Alternate Route :: The Severing

Semi-angsty, semi-humor. Depends on whether you get the joke with Daryan's haircut.

This takes place when Edgeworth finds the door covered in noodles after hearing Larry scream at the dollmaker's house.

"Just hold on, Larry," Edgeworth murmured, his fingertips gliding over wet, crusting noodles. He immediately pulled his hand back, making a face as he wiped the mystery liquid on his slacks. He needed to find a way to free Larry, and that would mean breaking him out of this room. He needed something sharp, something that would break through the noodles so that he could open the door.

He hadn't seen any knives around.

He closed his eyes, trying to think logically. Where could he find something?

Larry's Room?

The hotel?

The hair salon?

The scissors! Of course! Quickly, he pulled out the phone, dialing Franziska's number as quickly as he could.

997-684-771.

The world faded around him, and he instinctively closed his eyes as the semi-claustrophobic feeling of transportation surrounded him, only opening his eyes once the breeze faded and he could feel cool tile against his cheek.

Cool tile.

Filthy tile.

He shot up, coming face to face with a wig head staring at him before getting to his feet and backing away quickly. This was the hair salon, alright. He clicked on his flashlight, finding the familiar phone on the table and readjusting his jacket before going any farther. As soon as he was composed (and had decided not to drop kick the random wig head; after all, he'd never been good at kicking anything and he had a feeling that he'd somehow hit it against the whiteboard against the wall and it would ricochet back to hit him in the face. It was just that kind of day), he opened the door to the lounge, making quick strides to the salon floor.

The cart where the scissors had been resting when he was last there was in the same place, but the scissors themselves were absent. He checked under all of the hair tools, under the cart, around it . . . nothing. No scissors.

"Well, now what?" he asked, throwing his hands up in the air. He had seen no other sharp implements since waking up in Larry's Room. How was he supposed to free Larry?

There was a sound behind him, and he threw a glance over his shoulder before freezing and turning fully around.

He'd found the scissors.

Unfortunately, they were clutched in the hands of one Franziska von Karma, who was currently crawling out of the mirror.

What?

Was he on the set of some horror movie?

She hauled herself out, sliding across the tiny counter before slithering onto the floor, a maniacal smile on her face. He knew something was wrong the minute he heard her laugh. Sure, she'd perfected the presumptuous chuckle over the years, but this was a full-on evil cackle. High-pitched, uneven, and accompanied by a crazed look in her eyes.

"Franziska?" he asked, backing up instinctively as she got to her feet. Even the way she stood was different. Whereas the Franziska he knew stood to her full height, shoulders squared, all in an attempt to make herself look larger and more intimidating, this Franziska was slumped, back slightly hunched, the scissors almost slipping from her grasp. "Franziska, are you alright?"

She brandished the scissors at him, her grip tightening as she pointed the tip towards him with another laugh.

And then she thrust forward.

The point missed him by mere inches as he threw himself against the divider between the salon floor and the front desk. She collided with the cart, but rather than things falling, it seemed that she had gone right through it, recovering quickly.

He wasn't going to wait around for her if she was going to be like this.

He sprinted around the divider, his shoes sliding against the linoleum. He blinked, grabbing the counter for balance, and in that space of time where he had dared to close his eyes, she appeared in front of him, her hand clutching his arm, holding him still.

He couldn't move.

Why couldn't he move?

His breath heavy in his throat, he watched her arm snap back, the scissors at the ready. The minute she started laughing, she pushed forward, the tool piercing into his belly, unhindered by the layers of vest and dress shirt. The pain was blinding, causing him to cry out, the entire world starting to fade around him as he bled onto the floor.

Edgeworth awoke with a start. This wasn't the first time he had dreamt about the Mnemonic Abyss, as he had taken to calling it, but this was the first time he could remember dreaming about Franziska. To be honest, his adopted sister had been one of the most frightening things about the entire place, if only because she had been unhinged the entire time. At least Athena had had her moments of clarity. The entire time he had seen her, Franziska von Karma was crazed, wielding a pair of scissors much like she wielded her whip.

But no, he had to remind himself. He had managed to get the scissors, and though he had been too late to save Larry, he hadn't been too late to save Maya from jumping off of the roof of the Wright Anything Agency.

A glass of water, and then he would go back to bed. He wasn't about to let a simple nightmare keep him from a good night's sleep.

