World in a grain of sand
The scent of antiseptic and nurses in starched, white uniforms hammered home the gravity of the situation. The infirm and wounded meandered in hallways painted by harsh lights. Patients past their prime hobbled on walkers, trickling downstairs for a splash of sunshine and the reminder of the world outside the hospital. Phoenix gathered his courage at the entrance to the emergency ward, hands crinkling the cellophane wrapping a bouquet of pastel pink peonies.
A dark silhouette rippled on the thick curtain between the two beds, he didn't need to guess Sora's constant visitor.
Sitting on the proffered stool, Wright placed the bouquet on the bedside table, a little color returned to Trucy's cheeks and he gently clasped her limp hand, thumb brushing against her palm and the scar across her fingers. Her pained expression worried him and he rose when she scrunched her face and opened her eyes.
Trucy's irises were the most beautiful shade of blue; Phoenix decided when he adopted her. He will fight anyone who dare disagrees.
"Daddy?" she squeaked and smiled weakly. Wright squeezed her hand tightly, not trusting himself to speak. "Are you eating well?" Despite her condition, she managed to think of others first. "You look tired," she closed her eyes and Wright smoothed her hair across her forehead. "My head hurts," she quietly complained and struggled to sit up.
Stuffing the pillows behind her back, Phoenix cupped her cheeks and swallowed the ball threatening to choke him since the morning. "Hmm... I think I'm getting sick of burgers," he laughed when his daughter giggled. "Trucy, who..." The question wanted to leap off his tongue and he deliberately stopped when she reached for the peonies, pressing her face in the fragrant bouquet. "Should I get the nurse?" he asked and she shook her head. "The headache will probably go away when you are back on your feet."
Wright wanted to whisk her away from this oppressive atmosphere of helplessness. She did not belong here, wearing a baby blue gown with a helpless smile stitched across her face. The monitors beeped with uncanny regularity, figures, which meant little to him, flashed across the screen.
"Is there anything you want?" He paused. "Polly and the others couldn't come," he gestured vaguely, "he really wanted to, but he's busy on a new case."
Drawing the hospital sheet to her chest, Trucy tried to peer past the curtain. "It's okay," her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "Everyone can visit me later; they can bring a pudding each."
She beamed when her father's eyes crinkled in mirth. Trucy sneezed, freezing when she sensed the figure on the other side of the room stiffen. She clasped Phoenix's hand, a little distressed by the stubble erupting on his jawline; a thousand emotions chased in the subtle cues on his face. Anger, confusion and hurt. A cocktail on the lines on his forehead. Mostly, she sensed fear. Her father hardly exhibited this emotion, seemingly immune to it after he clawed his way back up to the rank of respectable attorneys, however, it radiated powerfully now, from his clenched fist and rigid posture. She kneaded his knuckles, comforted by his reassuring presence.
"Sora tried to save me." The night of the incident unfolded in alarming sequences and brought on a wave of nausea. A parking lot filled with gleaming, expensive cars. "...How is he?" Trucy frantically asked. A blonde boy, cloaked with an air of a reaper. She shivered. "Daddy... please tell me he's okay."
Two Keyblades. Sora bravely stepping in front of her, his knuckles white on the yellow hilt of a giant key.
A gloved hand ripped the curtain back. "He's in a coma," Vanitas callously informed, sadistically pleased by the way Trucy pressed a hand to her chest, her face paling by several shades. Someone else can feel whatever he's feeling for once.
The attorney glared furiously at him and protectively stroked her hair. "We can always find another client," Phoenix reminded a scowling Vanitas. "Although," a humorless grin snaked across his lips, "I doubt anyone would be able to acquit your boss. Guilty of two charges of murder," Phoenix tilted his head back, "by the CEO of Organization XIII no less. Who is going to believe him?"
"Daddy," Trucy whispered.
