A/N: Here it is: the final chapter of The von Karma Family Beach Trip! This story has been one of my favorites to write and I'm sad to see it end. Though on the bright side, if you liked this story- particularly this last chapter- then I think you'll love the fanfic that will be following this one. Though with that said, here is the final character age.
Gumshoe: 22
I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Blaise Debeste was never a morning person. He felt that it was a time for 'babies, old ladies, and people who had nothing better to do'. When he was a kid, he would watch television into the wee hours of the morning; when he was a teen, he spent his nights partying around town and performing acts of mischief and minor vandalism; and as an adult, he never got up before noon on a day off- even when Sebastian would knock at his door, crying about how he wanted to play or was feeling lightheaded from hunger. Though unfortunately for Blaise, while being chief prosecutor came with a good paycheck and lots of influence, it involved coming into the office early in the morning. But that problem was easily fixed with a nice, tall cup of coffee… or seven.
However, today was different. For unlike most days, in which Blaise would stomp into the Prosecutor's Office hunched over with a scowl and make anyone who had the gall to tell him 'good morning' disappear by the end of the day, the Chief Prosecutor was striding into the building with a skip in his step and a toothy grin on his face as he made his way to Manfred's office.
"Oh, von Karmaaa…" Blaise said in a singsong tone as he unlocked the perfectionist prosecutor's office door with a spare key and flung it open. "How was your day at the- What the hell..?!" The corrupt public official yelled, his eyes wide with awe as he looked into large room filled with many valuable antiques- a curio cabinet filled with Faberge eggs, a golden suit of knight armor with a red cape that was holding a spear, and a jewel-encrusted dog collar housed in a glass case to name a few- yet von Karma was nowhere to be found.
This isn't like von Karma… This isn't like von Karma at all. He's like clockwork, y'know? Always coming in early to read files or write up a report and always acting like some kind of teacher's pet. It'd be sickening if it wasn't predictable and/or didn't benefit me. Hell, the only time that persnickety vampire-wannabe didn't come into work on time was after Edgeworth disappeared back in '01. But y'see, this isn't like that. He didn't kill some goody-goody defense attorney who had to play hero; he went to the beach- most people would like that, y'know. Even with Gant being well… Gant, it's not like von Karma to go AWOL on me… Ha! Who am I kidding? When it comes to revenge schemes, Mr. 'Perfect' has all the creativity and intelligence of Sebastian that time he asked me 'How big is the Specific Ocean?" He probably just ran into some traffic. I'll just call him up on his cellphone.
Blaise took out his cellphone and, after dialing Manfred's number and waiting a few seconds, was greeted to the 'perfect' prosecutor's voicemail.
"I am currently busy with my duties as the perfect prosecutor and can't come to the phone. After the beep, please leave a message no more than 30 seconds in length or it will be disregarded."
Upon hearing this, Blaise growled under his breath as he returned his cellphone to his pocket.
Ok, von Karma may not be in the mood to talk. Understandable. He's coming back from his hell trip and is stuck in traffic. Y'see, I'd be too pissed for words as well if I was stuck in traffic after having to go on a vacation with Sebastian. No matter. Knowing von Karma, he'll be back at the office in an hour or two. But just to be safe…
"Thank you, Manfred Tracker!" Blaise chuckled, leaning back in his office chair as he booted up his computer. "Y'know, not a single day passes by where I don't feel that installing that tracker in von Karma's cane while he was sleeping was the best idea I ever had. Well, except the time when I had the wherewithal to have Sebastian sterilized after his mom disappeared. Now, let's see where Mr. 'Perfect' is hiding…"
A map of the globe appeared on the monitor, which then zoomed in on a map of the U.S., then the state of California, then a little area right at the coast, and then finally on Blaise's beach house; at which point, a flashing dot appeared on the screen accompanied by a high-pitched beeping noise.
"THAT BASTARD!" The corrupt public official bellowed at the top of his lungs, pounding his fists on his keyboard. "He's taken over my beach house and is using it as some goddamn fort to spite me! Well, let's see how much damage he's done to the place…" Blaise growled as he minimized the screen and pulled up a menu showing him the status of his beach house- if anything's been moved, damaged, etc.
