Author's Note: This chapter heavily features the death penalty—fair warning for anyone who needs it. For the process I combined Japanese practices, several of which are referenced in the games, with American ones (since the translation has the setting in California), and added a few tweaks that I feel fit the general dystopian setting of the games. I'm happy to discuss it further with anyone who's interested.
3.
Sebastian attends his first execution eighteen months after he passes the bar.
The call telling him when the execution will be comes thirty-six hours before the event, while he's still trying to figure out his schedule for the day. He answers the phone mechanically, only looking at the caller ID once the handset is cradled to his head. He blinks, doing a double-take, surprised to see that the call is from the nearest high-security prison.
"This is Officer Andwaite." The male voice on the other end of the line is crisply efficient. "Am I speaking to Prosecutor Sebastian DeBeste?"
"Ah, yes, this is he." Sitting up a bit straighter, Sebastian tries and fails to think of a recent case that might involve the prison.
"I'm just calling to inform you that the Minister of Justice signed the order of execution for Charles Broil." The man's tone doesn't change at all, as though he were simply reporting on the weather, not on the impending death of one of the people in his care. "The execution will be carried out Tuesday, at 9 PM. Do you know if you'll be attending, sir?"
"If I'll..." Sebastian stares straight ahead, at a wall that he's fairly certain had a picture hanging on it five minutes ago but that now seems to be an undulating veil of red. "I... how soon do I have to let you know?"
"If you could let us know by 5 PM tomorrow, it would be appreciated. That way we can make sure everyone has chairs. It's always a mess, having to add chairs at the last minute." For the first time a hint of emotion enters the man's voice, and Sebastian is distracted from his numb contemplation at least enough to feel a flash of sympathy for whatever poor soul made the mistake of showing up when they didn't have a chair prepared. "Do you have any other questions, sir?"
Many. More questions than answers, it seems, even after so long has passed, but they aren't questions that Andwaite can help him with. "No, that will be all. Thank you."
"You're welcome, sir. Have a nice day."
And with a click and the sudden humming of a dial tone, Sebastian is once more alone in his office.
Charles Broil. How long had he been a prosecutor when that case crossed his desk? Four months? Something like that, yes. It had been shortly after he lost his first case, when he was still desperate to prove himself.
Not that much has changed since then. He still feels like he has to prove himself anew each case, as though his record is something friable and fragile that could disappear in a puff of smoke. He still hates failing, though the gut-wrenching certainty that failure will equal censure and abandonment has at least faded.
Some things have changed, though. His office is better, now, bigger and with a window that actually shows a view of the outdoors, even if that view is the sheer gray face of the neighboring building. He fits in better with the other prosecutors, the questions asking how his day are having shifted from sneering accusations to the usual bored inquiries of those who work in close proximity.
A knock at his door, syncopated and cheerful, and Sebastian turns, automatically smiling because he knows who it will be.
"Hallo, Herr Erste." Klavier lounges in the doorway. "Sorry to bother you at this ungodly time of day, but I hear tell the Cervantes file still has residence on your shelves, and I have need of it."
"Ah, right." Clambering to his feet, Sebastian heads toward his steadily-expanding shelf of closed case files. "You think the Quilote case might be connected to it?"
"Someone has learned to keep their ears open and pick up on office rumor. I am impressed." As soon as he has his hands on the file Klavier opens it, paging through to the autopsy report. He hums to himself for a moment before snapping the file closed. "Thank you. I'll make sure to return this as soon as I'm done with it."
"No problem." Drifting back to his desk, Sebastian finds that his voice sounds distant, his feet feeling disconnected from the rest of him. Strange, how everything continues on as normal even when things are decidedly not. "I trust you."
"That is high praise, coming from you." Klavier pauses with his hand on the door, then pulls the door shut and follows Sebastian to his desk, settling one hip on a corner and watching Sebastian with a curious gaze. "Has something happened, Sebastian?"
For a moment Sebastian considers shaking his head, trying to pass off his distraction as just difficulty waking up this morning. This is something that he knew would happen, one day, and he shouldn't have any trouble handling it.
On the other hand... he wants to talk to someone about it, and Edgeworth is in Europe again briefly. "Do you remember the Broil case?"
Klavier thinks for a moment, file tapping against his thigh. Whatever song he's currently working on seems to be in three-four time, at least from the rhythm that's currently being expressed. Sebastian will have to ask to see it, later. After a handful of seconds understanding dawns, and Klavier's spine straightens. "The arson case? From over a year ago?"
