"Papa, please explain to me again why you're forcing me to go to Detective Damon Gant's house to play foolish games like a foolish fool when I could be doing something productive with my time, like studying to become a prosecutor or anything else?" Little ten-year-old Franziska huffed, her arms crossed and posture hunched over as she sat in the back of the Mercedes next to Edgeworth.
"Like I told you before we left the house, Franziska, it's Detective Gant's birthday, he wanted to throw a party for himself in the form of a game night, and as much as I don't want to do this myself, we have to go because even though he's one of the most annoying detectives out there, he's one of the few who makes my job easier." Manfred replied matter-of-factly with a hint of irritation in his voice without bothering to turn around, his focus dedicated to the road in front of him that was basked in the glow of several streetlights as they drove into the night.
"In that case, why don't we just send Miles Edgeworth to represent us?" Franziska suggested with a smirk and a waggle of her finger. "We would be able to stay home and make perfect use of our time and Miles Edgeworth would be able to contribute something to this family other than making us look better by comparison with his foolishness. Everyone wins!"
"Not to mention, it would spare you from the embarrassment of everyone seeing how sore a loser you are." Edgeworth wryly retorted, earning him a lash from his adoptive sister's riding crop.
"I am not a sore loser, Miles Edgeworth, because I don't lose!" Franziska snapped as she bent her riding crop.
"What?" Edgeworth scoffed, trying his best to hold back his laughter. "No offense, Franziska, but whenever we compete, I'm frequently the victor."
"Name one time." Franziska ordered with crossed arms.
"Hmm… Let's see… How about that mock trial that we had last week?"
The previous week, Edgeworth and Franziska- who were wearing a cardboard defense attorney's badge and prosecutor's badge, respectively- were standing behind two desks on opposite sides of grand library in the von Karma mansion, with Manfred sitting in a chair between his two wards to act as the judge.
"And with that, Your Honor, I believe that I have proven without a shadow of a doubt that my client couldn't have possibly murdered Mr. Mike Treal." Edgeworth smirked with outstretched arms.
"As much as I hate saying this, I have to agree with the defense." Manfred stated with a brief nod. "Good work, Miles. While you may not possess the inherent perfection of the von Karma, as seen with how it took you 15 minutes to prove your case when it could have easily been done in five, you're demonstrating that you're grasping the techniques that I've been teaching you. You presented solid evidence, immediately shut down your opponent's arguments with perfect logic, and exerted your dominance over the judge when it seemed that he was siding with the opposition, and for that, I commend you."
"What can I say, sir? I have the perfect mentor." Edgeworth smugly replied.
"That you do. And as for you, Franziska…" Manfred stated before directing his attention to Franziska, who was glaring daggers at her adopted brother as she repeatedly slammed her fist on the table she was standing behind. "Your performance was amateurish at best. Despite wielding a riding crop, you failed to immediately establish your dominance right when the trial started, resulting in your opponent maintaining the confidence needed to defeat you. And when the defense started to go on the offensive, instead of standing your ground and using logic, you proceeded to merely insult him. Granted, belittling defense attorneys is an important part of any trial, but there's more to being a prosecutor than just that. Perhaps you'll gain an understanding of that with the 2,000 word essay on psychological warfare that I'm assigning you as of now, along with a summary on your weekly reading, which I expect to find on my desk by the end of St. Patrick's Day."
"Objection!" Franziska roared as she once again slammed her fist on the desk. "That loss doesn't count! The defense was foolish, the case's premise was foolish, this entire exercise was foolish!"
Manfred pounded the end of his cane on the library's hardwood floor like how a judge would slam their gavel. "Make that essay 3,000 words!"
"Fine!" Franziska screeched as she stormed towards the library's exit, making sure to stomp as loudly as she could, though not before stopping to lash Edgeworth several times with her riding crop.
"Like I said, that doesn't count, Miles Edgeworth. Name another one."
"Fine. How about our round of chess three nights ago…?"
Three nights ago, Edgeworth and Franziska were sitting at a small table in the former's room. While the two siblings may not have spoken a single word to each other for the past ten minutes, the way their steely gazes were steadfastly directed to the chessboard spoke volumes. They knew loud and clear that they were thinking the same thing: the endgame was fast approaching and they were going to win- no, they needed to win; for if they lost, the other would not let them live it down for the remainder of spring break.
Though suddenly, the silence was broken as Edgeworth took his turn, moving a white knight in front of Franziska black king.
"Checkmate…" Edgeworth smirked, only for it to morph into a look of agony as Franziska let out a high-pitched scream of frustration that he could have sworn was at an octave that only dogs and dolphins could hear.
Following this, the silver-haired girl proceeded to flip the table over, making it a point to kick several of the fallen chess pieces as far as she could to make the act of cleaning up all the harder, lashing her adopted brother with her riding crop several times, and storming out of the room, angrily muttering about how foolish Edgeworth was before loudly slamming the door behind her.
"Of course I got angry, Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska snapped. "Only a foolishly foolish fool full of foolishness would remain calm if their opponent looked so smug after winning a game purely because of luck!"
"Then how about I remind you of another battle of wits that we engaged in just recently. Do you recall our Pokémon battle last night?" Edgeworth asked with crossed arms as he tapped his finger against his bicep.
The previous night, in one of the von Karma mansion's numerous sitting rooms, Edgeworth and Franziska were sitting in two chairs across from each other with several inches of space between them, their eyes buried into their DS Lites- red and ice-blue in color, respectively- and focused on the Pokémon Diamond battle they were engaged in as Manfred paced back and forth between them to check their screens.
The two youths were down to their last Pokémon- on Edgeworth's side of the field was his trusty Garchomp, whereas Franziska was making her final stand with her Regigigas- both of which were at full health.
"Don't worry, Franziska. I won't hold it against you if you decide to surrender." Edgeworth smirked. "I'd do the same if my Giratina was fainted at full health from a single critical hit Outrage from a choice band Garchomp last turn."
"In your foolish dreams, Miles Edgeworth. My Regigigas may only be slightly faster than your foolish mind, but unlike you, he can take a beating and dish it out." Franziska smugly retorted. "Just watch and be amazed!"
After Franziska selected her move, the turn started. Being the faster Pokémon, Edgeworth's Garchomp went first with Outrage, pelting Franziska's Regigigas with a barrage of orange circles shooting out of its sprite, resulting in its opponent losing about 80% of its health.
Of course, Franziska wasn't fazed in the slightest by this. She could read her 'little' brother like a book and knew that while his trusty Garchomp was a force to be reckoned with, it had a major weakness in the form of Ice-Type attacks. This is why the silver-haired girl decided to train a Regigigas- she would have it put its tremendous bulk to good use by enduring any attack the Garchomp would send its way, only to counter with a devastating Ice-Type move that would crush it and Miles Edgeworth's dreams.
One could see the spark of excitement in Franziska's eyes as her plan appeared to be coming to fruition, her Regigigas using Ice Punch on the Garchomp- a blue fist appearing on screen- resulting in its health slowly dropping. However, much to the silver-haired girl's dismay, instead of depleting the Garchomp's entire health bar, it only dropped by 75%.
"NO!" Franziska screamed at the top of her lungs, glaring daggers at her DS as she selected Ice Punch once more in the hopes that somehow a miracle would occur and she would be given the first move. But alas, fate wasn't so kind to the riding crop-wielding girl as Edgeworth's Garchomp once again got to attack first, unleashing another outrage and depleting the rest of her Regigigas' health, causing the giant Pokémon to faint and winning him the battle.
"You were right, Franziska. I was amazed… amazed at how easily your Regigigas was defeated." Edgeworth smirked with a haughty chuckle, prompting his 'big' sister to get up from her seat, stomp over to him, rip his DS from his hands, throw it to the floor, and proceed to lash it with her riding crop until it was nothing but a small, unrecognizable pile of plastic and metal before storming off to her room.
"… And now, because of your temper and inability to accept defeat, my 300 plus hours of training the perfect team are down the drain and I have to start all over from square one." Edgeworth stated with crossed arms.
"That was not a defeat, Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska snarled as she bent her riding crop. "Once again, that was bad luck and nothing more!"
"Oh, please." Edgeworth scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "The only role that luck played in that battle was that I was fortunate enough that you didn't take the time to read Regigigas' ability's description. Otherwise, you might have realized that its attack and speed are noticeably diminished for the first five turns that it's in battle."