And sure enough, most of the furniture had been moved in some way, shape, or form, with some items actually being taken out of the house, much to the sadistic Chief Prosecutor's chagrin.
"Just as I thought…!" Blaise snarled, a huge pillar of flame erupting from his lighter. "von Karma's probably in there right now redecorating the place to make it feel like home- filling the place with gargoyle statues, putting a coffin in my bedroom, replacing all of my pictures with Cristopher Lee's Dracula! Well, if von Karma thinks he's gonna get away with this, he's gonna get burned!"
The corrupt official flung open his office door with tremendous force, causing it to hit the wall with a loud thud before storming out, much to the indifference of his secretary- a short, portly woman with a aged face and long, wiry hair- who was too busy reading her tabloid magazine to care.
"O'Crew, cancel all my appointments for today. And if anyone asks, tell them I'm kicking von Karma's ass!"
"Whatever you say, sir." The woman apathetically stated without even looking up from her reading material.
Many people are quick to condemn motorcycles for being dangerous, loud, and an overall menace to the road. But those prudes don't realize the numerous advantages of owning a hog. For not only do you look cool and have an excuse to wear an absurd amount of leather, but you get the thrill of the wind on your face as you speed down the road. But then again, those negative opinions regarding motorcycles would be perfectly valid if one saw Blaise Debeste wearing a WWI German helmet with a spike on top and a glare on his face weaving in and out of traffic as he sped down the highway like a bat out of Hell.
"Y'know Gant, I would have thought that after our long history as friends I could trust you with the simple task of keeping an eye on von Karma and irritating the crap out of him." Blaise growled into the Bluetooth he was wearing beneath his helmet. "Y'see, not only are you one of the best damn detectives I know, but this is von Karma we're talking about. The guy has all the spontaneity of a pet rock, y'know."
"Believe me, Blaisie. I did everything you said and more." Gant calmly stated. "When you told me Manny was at the beach, I was in the water in a matter of minutes. When you called and said that Manny was driving around looking for a place to eat, I anticipated what restaurant he'd settle for and made sure I was sitting right at his table the second I was right. And when you tracked Manny to the Boardwalk? I took him to an arcade. Heck, I even went above and beyond and took him and the kids out put-putting…! Even if it did result in Manny ripping off my car door. But Manny will be Manny, am I right?"
"Yeah, but like I said before, this is completely out of character for von Karma, y'know? Y'see, I knew he'd be pissed off at me for doing this to him- giving me the silent treatment or threatening to taze me at worst- but being so brash as to hold himself up in my beach house and redecorate the place?"
"Well, you know how Manny can be. He's like a sleeping bull- quiet and imposing; but do one little thing to get him angry and he'll go on a rampage. Just ask Gredgeworthy…" Gant jokingly replied.
"Don't I know it." Blaise groaned. "von Karma gets his first penalty and the defense attorney who caused it is shot and killed in an elevator shortly after? Y'know how many strings I had to pull to cover that 'perfect' pricks' ass on that one? A lot! But y'see, what I don't get is why von Karma would have a breakdown and start revolting against me over this. It has nothing to do with his precious little record, y'know?"
"In Manny's defense, he didn't exactly have a stress-free time when I was around."
"I know. That's what we had planned from the start."
"No, I mean from things other than me. The waitress at Blue Bluejay kept spilling beverages on him; some weird Marylyn Manson knockoff spraying him in the face with some nasty cologne when we arrived at Sky-High; us running into Oldbag when we tried to leave Sky-High; some kid at Mad Putter-"
"Wait, you ran into Oldbag!?" Blaise screeched, briefly losing control of his motorcycle and almost crashing into a brown minivan out of sheet shock. "How the hell is she still alive!?"
"That's exactly what Manny asked before she started hitting on me!"
"Oldbag was hitting on you? That's… That's horrible!" Blaise wept, his goggles slightly filling up with tears. "Y'see, no one deserves that kind of punishment! And this is coming from me!"
"I know! She rubbed her bony finger against my chest and it felt like she was scraping away a bit of my soul!" Gant bemoaned.
"No wonder von Karma had a breakdown! Why didn't you call and warn me?!"
"I was traumatized, Blaisie! I couldn't think clearly! Plus, even if I had all my faculties at the time, how would I have been able to call you with Manny around?"