Sebastian nods.
"Has something come up about it?" Klavier frowns. "From what I remember, it was open-and-shut. All the evidence was on your side, and he confessed on the stand."
"It was. He set the fire, with the intent to kill his parents, and ended up killing five other people, as well." Sebastian's voice trembles just a little as he forces out the next words. "He's going to be hung tomorrow. They called me this morning, to see if I want to... attend the proceedings, I suppose. I need to get back to them as soon as I know, so they can have a chair waiting for me."
"A chair waiting for you..." Klavier repeats the words, his accent thickening. It makes Sebastian feel slightly better, at least, that he isn't the only one who finds his mind sticking on that small point. "And... are you going to attend?"
"I don't know." Sebastian stares down at the files on his desk. "I... wasn't expecting to have to think about this so soon."
"It's very fast. Fourteen months from sentencing to execution." The folder is still now in Klavier's hands, his whole body tense.
"It is." Sebastian shrugs. "Not common, but not unheard of, either. There wasn't much for him to appeal on, and the execution has to be carried out within six months of the ending of the final appeal."
Sebastian had been very meticulous with this particular case, coming so soon on the heels of the Chovey fiasco. All of his i's had been dotted, all of his t's crossed, everything orchestrated to the best of his human ability, and apparently it worked.
Though this had been a very simple case, a not-very-bright criminal lashing out in premeditated rage. There had been none of the complicated extenuating circumstances that have gifted appeals to other death row inmates. No other family members involved in the proceedings, so that someone can claim a conflict of interest. No deep-set corruption being unearthed. No co-conspirators desperately trying to cover their own tracks, muddying the waters further in their flailing.
"Will you go?" Sebastian raises his gaze from where it had drifted to meet Klavier's eyes. "You've had your first capital offense, right?"
"Ja." Klavier shifts uneasily on his perch. "The woman who was taking in runaways and then killing them when they misbehaved."
Sebastian nods, biting his bottom lip for a moment. It has been eight months since Klavier tried that case. It had taken Klavier two and a half weeks to find a suspect, and the trial had dragged on for three grueling days during which Klavier didn't sleep and Kay and Sebastian got precious little, but in the end they persevered. "Do you know what the status on that one is?"
A shrug of Klavier's shoulders, as though it doesn't matter, but he turns his head away, and his blue eyes are storm-dark. "Her defense ordered a third pysch profile, and just like the others the conclusion was that she is sane enough to have known what she was doing and pay the price for her crimes."
"That's what they're doing." Sebastian sounds uncertain, even to his own ears. Hesitant. Pleading. Needing, but at least Klavier understands why without having to be told. He was there, for Blaize's trial. "They're paying for their crimes."
"They took lives. For selfish reasons—for power, for money, for control." Klavier frowns down at the beige carpet. "It is only fitting, isn't it? That they pay for the crime of taking a life with their own life."
That's the general theory, at least. There are some who protest it—Sebastian has seen them, occasionally, in front of the courthouse or the prosecutor's office or the prison—but most believe premeditated murder, especially multiple murders, deserves the death penalty. He has even seen counter-protests to the protesters, usually a core of family from the victims surrounded by those who answer their call, and who is he to pick sides in the debate?
His job is just to find the truth, no matter how deeply buried or how painful. If the law and society says that the proper punishment for murder is death... and, really, who is he to say that imprisonment would be better?
Does he think prison could possibly make his father into a better person? Does he think that a life in jail will be better for Blaize DeBeste than a noose around his neck? Does he truly think it is safe, his father the master manipulator behind bars?
His father is supposed to be the one in the trap, but it is far too easy for Sebastian to imagine the guards and the other prisoners being drawn into his father's plans, one by one by one...
"I'll go with you." Klavier stands, reaching out to very gently touch Sebastian's shoulder. "If you decide you want to go, tell me, and I'll go with you."
Sebastian raises startled eyes to study his friend. "Do you think that's allowed? And... are you sure that you'd want to?"
"I'm a prosecutor. I don't see any reason they wouldn't allow me to attend with you. As for whether I want to go or not..." Klavier shrugs. "Want is possibly a bit too strong a word, but I decided some time ago that I would attend at least my first execution. It seems... appropriate, to be there when everything ends. Perhaps I will change my mind after this. Or maybe I won't. We shall see."