"Well, excuse me for foolishly believing that an attack that's four-times super-effective wouldn't be foolishly impeded by a foolishly foolish ability that was only foolishly created to punish the player!" Franziska snapped.
"Well, maybe-"
"Enough!" Manfred shouted with a snap of his fingers, effectively stopping his maroon-cladded ward's next point dead in its tracks. "Franziska, as unacceptable as losing is, I will not condone that kind of behavior at Detective Gant's house tonight. If anyone wins fairly, you will behave with the grace and dignity befitting a von Karma- especially if the victor is Gant. The last thing I need is to be on the verge of winning a trial, only to find that the perfect piece of evidence needed to secure my victory has gone 'missing' on the grounds that Gant was too distraught that you 'ruined his birthday party by spitting in the face of friendly competition' or some other idiotic reason. Do I make myself clear, girl?"
"Yes, Papa." Franziska sighed in resignation, her gaze pointed towards the ground as her father pulled into the driveway of Gant's modern-style mansion.
"Good." Manfred nodded as he exited the car, with his young wards following suit as they made their way to the front doors. "Since this is Gant's party and Chief Prosecutor Debeste is the only other guest, it's up to us to stand as the last bastion of decency and poise."
Upon ringing the doorbell, Manfred immediately regretted doing so as the upbeat, painfully off-key lyrics of Walking on Sunshine filled the air, prompting him to groan and roll his eyes as the door opened up to reveal Gant, who- in addition to his regular attire- was sporting a green top hat with a four-leaf clover pinned to the side and a piece of paper reading 'Happy Birthday to Me!' in various colors taped to the front.
"Case and point." Manfred stated, briefly directing his gaze at Edgeworth and Franziska before returning his attention to his childhood friend. "Why are you wearing such a ridiculous hat, Gant? I know for a fact that St. Patrick's Day didn't come two days early this year since you haven't tried to pinch me for not taking part in the foolish tradition of wearing green; nor did Debeste become intoxicated this morning after chugging a bottle's worth of vodka from a cup that he made from a human skull and started picking fights with random people in the Prosecutor's Office's elevator.
"I know that, Manny." Gant grinned as he clapped his gloved hands together. "I just felt that a little extra luck wouldn't hurt, what with us having a game night and it being the Ides of March. After all, I am the Caesar of our triumvirate."
"You? Caesar?" Manfred scoffed.
"Yeah, Manny. Think about it- I'm a pretty popular guy on the Force and my career's been on the up-and-up for several years, making me like Caesar. It's just like how Blaisie being at the top of the Prosecutor's Office and having influence in spades makes him Pompey."
"So what? Are you saying that I'm the Crassus of our group?" Manfred asked with a hint of ire in his voice and crossed arms.
"Well, if the shoe fits…" Gant stated with a bit of hesitation as he fiddled with his hair.
"Well, it doesn't because unlike Crassus, I'm not some third-wheel background figure in our group who'll be the first one to die."
"Actually, sir." Edgeworth interjected. "Despite Crassus being less well-known in modern times than either Pompey or Caesar, he was integral to the First Triumvirate on account of his great wealth allowing-"
"Did I ask for your input, boy?" Manfred hissed, casting his young ward a withering scowl.
"No, sir." The adolescent responded with a dispirited sigh as he directed his gaze towards the ground.
"Can we go inside and get this party started already?" Franziska impatiently asked with crossed arms.
"Of course, Franny-Banany!" Gant grinned with a clap of his gloved hands. "Glad to see you're looking forward to playing a few games and having a lot of fun tonight!"
"Don't flatter yourself, Detective Damon Gant. The only thing I'm looking forward to is going home, but that won't happen until this foolishly foolish party is over. So the sooner it starts, the sooner it and the foolishness associated with it can end."
"Considering who your father is, Franny-Banany, I wouldn't expect anything different." The orange-cladded detective chuckled, moving aside so as to allow his guests to enter before gesturing them in. "So come on in! I've got the place all ready for our little soiree."
Upon hearing their host's request, Manfred and his young wards entered the mansion without saying another word before Gant closed the door behind them.
From how clean and sleek the outside of Gant's house looked, one would think that the inside would be just as pristine. After all, what's the point of making the exterior of a home look nice if the interior doesn't receive the same treatment? But if one were to think these thoughts, then it would be made obvious that one had never gotten to know Detective Damon Gant.
To this day, Manfred was haunted by memories of going to Gant's childhood bedroom in his youth, only to find himself in a literal pigpen- mud staining the carpet, chip bags and candy wrappers strewn about the place, and a bed that, from the look of things, wasn't used for sleeping, but rather to serve as a model of Mt. Everest given the imposing pile of dirty clothes that was stacked on top of it. Heck, back then, even Blaise- who had a reputation of being that one gross kid who would do almost anything gross for a few bucks (chewing pre-chewed gum, gargling dog urine, and kissing a gross foreign-exchange girl in his class who refused to bathe and had more facial hair than the male teachers)- thought that Gant's room was gross… though only after making the mistake of being too close to the bed when he decided to provoke Manfred.
As such, upon entering the living room, Manfred was completely unfazed by the condition of the room. However, the same could not be said about his young wards who couldn't help but stare wide-eyed at the scene before them, looking more disturbed than when their father figure/mentor would show them pictures of murder scenes during breakfast for the sake of 'light' conversation.
The hardwood floor- a deep mahogany brown that probably cost more than most people make in a year- was covered in black marks, some larger in size- obviously from years of Gant not taking off his hard-soled shoes- and others that were smaller and moving, which upon closer inspection were actually ants that were drawn to several empty wrappers found around the room. Though from the look of things, their main targets were several opened half-eaten bags of various kinds of chips that were sitting out on a glass coffee table that would look nice if it wasn't smudged beyond belief, as well as an open pizza box containing a quarter of a peperoni pizza that was sitting on top of a plastic folding table that was set up off to the side of the room. Heck, from the look of things, the cleanest thing present was a brown couch that was situated in front of a large flat-screen television… that is until, upon closer inspection, it was revealed that the couch's original color was white, but after years of filth and grime, the dirt had overtaken it.
Though what took the cake and made Edgeworth and Franziska both want nothing more than to spend the next eternity-and-a-half submerged neck-deep in hand sanitizer was a large pile of crusty swim trunks and speedos of various colors, along with several black dress shirts, dress pants, and briefs shoved off in a corner of the room that gave off a nauseatingly overpowering scent of chlorine that could give a pool locker-room a run for its money.
"D-Detective Gant…" Edgeworth muttered, trying his best to comprehend the sheer messiness he was witnessing.
"Yeah, Little Worthy?" Gant jovially replied, oblivious to the teen's shock and horror.
"About your house… How should I say this…?" The crimson-cladded adolescent reluctantly stated, pausing to think about how to go about bringing up the fact that Gant's place was so dirty that even the dirt had dirt without offending the man and ruining countless networking opportunities that could help him in his future career in the process.
Though fortunately for Edgeworth, he didn't have to on account of how this was one of the seldom benefits of having an adoptive sister with a tendency to speak her mind without concern for anyone's feelings except her own.
"It makes garbage dumps look like five-star resorts!" Franziska angrily interjected before lashing Gant with her riding crop, which did nothing to faze the detective.
"C'mon, Franny-Banany! My house isn't that bad." Gant jovially replied.
"Isn't that bad?!" Franziska recoiled back, unable to comprehend how this den of grime and slop could be seen as even remotely livable. "Have years of being a foolishly foolish fool left you legally blind or did you spend your entire life with your head shoved in a pile of dirt like a foolish ostrich?"
"Franziska! Watch your mouth!" Manfred snapped. "Remember what I told you on the car ride over here."
"I do remember, Papa, and none of it pertained to me calling attention to THIS!" The silver-haired girl gestured at the area around her. "There's a large pile of filthy clothes in the corner, no piece of furniture is even remotely clean, and there's a colony's worth of ants on the floor! It's as if Miles Edgeworth's mind was turned into a room!"