"You could have texted me that info instead of pictures of igloos, y'know?" Blaise growled.
"C'mon, Blaisie. I couldn't resist busting your chops over your hatred of igloos. It's like how we always bring up Manny's penalty throughout the month of December." Gant argued.
"Apples and oranges! Y'see, after a long day of work, I'd like nothing more than to just sit back and relax, maybe work a bit on my hog and psychologically torture Sebastian. But do I get that kind of luxury? No! Instead, I've gotta dump all my free time into finding some damn kid who saw too much just because he wanted to play Eskimo and hide in a blasted Igloo! So excuse me for- Gotta go. There's someone on the other line."
The Chief Prosecutor ended the call with his childhood friend and allowed the new one through.
"Blaise Debeste speaking."
"Hi, Pops!" Sebastian chirped, prompting his father to roll his eyes and let out a sigh of contempt.
"Sebastian…" Blaise growled, internally cursing how awful his luck was that his unlovable, worthless son chose this exact moment to be a nuisance.
"Lively day we're having, eh?"
"I'm not in the mood for your pitiful attempts at small talk, you pea-brained pipsqueak. Just tell me how you screwed up and I'll punish you when I get home."
"How do you know that I did something bad?" Sebastian pouted. "For all you know, I coulda done something good!"
"Because you're my stupid son and the only good you've ever done was give me a strong case when I sued the company that produced the bum condom that created you. Now tell me what happened, or I'll come straight home and force it out of you with the coat hanger!"
"A-Alright…" Sebastian nervously replied with a slight gulp. "W-Well… I… I was watching Dora the Explorer on t.v. when a thought hit me…"
"Why do I suddenly not want to hear the rest of the story?" Blaise groaned under his breath.
"I thought to myself, 'Why is Dora trapped in the t.v. when she could be in the house having an adventure with me?' So I got a hammer from the garage and started hitting the t.v. with it over and over again until I broke a big hole right in the center. But you know what I don't understand, Pops?"
"Why I didn't throw you in the ocean the second you were born?" Blaise angrily hissed.
"That's silly, Pops! Babies can't swim!" Sebastian cheerfully stated, completely oblivious to the insult/death threat. "No, what I don't get is that when I smashed the t.v., the hole was right in the middle of Dora's face, but she kept talking and smiling as if nothing happened, and then t.v. went black and quiet. What happened?" The naïve child whimpered.
"Dora disappeared. Hope you're happy, because now's she's gone and no one, not even that creepy talking map of hers, will ever find her." The Chief Prosecutor bluntly stated.
"Waaaaaaah! But I didn't mean to do it! I'm sorry, Dora! I'm sorry!" Sebastian wailed.
"And you should be. Y'know, I thought you would have learned by now that everyone you come into contact with will someday disappear because of you- your mom, your ugly second cousin with the grating voice, and your pediatrician after she threatened to call Child Protective Services on me, to name a few."
"I'm a monster! An ugly, unloadable monster! I'm gonna lock myself up in my room so I can't hurt anyone else!" Sebastian sobbed and sniffled.
"Good, good. You go do that. Y'see, I've got some important business to attend to, and I don't need you making me angrier than…" A sinister, toothy grin spread across Blaise's face as an idea popped into his head. "Actually Sebastian, you wanna help me out with something?"
"Really, Pops? You need me?" The naïve boy asked with a tone oozing with excitement and hope.
"Yeah, and you're the only one who can do it. Y'see, I need you tell me every thought that pops into that lifeless void you call a mind until I tell you to stop."
"Alright, Pops. After all, I'm a Debeste..." Sebastian boasted. "If airplanes can fly, why can't we go into space with them?"
"More."
"What kind of bees produce milk?"
"Keep going."
"If I eat myself, will I become twice as big or disappear?"
"Too much." Blaise growled before ending the call. "And now that I'm even angrier, I can now kick twice as much ass! So brace yourself, VON KARMAAAAAAAAA!" The Chief Prosecutor screamed at the top of his lungs as he twisted the handlebars on his motorcycle and increasing his already impressive speed even higher.
As Blaise screamed Manfred's name for all to hear, on the adjacent side of the road, amidst the slow-moving traffic heading into the city, Paolo briefly looked out the window and slowly shook his head as the Cohdopian national anthem continued playing on his radio.