He was in the salon again, this time starting on the salon floor. Goddammit. He was going to get the scissors for Larry if it was the last thing he did. He rose from the floor, immediately going for the office.

Franziska had scissors? Fine. He was going to have to fight fire with fire. There had to be something in here he could use to fend her off.

The wig heads were still on the floor, and he contemplated strapping one to his chest. Could she really stab through that? He touched a hand to his stomach, feeling the warmth of the soft belly beneath it radiate through his shirt. He wasn't exactly ready to have that pierced through again.

But if he wore it, he would surely look ridiculous.

Did it really matter if he looked ridiculous, as long as he was alive? Besides, she was a ghost; who was she going to tell?

He picked up the nearest head—the one with the torpedo hair—, shucked the hair to the floor, and tucked the head under his arm. It would be better to have his hands free. He needed to find something to tape it to himself.

A quick glance around the room showed no adhesives. He went to the lockers, hoping to find a random roll of duct tape in the bottom of one. The two closest to the wall were empty, and he reached for Franziska's locker only to scream when he saw the undone blonde wig head with glasses staring up at him. For a moment, it had looked like a severed head.

. . . Could she remove his head with scissors?

He gulped.

Still, no tape in there either. The last locker was similarly empty. He took another moment to rifle through the fridge, very much aware how unlikely it was that he would find tape in there, and still came up empty. He had nothing.

Maybe he could get her to stab the head hard enough to get the scissors stuck. Was that possible? In any case, he was out of options. Franziska would likely still crawl out of the mirror and at least this way he had something between him and the sharp point.

He took a deep breath, holding the wig head in front of him before turning the knob and stepping back into the salon floor. It was quiet, perhaps too quiet. Now that he knew what was coming, the silence felt heavy and foreboding.

He crept forward, one eye on the mirror.

Nothing.

He kept staring at it, ready for her to crawl out.

Nada.

Was it possible? Had the scissors miraculously found their way home? He scrambled towards the tray, only to stop when he realized they weren't there.

A cackle came from behind him.

Nononononononono. He turned back around, the scissors plunging into the forehead of the wig head. He yelped, trying to step back. Her crazed yellow eyes bored holes into his, maniacal laughter never stopping. She was much too close! He dropped the foam head, but it seemed to be stuck to the end of the scissors, so it didn't go far.

Well, it had worked. Now all he needed to do was to get the head back.

He blanched as she stepped back to thrust again. Easier said than done.

He darted around her, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn't stay; Franziska would kill him if he did. But Larry needed help, and to get to him, Edgeworth needed the scissors! And if he left and she disappeared with the scissors again, he'd be back at square one.

She lunged again and he stepped to the side. There was no way he was taking his eyes off of her this time. He eased around the divider, creeping back towards the office. If this was going to go much longer, he wanted another Styrofoam head between them.

She thrust at him, with enough force to send her careening into the wall. The head took the brunt of the impact, splitting in half and sliding off of the scissors as she flicked her wrist downwards.

Oh shit.

She started to lumber towards him and he panicked, running towards the office and slamming the door. He would have mere seconds to hide before she phased through the door . . .

There was the distinct sound of something scraping against the wood,

He approached the door cautiously, wary of her suddenly bursting through. The hinges rattled with the force of her attacks, but she didn't emerge.

She couldn't get through the door.

He sighed in relief, relaxing. Hopefully she would drop the scissors once she was tired of hounding on the divider between them.

She continued her attacks for several minutes, but then again, that was Franziska. She could never give up once she had lost. Eventually, the noises slowed and then stopped altogether. The room was silent.

It was the moment of truth. Had she dropped the scissors? He opened the door, only to have it yanked from his hand. He dimly registered it hitting the wall as he stared into yellow eyes.

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Her hand dug into his jacket lapel, keeping him still while her other arm snapped up, scissors in hand . . .

"These therapy sessions are really cutting into my time to woo Nastya," Larry said, collapsing on the opposite couch. Edgeworth kicked him in response. His eyelids felt heavy, his entire body exhausted. He hadn't felt this bad since they had escaped from the Mnemonic Abyss. Then again, last night had felt like he was still in it, with the constant dreams of Franziska.

"I don't know, I think they're kind of fun." Athena put a bowl of potato chips on the coffee table, seating herself at the chair at the head of the table. "Besides, it feels good to get it off your chest, doesn't it?"

"I suppose," Maya said. Edgeworth had expected her to be far more enthusiastic about these get-togethers, but then again, the Mnemonic Abyss had been her worst nightmare. She'd seen some things that he could imagine she didn't want to share.

