advocate : (transitive verb) to support, speak or write in favour of; (noun) someone who acts or intercedes on behalf of another; (noun; law) a legal representative who pleads another's case in a legal forum, such as a court of law

Chapter III
Unstitch a Sugarcoat

.{*}.

July 8, 2017, 11:51AM
Eclipse Theatre
Costume Workshop

After Gumshoe left, Phoenix took a moment to step against the wall and write down everything he had discovered so far, making an abridged evidence list at the start of his case notes before the finer details could slip through his fingers. There was a security in keeping his own notes, even knowing that almost everything he needed would be neatly collated into the court record later alongside copies of photos and official reports from the police's discovery dossier- assuming that he could persuade Amaryllis to keep him on as her attorney, of course. Given that she had already dispensed temporary permission for him to investigate, he was fairly optimistic that he could wear her down.

If he had to, he'd sic Maya on her.

Checking the time, Phoenix regrouped. The plan was simple. It was the kind of textbook answer that Mia would have expected from him when he first began apprenticing at her offices, and she was getting him to start thinking like a lawyer. It was made of the kind of straightforward, straitlaced logic that tasted like spearmint and taxes.

Find the costume designer, talk to her, go back to the office and debrief with Maya. Simple enough.

Naturally, it disintegrated immediately upon implementation.

"The hell are you?!"

"Gah!"

Phoenix spun around, and quickly slammed back against the door, narrowly dodging the open blades of the scissors being brandished at his throat.

Where the heck did she come from?!

The hallway had been empty seconds ago- Phoenix was certain, because he had checked behind him several times after his knocks went unanswered. The forensics team had collected the last pieces of evidence from the crime scene, and an officer had sealed Amaryllis' dressing room with tape before dispersing, leaving Phoenix alone in the dressing room corridor. After a few minutes of waiting, he had decided to test the workshop door, to check if it was open.

He had barely touched the handle when, as though summoned by arcane ritual, she had appeared behind him, wielding a pair of scissors with blades the size of daggers.

The woman on the other end of the weapon was petite- a blossom-pink pixie of a woman, shorter than Phoenix by more than a head- but her entire form brimmed with a disorienting, undiluted vitriol, the kind that was usually reserved for LA traffic during rush hour, blazing and close as the heat and fumes generated by idling engines.

"Tch, what is this? Corporate espionage?" She snarled, a hand on her hip, scissors flashing dangerously. "Well guess what, buddy, you can go tell your Armani-wearing overlords that they will pry my designs from my cold, dead hands-"

"N-no, wait, wait! This is some kind of misunderstanding!" Phoenix insisted, pinned against the door, both hands raised in the universal gesture of surrender. "I'm-"

Drawing up short, Phoenix registered what he was seeing.

Unfiltered rage aside, his assailant was everything light, bright, and sparkling, a confection of primary colours and inoffensive pop songs on the radio. Marble-round eyes glittered from behind a heavy fringe, her cropped locks the exact shade of strawberry ice cream, pinned back with a barrette in the shape of a pair of cherries. Her playsuit was pastel yellow, the colour of butter creamed with sugar, a row of candy-red buttons running down the centre; the straps on either side of the heart-shaped neckline looped into a halter, tucked under the open collar of the white blouse underneath, short sleeves capped and light as a dollop of whipped cream. The tops of her berry-red high socks- one patterned with a lattice motif, the other with horizontal bars- almost reached the hems of her shorts, leaving a few inches of skin bare. A tape measure was draped around her neck, and a pincushion was strapped to her wrist, bristling with pins of varying lengths and potential lethality.

She looked like the presenter of a saccharine children's show- but the description was oddly familiar. Late twenties, blush-pink pixie cut, yellow playsuit, white blouse, red stockings. Probably threatening someone with fabric shears.

Aha. Then, this is-?

"Um, sorry, but," Phoenix said tentatively, "are you Cherry Pye?"

Her eyes narrowed. She snipped the fabric shears with a crisp rasp of metal on metal.

"I suggest you leave before I cut that dollar-store suit of yours to ribbons."

Was that a yes? Phoenix eyed the blades pointed at the tender underside of his chin warily. Scissors aren't ranged weapons, he remembered his earlier thoughts bitterly. Nice one, Past Phoenix, you just had to go and jinx it.