"My, my. That biker fellow certainly has problems, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Mozart-man?" The blond cabby asked as he turned to face Manfred, who at this point was slumped back in his seat, his body limp like a ragdoll with wide, unblinking eyes and unable to say a word.
Upon arriving at the beach house, it was just as Blaise feared: several pieces of furniture- his bearskin rug, the mounted heads, and his 'salami' painting from his living room- were lying haphazardly inside a lime-green junk removal truck with the name 'Hoover's Movers" painted on the side in large white letters beneath a picture of former-President Hoover giving a thumbs up. And sure enough, right next to the truck was von Karma's Mercedes.
"No!" Blaise roared when he noticed that the portrait had a large nick on the frame. "Wha… What kind of sick bastard can be this cruel to such beautiful art?" The Chief Prosecutor cried, his goggles filling up with tears as he pulled on his fake beard. "VON KARMAAAA!"
"Aah… This is the life..." Ty sighed with relaxed glee, lying on the couch in his checkered boxers with no shoes on, but still wearing Manfred's coat on top of his grungy undershirt, oddly enough. Though this moment of peace was short-lived when the shifty carny heard a loud, angry scream from outside the house.
"VON KARMAAAA!"
"What the hell?" Ty asked himself as he sat up.
Though Ty's question was immediately answered when Blaise thrusted the door open with a forceful kick, his clenched fists held at his side as he glared daggers at the dumbfounded carny, who couldn't help but reel back with saucer-sized eyes.
"Who the hell are you!? Get out of my beach house!" Blaise roared, a large pillar of flame erupting from his lighter.
"I could be saying the same for you!" Ty retorted in an equally-outraged tone as he sprung to his feet. "Get the hell out of MY beach house!"
"Your beach house? YOUR beach house?! Y'see, this can't be your beach house, because I bought it! And that's my furniture you tossed out like trash!" Blaise snarled as he slowly stomped over to the terrified carny, who responded by grabbing Manfred's cane from off of the floor and holding it like a club.
"Stay back! I ain't afraid to use this!"
"Ha! You think that scares me?" Blaise sneered. "If I can make the sociopathic prosecutor who uses that cane my bitch, then what hope do you have? Wait a minute… Why do you have that cane? And for that matter, why are you wearing von Karma's suit coat? Did you kill him and his family? Did you kill my pawn without my say-so?!" The Chief Prosecutor roared.
"Wha- No!" Ty reeled back in shock. "I may bleed people dry of their savings, but I ain't never killed no one!"
"Y'know, I'm not a moron." Blaise calmly stated as he played with his lighter. "Y'see, von Karma is the only person I've ever known who'd be caught dead in such outdated coat. So if you didn't kill him, then why are you wearing it?"
"von Karma…?" Ty muttered to himself, cocking his head off to the side as he thought about where he heard that name before. "Oh, right!" The seedy carny proclaimed with a snap of his fingers. "That perfection-obsessed geezer who I got this beach house from. Man, what a night!"
"So you did kill von Karma! And now I have to find another morally-depraved lackey to take his place!" Blaise snarled, snatching the cane out of Ty's hands with cat-like reflexes before wielding it as his own weapon.
"H-Hey! You've… You got it all wrong, buddy!" The terrified conman stammered as he took a step back. "I didn't kill him. Though trust me when I say this, I made a killing off of him."
"Explain." Blaise growled as he threw the cane off to the side.
"See, I was just mindin' my own business; runnin' my game booth on the Boardwalk-"
"So you're a carny." Blaise said with a look of disgust.
"I take offense to that, sir!" Ty snapped with a scowl. "Carnies, as the name implies, work at carnivals- creeps that travel around the country like bands of gypsies that reek of funnel cake. Whereas I am a proud worker at the Boardwalk, where I'm a pillar of the community with my booth, Ty's Terrific Throw Fest, which is good, wholesome fun for children and adults of all ages."
"Yes, and if you don't get back to your story, you'll be a black and blue carny." The disgruntled Chief Prosecutor stated as he brandished the cane.