"Don't worry, Franziska. Perhaps Detective Gant has a room dedicated to your mental landscape." Edgeworth wryly stated with crossed arms as he tapped his bicep. "Out of curiosity, Detective Gant, does your home have a furnace room? Though don't worry if it doesn't. I believe Franziska would be perfectly content if you had freezer room to represent her heart." The maroon-cladded adolescent snickered, only for his mirth to be ended thanks to his adoptive sister lashing his shoulder with her riding crop.
"Keep this foolishness up, Miles Edgeworth, and the only room fit to represent you will be an emergency room!" Franziska growled as she bent her riding crop.
"And if you keep making a fool of yourself and the von Karma family name tonight, Franziska, the only room you'll be in until you earn your prosecutor's badge will be your bedroom." Manfred angrily chimed in with a snap of his fingers. "Do I make myself clear, girl?"
"Yes, Papa..." Franziska sighed, her gaze directed towards the filthy ground, prompting her to shudder.
"Manny, don't be such a stick in mud." Gant replied as he proceeded to fiddle with his hair "If it only took a couple of petty jabs from a child to get me all hot and bothered, I wouldn't make it very far as a cop… or Blaisie's friend, for that matter. But enough talk, let's play some games!" The orange-cladded detective proclaimed with a clap of his hands before walking over to the large console table that was right below where the flat screen television was hanging and opened up a cabinet. "Ok, we've got- Oh, no..." Gant's eyes widened, his tone suddenly becoming morose.
"What's wrong, Gant?" Manfred sighed with crossed arms, hardly in the mood to deal with his childhood friend's trivial emotions.
"You remember Ferret Bueller?"
"You mean that ferret you bought on impulse a few months ago despite my warning not to on the grounds that you'd lose it? The ferret that me and Debeste had to waste ten hours on a perfectly good Saturday searching for it in vain when I was proven to be right as always? That ferret?" Manfred huffed, still embittered by memories of the nightmarish ordeal he had to endure on that day.
"Yep… And the reason why we won't be forming teams to play Stratego tonight." Gant let out a long sigh as he took out a Stratego box from the console and showed it to his guest, prompting Franziska to let out a bloodcurdling shriek as Edgeworth's went completely quiet, his face turning pale as he did everything in his power to keep his dinner down.
Though who could blame Manfred's young wards for reacting as they did? After all, who wouldn't be disturbed by the sight of the half-decayed corpse of a ferret and the numerous maggots crawling around in its matted brown fur and in and out of its partially exposed ribcage?
"So do you wanna do it or me?"
"Do what, Gant?" Manfred asked with a perplexed look on his face.
"Dig the hole for Ferret Bueller's grave, of course." Gant solemnly replied as he looked down at his fallen pet with much sadness in his gaze. "And while that's happening, the other can get a shoebox to serve as his coffin, start writing a eulogy, and get the MP3 player that I keep in my nightstand so we can play that Oh Yeah song while we burry him. After that eulogy that you gave at Worthy's funeral, I'm thinking that you could easily come up with one for Ferret Bueller no problem. Heck, if you want, you can reuse that one- just replace the section about Worthy 'rotting in the darkest depths of the earth for his follies as his laughable ideals slowly fade into obscurity and his broken son is repaired under the perfect hand of the von Karma' with how Ferret Bueller had the cutest little nose and you're good."
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm doing that!" Manfred exclaimed, reeling back as he gripped his right shoulder.
"You're right, Manny. You've proven on countless occasions that you know what you're doing, so who am I to tell you how to write a eulogy!"
"Not that, you clod!" The 'perfect' prosecutor shouted. "I'm talking about how we shouldn't waste time holding a funeral for that filthy vermin and should instead throw it in a trashcan and let the city handle it!"
"Have a heart, Manny!" Gant pleaded. "Ferret Bueller may have only been a part of our lives for a few days, but that doesn't change the fact that he left a mark on us all- especially after that Saturday- and deserves to be treated with respect. And don't you tell me that you're not in the mood for eulogies after you just stated the opening that you used for Worthy's word-for-word."
"All that's missing is the part about how not even the starving junkyard cats would want my father's corpse on account of the stench of failure." Edgeworth bitterly muttered under his breath, only for it to be picked up by his mentor's perfect hearing.
"Well, Miles, since you're so fascinated with death and because Gant doesn't want to throw that rotting carcass out, you can take it out side and dispose of it in the trashcan by the curb." Manfred coldly stated as he grabbed the Stratego game out of the detective's hands and gave it to his adolescent ward.
"But, sir, I-" Edgeworth tried to retort, only to be quickly interrupted by his mentor slamming the end of his cane on the floor.
"Did I stutter, boy?" Manfred growled. "Throw out that creature. Now!"
"Yes, sir…" Edgeworth sighed in resignation as exited the house via the front door.
"Ok, so what do you guys wanna play while we wait for Blaisie to get here? I'm game for anything, but I'm thinking Scrabble- it's designed for four players, it has you coming up with different words, so it's right up your family's alley, and it's pretty dull overall, which is not up Blaisie's alley."
"As long as I win, I'm open to any game." Franziska responded with a smug grin and a finger waggle.
"Perfect. This way, I don't have to deal with Debeste's ridiculous 'cuss combo' every time he gets consecutive swear words. Plus, after that ferret ordeal just now, something slow-paced and quiet is exactly what I need." Manfred chimed in.
"Alrighty then!" Gant exclaimed with a clap of his gloved hands. "Once Little Worthy comes back in from Ferret Bueller's… send off, we'll have a nice, quiet game of Scrabble to get ourselves warmed up for when Blaisie gets here!"
40 minutes later, Blaise pulled into Gant's driveway and parked his motorcycle right next to Manfred's Mercedes, making sure to park just out of reach of the front door on the driver's side- not out of courtesy (a concept that he found laughable and a bit fruity), but because he knew how the 'perfect' prosecutor got whenever things didn't go his way after countless game nights over the years and didn't want his beloved bike to become the casualty of a von Karma hissy fit. Though with how the Chief Prosecutor's day was going, his perfectionist subordinate denting his hog wouldn't have been out of place.
Grumbling to himself, Blaise dismounted his motorcycle and immediately pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat, took one out before putting the pack right back in his pocket, lit it with his trusty lighter, and proceeded to take a substantial drag of the cancer stick, consuming about half of it before letting out a billow of black smoke with a lengthy exhale as he started making his way to the front door. With each slow, casual step, the corrupt public official took in a bit more of the cigarette, followed by letting out a small puff of smoke, not unlike a train. Blaise wanted to savor the moment because as much as his smokes helped to ease his nerves- especially on nights like this where his idiot son was being more of a thorn in his side than usual- he knew he wouldn't be able to enjoy them around Gant and Manfred since the former would go on nonstop about how unhealthy the habit was and how he was putting his life at risk like some overbearing mom while the latter would whine about the smoke making his eyes burn and being unable to breathe like a baby.
Sure, Blaise could always excuse himself to go out for a smoke break, but if he did that, then he could potentially miss out on some good opportunities to bully Manfred or get a good laugh from his decrepit-looking subordinate getting his bib in a knot over some little thing. Case and point- when the Chief Prosecutor reached the front door (making sure to drop his cigarette on the porch before stomping it out), he was greeted to the sound of Manfred and Gant having a heated argument. Granted, Blaise couldn't understand what exactly was being said thanks to the walls muffling the sound, but he knew that he was going to be in for quite the show- and sure enough, upon opening the door and entering the house, he was proven right.
"Yes, I do think that I'm better than moonshiners!" Manfred roared, his scowl filled with rage as he leaned forward in a lawn chair and slammed a heavy fist on the glass top of the coffee table, on which sat a Scrabble board. "I don't care if they've created a 'business'- if you can even call it that- around making alcohol out of a bathtub! That doesn't change the fact that 'nuttin'' is not, and never will be, a word!"
"Says who?! Who died and made you the Word Sheriff?!" Gant yelled back from his spot on the couch on the other side of the coffee table as he cast his childhood friend a death glare, one of his gloved hands curled into a tight fist while the other arm was wrapped around several bags of chips, not unlike how one holds their significant other during a date.
"Says the official Scrabble rules, as written by Hasbro and included with the game, you lumbering sea cow!" Manfred fumed as he reached into the game box that was lying on the floor and took out the instructions. "According to the Words section, the following words cannot be used: proper nouns, abbreviations, acronyms, freestanding prefixes or suffixes, hyphenated words, and last, but certainly not least: APOSTROPHES! Take that!" The 'perfect' prosecutor bellowed, extending his arm out so as to show the entire group the Words section of the instructions.