"Look, Miss Pye. I'm not here for- whatever it is you think I'm here for," Phoenix said, deploying his calmest and most reasonable lawyer-voice. "I'm an attorney. I'm just here to give you something at the request of my client-"

She hissed through her teeth, hackles raised. "What? Court papers? A subpoena? Some generous offer I can't refuse, you hired goon-"

"No," Phoenix interrupted, sliding his satchel from his shoulders and grabbing the gerbil treats he had retrieved from Amaryllis' kitchen, "these."

Still glaring up at him, Cherry snapped them out of his grip without even looking. At the unexpected crackle of packaging under her fingers, Cherry halted, aggression guttering with bewilderment, and looked down.

A long, uncomfortable silence ensued. Phoenix held his breath, wondering if it was possible to phase his entire body into the door as a safety precaution.

"Huh." Cherry drawled out.

She stepped back from Phoenix. With a clean slice of her shears, she snipped the top off one of the bags. Holstering the scissors in a loop of fabric sewn at her right hip, she shoved a hand into the bag, rummaging.

Phoenix spotted a twitch of movement over her shoulder, and startled, almost cracking the back of his skull against the door.

A small rodent- its soft white fur brushed with hazel, tiny black eyes bright as beads, its entire body small enough to curl into the palm of his hand- clambered into view. A second gerbil popped its grey head out of Cherry's large breast pocket, whiskers twitching eagerly.

What. The.

Unperturbed, Cherry offered a roasted seed to each of the critters, which proceeded to nibble away fervently, before reaching into the bag again and popping a piece of dried strawberry into her own mouth.

"So you know Amaryllis, huh?"

Phoenix nodded mutely. Let it go, Phoenix. Just let it go. You've seen way weirder stuff than this.

The acid in her expression neutralised, Cherry lifted her head, looking down the column of her nose at Phoenix appraisingly.

"You her lawyer?"

Phoenix, briefly, contemplated lying.

He quickly decided that it might blow up in his face later.

"Um. Jury's out."

Cherry's hostile-neutral switch flipped in an instant, a hand drifting towards her fabric shears like a cowboy reaching for her pistol in a shootout. "What, you think she's guilty or something?"

"No, no! Nothing like that!" Phoenix hastily assured her. "The jury's out for her, not me! I'm happy to represent her!"

"What, you suck, then?" Cherry guessed, swallowing her mouthful of dehydrated strawberry, clearly unimpressed. "I knew your suit looked cheap."

Phoenix tried not to feel indignant. "Actually, I haven't lost a case so far- Amaryllis doesn't want her case to be my first loss," he explained briskly, "that's what she said. She thinks she's going to be found guilty, and that I deserve my first loss in the courtroom to be worth something, whatever that means." I'm not sure I fully understand it, so you'd have to ask her about it…

Cherry paused, and rolled her eyes in understanding.

"Ohh," she dragged the vowel out, shaping it into an emphatic groan, "yeah, no, I see- you got Noble Amaryllis. Sorry about that, man. She's insufferable, isn't she? Makes you wanna punch her in the mouth. She looks way better in a different costume. Personally, I like me some Bitchy Amaryllis. She says exactly what she's thinking. Usually something mean, but she phrases it so damn neatly that you kinda like her for it, you feel? Or Snarky Amaryllis. She's basically Bitchy Amaryllis Lite. Not as mean, just so completely above everyone else's drama. Or I can even go for Quiet Soulful Amaryllis, when you just know that she's thinking about- I don't know- music, or philosophy, or something deep, and is about to spout a line that sounds like it came out of one of the classics. Seriously, that girl's got to be a vampire or an immortal or something, what sixteen year old even talks like that? Born in '01, my ass. I bet there's a hundred-year old oil painting of her gathering dust in an attic somewhere. Or maybe they'll match her fingerprints to a grave treasure from an ancient Celtic burial site someday."

Phoenix made a vague sound of acknowledgement. While he was reeling slightly from the dense commentary, it was better than hostility, and Cherry wasn't rambling nearly as much or as rapidly as other witnesses he had encountered.

Cherry sighed, rubbing the head of the gerbil on her shoulder with a single index finger. It chirruped pleasantly. "Well, whatever. If you're on her side, I guess I don't mind talking."

"W-wait, really?" Phoenix's hand jumped to the back of his head with a nervous smile. "Because that would be great!"