"Let me think about it." That is something that has changed over the last year, too, Sebastian supposes. He knows better than to make snap decisions unless he has to, though he thinks he knows already what he will decide.
"Certainly. Just let me know what you decide." Waving the file, Klavier backs toward the door. "I'll take this, then, and talk to you later. Good luck, mein Freunde."
Sebastian murmurs out his own goodbye and goes about his work for the day, but the question of what to do tomorrow continues to percolate in the back of his mind.
When lunch time comes around, he stays in his office, pulling out his cell phone and making a personal call.
"Faraday reporting for duty!" Kay's voice is clear and strong even over the phone—always unashamed, always certain, and Sebastian is lucky to have her as a friend.
"Hi, Kay. It's me." Sebastian hesitates. "That would be Sebastian. DeBeste. I don't know if there are any other Sebastians in your classes—"
"Not who pop up on my phone as the world's derpiest setter puppy learning to swim." The sound of wind whistling in the phone, and then background noises fade out, leaving Kay's voice even sharper. "Has something come up? Do you need me?"
"Just your adverb—advice." Sebastian fiddles with the buttons on his jacket with his free hand. He doesn't misspeak very often lately. It shows how much this is upsetting him, that he's doing it now. "One of my convictions is going to be executed tomorrow. I need to decide if I want to go."
"Oh. Wow." For just a moment Kay is silent. "That's a really heavy decision, huh?"
"It is. It's... conflicting. Part of me wants to say no, thank you, I don't want to go. I fight to prevent deaths, not to cause them." Closing his eyes, Sebastian wills tears to stop pricking at them. "Part of me feels like I owe it to the victims and the convict both. To see justice through to the end. To know what it is that I'm fighting for when I recommend the death penalty."
"You don't owe them anything." Kay's voice is soft but still utterly certain. "You've already seen to justice, finding the killers and stopping them from hurting anyone else. If you want to go, that's fine. If you don't... it doesn't make you any less courageous or just, not wanting to watch someone die."
"I was also thinking..." Sebastian's breath shudders in his throat, too tight, too confined. "I will be going, when... when my father hangs. I can't not go. So perhaps I should go now? So I'm... more prepared? So he can't blindside me with something? Except... that doesn't seem right to this man. To use his death as just a—a stepping stone to dealing with my own problems."
"Sebastian..." Kay's voice is all quiet compassion. "We both know you're better than that. You're not like your father. You're not trying to manipulate or use anyone."
"I'm trying not to. I'm trying to be a good man." He has found someone better than his father to emulate, and people to walk at his side along the rutted, stumbling track of justice, but sometimes it still seems he can never move fast enough to completely escape his father's shadow. "I just... don't know what to do."
"I wish I could give you an answer." Kay sighs. "I wish there was a clear and obvious answer. I don't think either choice is wrong, 'Bastion. I don't think you're bad if you go—it's going to happen, whether you're there or not, and it's happening because of what he did, not anything you did. But I also don't think it's wrong if you don't want to go, if you want to just... be done with everything."
"I think..." Sebastian draws short, shallow breaths, and his eyes are burning harder now. Silly, really, and it's going to be very hard to keep his composure at the execution if he's having this hard a time keeping it now. "I think I want to go. I want to see... everything. Start to finish."
"Okay." He can picture Kay nodding her agreement. "Is there anything you want me to do? Drive you there, or pick you up, or meet you at your house...?"
"Klavier's going to come with me. Because he's another prosecutor." Which Kay knows, having run into Klavier with Sebastian multiple times, and Sebastian can feel a blush touching his cheeks. "But... if you don't mind being available tomorrow evening... I don't know. We might need to go out for drinks, or watch a bad movie, or... something like that."
"You've got it, pal." Kay's voice sobers. "If you need to talk, at any time, you just call me. Got it?"
"Got it." Sebastian nods. "Thank you, Kay. You're wonderful."
"I know. Ciao, and tell your semi-German buddy the same."
Kay hangs up before Sebastian manages to get a response in, but it doesn't really matter. All that needs to be said has been said.
He goes about his business for the remainder of the afternoon, filing requests, finalizing paperwork from his last trial. He keeps himself busy, focused, refusing to let what is to come interfere in what he needs to do right now.
At four thirty, he calls the prison, confirming that he and Prosecutor Klavier Gavin will both be in attendance at the execution. There are no questions asked about Klavier, as he had been afraid there would be.