"Fine." Ty hissed. "As I was sayin', before I was so rudely interrupted, that von Karma guy, along with some other orange guy whose name I didn't bother to remember, was passin' by my booth, talking about how he won $1,000. So naturally, my instincts as a purveyor of games and amusement-"
"A.k.a. being a dirty, leeching carny." Blaise sneered.
"Will you let me tell the story?" Ty huffed.
"Not if you keep on giving me exposition. Just get to the point. Y'see, unlike you, I have a real job and don't have all day to stand around shooting the breeze."
"Ok!" Ty yelled through clenched teeth. "von Karma said my game was a waste of time, I poked at him by bringing up his age and that no one's perfect, he tried to prove me wrong by playing the game, and he eventually won a Rastafarian banana stuffed animal. But not before payin' me one grand, his suit, his shoes, his car, and the deed to this here beach house." The carny smugly grinned as he pulled the deed out of his pocket, which had Blaise's name crossed out and his own name written over it in black marker.
"Ok, so you managed to scam von Karma with some rigged game by challenging his perfection. Y'see, that's the equivalency of tricking a kid to eat your breakfast cereal by telling them that Santa loves it." Blaise stated in an unimpressed tone as he played with his lighter. "Now, hand over the deed and get out of my beach house, or you'll have to deal with me- a man who makes von Karma look like a little kitten by comparison."
"No." Ty bluntly stated with crossed arms.
"No? What do you mean 'No'?" Blaise growled with a mixed tone of irritation and disbelief.
"You heard me; I ain't givin' you this deed. Now, normally I'm the kind of guy who would be willing to cooperate for the right price. But after you insulted both my profession and my booth, I ain't givin' you jack shit. Now once again, you get outta my beach house!" The enraged conman yelled as he pointed to the door.
"Bad move, carny. You've just made a powerful enemy." Blaise stated as he played with his lighter.
"Oh, I'm sooo scared!" Ty sneered with a roll of his eyes. "What could some ugly biker-wannabe geezer like you possibly do to me? Prick my finger with your trashy little badge?" The smug carny jokingly asked before bursting into a fit of laughter.
However, Ty's mirth didn't last long as he started to notice that the biker guy, who had previously been so vocal, was now just standing there in complete silence, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes and a cold visage.
"Uh, why are you staring at me like that…?" The carny nervously asked before taking a step back.
Dick Gumshoe was quite simple for a 22 year-old man. He never demanded the latest electronic gadgets, he never sought after the most stylish and expensive outfits, and he couldn't care less about social media. His parents were quite proud that their son was such a kind, hardworking soul who wouldn't hesitate to roll up his sleeves to get a task done. And this part-time job as part-time mover was no exception.
Sure, the work was grueling and the clients could be quite demanding, but the scruffy young man did his job with a smile. Because while things weren't pleasant now, soon he would graduate from the Police Academy and finally fulfil his dream of becoming a police officer. He could imagine it now: him bursting into crime scenes, arresting all the bad guys, and getting a firm handshake and a 'job well done' from a prosecutor, and even the Police Chief if he was lucky.
But even though being a mover wasn't his first career choice, Gumshoe was actually pleased with his current job at this swanky beach house. Sure, that one really phallic painting in the living room was kind of creepy, along with those weird heads mounted on the walls, but the owner was a really nice guy. He wasn't treating the poor scruffy man like some kind of machine, allowing him to work at his own pace. Plus, the owner was actually requesting Hoover's Movers' rarely-utilized removal service, meaning that Gumshoe didn't have to worry about accidentally damaging any furniture- an act that had earned him several pay cuts during previous jobs.
However, when Gumshoe was in the master bedroom, taking down a painting of some weird naked guy with a beard posing like David who resembled the man from the painting in the living room, he heard two voices yelling from downstairs- one being the guy who hired the moving company, Ty Stirr, and the other sounding like a guy who spent every second of the day smoking menthols. But as much as Gumshoe wanted to put what he had learned at the Police Academy to good use and intervene, he didn't know who this other guy was. For all he knew, this could be some psycho with a machine gun or a machete who would waste no time killing anyone in his way. So without any hesitation, Gumshoe quickly locked the door and barricaded it with the nightstand.