Cherry shrugged dismissively. "No sweat, my dude. Here, let me get the door."

Sidling out of her way, Phoenix watched Cherry unlock the door, turning the handle and striding inside, tossing a remark over her shoulder.

"Step into my office, Mr-?"

"Wright," he answered, following her through. "Phoenix Wright."

"Cool. Come on in, Mr Wright."

The space that the costume designer had been allocated was twice the size of Amaryllis' dressing room. There was a truncated wall to his right, extending from beside the door and set with a frosted window, breaking off to create a separate storage space- narrower than the rest of the room- where a maze of near-empty clothing rails was arranged.

In the central square of the room, there was a large desk with adjustable height cranks on the legs; its broad surface functioned as a tailor's table, dominated by a formidable sewing machine, with space to spare for a garment to drape without brushing the dusty floor as it passed under the needle. A semi-translucent plastic box was set within reach, the small drawers dedicated to spools of thread, pins, stitch rippers, bobbins, fasteners, tailor's chalk, measuring tape and miscellaneous sewing gear. The only other thing on the desk was a heavy ledger, pages stiff with handwritten notes. A folding screen was pressed against the wall, and a few large storage boxes were stacked where there was space, filled with spare fabric. It was a tight fit, but carefully organised by the hand of a professional.

"Welcome to the workroom, don't touch anything, ask whatever you want," Cherry rattled off, lifting herself up on her hands to sit on the edge of the table.

"Got it." Phoenix pulled his notebook out of his bag. "Do you mind if I take some notes?"

"Sure, go nuts," she replied, gently setting the gerbils down on the desk and scattering a handful of treats to keep them occupied. "I have to keep some pretty thorough ones myself, so I totally get it. Oh, and, sorry about that whole- thing back there. Hope I didn't freak you out too badly. I've had some nasty experiences with people trying to steal my IP, so it's a bit of a knee-jerk thing."

Given that Cherry seemed fairly reasonable once placated, Phoenix brushed it off with a light smile. "Oh, it's fine! No harm, no foul, right? But, um- sorry, IP?"

"Intellectual property. A lawyer's gotta understand that, right?"

Phoenix gave a slow nod of comprehension. "Right, of course. It's not exactly easy to copyright or trademark a fashion design."

"See, you get it," Cherry said, nipping her teeth into a stray sunflower seed with a crunch. Taking a half-constructed garment from behind the desk, she placed three pins between her lips and draped the fabric across her lap. Retrieving a shard of tailor's chalk and a tape measure from the plastic box, she began measuring and marking notches into the panels of olive-green cotton. "I already have possible brand-confusion with this up-and-coming designer out on the east coast, and I'm setting up the online boutique store, so yeah. Until it's up and running, I gotta hide my stuff from the corporate poachers. Wouldn't be the first time they tried something. Anyway, you had questions?"

"Right," Phoenix said, opening his notebook. "So, Miss Pye-"

"Cherry."

"Cherry," he assented, "you're the costume designer for this production, is that correct?"

"Yeah-huh. Designed, cut and stitched every piece for the main cast, except for the shoes. Also farmed out some of the repetitive drudge work on the chorus' costumes, like stoning and sequinning and whatever, but did most of those too."

"If you don't mind me saying," Phoenix said, proceeding cautiously, "I saw Amaryllis' costume in her dressing room, and it looked- uh, how do I put this? Fairly- retail?"

"Yeah, that was the point," Cherry said with a lemon-rind grimace. "Could of bought most of it at any high street store, but no, those Hollywood jackasses hired me to make it look convincingly indie, but still polished for their precious star's test-launch. But hey, who am I to argue with a decent paycheque? Especially since any contract with an NDA usually pulls in a little extra, since you can't use the work in your portfolio and they have to compensate you for it."

"Oh, right," Phoenix said, "the starlet launch. Amaryllis mentioned that."

Cherry cackled, covering her face with one hand.

"Yeah, I bet she did." Her dark eyes, visible through her parted fingers and the soft-serve curl of her fringe, had a manic glint in them. "Looks like you got Snarky Amaryllis after all."

His shoulders dropped slightly. "She said my dramatic timing was embarrassing," he stated dully.