"Two chairs, then." There is a certain grim satisfaction in Andwaite's voice, as though Sebastian has solved some great puzzle of the universe. "And will you be serving as the state witness, then, or would you like someone else to fill that role?"
"Right." Sebastian blinks. He knows there is a state witness—someone who signs that the medical examiner did their job, that the convicted is well and truly dead—but it hadn't occurred to him that it could be, well, him. On the other hand, if he will be there, there's no reason to make someone else come and serve in that capacity. "I'll do it."
"Excellent." The sound of rustling paper, and when he speaks again, Andwaite's tone is almost cheerful. "Anything else I can help you with, Prosecutor DeBeste?"
"No." Sebastian's voice sounds faint and strained. "No, thank you."
"Then we'll be seeing you tomorrow, Prosecutor. Have a good evening."
A click, and Sebastian is left alone with his own thoughts.
He tries not to let them dwell on what's to come. He tries to drown them out with music on the car ride home, with a movie that Kay lent him before bed, with work the next day. If he doesn't think about it, if he doesn't worry about what is to come, perhaps everything will just progress smoothly, with the clerical precision that Andwaite clearly expects it to have.
Sebastian drives himself and Klavier to the prison. Klavier offers to drive, but Sebastian likes the feel of the steering wheel in his hands, the feeling of control that it gives, and it is his car.
"We could take the hog." Klavier grins, though the expression doesn't quite touch his eyes. He is in his usual black pants and a black shirt similar to the ones he tends to wear in court, though the embroidery on this one is some kind of shiny black thread that shimmers against the matte black fabric.
"No, we couldn't." Sebastian shakes his head as he puts the car in gear. "Why you couldn't keep your car when you got that ridiculous bike—"
"She is a beautiful bike!" Mock outrage touches Klavier's voice. "And I do not need multiple conveyances when there is only one of me, now do I?"
"That depends on if you wish to take anyone else with you when you go places."
"I can still take people with me." Klavier places a hand to his heart. "I am wounded that you do not trust me to think far enough ahead for that. I have a spare helmet that is always with the hog. Or is it riding so close behind me that you object to, Herr Erste?"
"It's the lack of rain and snow protection that I object to." Sebastian is smiling despite himself, though the expression fades as he thinks about it. Is it right, for them to laugh and joke like this given where they're going?
"We will be solemn and somber when we are there." Klavier's eyes have turned to the window, but he seems to be speaking directly to Sebastian's thoughts. "There's no harm in laughing here, where no one else can hear."
Sebastian nods slowly. "I suppose not."
Despite his acquiescing, the rest of the drive passes in silence save for the sound of the tires against the road and the occasional noise of other traffic. The walk across the parking lot is likewise completed in silence, and as they approach the prison guard Sebastian finds his steps faltering.
Klavier doesn't hesitate. His eyes flick to Sebastian, and he strides forward, head high, stance the easy relaxed posture of someone who is supposed to be there. Fishing in his pocket, he pulls out his prosecutor's badge. "Prosecutor Klavier Gavin and Prosecutor Sebastian DeBeste, here for the execution of prisoner Charles Broil."
The guard examines Klavier's badge slowly, thoroughly, and then turns to Sebastian.
Stepping forward, Sebastian holds out his jacket lapel where his badge is near-permanently affixed, allowing it to be examined.
Nodding, the guard turns to the door and inputs the security code for the day. "Down the hall and take the first right. Officer Huri will be standing outside the witness room and'll let you know what you need to do."
"Danke." Klavier gives the guard a smile and a wave as he heads down the corridor; Sebastian nods and follows after his taller, long-legged friend.
The officer standing outside the witness room is calm and brisk, explaining what will happen before he allows them access to their seats. The convicted will be brought down from his cell at the allotted time. All those who wished to say their goodbyes to him have already done so. Broil has declined to have a priest present, so no one will enter the witness room until after the execution has been completed, at which time Sebastian will be asked to confer with the medical personnel on duty to confirm that Broil is deceased and sign the state's notice of execution performed.
"Simple enough." Sebastian nods, trying to look as calm and unperturbed as the man before him.
"I also recommend not talking in the witness room. We've got family of the victims and family of the convicted as well as those involved with the case, and it always gets messy if there's a fight." Huri's hand pauses on the door handle. "Any other questions?"