"No one," Wright hissed, resisting the urge to poke Vanitas' chest. The raven haired Clavius infuriated him. "Trucy was also there, don't forget." Phoenix smiled tightly at his daughter and nodding at the nurse, stepped out. Seizing a moment to even his breathing in the corridor, he imparted a last, tired glance at the ward and hurried off to tackle the morning's work.
Trying to ignore the menacing stance of Sora's raven haired twin, Trucy fussed over the peonies. She caressed the crimped petals, praying for him to go away. To her dismay, he closed the curtain behind him; she caught an array of hospital equipment and a tuft of spiky brown hair before the white sheet obscured her vision. Vanitas crashed heavily on the stool, a crown pendant winking on his chest and she shifted uneasily under his hawk eyed, golden gaze.
"What were you and Sora doing at Organization XIII? Why didn't the loud one go with you two?" Trucy wilted under Vanitas' interrogation. "Who... who did this to you?"
A blonde teenager, draped in a coat of blackest black. Blended against the shadows in the parking lot.
The stuffed dragon spilled on the asphalt, forgotten.
Pearls of crimson sprang across her palm. Her phone, a gift from everyone at the Agency, lay in fragments at her feet.
"..." Trucy tried to tell him. The words refused to surface from her throat. Organization XIII's delivery boy... what was his name? Her memories blurred, interjected by the stiff, uncomfortable sensation of blood starching her dress. It stank of iron. She dimly recalled holding someone desperately. "We... he..."
The tears finally found an outlet and she wished for Apollo. Funny, he popped in her mind when she least expected him to.
Wet tracks traced Trucy's cheeks and Vanitas hunted in his pockets for a handkerchief. A nurse moved forward and he threw her a stone eroding glare. "Leave me. Alone," he growled and offered the square of soft cotton to Trucy. She hiccupped, too preoccupied with stemming the tears dripping messily off her nose and chin. "Tch." Vanitas gently dabbed her cheeks. "Don't cry," his voice softened, "please." He leaned across the bed as she sobbed harder. The nurse arched an eyebrow. "...My therapist said crying is healthy," he shot at the nurse and ducked back for a box of tissues.
"Whatever you say Mr. Clavius." The nurse checked Sora's vitals. "I do suppose telling you that visiting hours are over is pointless."
"Sora got a pair of jeans for you," Trucy said once she calmed down. A pile of wet tissues heaped on her bed and Vanitas gathered them in a bag. "And... and a stuffed dragon. You like dragons."
"Not stuffed ones!" Vanitas lied, heat rising in his cheeks. He cleaned the bed off withered peony petals and arranged the remaining flowers in a vase. The muted pinks mellowed the abrasive quality of the room and he considered taking some for his brother. "Do I look like I play with stuffed toys?" His voice rose and fell.
The young woman giggled and he found it strangely soothing. "He said you like fluffy things. You can cook and you take care of people really well," Trucy chirped, her initial caution ebbing quickly; embarrassed, Vanitas straightened her crinkled sheets; Sora wasn't the one to spill weird secrets to people. "...I bet you are really popular with girls," she finished her assessment, factoring in his tight, slate grey shirt emblazoned with a pair of dove white angel wings.
"Not really," he mumbled. "They mostly run after Sora." His brows furrowed at the memory of his brother staggering under a load of homemade chocolate on Valentine's Day. Sora opened his locker, squeaking when fuchsia pink envelopes rained on him. Whoever made the mistake of laughing became well acquainted with Vanitas' fingers on their throat. "You don't know how satisfying it was to watch their faces fall when I told them Sora wasn't interested." His grin tinged with the edge of madness.
The words evaporated in his mouth when she smiled expectantly at him.
"I suppose... I guess..." he scratched the back of his head nervously, "I don't mind you with him." He paused. "I mean... I don't mind you hanging around him." He scrambled up from his chair. "You make really good cake," Vanitas smiled and it stunned Trucy how genuine and warm it appeared. "Once you get out of hospital, you owe me cake, a big one," he insisted and hastily disappeared behind the curtain, tugging it in place.