Cherry laughed even harder, her grin turning feral, sending one of her gerbils skittering. She dropped her work to scoop up it up apologetically, cradling it in both hands. "Ooh, I take it back, you got full-on Bitchy Amaryllis. Nice."

Phoenix was suddenly reminded that Amaryllis had said no one she actually liked ever called her Jaime, only Amaryllis.

Before he could dwell on it further, another thought occurred to him. "Who was the launch for, anyway? I know it wasn't Amaryllis, since she admitted she's not an aspiring actress. Was it one of the other co-stars?"

"Urgh," Cherry set the pacified gerbil back down, letting it scamper away, her good humour rapidly spoiling into disdain, "you mean the male lead. Our so-called Golden Boy."

"The male lead? That would be- hold on," Phoenix pulled the slightly creased program out of his pocket, flipping through it to check the cast list, "Jamie Arany?"

Cherry spat out the pins she had been holding between her lips, sending them flying like silver poison darts. "That's the prick."

Phoenix raised his eyebrows. Yikes. "You don't seem to be a fan."

Cherry looked up sharply, pointing the tailor's chalk at him. "Okay, so you know Leo DiCaprio?"

Phoenix blinked. "Not personally, but I'm familiar," he replied dryly.

"Alright, so," Cherry adjusted her seat on the edge of the table, tossing the chalk aside and beginning to methodically gather and pin the fabric in her lap. "Back when he got famous because of Titanic, everyone thought he was this beach-blond pretty boy and not much else. Except then he went and did Django Unchained and The Revenant and Shutter Island and Inception and bunch of other heavy stuff with challenging roles, and everyone was all like oh damn, he really can act."

"And then the entire world went crazy when he finally snagged an Oscar last year."

"Exactly." Cherry worked a pin through one of the thicker gathers of cotton. "Well, Jay Arany is what everybody thought DiCaprio was, back then. Except, instead of that Californian-surfer boyband aesthetic that was the thing back in the late nineties and early noughties, Arany is going for that oh-so sensitive soft-boy look that's gotten popular recently."

"The- the what, now?"

She lifted the garment up to the light, squinting at it critically. "You know. The soft mid-length hair with the centre parting, the vintage oversized shirts and cuffed jeans, the photoshopped flower crowns- the being all fake-philosophical and pseudointellectual andso, like, deep and real, you guys, so subversive and unique," Cherry drawled mockingly. "I mean, don't get me wrong. The aesthetic? Sure, you do you, man, what do I care. The interests? Fine, whatever. But this little pretender carries a cross-body bag of New York Times bestseller poetry books with him everywhere, and quotes from them randomly, just because he thinks it will enhance his image and get girls to fawn all over him. It's just a costume to him. Hell, Jay Arany is the definition of empty calories, personality-wise."

Phoenix's head hurt. I have no idea what she's talking about. "I see."

"Oh, but Gloria just might be worse," Cherry griped, dropping the half-constructed clothing back into her lap, starting to pin another long seam. "You know, the one playing the rival, Cecily? This jumped-up little D-lister thinks she's Mariah Carey or something. She literally ordered me not to look her in the eyes. Let me tell you something, my guy, I've worked in retail, in the fancy boutiques and designer outlets. You learn the type."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, there are exceptions, obviously," she admitted, placing another three pins between her lips, somehow remaining perfectly coherent- the true mark of an expert, Phoenix assumed, "but as a general rule, real wealth- the kind that comes packaged with class, if not always morals- it whispers. They're not flashy. They're polite. They settle the bill without making a show of it. They're usually generous if you give them good service. I pegged Amaryllis as old money the second I met her. She's the type who comes in, asks for assistance instead of snapping her fingers or expecting you to be psychic, then thanks you and picks out something that looks pretty on her, even if it's not the most exclusive or expensive thing in the store."

"But Jay and Gloria-?" Phoenix ventured.

Cherry snorted. "Them. Yeah. They're the nouveau riche kids trying to show off their parent's latest status symbol. Or those talentless influencers who are constantly scamming people into buying their exclusive limited-edition mystery box for sixty dollars, and try to demand free stuff in exchange for exposure, and threaten to trash you to their followers if you refuse to indulge their entitled asses. The type that thinks that class has a price tag and that courtesy is a perfume by Jean-Paul Gautier. Mean, cheap, petty, backstabbing, and wouldn't know the difference between expensive and quality if it followed them on Instagram."

