Chapter Five: And So It Really Begins
Ema was fed up—though she couldn't decide the source of this emotion. Usually it was easy; Gavin, Gavin, and Gavin all the way with his foppishness, but now she wasn't sure if she was annoyed at him, or herself.
She was torn between comforting him and kicking him away, but more than this, she wanted to comfort him, but every time she tried, something else that wasn't quite so nice came out of her mouth.
"That's it. I'm not going to let this get in my way," she muttered angrily to herself, though she wasn't quite sure what 'way' referred to.
"Let what get in your way?"
It was, of course, Klavier Gavin. Ema's karma would not have allowed it to be anyone else.
"Nothing," she said, barely restraining the 'fop' that threatened to escape from her lips. She turned around—
—and in that short moment of time, he had managed to lean over her, most definitely invading her personal bubble of space in the most deliberate way, his smile obvious even in the shadow that hung over his face.
At least I didn't hit my head against the chain that he always wears.
"Wh-what is it, Mr Gavin?"
"Ah…" Klavier pulled back slightly, allowing Ema to sit a little more upright. "Nothing much."
There was a short silence that pounded painfully against Ema's ears. Klavier still leaned over her with a smile, trapping her, almost pinning her onto the swivel chair. "I… have work to do," she lied, hoping that he would pull back further, if not completely.
"Work? Of course… but, fräulein detective, you happen to work for me, and I know that you have completed all the paperwork required."
The detective was thoroughly unsettled with the conversation. Meaningless exchanges weren't unusual with Gavin, but his banter was usually more flirtatious, had a sort of purpose that it eventually led up to. (Like the last time, when he said he would speak German with me. That hadn't lasted long, admittedly, because Ema refused to budge whenever he did so.) This, however, was… odd. It had a strange atmosphere that Ema couldn't quite place.
Even his smile was worlds apart from the usual smirk, and it wasn't even the smile he flashed to his fans, the one that earned him the 'glimmerous' title. It was slight, subdued almost, with an ambiguity that made Ema wary.
"Why are you here? And don't give me 'no reason' for an answer."
For a moment, Klavier really looked like he was going to give 'no reason' for an answer, just to incite her, but thought better of it. "I would say 'no reason', for it is the truth… but if you really want a serviceable reason, then let us say that I simply wanted to inform you that I am going out."
"That… isn't a 'serviceable reason'. Why do you need to inform me of your comings and goings?"
"In case you needed to find me at my office, ja? It would certainly save you a trip."
"Well, you've informed me," Ema said expectantly, then cursed herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I just can't help myself, can I?
Klavier hesitated for a moment, then stood up. "Then I shall bid you farewell. Auf Wiedersehen."
Ema watched him with a contemplating, confused expression as he left.
This was more than odd. It wasn't even alien. It left Ema completely and utterly reeling.
No flippant attitude. No badly concealed sadness. No witty banter that ended with a rain of Snackoos.
Just emptiness.
Just an unfathomable pit of a frustratingly inscrutable nature.
Since when did Gavin become as… ridiculously… pointless as this? Every adjective she tried to pin on him when he acted like that seemed to slide off. The closest she could get was ambiguous, and that wasn't even close.
In the distance, she thought heard the revving of a motorcycle as the German truly departed.
Where was he going?
It was a question that echoed in the minds of the fop and the detective at the exact same moment of time, barely a millisecond apart from each other.
And the prosecutor's mind was in a toss more potent than Ema's own little problem of confusion.
When Klavier had left the office, he had known where to go. His planned location hadn't been Ema's office cubicle, but his feet carried him there nonetheless, where he had acted on mindless instinct all the way. Making up silly excuses, exchanging dead banter, he had found himself uncharacteristically speechless and fumbling.
It must've been the way her eyes narrowed and stared at him, focusing on him in such a way that unsettled him.
Klavier screeched to a stop as his mind registered a red light, his thought process breaking off and continuing onto a new line. Or, rather, an old one.
Where was he going?
Klavier assessed his surroundings, realizing that he was en-route to the place he had originally planned to go to. The penitentiary. More specifically, Solitary Cell 13.
Surprise, surprise.
He swallowed. What had possessed him to go there?
But as he parked on the curb a few minutes later, it became apparent that whatever ghoul haunted him was still urging him to enter the prison.
"Kristoph Gavin. I would like to see him."
"Cell number?"
"Solitary Cell 13."
The guard led him into the dank corridor, past the rows and rows of dark, unmaintained cells, finally turning the corner to his destination.
In contrast, this cell was well lit, noticeably cleaner and held a single prisoner who didn't wear the usual uniform.