"But Manny-"
"So sayith' Hasbro, so it shall be!" Manfred shouted with the authority of one reading from a sacred scripture, his arm shaking with rage.
"Well, Manny. This may be a hard for you to believe, but there are other opinions besides yours." Gant said in a calmer tone that did little to hide the anger in his voice. "You see, not everyone likes to be shackled with official rules. Some people, like myself, just want to play the game and have fun because that's the whole point of playing a board game. That's why house rules exist. And since we're currently playing in my house, we play by my rules; thus, 'nuttin'' is a word."
"Don't forget that you are only able to afford this home thanks to my positive evaluation reports. As such, unless you want to end up living on the street or worse, sharing a loft apartment with that one sad, screechy-voiced janitor at the Prosecutor's Office who wears a green suit and has a pompadour, you'll recant your stance! Now!" Manfred ordered with a snap of his fingers.
"No!"
"Miles, Franziska, back me up!" Manfred barked, turning to his right to face his young wards, both of whom had looks of pure apprehension as they eyed the ground in front of their own lawn chairs in the hopes that they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. "Tell Detective Gant that he's wrong and I'm right, as I always am!"
"Hey now, no fair!" Gant objected. "Of course your kids are gonna side with you, Manny! Plus, it doesn't help that you gave Little Worthy a free pass with 'rend-ez-vow' back on Turn Four- which, by the way, is a French word, which goes against the official rules that you love so much! Yet did you give Little Worthy a pound-and-a-half of grief for it? No! You saved that for just me, the birthday boy who had the audacity to take the lead last turn, and thus risk the balance of the universe by potentially causing you to lose for once in your life!"
"The reason I didn't object to Miles' use of the word 'rendezvous'- which, by the way, is pronounced 'raand-ay-voos', you uncultured Neanderthal- is because while the word may be of French origin, it has become a part of the English language." Manfred stated with crossed alarms in a condescending tone. "Not to mention, Miles used a word, unlike you, right, Miles?"
"With all due respect, sir. Please don't drag either me or Franziska into this. We're just two neutral players who only wish to amuse ourselves with a battle of wit." Edgeworth carefully stated, making sure to not make eye contact, lest his mentor bite his head off, as Franziska silently nodded in the background. The silver-haired girl may have normally been a spitfire, but even she knew that getting involved in this argument would lead to only pain and misery.
"Well, Miles, how do you propose that we deal with this impasse if you won't serve as a third-party and side with me?" Manfred growled.
"Looks like it's up to me to save the day as always…" Blaise sighed, deciding to make himself know as he walked over to the coffee table.
"Hear that, Manny?" Gant smirked, knowing the Chief Prosecutor's long history of siding against their perfectionist friend for the fun of it. "Like with casinos, in my home, the house always wins."
"Oh, so it's not fair if I ask my wards to help settle this disagreement, yet it's perfectly acceptable to have the guy who's been openly defying me at every opportunity for the past 50 years?" Manfred questioned.
"Don't worry, von Karma. For once, I'm not out to get you." Blaise stated as he proceeded to play with his lighter. "Y'see, with how my day's been going, I'm hardly in the mood to deal with some never-ending Scrabble game from Hell. Otherwise, I would have gone with my original plan and brought Redd White with me as a plus-one."
Gant flashed the Chief prosecutor his infamous stare. "… Blaisie, that would be an awful thing to do- even by your standards, or lack thereof."
"For once, I agree with Gant." Manfred chimed in. "To this day, I still have nightmares about the last game of Scrabble we played with him how every turn would take around an hour because he'd be so adamant about using his fake 'words', like 'jovelestatic', 'granoyting', and 'beausom'."
"And don't forget about proteception." Gant groaned as he fiddled with his hair. "That one was so bad that all three of us had to join forces for two whole hours to argue against that one."
"Exactly. That's why I'm settling things here and now by calling someone who knows more about the English language than all three of us… except when it comes to the words 'color' and 'theater', but what's two words, y'know?" Blaise stated as he pulled out his cellphone, quickly dialed in a number, and set it to speaker, allowing everyone in the room to hear the phone ring.
After about a minute, the ringing was suddenly interrupted by someone answering the phone.
"Hello..?" A deep male voice groggily asked in an English accent.
"Hey, Hawks. It's Blaise Debeste. You busy?"
"Well, I was sleeping, what with it being 4:30 in the morning here in London." Hawks wryly respond.
"Great! Since you're not busy, you can do me a solid by answering a question."
"I'd be more than happy to assist you, Chief Prosecutor Debeste… *yawn* after I get a couple more hours of sleep."
"Y-Y'know, I'm- I'm not asking for much, Bill." Blaise whimpered, his goggles filling up with tears. "I-I just figured that you'd be more than happy to answer a question for a friend who was so kind as to give you a very generous donation for your research."
"Fine." Bill stated with an exasperated sigh. "What's your question?"
"Is 'nuttin'' a word?"
"… What?" Bill asked with a confused tone.
"The word 'nuttin'', n-u-t-t-i-n, would you consider that to be a valid word in a game of Scrabble?"
"Bloody Americans…" Bill angrily muttered under his breath before speaking louder. "Let me get this straight: you woke me up at 4:30 in the morning just to ask me if you can use a variation of the word 'nothing' in a game of Scrabble?"
"Yup."
"I know that it's commonplace where you're from for your mouth to be five kilometers ahead of your mind, but did it not dawn on you to consult a dictionary on the matter?" The Englishman asked with a hint of condescension in his voice. "Because if you did, you would have learned within seconds that 'nuttin'' is not a word on the grounds that it's an abbreviation of 'nothing' without having to rudely awaken an associate from a deep slumber in the wee hours of the morning."
"You wanna go down that path, Hawks?" Blaise snarled. "You wanna throw shade at me for supposedly not thinking? You, the guy who was talking a big game about having a working time machine with all your charts and calculations and crap and promising me that I would receive full use of it? Well, let me ask you, Hawks? How did that work out? How did the first use of your supposed time machine last week go?"
"I'd rather us not go down this path." Bill stated nonchalantly, using everything in his power to contain his rage.
"What, Bill? You don't want to talk about how you screwed me over with a 'time machine' that was only successful in blowing up a building, leaving me with $4 million less dollars to my name, and a stupid son that I now can't feed to a T-Rex!?"
"Well, since this conversation seems to be going nowhere faster than a documentary made on your side of the pond, I believe that I will be going back to sleep."
"Don't you hang up this phone, Hawks! I'm not done with you!" Blaise roared.
"Goodbye." Bill curtly, yet politely stated before ending the call.
"Told you so." Manfred smirked at Gant as the other man sighed in defeat.
"I swear, this freakin' day…!" Blaise fumed as he took a seat on the couch next to the orange-cladded detective, not caring that he was sitting on a couch that was pretty much 30% fabric and 70% filth.
"Wanna talk about it, Blaisie?" Gant asked with a concerned look as he patted his friend's shoulder.
"What's there to talk about? It's just the usual thing of Sebastian being a thorn in my side with his very existence, y'know?" Blaise nonchalantly stated as he played with his lighter.
"Just like how Miles Edgeworth is to me." Franziska wryly remarked, earning a stern look from her adopted brother.
"Except you probably don't have to jump through hoops to keep yourself from getting punished because of him, little von Karma." Blaise responded to the silver-haired girl before directing his attention to the room as a whole. "Y'see, this morning, I got a tip from one of my moles down at Child Protective Services that they plan on sending someone over to my house today for a surprise inspection. Apparently, the family that just moved in next door didn't find it strange that the house's previous occupants suddenly disappeared without a trace, because they decided to stick their noses where they don't belong and reported how I stripped Sebastian naked last night, tarred and feathered him, and chained him to a tree in the backyard."
"Chief Prosecutor Debeste!" Edgeworth gasped, his eyes filled with shock and horror. "How could you do something like that to your son?!"
"Simple, Edgeworth. Y'see, that little idiot wanted to fix up a stupid picture he drew of me that I tore up and threw in the trash where it belonged, so he went and destroyed my It's a Bundyful Life VHS tape thinking that there was masking tape inside, and as such, had to be punished." Blaise stated matter-of-factly, doing little to ease the slate-haired adolescent.