Phoenix made a few notes, omitting most of Cherry's commentary. I'm pretty sure most of that is inadmissible in court. "Sounds like the only person here you actually like is Amaryllis."

Cherry considered this for a moment- then shrugged. "Yeah, that's fair," she said, light and crisp as French meringue. "Verity's alright, but best taken in small doses. Like cough medicine. You drink it quick and move on, never too much, otherwise you start to hallucinate."

"Verity?"

"The props coordinator. She managed the stuff for the principal cast. A lot of Amaryllis' instruments, for example- since she had, like, ten of the damn things and actually had to play them onstage, they had to be tuned and kept separate from other props, like Gloria's fake violin."

Phoenix took the new name down next to Jay (r. lead, debut s.?) and Gloria (rival). Presumably, that completed the list of those who had access to the restricted backstage area; he wondered which of the three was the key witness currently being sequestered by the police.

"Miss- um, Cherry. About Amaryllis. From what you said earlier, I'm guessing that you don't think she's guilty?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, it's not because I think she couldn't do it or anything," Cherry replied, feeding the hazel gerbil a piece of strawberry.

Phoenix could feel his train of thought plummeting off the edge of a cliff. "I- I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah, I'm not going to lie and say oh, golly-gee, Mr Lawyer, she's such a sweet kid and would never do anything like that, swear on my nicest silk viscose." Cherry shepherded the grey gerbil away from the edge of the table with a cupped hand. "Because she totally could. She has the energy of someone ready to break arms and cut throats at any given moment. It's just that she would never bother, you know? I get this weird feeling that she'd think that murder is tacky, or a lazy solution, or something. Nah, I'm telling you, if she ever did kill someone? Way more dramatic, way less evidence. She'd get away with it clean. None of this amateur hour stuff."

Phoenix stared bleakly at the seemingly oblivious costume designer.

So I guess I won't be calling Miss Pye as a character witness.

"And yet, despite believing that she has the potential to murder someone," he said, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice, "you two seem to be friends. I mean, those bags of gerbil treats, for example."

"Oh, that." Cherry took one of the pins from between her teeth, folding down a raw edge of cotton, creating a narrow hem. "Typical. She gets arrested for murder, and her main concern is paying back imaginary debts. Noble Amaryllis strikes again. And it's so stupid too, can you believe it?"

"Uh," Phoenix said, quickly losing the thread of the conversation again, "believe what?"

"I mean, first of all, I'm a costume designer," she vented, glaring into the middle distance. "I have one job, right? If my design doesn't help an actor get into character- well, a decent actor, anyway- then I've automatically failed. Amaryllis tried to keep it quiet during fittings, but I could tell that something was up. I eventually got it out of her that the lining was irritating against her skin and it was distracting. Fine, no problem. I tell her I'll order something different and reline it, and she straight up offers to pay for the extra material since she's, quote, being an inconvenience," she bit out, violently spearing the pin through the hem, "and when I say oh, no, it's cool, I'll get the cost back from the producers- what does she do? Get this. She says she'll bring me something to say thank you anyway. For doing my job."

Phoenix stared at Cherry, expressionless.

"Wow," he said without inflection, "how dare she."

"Right?!" Cherry exploded, devoid of irony. "And then- well, we were doing another fitting after I switched out the lining, and I mention the online boutique store I'm setting up. She's interested, so I show her a few of the early designs I'm planning. She actually ends up liking a few of them, which is actually kind of cool, since her taste seems pretty particular. I joke that, hey, if she likes them, I'll give her a set for free if she'll do some modelling shots for the website. She says yes, which I'm totally not expecting, then says she'll have to find a way to thank me for the free clothes, as if she's not the one doing me a favour, and that she owes me for- seriously, does this girl not understand how basic transactions work?!"

She flicked a pumpkin seed across the desk. The grey gerbil trotted after it cheerfully.

Phoenix nodded blandly. "So. Good terms, then?"

"Oh, yeah, she's chill." Cherry immediately simmered back into placidity.

"Great. Did Amaryllis ever talk to you about her sister?"

"Not a word." She removed the last pin from between her lips. "Didn't even know she had a sister, actually. I kind of figured she was an only child. Were they close?"