The door clicked behind Klavier as he entered the cell. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have been allowed inside, but his prosecutorial influence and a few half-truths had earned him the meeting.
"Ah, hello."
Klavier slowly turned his gaze from the floor to the blue-clad man. "Mein bruder. It has been a long time."
"Too long, I do believe. What brings you here?"
This was enough to ascertain that their conversation would be undergone in English. Klavier would analyze anything that could be analyzed in the presence of his brother, because there honestly wasn't much that could be concluded in relation to the unfathomable figure. "It… was on a whim," he admitted honestly.
"Well then, since you are here, you may as well tell me about the outside world."
"You receive newspapers on your very doorstep," Klavier said shortly.
"And news of you?"
"You can find that on the paper too," the prosecutor joked.
"Front page news, actually." Kristoph handed him a recent newspaper.
Klavier scanned it. The lead guitarist of the Gavinners arrested for murder. "…Of course."
"It seems a lot has been happening since I departed."
…Since he departed. The phrase was simply Kristoph through and through. His way of twisting words, careful phrases, their meanings warped but still a sort of truth was ever-present.
"I suppose you could put it that way. Work, as always." The tone of Klavier's voice remained neutral, but the subtleties in his words didn't, of course, escape his brother. The confusion, the rage that he had hid so well bubbled up to the surface, prodded on by Daryan's betrayal. The performer's mask he wore clung on tenuously, his emotions rollicking like an ocean sweeping against the craggy rocks of the shore.
Kristoph tilted his head up and for a moment, Klavier thought that something flashed past his face. Something that glinted from his eyes and off his lenses. "Your insinuation does not go unnoticed."
"Hardly an insinuation, Kristoph. It is exactly as I say it. Work, as always. Putting criminals behind bars—that is my job, ja?" The rock star meant to stop there, but his mouth ran on its own, reserved control forgotten. "Lies, deceit, betrayal—inevitable, all of it. It does not matter who commits the crime. It matters that that person is punished. What justice is there in this world but the justice we deliver? What equality can we muster but the equality we must preserve? Biasness is a fatal flaw, one that condemns many innocents and releases all the guilty. Bonds? Relations? What are these? Immaterial, baseless, deluded connections, served only to heighten the vulnerability of human emotion and hinder the path of evenhandedness."
Klavier cursed himself then, knowing that he had only lowered himself in Kristoph's gaze for being unable to help himself, to restrain himself. Then he beat himself up once more—why did he care what Kristoph thought of him?
"Are you quite done? With your little monologue, I mean. Is that the real reason why you came here? I do hope you have let off enough steam. Your eloquence certainly seems to indicate so."
Curt. Polite.
Disdainful.
"Nein, bruder. It is not the reason I came here. I came hoping for answers."
"Vainly, as you know. Is it not enough that my guilt is ascertained?"
"I want... I need to know why."
"Clichéd. Too clichéd, even for you."
"Perhaps. I too know that I will receive no satisfying response."
"What, do you wish that I deny the action I partook?"
"Action? Does that word even… fit into the sentence?" Klavier struggled for a word that described the… understatement. "In any case, I do not hope for such an answer. You know I would condemn it, even in ridicule."
"Then what is a suitable answer?" His tone was flat, almost bored, as if Kristoph couldn't be bothered to place a suitable emotion into his voice.
"Nothing. There is none. That is why both you and I know I will never be satisfied." Nothing, after all, can justify killing another in what is clearly cold blood.
"Goodbye." Another pointless conversation. Another frustrating end. Why do I even bother?
"Goodbye, Kristoph."
Not once in that conversation had his brother spoken Klavier's name.
"Somewhere… to go to?"
"Yeah. Like, a party?"
Ema's eyes bulged from behind her pink glasses. The party—was today? She thought about skipping out, but Mr Wright would be there and maybe even Mr Edgeworth; it wouldn't be very courteous anyway. Cursing her forgetfulness, she hurriedly thanked her informant.
The tall man watched her leave.
"Hey, Klavier."
"Ace? What are you doing here?"
"I was looking for you. I got lost."
"This has to be your nine hundredth and seventy second time to the precinct as well as my office. And yet… I am not surprised."
The two men started walking side by side.
"So, has my self-invite to the party been approved?"
"Ja. The young magician was simply exuberant with the idea that you would be coming."
"It's my charm," the man assured Klavier, and a chuckle was exchanged between the two of them.
"So, shall we be off?"
"Firstly, why were you down at the precinct yourself?"
"I am a prosecutor."
"Really? I didn't know that," he joked sarcastically. "But I was under the impression that you were to wait for me at the entrance to the Prosecutor Offices."