Luckily, the yelling quickly died down and was replaced with an eerie silence. And while Gumshoe was tempted to step out and investigate, he had watched enough horror movies to know that the bloodiest and most sudden murders happen when things get quiet. However, when the scruffy mover started to hear police sirens from outside the house, followed by the sound of more yelling and a loud, sharp crack, he didn't waste any time in unlocking and unlocking the door, rushing out of the room while holding the phallic David-esque painting like a weapon.
But while Gumshoe didn't know what he'd find when he peered down from the top of the stairs and into the living room, he wasn't expecting the sight that he did see. For on the floor, Ty was lying on his stomach, desperately squirming while one cop held him down and another was putting his hands behind his back before slapping a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. And as the shady shyster was struggling to escape from the officers, some biker guy who bore a striking resemblance to the man in the two erotic paintings was snickering at the scene with a toothy grin.
"You're crazy!" Ty screeched with a distraught look. "I ain't never held no women hostage! I ain't some looney!"
"Oh yeah?!" A gruff detective- a large, tanned bald man with a goatee and sunglasses, wearing a grey trench coat- angrily huffed as he emerged from the cellar, the door to which was forced open, as seen by the huge crack running down the middle. "Then tell it to THEM!"
The detective stepped aside, allowing for three incredibly gaunt, unwashed young women- one with long straight blond hair, one with wavy black hair, and another with curly copper hair- wearing only thin rags to timidly walk up the stairs and enter the room.
"I'm tellin' ya! I ain't never seen 'em before!" Ty desperately argued as the two officers restraining him pulled him up on his feet, each keeping a firm hand on the accused conman's shoulders.
"Well, we found these women chained to a radiator in the basement, quivering and crying when we went down to investigate. Now, I may be no psychologist, but when three young women are this malnourished and distraught to the point of barely being able to speak, they've been tortured over an extended period of time- especially that one on the end." The detective gestured to the girl with copper-haired girl, prompting her fall to the ground crying, curling up in a fetal position as she screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Salad tongs! Salad tongs! PLEASE! No salad tongs!" The girl screeched as she looked up at the detective with saucer-sized eyes filled with terror.
"And since this is your beach house, as signified by this deed," the detective said, holding up the deed which was in a sealed plastic bag, "you're the prime suspect. Take him away, boys."
"I'll get you for this, old man! Mark my words! You better pray you don't run into me ever again, 'cause the second I see you again, you're dead! Hear me!? You're dead!" Ty screamed at the top of his lungs, angrily thrashing about as the two officers took him out of the beach house.
"Don't worry, Chief Prosecutor Debeste. We'll do everything in our power to make sure he doesn't bother you ever again. Just make sure you send over a prosecutor to make sure Stirr's trial goes over without any issues."
"Good, good." Blaise sneered. "Y'see, I've got the perfect guy in mind who can't refuse."
"Though you will have to buy your beach house again at the impound auction. We can't risk arousing suspicion, after all."
"Don't worry, Detective. Y'see, it's a small price to pay to help things get back to normal."
"Alright… Oh, before I leave, want me to call in some officers to help clean up the place?"
"Y'know, I'll handle all that after the dust settles on this whole matter. For now, I just need to sit down and regain my composure for a minute." Blaise stated, walking over to the couch as the detective left the beach house.
Though before the Chief Prosecutor could sit down, he noticed Gumshoe standing at the top of the stairs and cast the poor mover the same cold, unblinking stare that he gave Ty, along with the silence.
"Uh… You want me to put this back where I found it and leave…?" Gumshoe nervously asked, receiving no response other than the stare. "I'll… I'll take that as a 'yes'." The scruffy mover stated before quickly heading up the stairs, returning the portrait to its proper place, rushing back down, and leaving the beach house in less than a minute."
"Good boy." Blaise snickered under his breath; though his contentment was short-lived when he looked down and saw a huge crimson stain on one of the couch's cushions. "Stupid carny… I flipped that cushion over so I wouldn't have to look at that bloodstain."
But when Blaise flipped the cushion over, his eyes bugged out when he noticed another stain on the other side, prompting him to throw it to the ground as he screamed at the top of his lungs.
"Oh, it's one thing when you sell my beach house to some filthy amusement park scum! But the second my couch gets involved, you've entered a whole new world of pain!" Blaise roared as he grabbed Manfred's cane before storming out of the beach house, slamming the door behind him as hard as he could.