"I understand why you'd be upset, but I hardly believe- Ow!" Edgeworth exclaimed as Franziska lashed his right arm with her riding crop.
"It doesn't matter what you foolishly believe, Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska snapped, glowering at her 'little' brother as she bent her trusty weapon. "Unky Boo Boo is the chief prosecutor, and as such, his word is law. So if he feels that his foolishly foolish son should be stripped naked and chained to a tree, then that's exactly what should happen!"
"I-If only Sebastian was half as smart as you, little von Karma…" Blaise whimpered, his goggles filling up with tears as he pulled on his fake beard, only for him to immediately dump them out before proceeding to play with his lighter. "So as I was saying, that's why I had to spend my Sunday at home- to keep any government toadies from snooping around my house and getting any bright ideas- as well as not lock Sebastian in his room or a closet to keep him out of my hair. Yet despite me having to spend all day having to deal with all of that little idiot's crap, the social worker hasn't come by the house yet.
"Then why are you here and not at your house waiting for the social worker?" Gant asked as he fiddled with his hair.
"Good question, Gant." Blaise smirked. "Y'see, I had resigned myself to an evening at home watching The Wheel in the hopes of drowning out Sebastian's stupidity, when I was hit with this brilliant idea: I get the most underwhelming, pathetic, least-credible-looking person at the Prosecutor's Office to babysit the little idiot. Y'see, that way, not only would they be so desperate to keep their job and/or earn my favor that they'd be willing to do it for little to no extra pay, but they'd be more than happy to talk me up to the social worker and get them off of my back while I go to work making sure that those next-door neighbors never pull something like this again."
"That description applies to every prosecutor at the Prosecutor's Office who isn't me." Manfred proudly stated with crossed arms. "So who did you go with?"
Meanwhile, in the Debeste house, Sebastian is sitting on one of the leather couches in the living room, trying his best to enjoy an episode of Dora the Explorer, an endeavor that was easier said than done as Winston- dressed in his lime-green suit and his hair styled into a pompadour despite his evening consisting of babysitting a seven-year-old kid- wheezed and whimpered while crying his eyes out.
"A-A-And then last week, I won a big case and decided to ask out the coroner in charge in the hopes that she was impressed by my courtroom prowess. H-Her name was… Courtney Sithe, I think, though I'm not entirely sure. She had pouty lips, lovely grey eyes, and long, silky hair that was as white as snow and-and smelled like strawberries and luminol. So I asked her out, and-and-and she said yes, so I'm thinking to myself, 'This is it, Winston! You've finally found The One, the woman who you'll spend the rest of your life with so you don't die alone in your loft apartment!' S-So as you'd expect, I pulled out all the stops to make sure that this was the best date ever- fresh-cut roses, dinner at an upscale French restaurant, dancing, and a moonlit carriage ride. B-But do you know what she said to me when I asked her if she'd like to go out with me again after the date was over? DO YOU!?" The pathetic prosecutor shirked, getting right in the young boy's face, which now had tears streaming down it.
"Uh, Mr. Payne, you're scarring me." Sebastian quietly whimpered as he slowly moved shuffled away from his distraught babysitter, only for the man to ignore him as he continued on his tangent.
"She flat-out told me that she would rather date an actual tea kettle than a sad, miserable, screechy man like me and stated that she only went out with me to see if Prosecutor von Karma was single. Prosecutor von Karma! Have you seen how he dresses!? He looks and acts like a vampire! For crying out loud, who wears a cravat in this day and age? What does he have that I don't that drives women crazy? Do I need to be a megalomaniac? Do I need to abuse people and treat them like garbage? Because if that's the case, I'm screwed since I'm a firm believer in respecting others. And it's not like the woman of my dreams is going appear out of thin air and help me escape this hell of loneliness."
"Andele, Dora! Andele! Take me away from this creepy guy rapido!" Sebastian wept as he plead to the television.
At that moment, the doorbell rang, prompting Winston to get up from the couch and slowly walk over to the door, his gaze pointed down towards the ground as he dried the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. Sure, the screechy prosecutor knew that he was the joke of his office, but he wasn't looking to add more names to the list of people who didn't respect him by answering the door looking like a weepy, wimpy, crying mess- especially in front of potentially the social worker that Chief Prosecutor Debeste wanted him to impress.
So with a deep, defeated sigh, Winston opened the door, expecting to be greeted by a stereotypically unkempt, apathetic government worker who would be satisfied with him saying a few good remarks about Chief Prosecutor Debeste and being sober, only for his expectations to be shattered for the better.
Instead of some frumpy, middle-aged government worker with the unkempt clothes and hair of someone who fought off a horde of zombies and the disposition of one without a cup of coffee at this time of night, Winston was standing face-to-face with a young svelte woman (or face-to-breast on account of her standing a good six inches taller than him in her stylish flats) with luscious, wavy blonde hair that gracefully cascaded over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back and a shapely body that was perfectly accentuated by her outfit- a white blouse that made her sizable bosom quite apparent despite it being completely buttoned-up and a black miniskirt that left nothing to the imagination in regards to her smooth, statuesque legs.
In short, the woman had the body of a model and Winston instantly knew that even if someone like her was single (which was probably less likely than him finding someone in the legal world who actually respected him as a human being), she would never settle for some scrawny, awkward short guy like him. Heck, this woman was so repulsed by his appearance that she spent a few solid seconds staring down into his eyes with her warm, sky-blue orbs and smiling down at him with a nervous grin- like how someone looks at a sad, deformed puppy or a burn victim- without saying a thing, the silence finally being broken when he decided to initiate conversation.
"Hello, ma'am, can I help you?" Winston sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"Oh!" The woman exclaimed, as if she was broken out of a trance, her cheeks reddening as she started to fiddle with her hair. "S-Sorry, My name is Child Protective Services and I'm with Greta Ferkids- er, sorry! It's been a long week- TGIS, am I right? W-Wait! What am I saying? No one likes Sundays. I mean, they're… they're one day closer to Monday, and no one likes Mondays- just ask Garfield!" Greta nervously giggled, prompting Winton to flash her a confused look. "What I meant to say is that my name's Greta Ferkids and I'm here on behalf of Child Protective Services. May I please come in?"
"Of course!" Winston jovially responded, knowing that he couldn't risk losing his job over feeling sorry for himself over the sad mess that was his life, stepping off to the side and allowing the woman to enter the house before closing the door.
"Mr. Debeste, I don't mean to sound intrusive when I ask this, b-but I noticed that you aren't wearing a wedding band. Are you a-a widower? D-Did you recently divorce?" Greta nervously asked as she scratched the back of her neck. "I-I know that this is probably a very personal matter, but in order to ensure that little Sebastian receives the help that he needs, if he does in fact need any, I need to know everything about his home environment."
"I understand completely. As a prosecutor myself, I need to know everything I can about a crime if I want to make sure that I'm convicting true culprit. Though I can't be divorced or a widower since I've never been married and I can't really speak about Chief Prosecutor Debeste's situation since I'm not him."
"Oh my gosh!" Greta gasped with reddening cheeks, putting a hand to her mouth as if she made the biggest mistake of her life. "I-I'm sorry! I just thought that since you're in Mr. Debeste's house and you look like you're a successful man…"
"No problem. I can see where you're coming from. Chief Prosecutor Debeste had some business to attend to, so he asked me, Winston Payne, a trustworthy prosecutor serving the Great State of California, to watch his son, to which I told him I'd be more than happy to." Winston's gaze darted between the smiling woman and the ground where he was lightly dragging one of his feet back and forth in a straight line, a goofy grin started to spread across his face. "I mean, how could I say no? Ever since Chief Prosecutor Debeste's wife died shortly after their son was born, he did everything in his power as a single father to give his son a proper upbringing- working long hours, taking time throughout the day to check in on his son's status, giving the boy constant -er, constructive criticism, and even arraigning for special family days at the Prosecutor's Office to spend time with his son…"
Suddenly, Winston's smile disappeared, his face becoming as stoic as when he would tell the court about the gruesome details of a murder as he continued talking.
"But unfortunately, I've never been able to enjoy those happy days because I don't have a family of my own- never been able to find a woman who can tame this wild stallion, you know? But I'd like to think of all of the kids in California as my children since they're our futures. That's one of the reasons why I came to support little Sebastian here." The screechy prosecutor smirked as he patted the young boy on the head.