The shadowy shape assumed its place next to Sora's bed. It's hunched figure a portrait of sadness.
Dust motes swirled in the sunlight bleeding through the blinds in Apollo's office, the walls blazed red and stacks of files lined his table, the prerequisite for an ultra-productive day.
The attorney slurped cup ramen, blowing on the steaming broth before stuffing it in his mouth and swallowing quickly. His mind refused to absorb anything and it constantly replayed different scenarios of the night Trucy and Sora got assaulted. He furnished his daydreams and nightmares with details gleaned from newspapers, reading them so ravenously, the black and white text sometimes floated underneath his eyelids.
"Herr Forehead," Gavin materialized, a bouquet of get well roses in the crook of his elbow. The scent of expensive aftershave trailed the prosecutor. "This is for Fraulein Wright," he placed the roses across the comic book Apollo currently read. "You have a new case, ja?"
Aggressively slurping the last of his noodles and scalding his tongue, Justice glared at the prosecutor. "You can give those flowers to Fraulein Wright herself," he scathed; irritated at his irritation. Klavier's constant forays into his wellbeing angered him. "She's in the general hospital, along with our associate." A part of him blamed Sora for dragging Trucy into this... Keyblade... nonsense mess. Another, rational part of Apollo berated him for being insensitive to Sora's plight.
You don't see Mr. Wright hating on the poor lawyer.
"Some good it did both of them," Apollo mused loudly and loured at Gavin, still at his office. "Yes I have a new case..." the realization dawned on him, "and you are the prosecutor."
Klavier smiled his handsome smile and Justice considered throwing Apollo at him.
"Let me know if something comes up." Secretly relieved to have Klavier on the case, Apollo buttoned his waistcoat. He could count on Gavin to deliver a fair trial and although he would never admit it, he respected the rock star prosecutor greatly. "I'm going to the crime scene, you?"
The autographed poster he gifted Trucy all those years ago hung on the space above the mantelpiece. "I'll be watching over you little forehead," Klavier grinned amusedly when the fiery attorney bristled. "I want to visit my brother," he surprised himself with the confession and ran his hands through his short, platinum blonde hair. "Ach," he sighed, "I've said too much. I'll let you and Fraulein know of any developments."
"Gracias," Athena thanked as came to collect her brooding partner. "Come on, we need to investigate the crime scene before the police get there." Cykes grabbed an unopened cup noodle, stuffing it in her bag in case her temperamental co-worker decides to have it later. "It's investigation time, we'll leave no evidence unturned!" she declared passionately and marched out with a grumbling Justice behind.
On the desk, a single velvet petal fell on the open pages of the comic book when Klavier picked the bouquet. He gazed at the thorns and weaved his way to Wright's office, situated in the corner of the law agency and dumped the flowers on the surprised man's table. "For Fraulein," he explained and lowered his sunglasses over his eyes.
He could never look at Phoenix Wright without shame burning a hole in his stomach.
"Thank you," the attorney smiled politely, "I'm sure she would be really happy..." he trailed off into an awkward silence.
Tiny figures moved busily in the gargantuan, spindle shaped structure. Organization XIII's headquarters, which doubly functioned as Los Angeles' most popular department store, left one side of the building open for public viewing. Blast resistant glass, fitted with translucent solar panels, covered the transparent side and a platinum white lattice of metal encased the rest of the building, lending it an aristocratic flair.
The road in front of the store jammed with police cars and curious onlookers straining for a piece of gossip. Bright yellow, crime scene tape cordoned the parking area and Ema took point, munching vigorously from a large back of chocolate snackoos and her blue-green eyes shielded by a pair of luminol detecting glasses. Exhaust fumes and anticipation lay on the scene like a thick fog and forcibly pushing past the crowds, Apollo ducked underneath the tape.