"Uh," Phoenix stalled, remembering with ruthless clarity some of the comments that Amaryllis had made during their interview. "Not- not especially?"

Cherry snorted. "Oh. They hated each other, didn't they?"

Phoenix let himself crack, shoulders sinking. "S-so very much."

She clutched her face, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Tough break, my guy! Bet that won't look good in court. Good luck with that one."

"Gee, thanks," he bit out sarcastically, gathering the tattered remnants of his professionalism. "So, she didn't mention her sister. Did Amaryllis mention any of her family, even in passing?"

"Not that I recall. Uh, she said a few things that made me think that she might have family in NYC?" Cherry flipped the fabric over and straightened it, raising it to check the pinned seam for faults. "Said she lived there, a few years back- talked about the pretentious brunch culture, and how much she hated herself for giving into it as an excuse to eat Eggs Atlantic regularly. So I assume she has relatives there? Unless she really is an immortal, and by a few years back she was talking about a century ago when she went through a rebellious phase and was a nude model and ill-fated lover to a counter-culture artiste in Greenwich Village."

Phoenix hummed thoughtfully. Truthfully, he hadn't expected anything different. "Yeah, I figured." Well, not the immortal-being part.

He consulted his notes. Despite Cherry's flagrant bias, he had sieved out a few kernels of information about those involved- Jay Arany, the actor playing the love interest, Linus; Gloria, the actress playing the rival, Cecily; and Verity, the props coordinator. Unless Phoenix could find a way for someone to enter the hallway without the security camera capturing them, those were his suspects, plus Cherry.

Cherry doesn't seem fond of Jay and Gloria, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe they just don't get along. And being a jerk doesn't automatically make someone a murderer. Still, it's not like I have any other sources. I'd better press Cherry for everything she can tell me right now.

"Amaryllis told me earlier that the owners of this theatre are Hollywood executives. She said they use the Eclipse as a testing ground, to launch a new actor before they cast them in movies?"

"Yep." Cherry took a thick spool of thread from one of her pockets and, with a quick tug, unfurled a length and snipped it from the reel. "Pretty much an open secret in the industry circles, apparently. No one says anything because they hire crews and fill out the cast with people who are willing to work for dirt on the off-chance they get a foot in the door for other projects in the business."

"And this particular production was the launch for Amaryllis' co-star, Jay Arany, right? He was the one being showcased."

"Well, yeah, technically. But that's kinda like saying that pasta is the special ingredient in a recipe," Cherry mused as she plucked a sewing needle from where it had been skewered through the strap of her playsuit, threading it with the unconscious ease that all artisans seemed to possess in their craft. "I mean, it's there. And it's pretty essential. But it's bland on its own, and everyone knows it. No one goes to a restaurant for the pasta, unless they're a complete psychopath. That's something you pick when nothing else on the menu looks good. Pasta's not impressive. It's a base for something actually interesting, like the sauce, or the ricotta and spinach ravioli stuffing, or whatever. If it's low quality, you don't notice, and if it's high quality, then you appreciate its subtlety in supporting the real focus."

Phoenix could feel a headache gathering, like a summer storm in a balmy evening. We're- we're still talking about the show, right? "So- what kind of pasta is Jay, then?"

Cherry looked up, and gave him a flat look. "Well, he's no handmade fresh Italian linguini, put it that way." She began sewing a chain of quick, slack stitches into the seam, drawing the excess thread through by hand and removing pins as she went, tacking the fabric in place for it to be passed under the needle of the sewing machine. "I'm pretty sure the producers knew he couldn't carry a show alone, but that he'd be servicable as a love interest, so they chose Heartstrings. They were probably banking on the reviews revolving around how swoon-worthy his performance was. But in front of the curtains and behind, all eyes were on the girls. I'll give Gloria credit for that, at least. The girl can put on a show, the freaking drama queen."

Interesting… "What was the dynamic like between the three main actors?"

"Oh, well, Gloria hates Amaryllis, obviously," Cherry said offhandedly. "It's a tale as old as the WWE- the eternal struggle between a face and a heel."

Phoenix closed his eyes, temples throbbing faintly. Definitely need a break after this. "Uh, I'm afraid you've lost me."

"You know, wrestling storylines? Face versus heel. Hero versus villain. Good guy versus jerk."