Sebastian and Klavier both shake their heads, and are ushered into the witness room.
The front of the room is a pane of glass, looking out on the gallows. Dark gray chairs are arranged in two neat blocks. One side is almost full, and Sebastian stands frozen for a moment, studying the grim faces that are raised to watch him enter.
He recognizes some of them. He interviewed many of them, during the course of the investigation. These are the survivors, the people who lost loved ones in the fire. These are the people he fought so hard for, the ones he promised justice to.
(These people and the ghosts of the dead, and he studied those pictures, too, before they came here today. Pulled out the file, and he didn't need to read anything, but he looked at the pictures of the deceased that had been handed in by loved ones and compared them to the charred corpses in the autopsy reports and tried to convince himself that yes, this is just, yes, this is right.)
"Come." Klavier's accent is thick, but his hand doesn't tremble as he takes Sebastian's and leads him to two seats at the front of the witness room, just behind the glass.
Klavier drapes himself in his seat, an artful lounge that Sebastian knows takes effort to look effortless. His expression is blank, almost bored as he stares straight ahead, but he doesn't let go of Sebastian's hand, even once Sebastian is sitting rigidly next to him.
They don't have long to wait. They had both spent every spare second that they could at the prosecutor's office—working, stalling, it can sometimes be the same thing—and they have less than five minutes before the execution is to be carried out.
Broil walks into the room under his own power. He keeps his head high, defiant, and if he is ashamed of what he has done, afraid of what the consequences will be in the afterlife—if there is an afterlife—it doesn't show. The guards lead him slowly in front of the window, allowing the witnesses full view of the convicted.
His eyes meet Sebastian's, and Sebastian sees recognition there. A frown etches itself deeply into Broil's face, and utter hatred pours from his eyes.
It is surprisingly easy to face. He thought it wouldn't be. He thought it would hurt, seeing that anger and hatred, but he has seen something similar on a visage he loved and respected far more, and from this man it strikes him as almost silly.
So he meets Broil's eyes, evenly, and for the first time all day calm seems to come easily to him.
It is Broil who looks away, taking another step forward, and Sebastian realizes that the time they spent locked in silent communication must have been much smaller than it felt. Strange, how time can sometimes go too quickly and sometimes too slowly, but—
A disturbance, carried out in utter silence in the execution chamber, and Sebastian realizes that there must be some soundproofing between the two rooms. For the first time Broil is pulling against the guards, pointing through the observation window with manacled hands.
The guards confer for a few seconds, and then one shrugs, moving toward the door that connects the witness and the execution chambers.
Sebastian hears the crowd start stirring, whispering questions to each other. This shouldn't happen until after the execution, one of the guards entering the witness' room. What's going on?
"You." The guard opens the door just enough to allow his upper body entrance, and points at Klavier. "What's your name, son?"
Klavier straightens, congenial smile in place, but Sebastian knows him well enough to read the tension in the line of his shoulders. "Prosecutor Klavier Gavin. Is there a problem?"
"No. Just... Chaz says he knows someone who must be related to you, and wants to pass on a message. I know it's irregular, but... well... given the circumstances..."
Chaz, not Charles; a nickname, not an object's title, and there is something like sympathy in the guard's eyes as he glances from the convicted man to Klavier. Sebastian can feel his stomach turn over, tears pricking at his eyes, and he wills his breathing to stay steady.
After barely a second's hesitation Klavier stands, uncrossing his legs and levering himself up in a smooth motion. "I see no harm in hearing him out for a few seconds."
"Thank you." Relief shines from the guard's face, and he glances at the clock on the wall. "Two minutes to execution; we won't let this delay things, folks."
Scrambling to his feet, Sebastian follows Klavier into the execution room.
The temperature in this room is cooler than the witness' room. Perhaps because there are fewer people? Or because the guards want to keep it cool for the body?
"You." Broil addresses Klavier as soon as they're in the same room. "You're related to Gavin, aren't you?"
Klavier raises both eyebrows, his fingers hooked through his belt loops. "That is my surname, yes."
"Thought so." Broil sniffs. "You look just like him, though he wouldn't be caught dead in a circus outfit like that or with his hair looking like some teen's wet dream."
For a moment Klavier glowers; then he schools his expression to calm, though his blue eyes stay hard and sharp.
"Tell Kristoph." Broil's tongue flicks out over his lips, and he eyes the two guards. "Tell him if there's such a thing as ghosts, I'm going to haunt his ass forever over this."