He wrinkled his nose at the rank stench of old blood. Forensics in lab coats and latex gloves scraped samples off the pavement and sealed them in clear plastic bags. The sun beat the asphalt in waves and the morning's heat suffocated Apollo as he surveyed the area for a general idea. Near the building, an array of sleek supercars rested under a retractable awning and distracted, he briefly wondered how many cases he had to work through to afford a tire belonging to one of those cars.
Loosening his tie, Justice expertly dodged a snackoo from the dour detective while Athena needled information out of the police and forensics. "What's going on?" he asked and got ignored. "My investigation is in the warehouse-"
"Then why are you here?" the detective demanded. "I'm conducting a quick sweep of this area before I move inside." She tucked her snackoos inside her lab coat where it mysteriously disappeared. "I can't snack with all this around," she crossed her arms, irises narrowing at the sticky puddles of blood. "Did all of this come from Sora? It's a lot of blood..."
True. The sheer amount glued a moped in the middle of the parking lot and an investigator examined the helmet dangling from the vehicle's handlebars.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Apollo requested. "This where they were attacked." A sinister chill descended in the parking lot and he shivered.
A cluster of maple trees sighed in the wind.
"We found shopping bag scraps." Ema tied her chestnut hair with a ribbon. "A ripped, stuffed toy as well. Most likely," she pointed to the moped, "the driver of that bike assaulted Sora and Trucy, we are trying to identify him-" a figure in a coat quickly handed her the results of the sweep, "-but it looks like he doesn't exist. The blood on the pavement belongs to two people."
Ema reverted to the flurry of activity surrounding the moped and left Apollo ruminating on the information, he startled out of his intense concentration when Athena appeared next to him, pleased by her information if the satisfied smirk was any indication. Rolling his sleeves to his forearms, he hurried inside the building proper and people wisely scattered out of the seething attorney's way.
The transition from blinding sunlight to the dim, artificially lighted interior blinded Justice for a moment and he blinked slowly to adjust.
"Apollo Justice I presume?" A low, husky voice demanded authoritatively and the lawyer instinctively straightened his posture. "The KBWA as usual, prefers playing tricks." The CEO stood imposingly between two other men. "Do you honestly believe Leonhart is innocent in this?"
"Good question," Apollo agreed, "I will decide what to do after I check the warehouse." He disregarded the nervous tingling of his bangle and mirrored Athena's self-confident stance. "Which way is the crime scene?"
A golden, engraved bangle encased the brown haired attorney's wrist. "Marluxia, escort him," Xemnas commanded, "Lexaeus will accompany you." He tightened a cashmere wool scarf draped around his neck. "Mr. Justice?" Apollo stiffened like a rabbit caught in headlights, "you are free to investigate the warehouse as you please, do not let anyone stop you."
Stammering his thanks, Apollo speed walked out of the corridor, exhaling in relief when he escaped the CEO's uncanny, orange gold eyes. Cykes trailed after him slowly, glancing behind her every now and then.
"He looks better in person," she commented and her co-worker shot her an exasperated look. "There is something... otherworldly about him." She frowned thoughtfully, gloved hand twirling Widget. "Why is Organization XIII so familiar with the Keyblade Wielder's Association?"
"Because we started as a weapons manufacturing company," a beautiful man replied and Athena nearly swooned at the fragrance wafting from him. "Marluxia," he offered and smiled. "I'm the producer of Level 11 cosmetics."
"Thanks, we're not interested." Uncomfortable being stalked by a stoic brute and a flowery man, Apollo sharply turned in the metal lined corridor, following the signs to the Level 13, basement warehouse. "Can you tell me what happened?" The fusion of floral and citrus calmed his nerves and Apollo thought he might pay a visit to the store and find out if every of Level 11's perfumes smelled as heavenly as the once currently coming off Marluxia.
The door to the warehouse opened with a barely heard, pneumatic hiss and the group of four halted at the threshold.