"What are you talking about, Mr. Payne?" Sebastian asked, his head cocked to the side out of confusion. "You told me that you're only babysitting me because you had nothing better to do tonight after you got rejected by all of the women at the Institute for the Deaf, the Institute for the Blind, and the Institute of the Blind AND Deaf."
"Is this true, Mr. Payne?" Greta asked with a concerned tone.
"W-W-Well…" Winston stammered, his posture hunched over as he started breaking out in a cold sweat. "I- I may have mentioned something along those lines in passing, b-but I promise you that wasn't the sole reason why I'm here."
"Yeah, Miss!" Sebastian jovially chimed in, completely oblivious to the situation as always. "Mr. Payne also mentioned that spending his Sunday evening with someone would keep him from being overwhelmed by the crimpling sadness and fear of possibly dying alone and unloved."
"Oh, you poor man…" Greta said in a consoling tone, her eyes filled with sadness as she gently put a hand on the prosecutor's shoulder. "I know exactly how you feel- fearing that you're never going to find the right person and that you'll die alone. Now, you're probably thinking that I have it easy looking like, well, this…" The social worker gestured to herself. "But let me tell you, I don't. I may have had handsome men throwing themselves at me day and night for all 34 of my years on this earth, but more times than not, the good qualities of those men end at skin-level, revealing creeps who only want a one-night stand. So take it from me: when it comes to dating, quality always trumps quantity. It doesn't matter how many people you go out with or don't as long as you find the right person in the end- someone who cares about you, someone who wants to laugh with you in good times and cry with you when things get tough, the kind of person that you can honestly see yourself starting a family with. And looking at you, Mr. Payne, it's only a matter of time before you meet the right woman for you and make her feel like the luckiest girl on earth."
"Th-Thank you, Ms. Ferkids." Winston muttered under his breath, a small grin spreading across his face as his cheeks reddened.
"No need to be so formal!" Greta chirped with a wave of her hand. "Feel free to call me Greta!"
"Ok, Greta. In that case, you can call me Winston." Winston smirked.
"Fine with me, Winston. In that case, how's about you, me, and Sebastian play a game together? If I see that you're a kind, caring man who doesn't lose his temper when things don't go his way in a competition with a child, then I believe that my work here will be done. After all, the company a person keeps speaks volumes about their character."
"If that's all it takes, then I'm game." Winston confidently replied as he pat his pompadour, prompting Greta to reward his corny pun with a graceful giggle.
"In that case…!" Sebastian exclaimed, leaping off of the couch and grabbing a box containing Twister that was placed on the coffee table in front of the couch. "How's about we play this game here that Pops left on the table because he was in such a hurry to get out?" The naïve boy asked, to which the two adults answered with nods.
"While I may be the King of Conversation down at the station, I didn't organize this game night just so we could spend it talking. So what do you guys want to play first- besides Stratego, that is?" Gant asked as he fiddled with his hair.
"Y'know, if I wasn't so distracted by the crappy day that was today and didn't pull a Sebastian by leaving my Twister game at home, my vote would hands down be for that solely for the sake of having a repeat of last time." Blaise cackled. "Y'see, there's nothing more amusing than hearing 'right hand on red', followed by von Karma screaming bloody murder as he falls on his side gripping his right shoulder for dear life."
"Well, I'm glad you have such fond memories of Twister, Debeste." Manfred responded with a hint of venom in his voice and crossed arms. "Too bad I can't say the same thing about that game after bearing witness to that one round gone awry back when we were in high-school."
"What happened with that game of Twister, sir?" Edgeworth asked.
"Nothing happened, Edgeworth! End of story!" Blaise snarled, glaring daggers at the maroon-cladded adolescent as a pillar of flame erupted from his lighter.
"I'm sorry if I struck a nerve, Chief Prosecutor Debeste, I was simply curious about the matter. If something as trivial as a round of Twister can stand out in the mind of an esteemed, down-to-business prosecutor like Mr. von Karma who has dealt with countless gruesome murder cases involving all kinds of deranged killers, then logically, it had to be quite the event." Edgeworth smirked as he tapped a finger to his temple. "And judging from your reaction, it would appear that I'm on the right track."
"Yeah, tell us, Unky Boo Boo!" Franziska excitedly chimed in.
"There's nothing to tell because nothing happened, y'know? Y'see, Edgeworth, you're a smart kid and I like you, so I wouldn't want to see you go down a path that yields… less than positive results." Blaise sinisterly remarked, taking out a piece of paper before burning it to ashes with his lighter.
"If that's your definition of 'nothing', Debeste, then your mind's as faulty as your tear ducts. So allow me to refresh your memory…" Manfred sneered.
"Don't you dare, von Karma!" Blaise snapped, only to be ignored by his subordinate.
"The year was 1966 and Debeste, Gant, and I were nearing the end of our freshman year at Cee O'Cheets High. So to 'celebrate', Debeste and Gant dragged me to a party being held at the latter's house thanks to his parents being out of town for a luxury cruise, as was their tradition during the summer months. As you'd expect, I wanted nothing to do with it, so I spent my evening in the basement reading a book on courtroom proceedings in preparation for my perfect career, but I wasn't the only one in that basement trying to lay down groundwork. For you see, Debeste was also down there in an attempt to increase his overall popularity. So with his hopes raised and his inhibitions lowered thanks to downing one-too-many beers that he stole from the refrigerator, he came up with the 'brilliant' idea to play 'Strip Twister'."
"von Karma, I'm war-" Blaise tried to object, only for Gant to put a gloved hand over his mouth, the latter chuckling in anticipation for what was coming next.
"Of course, I told Debeste that the idea was stupid and would fail miserably, but would he listen to me? No. And what happened? Instead of getting a bunch of attractive girls to join him as he had hoped, Debeste was stuck playing a round of 'Strip Twister' with the stereotypical obese student, Marvin Grossberg, and that one kid who kept to himself and always looked like he was on the verge of going on a murderous rampage, Magnifi Gramarye. And sure enough, I was proven right 15 minutes into the 'game' when 'left hand on green' was called out, causing Debeste's hand to slip, resulting in his face landing right in Grossberg's bare-"
"Ow!" Gant screamed in pain, rubbing the hand that he was holding over Blaise's mouth after the Chief Prosecutor bit it in an attempt to stop the trip down memory pain.
"Ok, let's play something! Anything! As long as we-we don't talk anymore about that night…" Blaise whimpered, his goggles filling up with tears.
And play they did. For the next two hours, the group played a variety of games, including, but not limited to: Candyland…
Normally, playing a round of Candyland is simple- each player draws a colored card from the deck, moves forward to the square of that color that's closest to them, and repeats this process until someone reaches the end of the board. However, this was no normal round of Candyland- far from it- for this was a round of Candyland with Manfred 'I am Number-One' von Karma.
As such, despite the game being over for quite some time and his three opponents having stopped playing, the 'perfect' prosecutor continued to draw cards in the hopes of finally getting the purple one needed for his blue game piece to move forward a single space so he could reach the castle.
"Raaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! Blue again!" Manfred roared, forcefully slamming the card on top of the pile of ones that were previously used.
"Mr. von Karma, I understand your desire to win this game more than anyone, but I think I speak for all of us when I say that it's time to end this." Edgeworth, who opted not to play such a childish game for the sake of his dignity, calmly stated, earning a death glare from his mentor.
"No, Miles, you don't understand! Because if you did, you would know that I will not rest until I get a purple card, reach Candy Castle, and seize victory! Such is the way of the von Karma!" Manfred proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.
"What are you talking about, sir?" Edgeworth asked with a look of confusion. "You've been doggedly drawing cards in the hopes of 'claiming victory' in a game that Franziska won 20 minutes ago. There's no longer any victory because there's no longer a game to play."
"That 'victory' did not count." Manfred stated matter-of-factly.
"Yes it does!" Franziska pouted as she bent her riding crop.
"No it doesn't! I won and you know it!" Manfred objected with a snap of his fingers.
"Sir, I know that winning is very, very, very important to you, but what about what you told Franziska in the car earlier?" Edgeworth reasoned. "That, and I quote, 'If anyone wins, you will behave with the grace and dignity befitting a von Karma.'?"
