Right in the middle of their Anicomekomanac convention.
At first glance, he had thought that Halloween had somehow rolled around without his notice. There were thousands of people dressed in possibly every style that had been made and would ever be made. Yet, somehow, all of the outfits managed to look absolutely ridiculous on every single one of the masqueraders. There were bright green jumpsuits, black leather outfits covered in enough spikes to kill a man, samurai robes (a lot of these), bikinis (both women and men), suits designed to resemble various pieces of fruit, even some people just covered in body paint. Each person's hair seemed to be a different color, as well, from naturally blonde to a horrendous shade of neon green. Props and accessories jutted out from every direction as well, whether they be samurai swords (what was with all the samurai here?) or shields or gigantic jars. It got to the point where everybody became a distinct blur in the sea of weaponry and pottery.
And this was merely the line to the ticket counter.
Those suits probably looked better on their models than on them, Edgeworth thought, as he went inside.
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It was nice enough of Mrs. Steele to mail him an extra ticket. He wasn't quite sure he could have made it through the line without, at minimum, having to backhand someone. Then again, he had this same uncertainty in the center, but he at least had more ground to get away should the need arise.
The huge room had been decorated from top to bottom in posters, balloons, and stands, each displaying one illustrated figure after another. As Edgeworth wandered the halls, searching for his appointment, he saw that each shelf seemed to carry the same thing over and over again: Figurines, posters, shirts, and other various useless trinkets, each imprinted with more and more caricatured art. Eyebrow twitching as he passed a stand devoted to Jumpy, he rounded the corner and turned on the row with the highest ink concentration in the city.
Down this hall were boxes upon boxes filled with comics of all kinds. To his right, the smaller American comics were printed, each depicting some human-like figure in brightly colored underwear staring menacingly at another human-like figure in undergarments that were merely a bit darker in shading. Picking one up out of curiosity, he leafed through to the end, where the villain has the hero tied up on a ferris wheel that is speeding towards the city, on fire, on course to collide with an atomic bomb, which would signal a submarine to shoot missiles at the White House, etc. With the final words of the issue in his head ("You'll never get away with this, Airplane Smoke Detector Tamperer!" "I'd like to see you stop me, Flight Attendant Man!") Edgeworth picked up the next issue and skipped to the end once more. As expected, the hero had failed to catch the villain in the end ("I can't believe he got away! We left him right by the entrance to the fairground and told him to stay put, and he just runs! He's a crafty one, that Tamperer…."), and Edgeworth suspected each and every single issue here of following the same routine. In an attempt to ease monotony, he headed down the left side of the aisle.
It was hardly better, though, in the foreign comics section. Judging from the saucer-plate eyes, commonplace DD-cups, and interestingly colored hair, he could only assume that the majority of these "graphic novels" were made in Japan and translated over. He hoped dearly that at least their plots would be of better quality.
The first section he came across was the section marked "Shounen" (If you're going to translate the entire book, why don't you translate one word of a sign? he thought). The cover of the book he picked up depicted one shirtless, incredibly muscular man, his hair spiked more than Wright's, yelling at some other shirtless, muscular, humanoid alien of some kind. The issue seemed to start right at the beginning of their fight, as they began their pre-combat banter ("I will defeat you!" "And you will lose!" "You are the one who is going to lose!"). Skimming farther along, the human man had apparently finished powering himself up ("I am now ten times stronger than I was before!" "That's not possible!"), followed subsequently by a few pages of the two doing nothing but staring each other down. Skipping to the end, he found that neither side had done anything but taunt each other and increase their own strength. While the finishing lines were promising ("Are you ready for this?" "Bring it on!"), he could see the following two characters on the covers of at least the next twelve books in the series. He quickly moved on.
He decided it was better for his health if he skipped the "Shoujo" section, as a few hundred teenage girls were practicing their Long Range Irritation skills with ridiculous squealing.
It was when he passed by the "Yaoi" section that he made his biggest mistake.
Mrs. Steele had said in the letter sent with the ticket that the place she was most likely to be was this area. Unsure of what exactly this entailed, he decided he would gather as much information as he could about her interests, as he certainly wasn't getting anywhere by talking to her.
Strolling over to the box, he couldn't really find anything that distinguished this section from any of the others. Out of curiosity, he picked up an issue to examine it closely.
And he might as well have turned to stone.
On the front cover were two men. This would have been normal had they not been…with the chains…and the ball gag…and could a human body actually do that? Was one of the men related to a horse? Did the other have a tail and cat ears? How could this be published without raising some incredible red flags about the author's state of mind?
"Hello, sir. I see you're interested in "Fox Boy Passion Forbidden Boy Love Paradise 15". Would you like to purchase a copy?"
"TAKE THAT!"
…Edgeworth shouted, throwing the perversion of paper and ink in sales clerk's face. Deciding he would be better off somewhere very far away from this part of the convention, he stormed off toward a stand with a gigantic metal dragon.