Powdered glass glittered in piles, styrofoam peanuts spilled from broken boxes and pieces of flimsy bubble wrap strung the ground. A giant monitor mounted on the wall missed glass, its silicone chips and plastic guts in plain view. Apollo warily entered, his shoe scraping against the pitted surface of the floor.
"Someone killed our Level 13 employers," Lexaeus grunted.
"...Yes, your information is very helpful." Justice sarcastically supplied, "I read that in the newspaper," he grumbled.
Completely out of place in the destruction and masking the acrid tang of burnt electronics and paper with his perfume, Marluxia waltzed in. "In addition to the tragic murder of two of our best employers, another two have escaped." The ground bore a multitude of scars. "Level 7, our genius software developer, Saix and Level 8, the clothing designer and model, Axel." He moved a tangle of brightly colored wires with his loafer and Lexaeus checked the inside of the computer. "We believe Axel is a double agent."
Lexaeus straightened from his crouched position and dusted a shower of glass from his closely cropped hair. He held a hard drive in his hand and the cameras swiveled in the corners. "We find it strange," he paused gravely, "when we failed to spot anything in the security cameras." His goggle-screens flashed and he moved to the corner and plugged a wire from his tablet. "I will show you the footage shortly," Lexaeus announced and became silent.
Curious by the scraps of burnt paper fluttering in the room, Apollo examined the shrink wrapped boxes stacked against the wall. He pulled a piece of melted plastic off the bottom box and pushed the row away from the wall, balking at a large, black, burn stain. The floor around the boxes cratered with scars and he sniffed, scowling when the smell of summer flowers and peaches filled his nostrils.
"What's this? Was it here before?"
He pointed to the burn and his eye caught two black coats in a wire basket.
Apollo pulled the coats out. Did everyone in this building smell like they constantly hang out in a gentleman's club?
The underlying reek of burnt fabric permeated one coat and laying it on the floor, he found marks near the sleeves and a pair of burnt gloves stuffed in a pocket. The other coat contained papers filed neatly in a plastic sleeve folded in the inner pocket and Justice quickly scanned them; it read of weekly sales reports and remarks from the superior.
"Axel and Saix's coats," Marluxia explained, holding a tablet in his distinctly feminine hands. "Here, Lex wanted to show this to you."
The tablet displayed security footage, a teenage girl, clad in a ruffled, uniform blouse, sat at the huge screen, cataloguing goods and eating a stick of pale blue ice-cream. She turned when the doors opened off-screen and smiled brightly at the flame haired individual taking a seat next to her.
Her smile reminded Apollo painfully of Trucy.
The model, Axel, chatted amiably with the girl while she worked. He glanced impatiently at his wristwatch and ruffling the girl's hair, walked out. The video froze, fuzzed and turned to static.
"It came back online after midnight to this," Marluxia pressed another button and Apollo gasped.
Two teenagers sat on the floor, back to back, their bodies curling away from each other. The girl stared at the shattered monitor, a surprisingly small amount of blood flecking the black coat she now wore. The blonde boy too, his hands clenched as if he held a weapon, gazed lifelessly at the window, sky blue eyes dull. Small cuts scratched his face. Semi-congealed blood caked the back of his head.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Apollo forced his nausea downwards. "I've seen murders, none of them are this horrible."
The dents on the side of the boy's head...
"Where did these burns come from?" he rubbed his shoe and a scrap of burnt paper dissolved into grey ash. "It looks like a... a..."
Marluxia's smile sharpened. "Axel likes fire, he's a bit of a pyromaniac, as you can see," he gestured to the burned walls. "He probably forced Saix to go with him."
"Why?" Justice downloaded the footage and photos to his phone, to better examine them later. Athena cut suspicious pieces of fabric from the coats, under the hound-like gaze of Lexaeus. "Was Axel dissatisfied with his work place in anyway?" Apollo pondered, a finger smoothing the frowns forming between his eyebrows. "But he was really successful, are you sure this wasn't something from a rival business partner?"