Manfred never thought that he would be so happy to sit at his desk preparing a case. Sure, evaluating the perfection of the evidence found by the police and planning the most perfect of testimonies for the witnesses was always a delight; but today it was even better. For Manfred was returning to doing the job that he loved, the job that he excelled at, after that horrible, horrible trip that he would love to forget as soon as possible. And while it was a painful experience, at least it was over and the veteran prosecutor was able to put it behind him.
But unfortunately for Manfred, that unspeakably torturous trip decided to rear its ugly head once more as Blaise suddenly entered his office with a cold, stoic expression on his face and his left arm behind his back, making sure to close the door behind him.
"Debeste." Manfred stated matter-of-factly as he looked up from the case file he was reading. Though while the 'perfect' prosecutor may have appeared calm and collected on the outside, on inside he was completely terrified. But to show fear is a flaw, an utter violation of every principle that the von Karma family stood for.
"Y'know, I'm most impressed to see you so calm after your vacation." Blaise replied as he played with his lighter.
"Would you expect anything else from the perfect prosecutor?" Manfred smirked. "If anything, it was quite the enjoyable experience."
"Y'know von Karma, it's quite unfortunate that you're attempting to deceive me." Blaise growled, prompting Manfred to reel back in his chair.
"What… What would give you such an absurd idea?" The 'perfect' prosecutor nervously asked, gripping his right shoulder as a few drops of cold sweat trickled down his brow.
"Objection!" Blaise yelled, pointing his finger at Manfred, causing a strong gust of wind to push the 'perfect' prosecutor out of his chair and slam his back against the wall behind him with a loud thud. "You sold my beach house to a dirty carny and ruined my good couch! Y'know, I loved that couch like the son I never had!" The corrupt Chief Prosecutor whimpered, his goggles filling up with tears as he pulled at his fake beard.
"You have no definitive evidence to support your claim!" Manfred angrily retorted as he got back up on his feet.
"Look familiar?" Blaise sneered, pulling the veteran prosecutor's cane from behind his back, much to the rigid man's horror.
"W-Where did you get that?"
"Oh, this?" Blaise playfully asked as he held up the cane, looking it over like an exotic treasure. "I got it from your little cohort Tyler Stirr after I made him disappear!" The corrupt Chief Prosecutor snarled as he brandished the ornate stick.
"You're going to assault me, Debeste?" Manfred asked with crossed arms. "Isn't that a bit blunt, even by your primitive standards?"
"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? I beat the crap outta you, you spend several weeks healing, and we go back to standard relations? Well, too bad, von Karma, because I've got another way to make you suffer, y'see? Something far worse…"
"Debeste, you foolish man…" Manfred smirked with a finger waggle. "While on that 'vacation', and I use the term incredibly loosely, I've been subjected to all sorts of maladies, both physical and mental- mace in my eyes, miniature golf with Gant, a menstruating daughter... There's nothing you can subject me to at this moment that's worse than what I have endured."
"Well, can you say the same about your stuff?!" Blaise manically asked as took the cane and shattered the glass on the curio cabinet before breaking each and every last Faberge egg inside.
"Are you crazier than normal, Debeste?! Those eggs are priceless!" Manfred roared.
"Crazy like a fox! Y'see, you destroy my stuff, I destroy yours! Eye for an eye, von Karma!" Blaise proclaimed with wide eyes and a disturbingly large, toothy grin. "It's in the Bible!"
"When have you ever read the Bible?! I would have thought you'd burst into flames if you ever touched it!" Manfred commented with much outrage in his voice.
"I may not be well-versed in the thing, but I know that anytime anyone screws over God, He strikes them down! Like THIS!" Blaise roared as he slammed the cane into the case containing the jewel-encrusted dog collar, shattering the glass before proceeding to whack the collar until it was nothing more than a mangled strip of leather covered in a vibrant rainbow dust.
"Do you know how much time and money was spent trying to locate that collar?!" Manfred snarled, his nostrils flaring. " The collar once worn by Balmung, beloved dog of Klimt van Zeiks, a legendary prosecutor and one of my grandfather's mentors!"
"Oh, please!" Blaise sneered with a roll of his eyes. "The guy was Gant's grandfather's bitch! Though speaking of Gant…" The morally depraved Chief Prosecutor said as he eyed the suit of knight's armor.