"Okay, who wants to go first?" Athena asked, everyone finally assembled. Phoenix, Larry, and Apollo sat on one couch, and he and Maya shared the other. They were all silent. Athena looked at each of them in turn before she suddenly stood, pointing at him. "Mr. Edgeworth! You have noise in your heart! Share it with us!" she shouted. Everyone else in the room instinctively recoiled.

"Trucy just went to bed," Phoenix reminded her sharply.

She had the sense to look abashed. "Sorry." Still, her gaze didn't waver. "So, Mr. Edgeworth?'

He shivered, Franziska's dead eyes suddenly at the forefront of his mind. His cell phone vibrated and he sighed in relief. Saved by the bell. "Excuse me," he said, rising. It was a picture message from an unfamiliar number. He hesitated, wondering if it was Oldbag, but the subject line wasn't anything that said "Edgey-poo," so he figured he was probably safe.

He opened the message, shouting in surprise and throwing his cell phone halfway across the room. The image was now burned into his mind. It was him, slumped over in a salon chair, fluorescent light glinting off of his bald head.

"Edgeworth?" Maya asked, standing to retrieve his phone. He fell back onto the couch as she studied the picture. "What the hell is that?"

"What's wrong?" Apollo asked.

"Edgeworth got a picture message," Maya said, snatching the phone away from him before he could stop her.

Larry sighed, already having anticipated what the picture was of. "Edgey, such a lady killer. To have them sending you pictures of—"

"What are you talking about?" Phoenix asked, pushing up from the couch. He caught a glimpse of the picture and grimaced. "So, is this one of those therapy sessions that needs tequila?"

"Looks like Edgeworth might have had a few too many already," Athena chuckled.

Larry finally pulled the phone away from Maya, his face contorting in disgust when he finally saw the picture. "Duuuuuuuuude! The hell?" He pulled on Edgeworth's hair, which resulted in him getting a very firm whack from the Prosecutor.

Phoenix abruptly stood. "Okay, I need something stronger than grape juice, and then we are going to drink until we forget that image." He swept his gaze over the remaining people in the room, faltering when he saw Athena. "And . . . you're gonna have to deal with juice because we have four lawyers in the room and I don't need to go to jail for supplying alcohol to a minor."

Athena spluttered, attempting every argument she could think of to wheedle her way into a shot of tequila.

Suddenly, a sharp pain at the back of his head made Edgeworth jump, slapping away whatever had just pulled his hair. "Larry, it's not a wig!" he snapped. "And will you please give me back my phone?"

"Geez, Edgey, you don't have to get so worked up." Larry, who oddly enough was right in front of him, tossed the phone back to the pink-suited prosecutor. If it hadn't been Larry, then . . . Maya? No, she was still right beside him on the couch. Then who—?

Apollo suddenly rounded back across the room, settling back into the chair and staring off into a corner of the room guiltily.

The Severing - End

A/N

Shikola Krasno ::

I cannot even begin to explain why these blunders were so funny to us, but if you'd seen us while they happened you'd have thought we'd seen the funniest thing in the world. And yes, these are both possible ways to die in Calling (the head thing was just Melody's fun since one of the things that seemed to creep Edgy out the most were those heads). Look away from the hair lady and she reappears much closer to stab you, and touch the knob to the door before she's gone to have it go flying open as she stabs you again.

This is why we don't let Melody's curiosity get the better of her.

The other neat thing, though, is that if you get killed by the hair lady after beating the game once, you get a picture message on your wii of a bald Makoto sitting in a salon chair, very much dead. What a delightfully morbid game, right? Anywho, credit where credit is due: Melody wrote this. Her designated job for this side story is to write all of the deaths that either earned a picture message or that just plain amused her. This is pretty much my chance to add angst and her chance to add amusing deaths (everything in between is just us having a little too much fun. . .).

Melody Canta ::

Because I think there needs to be a Polly/Edgeworth bromance.

Oh god, this is my favorite death in Calling. I don't think I've laughed that hard at a game since we got to hear Kanji's Persona self in Persona 4. This one I can't take too much credit for, since it's mostly what happened in the game (minus the wig head. Anyone else get my joke there? No? I probably should have left the wig on . . .), but it was too much fun for me to change.

Also, a bald Edgeworth is an oddly scary thought. Seriously, the man needs hair.