A brief, haughty smirk appeared and dissolved on Marluxia's face as the pathetic human tried to reason the events which occurred in the warehouse. The nobody checked his manicured nails, questioning why the superior entertained these clueless idiots. "Crucial files were deleted from our mainframe computer and if Lexaeus did not mention it, none of the our security measures activated,-"
"They could have been bypassed," the lawyer interjected.
Glass crunched under a boot. "Our security measures are foolproof," Marluxia nodded at his co-worker. "Level 4, 5 and 7 conspired to create it and the measures have catastrophic results for anyone trying to breach past these walls." He motioned grandly to the ruined warehouse. "There is only one person who could have potentially done it, provided he had inside help."
"Squall Leonhart," Apollo carefully articulated and accepted the failed security measure report from the silent Lexaeus. "You people seem very antagonistic towards the KBWA."
"We all have low opinions of the Keyblade Wielder's Association, don't we?" Marluxia retorted and the group exited the warehouse collectively. "Leon is the current chief." He carelessly dismissed a bunch of passing workers. "He also uses a unique weapon, where do you think all the blood on Roxas' head came from? Fire doesn't produce such messy wounds. It's inelegant and ugly, excuse me," Marluxia offhandedly remarked when Athena scowled in displeasure. "Are we done with the investigation?" He spun on his heel, a stray beam of sunlight fell on his shock of light pink hair, giving him a glowing, angelic appearance.
Indifferent, Cykes smoothed her waistcoat and tugged Widget. "We wanted to check the main frame computer for signs of-"
"No one tampered with it," Lexaeus intoned from behind the two attorneys. "We will inform you of any further developments. If you don't have any more questions, we will take our leave, I have work to do."
Sandwiched between the humanoid boulder and the tall cosmetician with glossy, sharp nails, Apollo squared his shoulders. "No, we don't have any more questions-" the glass building presented a panoramic view of Los Angeles, teeming with people and cars, "-for the moment." His bangle strangled his wrist and Apollo folded his arms. "However, I still don't understand how so many events could happen in one night." One person put into a coma, another incapacitated by pain. Two youngsters murdered. Two men escaped. "And the state of the warehouse…" Cratered like the surface of the moon. "What kind of weapons does the Organization normally produce?"
His question elicited a carnassial smile from the cosmetician. "I can't tell you much, but our project is approved by the government, we supply them and the KBWA." Marluxia raked his hair between slender fingers.
And Apollo wondered how someone so beautiful could freeze the blood in his veins like ice.
"Any more questions?" the Level 11 manager questioned and stepped forward, towering over the two attorneys. Athena stubbornly stood her ground, chin up while Apollo gulped and stepped back. Marluxia was a rose bush, pretty and bristling with barbed thorns. "Please stop by our stores when you have time, we have all kinds of products." His service smile would not be out of place on the face of a serial killer.
Politely inclining his head, Apollo deliberately paced himself in the corridor, walking slowly, purposefully. The moment he went out of sight, he speed walked, rode the elevator to the reception and gulped a lungful of late afternoon air once outside, willing his hands to stop quivering.
None of the higher Level workers were disturbed by the barbarous murder in the warehouse, scarier still, they did not show any hint of fright or nervousness. The attorneys reviewed the building from the other side of the road. Organization XIII reeked of opulence, state of the art LED advertising boards encouraged consumers to live a life steeped in decadence. A picture of a blonde woman flashed on screen, swathed in a layered dress of golden silk. Advertisements scrolled past, promoting the latest novel, a music concert and a never seen before, compact laptop.
Drained by the bombardment of bright colors and underlying messages, Justice hailed a taxi cab. Visiting hours were over at the detention center and he cursed under his breath for spending too much time gawking at the building and completely forgetting to question Leonhart.
