Get off of him! Phoenix!" a new voice cut in, distant and muffled, as though he were underwater. He was underwater, wasn't he? The lights shimmered above him, until a familiar face stood over him. "Phoenix, it's alright. I'm here. I'm here now."
He looked just like he did years and years ago.
"Miles," he said, a crooked smile coming to his lips. "I knew you'd save me. You always do."
Those colorless eyes widened, right before they softened, filled with relief and need, and tears. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do it sooner."
"Better late than..." The whisper died on his lips, overcome by the dark.