Sebastian frowns. Kristoph Gavin wasn't the defense on the case—Sebastian still hasn't had the pleasure of meeting Klavier's brother, though Klavier talks about him frequently.
Klavier reaches up with his right hand, fluffing his hair artfully. "Kristoph refused to defend you, I take it?"
"Said I didn't have enough money or intelligence." Broil practically spits the words, though he stays still between his guards, not causing trouble.
Klavier opens his mouth, hesitates, and then sighs. "You are about to die, Mr. Broil. So I will merely say that no amount of money or intelligence in the world can make you not guilty of a crime that you committed."
Broil laughs, a harsh, chilling sound. "You haven't been watching the news very well then, kid. Anything's possible in this Dark Age of the Law."
"You are guilty of premeditated murder, Mr. Broil." Sebastian speaks before Klavier has to. "No defense attorney in the world could have changed that, and I would not have stopped until I found the truth."
For a long, long second Broil just stares at him again. Then the man sighs. "Maybe. Tenacious, stubborn kids. Doesn't matter, though. That's all I wanted to say."
Broil turns his head to the gallows.
Klavier and Sebastian return to their seats.
The execution is remarkably quick. The executioner—masked, though he wears the uniform of the prison guards—situates Broil on the gallows. The guards hold his arms. The noose is checked. The noose is placed around Broil's throat and tightened until the executioner is satisfied. The officers release Broil's arms and walk off the gallows.
The executioner throws the lever.
Broil falls.
There is no sound. They don't hear the crack of a breaking neck, though Sebastian is certain it happens. There are no sounds from Broil as he spasms, three whole-body shudders, and Sebastian has an abrupt, visceral understanding of all the euphemisms for hanging that involve dancing.
He doesn't know if he takes Klavier's hand, or if Klavier takes his hand, but their fingers are clasped tight together, and Sebastian doesn't want to let go.
Klavier keeps hold of his hand, follows him as Sebastian is led by a guard into the execution chamber once Broil's body has been cut down. The medical examiner checks for a pulse at neck and wrist and groin; he listens to the chest; he confirms the man's death.
Sebastian could have told him that. There is a certain look that corpses have about the eyes—a defenseless look, that Sebastian has become far too familiar with during his time as a prosecutor—and Broil's eyes have that. There is a way these things are done, though, and Sebastian waits for the medical examiner's confirmation before signing off that Broil's execution was completed as ordered.
Once that is done, he and Klavier retreat as quickly as they can to the parking lot.
They don't head immediately for the car. They stand in the darkness, the prison a glowing beacon at their back, and study the washed-out stars still vying to be seen. One of them has taken the other's hand again, and Sebastian holds it tight.
The first sob catches him off guard, and he raises his free hand to touch his chest in surprise. Why is he crying now? Now that everything is done, now that he knows exactly what to expect at his father's execution—
The next few sobs are harder, rock his whole frame, and Sebastian suddenly can't see anything, his eyes flooded with tears.
Klavier's arms wrap around him, hold him in a gentle embrace, and Sebastian buries his head on Klavier's shoulder, letting the sobs work their way through him. This isn't the first time Klavier has seen him cry; it won't be the last; and Sebastian knows that he can trust Klavier to understand that this doesn't mean he's weak.
When the tears have run their course, Sebastian spends a few extra seconds just leaning against Klavier, his breath ragged in his ears.
"I think..." Klavier speaks quietly, his head tilted up, his eyes still locked on the sky. "Perhaps it is time for a bit of a change in my wardrobe."
Lifting his head, Sebastian tries to wipe the evidence of tears away. "Don't let what he said about your clothes bother you."
"It isn't what he said. It's..." Klavier plucks at his cowboy shirt. "This is a good outfit for investigating, for performing, and because the courtroom is another performance I thought... but it is not quite the same. And though I am not Kristoph, I can show a proper... respect for the proceedings. I don't suppose you know a good tailor I could go to for jackets?"
"I suppose you probably want them in purple, huh?" Sniffling, Sebastian waits for Klavier's sheepish smile before smiling in turn. "I know someone. I'll give you their number. Tomorrow, though. Tonight... would you like to come to my house, share a drink with Kay and I?"
Klavier doesn't hesitate a moment before nodding, and they head to Sebastian's car together, hand in hand, the night pressing in dark around them.