"I had a feeling you would get lost."
"C'mon, Klavier. You're the prosecutor. Don't make me pick holes in your testimony."
"Let us go now. We are going to be late."
"Now, you've just made me even more intrigued. My curiosity is burning!"
"I know. Prepare to be disappointed."
In every story, there has to be a gathering. Whether it is a romance, comedy, a drama, or an action-packed story, there has to be a meeting between the key characters. This meeting may culminate from a few individuals finally seeing each other, or a chance meeting at right at the beginning that sparks something, or an event at the thick of the plot that spurns on many others.
This story is no exception.
All the world's a stage. Every life is a story, even out of fiction. Drama takes on its own role. Destiny plays its own part. Coincidence is never coincidence.
Fiction… is never fiction.
One of the most important rules is irony. A key role. For example, an unfortunate 'Oh, I hope it doesn't rain' would almost certainly result in a downpour. There has to be at least one instance of this happening—if not the realism and sadistic (I didn't just write sadistic) quality would be lost.
This story is about the law.
It has to follow rules.
Especially that one.
"Gavin has an important meeting today. I'm sure they didn't invite him."
"Trucy can't be up to anything. She can't be bored already."
"I just hope she's the only one up to something. Hm… yeah, only she would scheme for such a purpose."
Three statements spoken by three people. And they enter the stage in the exact same order.
"Hello? Is anyone in?"
Ema looked around the old law office, now a talent agency (Possibly. An Anything Agency, anyway, whatever that was). The door had been unlocked, she discovered, so she made her way inside when no one answered her knocks for…oh… seven minutes and two seconds.
Ema was not a patient woman.
She swept a glance round the room once more, in search of her promised snack. But all she saw were bowls of punch and chips.
"No Snackoos," she muttered to herself.
There came a crash from behind her, and she spun around to see who had stumbled into the room most unceremoniously.
The man slowly regained his balance and closed the door quietly behind him, clutching a familiar looking bag. A plastic bag that Ema brought back to her apartment each day from the convenience store.
"I'm late, aren't I? Late to my own party."
"No one else is here yet. Odd…"
"I got these, anyway…"
Apollo presented the plastic bag to her, revealing two jumbo-sized Snackoo packets. As she suspected, of course.
"Where is everyone?" she asked as she retrieved the packs.
"They should be here—they were when I left."
"And so we are."
A man entered from the door beside Charley.
"Mr Wright!"
He was glomped.
"Can't say I wasn't expecting that." Phoenix laughed as Apollo stood rather awkwardly at one end.
A young girl bounced exuberantly into the cluttered room with a beaming face. "Ema!"
"Hi, Trucy. So, who else is coming?"
To be frank, Ema had only come in hopes of skipping out on a meeting (and therefore an encounter with Klavier) as well as the thought of meeting Mr Edgeworth and Mr Wright.
"Hm." Trucy looked up for a moment. "You'll see!"
Despite being a detective, Ema wasn't one for mysteries, especially coming from the adopted daughter of who she knew to be a devious man. "Apollo?"
"I don't know."
"You're terrible at lying," she said bluntly. "You must have some idea."
The defense attorney pursed his lips. "Some idea. I don't know the whole set of people."
"Edgeworth."
Ema's eyes lit up as she turned to Phoenix. "He's coming?"
"He is already here."
A new voice, deeper and more serious—though this time, there was a hint of amusement.
"You always know how to make the entrances count, don't you, Edgeworth?"
"Practice, Wright, practice."
"Mr Edgeworth!" A semi-scream identical to the one she gave to man clad in sweats.
The prosecutor was glomped.
It was almost as if the detective Ema had reverted to her childhood form—more cheery, more carefree, in the presence of her two idols.
And then the clouds came to cover the sun, and the first irony was blatantly tossed right smack in front of Ema's face.
"This is hardly a party, ja?"
Ema turned stiffly to the door, her heart clenched and shivering.
Two figures stood there. One she knew by name; the other, however…
"Hi, Mr Gavin!" Trucy bounded up to the two of them. "You too, Mr Lerano!"
Lerano…?
The three chatted for a few moments as Ema wrinkled her brow and dug her hand into the Snackoos.
"Alright, Apollo, out with it. Who else is coming?"
"No one! No one… that I know of, anyway."
"I'm afraid I invited a few other people, little Polly," Phoenix interjected.
"Little Polly…? That's a new one…" Apollo's mutter was just loud enough for Ema to hear.
"Anyone I know?" Ema asked curiously.
"I'm not sure. Maybe you've heard of one of them. Franziska von Karma?"
She didn't notice Edgeworth's sudden flinch at the name, as though an invisible whip had hounded him all the way here.