A yellow taxi sailed to a stop and absentmindedly, he got in.
The more he thought about it, the more Apollo knew the KBWA boss was responsible for the two murders. Threads of doubt crept over his thought process like an invisible net and he untangled the possible motives behind the murders, trying to figure out what part Sora and Trucy played in this twisted tale. The doubt weighed heavily in his mind, refusing to let him think freely.
"What are your thoughts?" Athena queried, her voice dropping like a stone in low hum of the taxi.
"I'm thinking, perhaps we shouldn't defend Squall after all."
Keyblade Warriors.
Before he met Maya, Wright was blissfully unaware of metaphysics. At the best of times, sprits and the talk of ghosts unnerved him. He understood his darling Dahlia maybe tethering on the deep edge of madness and chalked it up to her sheltered upbringing.
Dark bags formed underneath his eyes, his mind loped at half the normal speed.
He became used to spirit channeling, bore witness to his darling Dahlia wrecking his life while she was well beyond the grave and used the magatama to peer into the unseen. The intricacies of the human mind and the myriads of chains and lies even the most innocent of victims carried around, hurt his head and Phoenix resignedly admitted his new obsession with finding what made people tick.
Pale yellow moonlight filtered through the drawn curtains. Coffee did not keep him awake anymore.
He recalled Maya saying something about Keyblade Warriors and took an immediate dislike to them. Ancient, giant Key wielding chosen ones? Ridiculous. Until, the universe with its divine wisdom pops not one, but two in his lap. Sora may jump when a shadow of a person falls across the wall, but Vanitas Clavius seemed like the type of person who carried out missions with screaming dignity.
What those missions entailed, was a different question altogether.
Keyblade Warriors, since antiquity, became a focal point of trouble. Their circumstances constantly changed, their lives did not belong to them. They jumped through time and space from one micro-planet to the other, singular in their purpose of saving the world and anyone associated with them, faced a fair share of trouble or the prospect of sweet, sweet death.
Wright's eyes burned from too much reading, too much surfing. Information on the KBWA lay open on his table, illuminated by a flickering lamp.
Could he trust Sora? Trucy in hospital was undoubtedly the scariest thing to happen in a long time. Could he trust Leonhart? The man's profile, a scar slashing his face diagonally, stayed open on the browser and Phoenix sighed.
He stumbled to the couch, bumped his shin and collapsed into a deadweight sleep.
Legacy
Late evening
Chief Prosecutor's chambers.
Loud voices. In his office.
Again.
Adjusting his glasses, Miles opened the doors to Klavier reclining on the plush divan in the middle of the room. He strummed his guitar, smiling playfully at Sebastian who ranted his little head off. The rookie prosecutor's over jacket lay on the opposite sofa as he agitatedly bent his conductor.
"Get out," he seethed, uncharacteristically furious and Edgeworth blinked.
"Baby you break my heart~" Klavier sang before unfolding off the couch. "Herr Edgeworth," he titled his head in acknowledgement and dragging his guitar, exited the office.
Sebastian crashed on the couch, tears at the edges of his eyes and Miles busied himself with making tea.
"What did Gavin do?" Edgeworth passed Debeste some tea and the young man used an infuriatingly long time to accept the cup. "My office is open to all prosecutors."
Sipping the tea, Sebastian stared at the walls. "I don't like him," he petulantly pouted. "He and the others… always act like they are better than me."
Miles waited patiently for Sebastian to continue; out of all the prosecutors, only this one had the gall to stride in his office at odd hours and stay there.
"Am I ever gonna be good enough?" The caramel cowlick on top of Debeste's head sagged. "Will I ever be like you?" he mumbled, staring at his reflecting in the swirling tea.
A/N: Sora is still in a coma, but at least Vanitas has Trucy to chat with. Apollo will be defending Leon; I initially thought of putting Phoenix, but changed it.
Read and review people! Soothe poor Sebastian's anxieties with your wonderful words.