"Don't even think about it, Debeste! That armor was worn by my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather when he defended our family's land from orphan children in need of shelter and a defense attorney who was asking for directions."
"Don't worry, von Karma. I'm not destroying that armor. I'm going to instead give it to Gant as a birthday gift since it seems like something he'd like. Kill two birds with one stone, y'know? But what do we have here…?" Blaise cackled as he slowly walked over to a ceramic Santa statue placed on top of a low bookshelf.
"I'm warning you Debeste, if you destroy that Santa, I'll-"
"Merry Christmas, von Karma!" Blaise sneered as he mercilessly broke off the Santa's head with the cane. "That'll teach you to- Aargh!"
Before the Chief Prosecutor knew it, Manfred had tackled him to the ground in a fit of rage, causing him to let go of the cane upon impact, as the veteran prosecutor proceeded to perfectly punch his deranged superior and childhood friend in the face over and over again.
"This is for giving me that penalty back in 2001!"
Wham! A punch to the right cheek!
"This is for making me go on that vile trip in the first place!"
Bam! A blow to the left cheek!
"And this is for making me babysit your moronic, sniveling son last month!"
Pow! A hit square on the nose!
"Bad move! Y'see, no one calls my worthless excuse for a son a moron but me!" Blaise snarled as he delivered a powerful undercut to Manfred's jaw, forcing the veteran prosecutor to his back, giving the corrupt public official the perfect chance to counterattack.
And sure enough, Blaise didn't hesitate to go on the offensive as he jumped on top of Manfred, repeatedly punching the veteran prosecutor in the face in a similar manner to what was done to him. Though Blaise, being Blaise, went the extra sadistic mile by including a double purple nurple, gleefully twisting the 'perfect' prosecutor's nipples, causing the man to scream out in pain before head-butting the wannabe biker off of him.
However, Blaise didn't stay off of Manfred for long, wasting no time in body slamming his cravat-wearing subordinate while uttering a battle cry/screech.
The two influentially men then spent the next five or so minutes rolling around on the floor- punching, elbowing, and kicking each other in an attempt to gain the advantage. And as one would guess, both prosecutors were not above playing dirty.
Blaise endeavored to use Manfred's own cravat against him by trying to cover his face with it in order to blind him, attempted to strangle him multiple times, and tried to cut his foe with his prosecutor's badge.
As for Manfred, he also used his adversary's attire to his advantage- only his strategy involved trying to suffocate Blaise with that ridiculous fake beard of his; in addition to pressing the weepy man's goggles into his skull and pulling at his long, brown locks. Though the 'perfect' prosecutor's main tactic came into play when he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his stun gun.
However, this didn't go unnoticed by Blaise, who gave Manfred's crotch a swift kick, allowing him to grab the weapon and point it at his barely-conscious adversary as he got back up on his feet.
"Have mercy… Please!" Manfred weakly begged with much terror in his voice.
"There is no mercy." Blaise blunted retorted before jabbing his subordinate with the stun gun, sending 600,000 volts of electricity through the veteran prosecutor's body. "Don't worry, von Karma. I'm not going to let you disappear. Y'see, I still have uses for you." The corrupt public official sneered, jabbing Manfred once again with the stun gun, causing the veteran prosecutor's screams of agony to fill the air.
The End
A/N: Since this review was posted by a guest, I'll respond to it here.
InjusticeforAll: Your review perfectly captured one of the man reasons why I love the Ace Attorney series. It's the perfect balance between normality and insanity. The world is absurd enough where you can imagine virtually anything happening, while also being grounded in that you can easily picture the characters living normal lives- buying groceries, going to birthday parties, etc.
I'm glad that you loved Kharmen Gavin as much as I loved writing her. Though among my OCs, she's unique in that she was actually inspired by my own family- being an exaggeration of my own overprotective mother and my very extroverted, yet loving, aunt who will get into an argument with anyone who dares to disagree with her. In fact, Kharmen's phrase of "pootie tanging" is a term often used by my aunt to refer to the act of ripping someone a new one, particularly if they hurt a family member.
I really appreciate that you took the time to review Chapter 9 of The von Karma Family Beach Trip. It means a lot to me.