"Oh." The tension behind Phoenix's brows eased slightly, dark blue eyes blinking open. "I'm guessing that Amaryllis is the- um, face- in this scenario?"

"You'd think, huh," Cherry sighed out slowly. "But it's more like Amaryllis was the accidentally likeable heel and Gloria was the fake-ass face. Everyone knows that Amaryllis is one cutting, superior bitch when she wants to be, but her default setting is cold-polite. Sure, she's private to the point of being antisocial, but she's civil. And she won't go out of her way to be that bitch unless someone starts something, and even then, she's pretty hard to provoke beyond a quick verbal curb-stomp that lets you limp away and lick your wounds. Gloria, though- she's a dessert that gives you food poisoning. Most people here have figured out that she's a typical social-climbing LA wannabe queen-bee. If she's being sweet to you, then it's for a reason, and probably not one you'll like when you find out. And she's constantly trying to score points in some imaginary popularity contest, especially where Arany is concerned."

"Wait- Jay is involved in this?"

"And I'm sure he's miserable about it," she said, rolling her eyes hard enough that her head tipped with the motion. She blew up through her bangs moodily. "From what I heard through the theatre gossip mill, he keeps Gloria on the line with a compliment and a quote from Byron every now and then, but it's Amaryllis he's after. Probably thinks that her tall, dark and snarky air of mystery will boost his profile."

Phoenix had the mental reaction equivalent to biting into a wedge of lemon. Please tell me that they weren't fighting over this guy. "And where was Amaryllis in all of this?"

"Eh. Indifferent, I think?" Cherry said, loosening a knot that had gathered in her thread, drawing it through her next stitch. "Hard to tell with her sometimes, but she didn't seem to care. I don't really think it even appeared on her radar. She came to rehearsals, did her thing, and went home."

Resignedly, Phoenix sketched a small triangle in his notebook, a letter replacing each corner- A, G, and J. An arrow labelled with a heart connected G to J, another connecting J and A, with the two pointing from A to the other two corners labelled with a question mark. A love triangle, geez. I swear, the only thing worse than high-school drama is theatre-kid drama.

"Okay, I think I'm almost done here," Phoenix said, looking up at Cherry. "Could you tell me what you remember about last night?"

"Yeah, sure." Cherry tied off the thread, snipping the end. She hesitated, nose crinkling. "Uh, hold on. Let me get my ledger."

Folding her work into a neat parcel, she dropped it onto the seat behind the table, leaning over and grabbing the hefty ledger that Phoenix had noticed earlier.

"I'm terrible at keeping track of time, especially when I'm in work-mode," she explained, placing the unanchored needle between her lips and cracking the ledger open in her lap, "but I keep somedamn detailed notes, so it's probably all in here. Let's see… aha! Here we go."

Cherry straightened, running her index finger down the page.

"Performance night notes. Unlocked the workshop door, released most of the costumes at 5:42PM. That gave everyone plenty of time to be dressed and made up for seven, even the most useless ones. I was out in the main dressing area with my emergency kit, just in case there were any issues. At 6:48PM, I released the principal cast's costumes. Amaryllis asked for hers first, so I grabbed her stuff, went to her dressing room, was done by 7:02. Handed Arany's stuff off to him a minute later, did the same with Gloria a minute after that. Surprisingly, the princess didn't demand an attendant, so I grabbed some extra repair materials from my room, was back out in the main area from 7:08 until the start of the play. Stayed close to the stage through Act I to help with costume changes and any screw-ups. Same with Act II, then I was back in the workshop for clean-up."

Phoenix flicked back in his notebook, checking Cherry's timeline against the interview with Amaryllis. Alright, so far that lines up. "What about the intermission? Amaryllis told me that she came to you for repairs."

"Yeah. Well, actually, she came to request the spare," she said, tapping the page. "Nine-oh-eight, L-A request for spare, repair instead, torn strap on dress."

He glanced up, interest piqued. "There are spare costumes?"

"Of course. You think I actually trust any of these people?" Cherry snorted, and spat out the needle. It landed on the table with a ping of metal. "Nah, these people have as much respect for my work as I have for their entire beings. I made a few generics for the chorus that I could alter to fit if one of them was badly damaged, and duplicates for the secondary characters and principal cast. I made sure to mark each set, so I wouldn't mix them up."

"So," Phoenix continued, "why not just give Amaryllis the spare dress?"