"I think you told me about her. She became a prosecutor at thirteen, right?"
"That's right. I invited her. With some trouble."
Ema was about to ask what kind of trouble when the mysterious man approached her. Lerano.
"So, you're Ema Skye."
"We have met, you know."
"And more than once."
Ema paused to recall. Besides the time at her office that very day, when he'd reminded her about the party… "The… Gavinners concert…?"
"You got it."
Damn. That meant he was—
"Archer Lerano, at your service. Drummer of the Gavinners. You can call me Ace."
Ema was prejudiced against any member of the band the Klavier had formed—irrationally, because it was simply because of Gavin's presence.
Because of Gavin's presence…
She was biased against the prosecutor as well.
Irrationally.
That little thought was swept aside, however, by an interruption.
CRACK!
Everyone except Ema and Apollo jumped. Sure, the cracking noise was suddenly, but the look of mingled amusement (albeit strained) and fear wasn't necessary… was it? For in the doorway stood a formidable-looking woman with electric blue hair and a gaudy outfit that looked like it was of the same style, or cut, or simply the same time period, as Edgeworth's own suit.
"Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix Wright, Klavier Gavin, Trucy Wright, Archer Lerano, Ema Skye, Apollo Justice! What is this foolishly foolish party of a fool's folly, held by a foolishly foolish fool who simply wishes fools around with other fools' foolishly foolhardy lives of foolishness!"
Both she and Apollo exchanged incredulous looks. Clearly, they were the only ones who hadn't met her.
Certainly she had heard of Franziska von Karma's mannerisms, but hearsay and pale imitations were hardly enough to prepare her for this.
"It was my D-daddy's idea to invite y-you, Ms von Karma," Trucy stuttered, the light in her eyes turning from warm to ones akin to a deer struck in twin headlines of a truck.
"Phoenix Wright!"
"…Not my idea." Phoenix tried hard to maintain his composure, the image of the mastermind behind the scenes, the all-knowing mentor, but his expression gave his apprehension away.
CRACK!
The whip hit the floor. Phoenix turned his gaze ever so slightly and ever so quickly to Edgeworth.
"Miles Edgeworth!"
"Yes…?" Edgeworth flinched slightly, but his steady gaze indicated that he was either too accustomed to von Karma's antics or he was practiced at hiding his real emotion.
Before the fearsome woman could respond, Klavier stepped smoothly in. "Let us all just take a step back from the whip's range…"
"You fool! My whip has no limit!"
CRA—
Though Ema would never admit it, this was Klavier's Crowning Moment of Awesome.
Catching the whip? Take up a level in badass, people.
Yes, in Gavin's hand was a cord of leather and pride.
Franziska von Karma's eyes widened, and Edgeworth's along with it.
"You… you fool!"
She yanked the whip back as Klavier hurriedly let go, lest he receive rope burn and the wrath of the woman's death glare. Which, Ema noted, was even more potent than Edgeworth's. Mainly because of the whip she kept clenched in her fist.
There was a deadly silence, like someone holding their breath and bracing themselves before the final blow falls.
"Nick!"
Then, like a balloon whose tense surface is spread so tightly that you just know it'll burst, with maybe an explosion—or, or some fireworks—or maybe a big BOOM!—or a BIG flash of light—or by the hand of the Steel Samurai of Neo Olde Tokyo, ha ha, he OWNS the Nickel Samurai any day—
"Maya! So you did manage to make it."
"Yeah, the Steel Samurai rocks. I think he burst the balloon."
"What…?"
"Hi, Mr Nick!"
"Pearls! It's good to see you again."
"So where're the hamburger delights that I was promised?"
The color flooded from Phoenix's face as he saw the Apollo had turned pale with realization—perhaps that the red-clad man forgot to purchase the said hamburgers while out buying Ema's Snackoos.
Before Maya could pick up on this, however, another person jumped onto the scene.
"EEEDDDDGGGGGEEEEYYYYYYYY! NNNIIIIIIIICCCCKKKKKKKK!"
"Larry Butz. Fool of all fools."
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Whimper…
"Everyone's here, I think."
Every player in the story, minor characters, major roles, present in a single room, a single gathering, a single meeting.
It's time to get the plot rolling.
A/N An update. I'm too lazy to write a proper Author's Note. =.=
Actually… I have something important to ask. Should I get a beta-reader? At the moment it's not really read through by anyone else other than me… before it's published, of course. Though I've never used the beta-reader function thing, could someone explain it to me? Do I ask someone to just beta-read it, or do people… offer?
Also… I kept with the tradition of meaningful/punny names. Hinthint.