"That's not what I said, Miles." Manfred stated with crossed arms as he squeezed his bicep. "I said that if anyone wins fairly, which Franziska didn't. She merely got lucky by drawing the Granny Nut card right off the bat, whereas I was stuck in the Gooey Gumdrops for three turns! Now if you know what's good for you, boy, you will not utter another word until I draw the purple card that shall secure my Santa-given victory!"
With a sad nod, Edgeworth lowered his gaze to the ground, earning him a rare act of kindness from his adoptive sister as she gently pat him on the shoulder while the veteran prosecutor continued to frantically draw cards.
"Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Green. Orange. Orange. Orange. Double-Orange! Raaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!" Manfred repeatedly slammed his fist against the table's glass surface. "Where are the purple cards!? When will I find the purple card that will win me this game?!"
"When you realize that none of them were shuffled back into the deck after little von Karma won." Blaise whispered to Gant, prompting both men to snicker as the former gave the latter a brief peek at the purple cards that he was hiding in his coat pocket before being graced with another loud scream as Manfred drew the dreaded Plumpy card, thus forcing him to move his game piece pretty much back to the start of the board.
Sorry!…
Blaise, Manfred, Edgeworth, and Franziska were staring down at the game board on the coffee table, all of their attentions being dedicated to the game and nothing else on account of how they all had two of their pawns in their respective home areas as Gant sat idly by off to the side, enjoying the show after opting to sit this round out.
It was currently Franziska's turn and she had just drawn a five card from the stack, a triumphant smirk spreading across her face as she moved her yellow game piece five spaces forward and landed on the same space as Edgeworth's green pawn.
"Sorry, Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska mockingly stated with a waggle of her finger as her 'little' brother moved his pawn back to his starting area.
"And you're forgiven." Edgeworth calmly replied with outstretched arms. "After all, at the end of the day, this is just a game that we're playing for fun."
"Bah! You're only saying that because you're in last place, Miles." Manfred smirked. "Now sit back and watch a master at work." The 'perfect' prosecutor reached into the deck and pulled out a three card. "Three. That's one…" Manfred picked up his blue pawn and made a grand show of moving it a single space forward. "Two…" Another space was moved in a dramatic fashion. "And three…" The blue pawn landed on the same space as Blaise's red game piece, prompting Manfred to knock it off of the board by hitting his own against it with a flick of his wrist. "Sorry, Debeste!" The veteran prosecutor sneered, waggling his finger in the same fashion as his daughter.
However, unlike his daughter, whose remark was treated with a grain of salt by the opponent that she directed it at, Manfred wasn't quite as lucky due to him immediately finding himself forced out of his seat and lying on the ground after Blaise reached over the table and gave him a sharp left hook to his jaw as he yelled "Take that!"
And, at the end of the evening, Pictionary.
Contrary to all of the other games that were previously played that night, instead of the group sitting around the coffee table, the von Karma family's three lawn chairs were moved so that they were to the right of the couch, allowing them to face a large pad of paper that was placed on an easel in front of the television. In addition, while all of the games were either free-for-alls and/or one person had to sit out, everyone was able to play since they were divided into teams- with Edgeworth and Franziska being on one and Manfred, Gant, and Blaise making up the other.
However, while the kids' team was outnumbered, they had one major advantage over the adults: cohesion. Sure, Edgeworth and Franziska had their fair share of arguments and disagreements, like most siblings do, but they also knew how the other thought. As such, even though neither of them had any skill whatsoever when it came to drawing or anything artistic for that matter, they were able to get a good idea of what the other was trying to convey, whereas the adults' team- while still possessing a decent synergy thanks mostly to Gant- had a much harder time in that regard.
Thus, by the time the final turn of game rolled around, the kids' team was ahead by two points after the previous turn resulted in victory for them thanks to Franziska correctly guessing Dumbo the Elephant. As such, it was do or die for the adults- if Manfred and Gant could correctly guess the topic that Blaise had just pulled from the deck of cards on the coffee table, they'd win; but if they guessed wrong, all three men would have to deal with the shame of losing to two children.
Glancing down at what was written on the card, Blaise couldn't help but grin from ear-to-ear. With this subject, the game was as good as won for his team. Heck, even Manfred, whose life revolved around his job as a prosecutor, would be able to get this one no problem.
So after the five second prep time, Blaise quickly drew a picture of a dancing skeleton.
"Oh! Oh! I know this one! It's Manny!" Gant excitedly called out, earning a head shake from Blaise.
"Very funny, Gant." Manfred sarcastically responded with a roll of his eyes. "It's clearly Disney's The Skeleton Dance.
Once again, Blaise shook his head as he quickly drew another image, this time of a man in a box.
"Cube Man! It's Cube Man!" Gant exclaimed. "No, no, I got it! A criminal! Prison? Marriage?"
"Is it claustrophobia?" Manfred chimed in.
All of these answers earned the detective and prosecutor only a head shake, prompting Blaise to draw another picture, this one being a man hugging a little girl.
"Dancing skeleton, man in a box, and man hugging a little girl… Ok, I think I got this." Gant stated with a clap of his hands. "Quercus Alba, that ambassador from Cohdopia that you have lunch with once a week!"
Blaise once again shook his head, but before he could draw yet another picture, he was interrupted by Edgeworth yelling "Time's up!"
"Oingo Boingo!" Blaise shouted, flames erupting from his lighter as he glared at his childhood friends. "The answer was Oingo Boingo!"
"Oingo Boingo? As in the band? How were we supposed to guess that, Blaisie?" Gant asked as he fiddled with his hair.
"Each one of those drawings represents a cult-classic song written and performed by Oingo Boingo. Y'see, the skeleton's Dead Man's Party, the man in the box is Private Life, and the guy hugging the little girl is Little Girls. But I'm not entirely at fault here, y'know?" Blaise stated as he played with his lighter. "Y'see, I would have thought that it'd be obvious since Oingo Boingo's the greatest band to ever exist."
"Oingo Boingo? The greatest band to ever exist? Bah! Don't make me laugh." Manfred scoffed with crossed arms as he squeezed his bicep.
"Well, it's true, von Karma. Y'see, Oingo Boingo is such a great band that every Debeste is genetically inclined to love them." Blaise stated as he played with his lighter. "That's right, the second any Debeste hears an Oingo Boingo song, no other music can compete- and when I say any Debeste, I mean any Debeste, no matter who they are or where they're from. I love Oingo Boingo, my younger sisters love Oingo Boingo, my cousin Joey loves Oingo Boingo, my 13-year-old niece Dessie loves Oingo Boingo and even has a bit of a crush on Danny Elfman, my two-year-old niece Ellen loves Oingo Boingo, and even my moron of a son who can't read or use the bathroom on his own loves Oingo Boingo. That's why we play it for all of our big occasions- weddings, funerals, graduation parties. You name it, we play Oingo Boingo nonstop. If Oingo Boingo isn't the best band ever, then why would it be the Debeste Family band of choice?"
"Because you and your family have horrible taste in music." Manfred curtly replied. "Trust me; I haven't forgotten your annoying love of Oingo Boingo after you played it nonstop at your wedding reception. As such, I'm more than qualified to render a verdict on them, and that verdict is as follows: Oingo Boingo is like Frankenstein's Monster- an interesting experiment on paper, but in reality, it's a questionable mess. The darker lyrics and themes starkly contrast with the fast, upbeat music, the ideas utilized feel as though they came straight out of the fever dream of a second-rate Weird Al knockoff, and there's no variety when it comes to the melodies of the songs. If you were to listen to their works without the lyrics, there's a good chance that you wouldn't be able to differentiate one song from another. So to summarize: at best, Oingo Boingo is lackluster, and at worst, it's a grating mess that begs for the sweet release of death."
"Try saying that shit to my face, von Karma! Just try it and see what happens!" Blaise roared, a pillar of flames erupting from his lighter.
Taking his childhood friend up on his offer, Manfred calmly got up from his seat and walked right up to the Chief Prosecutor, leaning forward so that he was only inches away from the other man's face.
"Read my lips, Debeste." Manfred slowly and sternly stated. "Oingo. Boingo. Is. Lackluster."
