The investigation was a disaster. The evidence that was left behind and the witness accounts all pointed to one conclusion: this murder could not possibly have taken place. And yet it did. Nothing added up, not one shred of evidence made sense. And worst of all, the only eyewitness, the world's most foolishly annoying fool of a clown, claimed to have seen the suspect simply up and fly away from the scene of the crime. She was certain that she had whipped him one too many times and driven him mad, but that was his story.
The next day in court, Franziska began to feel like her life was a circus. She had pieced together the situation as best anyone could, but a case like this was a test of her sanity. She tried everything in her power to push the trial away from the foolish clown's foolish testimony, but naturally that foolishly foolish king of fools, Phoenix Wright, managed to weasel his way past every other explanation. As the clown took the stand, she braced herself for impending doom.
The clown's explanation did not go over well with the court. After all, everyone knows human beings can't simply fly away from a crime scene. The foolish clown's foolish acount made her entire investigation look foolish. At the very least, his statements confused the judge enough to grant another trial day.
Franziska von Karma was perfect. She was simply perfect. And she would not be losing this trial. There was absolutely no way. She returned to the circus to investigate every loose end, every nook and cranny. She wracked her brain to come up with some possible explanation as to how on earth that foolish clown could have possibly seen such a thing.
And she was getting nowhere.
She took a glance at her Scruffytracker™ to find him lingering at the crime scene. Livid, she marched there to scold him for wasting time. When she arrived, though, she found him talking to that foolish fool, Wright!
She whipped him into a paste and left him in a heap in the snow. He was playing dead, most likely, but she had a few choice words for Wright. She let him have it, but the fool had the nerve to foolishly mention that beating him in court wouldn't bring back her papa. As if that was even what this was about. He would see. She needn't dignify that with a response. Besides, he was to blame for her brother's disappearance. What right did he have to judge her?
When she had sufficiently chewed out the foolish lawyer, and sufficiently ogled his cute little assistant, she took Scruffy by the ear and dragged him behind the housing space. She forced him against the wall, and he fell into a sitting position with his back against it. She gave him the lecture of a lifetime, punctuating her sentences with a crack of her whip. Kneeling down in the snow, grimacing as her pantyhose grew wet and began to cling to her, she shot him a scowl that could melt a glacier. Her left hand flew back to slap him, but it hesitated, hanging in the air for what Scruffy must have perceived as an eternity. Ultimately, she balled his collar into her fist and pulled him towards her, forcing their lips together. She hurriedly opened her jacket and pulled her lacy blue bra over her breasts, giving Scruffy his first look at their flawless, pale form. The cold winter air that assaulted them sent shivers throughout her, turning her nipples a bright pink and making them fully erect in seconds.
She was in no mood for foreplay, and as she pushed aside her panties and lowered herself onto his stiffening manhood, she saw in her peripheral vision a glimpse of Wright's topknotted assistant peeking around the side of the housing unit. When she was sure Wright himself was nowhere to be seen, she looked over at the girl and winked. The young medium blushed furiously and scurried off.
As she continued bouncing onto Scruffy's length, she imagined what the girl had seen; the proud prosecutor Franziska von Karma, boobs out, exhaling heavily, sitting in Gumshoe's lap, completely unashamed. She laughed to herself, shaking her head, and made a mental note to make personally sure that the girl spoke a word of this to no one.
Mr. Scruffy Detective was arousing to her on so many levels. For his huge stature, he was so meek and so easily dominated. His rugged, unsophisticated appearance was also an odd turn-on; there was something about the union of a goddess and an everyman that reminded her of her unparalled pornography collection and really got her fired up. And then there was her utter contempt for the man, which made this whole tryst that much more taboo, and that much more appetizing. Sex and aggression are so closely linked, after all.
She took her frustrations out on the poor man in the worst way, grinding against his manhood with such frenzy that wild animals would have been jealous. She clawed his dress shirt open, ruining a second set of buttons, and ran her fingers through his chest fur. In the heat of the moment, a compliment somehow left her lips, and she couldn't silence herself before she blurted out that he should seek a job in the field of pornography.
She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and saw a small smile pierce Scruffy's foolish face. Livid, she slapped him hard across the face, making his cheek as red as her own and snapping his expression straight back to the realm of horror. Without slowing her hip gyrations in any way, she took his lapels between her clenched fists and pulled him towards her, pressing their foreheads together. She stared into his soul, baring her teeth, wearing a face that would put the fear of God into anyone, and made it abundantly clear that no such compliment was ever paid. Horrified, Scruffy nodded at a mile a minute, whimpering like the scared puppy that he was.
It felt so good to be in control.