He didn't even want to know why there were so many people at the section labeled "Futanari."
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Edgeworth came to a rest next to the concession stand in the back of the hall, after determining it to be one of the only safe places to be. Earlier, he had unknowingly wandered over to an area deemed only for what the kids there kept calling "Larp." Someone had wandered over to him, exclaiming what the poor boy probably thought was a magical incantation but which Edgeworth had overheard was a popular line on a science fiction program. The boy then exclaimed that he had casted a lightning spell, and that he had "rolled a critical twenty" against Miles. Edgeworth then took the opportunity to explain to the boy the reasons why he should go outside more.
Now, sipping a small glass of water (for which he paid five dollars), he decided that he would just hope that Mrs. Steele would pass him by. He had had enough of this crazy place, and desperately wanted out of it. Waiting around near a safe place was a lot better than wandering through dangerous territory.
Nearby was a booth promoting some long time artist, accompanied by a substantial amount of worshippers. Two false samurai were having a mock duel next to that, which was so badly orchestrated that even Edgeworth, with no training whatsoever, could distinctly point out the flaws in technique.
To the right of that, they had a large stage set up, in which they were awarding the best Halloween costumes. Miles gagged on his water when the winner was none other than Detective Dick Gumshoe in a schoolgirl's outfit too small for any self-respecting female. Two possibilities were then open to him: should he use this as blackmail against the "good detective" at some point in the future, or should he bar Gumshoe from coming within three miles of him ever again? Or, a third thought surfaced, both?
As he was deliberating, though, he was rudely bumped into. Edgeworth would normally have a particular scowl (#4) for a situation like this, but all of his usual tactics went out the window once he got a look at his offender.
Standing a bit shorter was a man dressed exactly like him. Red suit, red pants, black vest, white shirt, frilly cravat…the works. However, he wasn't performing what one would call exact mimicry. The hair was a bit messed up, the shade of it a bit too light, his footwear consisted of orange tennis shoes, and his face was much too cheerful to ever possibly be Edgeworth's. The other man was just as stunned as him, it seemed, but reacted faster than Miles could. "Hey…great Edgeworth costume! I didn't expect many people to cosplay as him. I mean, he's really not that popular, and if you ask me, kind of a grouch…"
"HOLD IT!"
Edgeworth slammed one hand on the wall behind him. "I assure you, I am not in any sort of costume! Now, if you'll just…"
"Oh!" the unfortunate man said, "Oh, right, gotta be in character and all. Um…"
"OBJECTION!"
A mediocre objection, at best, thought Edgeworth, It's just not…'bold' enough.
"I-If you're not in costume, then you are indirectly insinuating that I must be! But I can assure you, I am the real Miles Edgeworth! Do you have any proof to your claim?"
Much too aggressive…
"OBJECTION!"
"I could ask you the same question." Edgeworth retorted. "Where is your proof that you are the real Miles Edgeworth?"
"Right here!" the man said with an arrogant smirk, hands on his hips. Way too much like Wright.
"TAKE THAT!"
What he handed Edgeworth would have been an embarrassment had it been drawn when the artist was in kindergarten. On an index card, in crayon, was a poorly drawn imitation of Edgeworth's face, with a childish mean face scribbled in. The rest of the card merely had his name in incredibly poor handwriting, spelled "Myls Ejeworf."
Miles stared at it in utter disbelief before ripping it in half.
"H-HOLD IT!"
"That was my only ID card! Why'd you tear it up?"
"OBJECTION!"
"Your card is nothing but an embarrassing school project!"
"TAKE THAT!"
And when Edgeworth pulled out his ID card, to show that the real Miles Edgeworth did stand up, the poor cosplayer fainted on the spot.
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He had had enough. Two hours in that blasted center and his blood pressure had escalated to levels behind human comprehension. He no longer cared if Mrs. Steele was waiting for him in there; he merely had to find some way to communicate with her that didn't involve being face to face. Perhaps carrier pigeon…, he thought, as he got into his car and drove out of the parking lot.
Nearby, a metal-gray haired woman was loading up all of her swag from the treasure cove that was the Amicomekomanac convention. "I can't believe I got Fox Boy Passion Forbidden Boy Love Paradise 15!" she said to herself, "They only had one in stock!"
As she was putting her newly-gotten booty into car, she noticed a red sedan pulling out of the parking lot. Quickly realizing who it was, she began waving her arms in the air and shouting for Mr. Edgeworth to please stop. She failed to remember, however, her precious collection as it fell out of her arms and into a nearby puddle of oil.
Her curse could be heard for miles.
Speaking of Miles, he too heard Mrs. Steele's cry as he turned onto the highway. Thinking it nothing but some rabid fan prattling on about collector's value, he relaxed into his chair and sighed, trying to get himself relaxed for the drive home.
A fine place to meet, indeed.