Cherry's expression darkened. Phoenix took a subtle step back, eyeing the scissors holstered at her waist.

"No idea how, but the damn thing was missing when I checked. A few other pieces from the Lorelei spare set too. Didn't exactly have time to waste looking for it, so I did quick repair and sewed it up before the second act. For the record," she added tartly, "my seam did not fail. The fabric was pulled so hard that it split and frayed- probably weakened by that one confrontation at the end of the first act. I wouldn't put it past Gloria to have damaged it deliberately, just out of spite."

"A confrontation? Between Amaryllis and Gloria's characters, you mean?" Well, I'm assuming that the two of them didn't get into a real brawl onstage, but then again…

"Yeah. At the end of Act I, Cecily corners Lorelei, and all the tension from the first act comes to a head with the rival-duet, Dancing to My Tune. At one point, the director decided to have Cecily grab the strap of Lorelei's dress and drag her towards her during the song, then have Lorelei ripping away when she finally grows a spine to start up her counterpoint. There are ways to fake that kind of motion, of course, but- it's Gloria. My guess is that she took her chance to do it for real. Since it was a one-night only production, she probably thought it didn't matter if the dress was damaged."

Phoenix hummed, tapping the end of his pen against his chin. I wonder. If Gloria did damage the dress deliberately, maybe it wasn't just petty spite. Maybe it was creating a window of opportunity to do- something? Either way, I'd better keep it in mind.

He closed his notebook. "Thank you, Cherry," he said sincerely. "This has helped a lot. If you think of anything else, or remember anything unusual about last night," Phoenix retrieved one of his business cards from his breast pocket, "please don't hesitate to contact me."

Cherry accepted the card, slipping it between the pages of her ledger as a bookmark. "Sure. What are you going to do now?"

Phoenix checked the time on his phone. "I'll head back to my office to debrief with my assistant, and we'll visit the detention centre again this afternoon. I'll do my best to persuade Amaryllis to let me defend her. If I don't, she'll probably end up with a randomly selected public defender provided by the state."

"Is that bad?" Cherry asked, setting her ledger aside, gathering her gerbils in her lap. They skittered across the tops of her thigh-high socks, eager to explore new territory, the grey one gave the hem of her socks an experimental tug with its teeth before deciding against the flavour.

"Not necessarily," Phoenix admitted, dropping his notebook and pen into his satchel and shouldering it. "But they're usually oversaturated with cases per attorney, and barely have time to prepare for individual trials. That's not as much of a problem if they're representing someone for, say, a traffic violation or disturbance of the peace, since those cases are usually pretty straightforward. But on something as serious and complex as a murder charge- it's a risk. Especially with this particular prosecutor," Phoenix added, a slight chill of apprehension catching at his extremities. "She's, um, not exactly known for giving the defence an easy time. And she really doesn't like losing."

"I see," Cherry murmured. Phoenix was wondering at the shift in her mood when she met his gaze abruptly. "Hey."

"Y-yes?"

"You seem like a good guy," she said gravely, the blunt pressure of her eyes sinking into him like the indents of trimmed-short nails in flesh. "I don't know if that makes you a good lawyer, but I think if you were a bad one, Amaryllis wouldn't have cared that much if you took her case. So, do your best to help her, yeah?"

Phoenix stared at her in surprise. Cherry shrugged under his questioning look.

"Okay, fine, she may not be the nicest person on the planet, but she's a good one- or, well, no. More like a person who's trying to be good, but, hasn't had much practice and is entirely self-taught, and still thinks she's a bad person based solely on her worst traits. My bet is that she honestly thinks she's doing you a solid right now, refusing you as her defence attorney. Probably thinks that she's protecting you or something, because that's the moral compass that's hardwired into her. I've seen it for myself. Ignore the whole Noble Amaryllis shtick she's pulling. Try to get her off her pedestal and draw out Quiet Soulful Amaryllis, she's a lot more willing to listen to reason. Be honest, and be more stubborn than she is. You might get through to her that way." Cherry nodded at him. "Got it?"

Phoenix returned the gesture with a confident smile, bolstered. "Stubbornness is my specialty. Trust me, I've got this."

"Hn." Cherry looked dubious, but waved him off. "Whatever, man. I have work to do, and so do you. I'll see you around, I guess."