Without a moment of hesitation, Blaise let out a deafening battle cry as he pounced on his subordinate like a lion on a gazelle, the veteran prosecutor's back slamming against the ground with a thud as the Chief Prosecutor used his knees to pin him down, securing him in place as he used both hands to squeeze at the other man's windpipe, the intensity of his squeezing and the fiery glare in his eyes only intensifying as he imagined that he was doing it to Sebastian.
"Take that!" Manfred yelled to the best of his ability as he delivered a powerful right hook to his superior's jaw, causing Blaise to lose his grip on his adversary's throat as he landed on the floor to the side.
Being the quick-witted man that he was, Manfred wasted no time in getting up off of the floor and capitalizing on his foe's semi-stunned state to hoist the man up by the collar of his jacket and deliver a barrage of punches to the other man's head and torso.
"Now it's a show!" Gant chirped with a clap of his hands.
"Go Papa! No mercy! Show him why us von Karmas are unrivalled in everything we do!" Franziska cheered, taking great pleasure in seeing her father take a page from her book and assert his dominance with a bit of brute force."
"Detective Gant, Franziska, how can you say such things?" Edgeworth said with a look and tone of utter shock. "We have to stop this senseless violence and resolve this conflict civilly posthaste!"
"Oh, lighten up, Little Worthy." Gant nonchalantly stated with a wave of his hand. "This is just a normal part of game night- Manny says something to piss Blaisie off, Blaisie starts a fight, they beat each other up until one of them feels like leaving, and then things go back to normal the next day. So just sit back and enjoy the show!"
"Listen to Detective Damon Gant, Miles Edgeworth, and don't be a fool." Franziska chimed in with a waggle of her finger. "You know as much as I do that once Papa's mind is set on something, he'll stop for no one."
"In that case, it looks like it's up to me to put an end to this madness." Edgeworth stated as he stood up from his chair and started walking towards the two men as Manfred finished off his long combo of punches with a swift headbutt, causing Blaise to stumble back, knocking over the easel in the process.
"Your funeral." Gant replied with a shrug as Manfred proceeded to attempt to hit Blaise with his cane, only for the Chief Prosecutor to stop it midair by grabbing the end with his left hand before balling his right into a fist and punching his subordinate in the side, allowing him to take the cane away from his opponent.
"Mr. von Karma, Chief Prosecutor Debeste. I realize that things are starting to become heated, but as intelligent men of the la-AARGH!" Edgeworth screamed out in pain, his sentence cut short as Blaise tried to sideswipe Manfred's head with the cane, only for the 'perfect' prosecutor to duck, resulting in the maroon-cladded adolescent to receive the full brunt of the attack, instantly rendering him unconscious as his limp body fell to the floor.
"I warned you, Little Worthy..." Gant shook his head as he took a baseball out of his coat pocket, placed it down next to Edgeworth's head, took out his cellphone, and snapped a picture of the unconscious prosecutor before returning both the phone and the baseball to his pocket.
Completely undeterred by Edgeworth's pathetic attempt to interrupt the fight, Blaise tossed Manfred's cane off to the side so that he could grab the veteran prosecutor by the back of his coat with both hands, press his torso down on the coffee table, and slide him belly-first across the glass surface, clearing it of several half-eaten chip bags as he landed on the floor in front of the dirty couch.
From there, Blaise was able to dish out his cruelest blow yet: grabbing the back of Manfred's head, he rammed the 'perfect' prosecutor's face into one of the filthy couch cushions, causing a small dirt cloud to rise up.
"Think I have bad tastes, Sebastian? Well, how does Gant's dirty-ass couch taste?! Huh!? HUH!? You like the taste of that shitty couch you worthless piece of shit? Of course you do! Y'see, 'cause you are what you eat, and you're nothing but a big, steaming pile of shit, Sebastian! And not just any shit- your shit!" Blaise snarled as he rubbed his foe's face into the couch cushion like how one would rub a dog's face in its own urine.
As Blaise was doling out punishment, his cellphone started ringing. Of course, it went unanswered, resulting in it going to voicemail in a real 'speak of the Devil' moment as Sebastian's panicked voice was heard.
"Pops! Pops! I don't what to do! M-Me and Mr. Payne were playing Twister with the lady from Social Services a-a-and we were having fun, but then they started acting funny! Mr. Payne wouldn't stop talking about how nice she was and how beautiful she looked and her face got really red and-and then, all of a sudden, they started wrestling on the couch and he's trying to eat her face! I tried to get him to stop, but nothing I do works! Help me, Pops! I'm scarred and confused and my pants and the floor are now wet!"
"What the hell's that little weasel doing in my house?!" Blaise snarled, allowing Manfred to gain the upper-hand by grabbing a couch cushion with one of his hands and hitting his foe in the face, causing the Chief Prosecutor to reel back as a moderate-sized dirt cloud erupted from the cushion.
"Ok, von Karma, playtime's over…" Blaise grunted, his breathing on the heavy side due to the intensity of the fight. "Y'see, as much as I'd love to torture you some more, I've got to save some pain for Payne to teach him why you don't run the bases on my baseball diamond. So with that, I have just one thing to say: Objection!"
After shouting that one word, Blaise tensed his arms and raised them up in the air, causing Gant's pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the room to rise up from the floor and start floating in midair.
"Take that!" Blaise yelled, pointing his left hand at Manfred, causing the pile of dirty clothes to fly towards him, but before they could hit him…
"Objection!" Manfred shouted back, raising his hands to his torso, resulting in the clothes stopping in their tracks as they floated before him. "Hold it… Hold it… Hold it…" The veteran prosecutor stated in a collected tone as he twirled his wrists in clockwise circles, prompting the clothes to start spinning in a similar manner as they formed into a giant ball. "Take that!" Manfred roared, thrusting his right arm out in a mighty finger-point in his foe's direction, resulting the ball of clothes to be sent flying back at the Chief Prosecutor at an impressive speed.
So fast was the ball of clothes moving that Blaise was only able to let out a single scream, his eyes filled with terror as it slammed into him, knocking him to the ground and burying him under a pile of Gant's dirty clothes that hadn't been washed for several weeks.
"Oh God! They're on me! They're on me!" Blaise cried out in horror and disgust as he struggled to free himself from the filthy articles of clothing. "Ew! Ew! Ewewewew! A really crusty speedo just got in my mouth! AAAGH!"
After taking a brief moment to savor his victory by smirking at the Chief Prosecutor's plight, Manfred turned to his daughter, who looked as though she had watched the event of the century. "Come, Franziska. There is no longer any reason for us to stay here. Drag Miles out to the car so that we may return to the mansion."
"Yes, Papa." Franziska replied with a hint of fear in her voice as she got up from her seat, grabbed one of Edgeworth's legs with both hands, and proceeded to drag him along the floor as she followed her father to the door.
"Thanks for coming, Manny and Franny-Banany! See you both later!" Gant chirped, turning to face the von Karmas with a grin and excitedly waving to them as they exited the house.
After loading Edgeworth's limp body into his seat, buckling him, up and making sure that Franziska was situated in her own spot in the Mercedes, Manfred wasted no time in backing up out of the driveway- though not before pulling back in so as to graze Blaise's motorcycle and give it several large, noticeable scratches. Sure, Manfred would have to pay to repair his own car, but it would be money well-spent knowing that the Chief Prosecutor would have a legitimate reason to shed his irritating crocodile tears for once.
Upon seeing Gant's driveway fade into the distance, Manfred decided to turn on the radio in an attempt to help calm his frazzled nerves after the brawl he was just involved in, only for the plan to immediately backfire as the radio started playing the lyrics to Perfect System by Oingo Boingo.
And if that wasn't bad enough, Manfred eyes became saucer-sized with horror when he heard humming coming from the back, only to witness Franziska bobbing her head in-time with music as an approving grin formed on her face.
"Gah!" Manfred exclaimed as he immediately turned off the radio, much to his daughter's disappointment.
"Why did you turn that music off, Papa? That song was perfect." Franziska sullenly stated.
"I decided that I'm no longer in the mood to listen to music. End of story."
"Well, do you know what band that was so that I can look them up in my free time?" The silver-haired girl innocently asked, a small hopeful smile spreading across her face, only for it to immediately be replaced with a look of apprehension as she saw her father glowering back at her.
"A horrible group that you will never listen to ever again. Understand?" Manfred growled.
"Yes, Papa…" Franziska sighed in resignation as the car made its way back to the von Karma mansion.