In no time, Scruffy meekly began the question of where to empty himself. Franziska rolled her eyes and interrupted him after just three words, ordering him to fill her up and to never again think of asking such a foolish question. She was facing him this time, and got to savor the grimace he made as he unloaded inside of her. It was truly delicious; his face was bright crimson from the triple threat of the cold winter air, the after-effects of her slap, and his own climax. His eyes were closed and his upper lip curled, showing his top row of teeth. It was not at all an attractive expression, but to Franziska it was evidence that she had brought a man to his weakest point. She drank it up, and as she felt his warm seed grow cold as it spilled out of her, she could feel her own release approaching. She attacked his thick neck with kisses, digging her long fingernails into his shoulder.
Two of her fingers snaked beneath her panties to help her along, pinching and prodding her erect clitoris. When she did finish, her whole body shaking slightly, she touched her shoulders to her neck and rest her chin on Scruffy's broad shoulder.
She stood up, buttoning her shirt and adjusting her panties, and kicked snow at him, ordering him to get back to work. She collected her whip and stormed off, smiling once her back was turned. She loved carrying part of a man with her.
From there out, she was all business. She had a case to save. The circus became her domain as she investigated and interrogated everything and everybody within. She ordered surprise searches of every room in the housing unit, but found nothing exciting in any of them.
The last search, though, got her in touch with a witness she thought would prove to be key. He was a wheelchair-bound acrobat going by the stage name of Acro. He was devilishly handsome, and Franziska was very disheartened to hear that he was paralyzed from the waist down.
Acro corroborated the foolish clown's foolishly foolish account, claiming to have seen the suspect fly past his second-story window. Come to think of it, what kind of sadistic ringleader places his crippled acrobat on the second floor of the housing unit? Even Franziska wouldn't be so cruel.
Still, this only made matters worse for her. How was she expected to believe, let alone prove that this murder could have occurred in such an impossible fashion?
As the sun was setting, she caught that fool Phoenix Wright questioning Acro - and receiving a blood-stained scarf.
Oh, this simply would not pass. She stomped over to the spiky-haired fool and demanded that he hand over the cloth. It was evidence, after all, and needed to be inspected. She took the scarf and stormed off, taking Acro with her for questioning - he was to be the witness for tomorrow. Why had he hidden this piece of cloth from her during her investigation?
She went without sleep that night and ordered Scruffy to do the same. His mission was to build a scale model detailing how, exactly, Max Galactica was able to, one, commit this murder without leaving footprints, and two, fly away from the scene of the crime.
The inspection of the scarf revealed useless results. The blood belonged to Acro's brother, who was currently in a coma. The only other thing they found were traces of pepper. No blood or fingerprints belonging to anyone actually involved in the current case. Worthless.
Not that any of their work mattered. The next day in court, that foolish slimeball lawyer Phoenix Wright threw everyone a curveball - by accusing Acro of the murder!
Franziska was speechless, which had quite honestly never happened before. This was a new low; the lengths these detestable lawyers will actually go to in order to defend their clients was disgusting even to her. She put the flying issue on the back burner for a while and spent most of the trial explaining why this position was a ludicrous one to take up. For starters, Acro couldn't physically have done such a thing, but even assuming he could, he was a loyal performer with no motive to kill his beloved ringleader. Franziska found no reason to mention that the victim had placed a paraplegic on the second floor.
But what was this? Phoenix Wright had a ridiculously convoluted theory; Acro dropped a bust of Max Galactica onto the ringleader, though he actually intended to kill Regina. The bust snagged the ringleader's cape upon itself and was then pulled back up to Acro's room by a rope, making it seem to the clown that Max Galactica had flown away from the scene of the crime.
This was a personal affront to the justice system. A mockery! A fraud! It simply would not go down like this.
Even assuming all of that miraculously happened, what motive would Acro possibly have to murder Regina?
Her eyes went wide as Phoenix Wright pulled out the scarf.
The scarf she had told Scruffy to dispose of.
She clenched her fists and her teeth. She could just kill him.
It turned out Regina had peppered the scarf as a prank, but it had caused a lion to bite Acro's brother and put him in a coma. Or something. She was only barely paying attention - she was too busy seething with anger.
When Phoenix Wright demanded a search of Acro's room, Franziska perked up. She took great pride in pointing out that a surprise search of Acro's room had already been conducted, and returned no such bust; for that matter, nothing resembling a murder weapon had been found anywhere within the circus grounds. She folded her arms. The ball was in Phoenix Wright's court now, and she was overjoyed to see him fail.
But imagine her surprise when that foolish king of fools returned the foolish ball with a spike. Phoenix Wright claimed the bust was in this very courtroom - beneath Acro's wheelchair.
Franziska nearly toppled over. This man would stop at nothing, he would go to disgusting lengths to pin the crime on another party. How could anyone, in the face of such overwhelming evidence, insist that an innocent man, in a wheelchair no less, could -
Wait. No. This wasn't happening.
There was just no way!
The bust was under his chair. Phoenix Wright had been correct. Franziska von Karma lost a case for the second time.
To the same man.
This would not stand. She had to bring that man to his knees. She had to uphold the von Karma name. There was no way some upstart lawyer could to this to the von Karma lineage. It was all on her!
That night she kicked in the door to the offices of Wright and Co., ready to make heads roll.