A/N: Not that many new characters introduced in this chapter, but here's the list:
L'Belle: 14
Oldbag: As Old as Time Itself
With that, I hope that you guys enjoy the new chapter!
Who doesn't love boardwalks? With their wide plethora of overpriced junk food, rigged carnival games, and street performers who make you scared to walk alone, they're like a miniature, child-friendly version of Vegas. But amidst the many screeching, sugar-high brats and disinterested parents moaning for coffee as they limp about like the undead, the von Karma family managed to maintain all the fun of a morgue as they calmly discussed their plans for the evening.
"Why do we have to go to the foolish boardwalk, Papa?" Franziska pouted with her arms crossed. "It's loud, has nothing to offer me, and full of people who are dead above the neck. If I wanted that kind of experience, then I'd spend the evening talking with Miles Edgeworth!" The young girl complained, pointing her riding crop at her glowering 'little' brother.
"Trust me, Franziska, I dislike boardwalks just as much as you do, but at least I have the decency to bite my tongue and not make this evening any worse by whining. And say what you will about my intellect, but at least I'm capable of telling time." Edgeworth sneered, earning him the business end of Franziska's riding crop.
"What are you foolishly going on about, Miles Edgeworth!? I can tell time!" The Franziska objected.
"Then prove it. What time is it now?" Edgeworth asked as he showed Franziska his watch, which currently read 7:30 p.m.
"Um…Well… Um, it's… it's… it's…" Franziska stammered as she started bending her riding crop, her face growing noticeably redder and redder with embarrassment.
"I'm waiting…" The maroon-cladded adolescent sneered as he pointed to his watch, kneeling down so that his calm gaze could meet his adoptive sister's darting eyes.
"It's… Time for you to shut your foolishly foolish mouth!" Franziska snapped as she lashed her trusty weapon across Edgeworth's cheek, leaving a noticeable red line where it had struck.
But much to the silver-haired girl's irritation, her 'little' brother remained unfazed.
"Look, Franziska, if you can't tell time, then just admit it. I won't think any less of you and would be more than willing to help you learn."
"I can tell time, Miles Edgeworth, I just don't want to play along with your foolishness!" Franziska snarled.
"Well-"
Edgeworth was cut off by the booming thud of his mentor's cane hitting against the weathered wood they were standing on.
"Enough!" Manfred bellowed with a snap of his fingers. "It's either this or a round of miniature golf at The Mad Putter! Would you children prefer waiting in lines behind fools who don't know the basic rules of golf and, worse yet, play for fun?" The veteran prosecutor growled, spitting out the word 'fun' as if it was spoiled milk.
"No, sir." Edgeworth and Franziska groaned in unison.
"Then cease your complaining so that we can have a tolerable evening."
"Yes, sir." The young duo groaned once more.
Afterwards, Manfred and his pupils/children began walking down the boardwalk, eying the many stores and food stalls as they pondered how to spend their evening.
"Disgusting… Have these people no sense of style?" Manfred snorted in derision in regards to the third consecutive store exclusively selling t-shirts depicting celebrity caricatures, internet memes, and 'edgy', controversial statements geared towards the younger generation.
"I know what you mean, Papa. For some reason, the foolishly degenerate youths of today just can't seem to grasp how the cravat is the epitome of fashion. But then again, not everyone can be perfect like us." Franziska boasted, raising her nose in arrogance.
Funny, coming from a girl who's about half the age of the stores' targeted demographic. Edgeworth thought to himself as a smirk spread across his face, earning him a whack from Mr. Riding Crop.
"Ow! I didn't even say anything!" Edgeworth growled as he rubbed his wounded forearm.
"No, but you were thinking something foolish, if that foolish grin that you were wearing was of any indication." Franziska stated with a finger waggle. "Next time, try… Wait, what's all the foolish commotion over there about?" The silver-haired girl asked as she noticed a huge crowd of people forming in front of a small ice cream stand with a sign above it reading 'Bumsner's'.
"Bumsner's." Manfred curtly stated with a roll of his eyes.
"'Bumsner's'? What's that?" Franziska asked, cocking her head in confusion.
"An ice cream establishment that no von Karma would ever be caught dead at."
"I can understand your disdain towards miniature golf and graphic shirt stores, sir, but an ice cream stand?" Edgeworth questioned, prompting Manfred to slam his cane on the ground and flash him a fiery glare.
"Nonsense, Miles, I would not support that incompetent ice cream stand even if my life depended on it. The reason for this being their use of soft-serve ice cream, a product that is kept in dirty machines containing bacteria that causes brain damage, muscle loss, and even death."
"I find that hard to believe, sir. For if this was true, then why would the FDA allow such a harmful product to be sold to the public?" Edgeworth argued.
"You dare to defy me and my flawless reasoning…?" Manfred growled in a low tone with his arms crossed.
Edgeworth shook his head. "Not at all, sir. I'm just putting your teachings to good use. If your claim is true as you say, then you should have no issue in presenting evidence supporting it."
"I was told this information by my Uncle Erich when I was a boy. End of story." The veteran prosecutor curtly retorted.
"What kind of response is that? If an attorney were to use that sort of reasoning in court, you'd be the first to call them out on it." Edgeworth objected.
"Miles has a point, Papa." Franziska chimed in, prompting her father to respond with a slam of his cane to the ground.
"This does not concern you, girl." Manfred growled.
"S-Sorry, Papa." Franziska sullenly said, lowering her head in shame.
"…As for you, Miles, you're just like your father- quick to cry foul when things aren't going you're way. Tsk, tsk. I thought I raised you better than that…" Manfred wryly commented.
"I'm not crying foul, sir, I'm merely stating that one of the first things that you taught me was 'evidence is everything in a court of law'. Therefore, I cannot uphold the von Karma teachings by blindly accepting an undocumented testimony."
"Bah! This is no mere testimony, boy…" Manfred snapped his fingers. "This is the testimony of one bearing the perfect bloodline of the von Karma, making it more reliable than all possible evidence combined!"
"If that's the case, then you should have no issue in finding some tangible proof supporting your claim." The maroon-cladded adolescent calmly replied.
"Why, you little…" Manfred growled through clenched teeth as he reached into his pocket. "I ought to-"
"Hey, Manny!" Gant chirped, holding a chocolate-flavored ice cream cone as he walked over to the group. "What are you guys talking about?"
"You want tangible proof, Miles? There it is!" Manfred stated while gesturing to the detective. "Consume soft-serve and you'll live your life as a mere detective who has nothing better to do than follow me to the ends of the Earth!"
Gant let out a long sigh. "Not the soft-serve argument again, Manny..."
"Yes, the soft-serve argument, Gant. I need to inform Miles and Franziska of the harmful bacteria associated with it, lest their lives fall to ruin."
Gant chuckled and shook his head. "Manny, Manny, Manny… Why don't you cut the excuses and just tell the children the truth?"
"W-Wha… I have no idea what you're rambling on about?" Manfred stammered, a few drops of cold sweat trickling down his brow as he clenched his right shoulder.
"Manny, it's nothing to be ashamed about!" Gant cheerfully stated with a grin as he clasped his hands together. "A lot of people are lactose intolerant!"
Manfred winced back as if punched in the face. "You're delusional!"
"I think that the allergy notifications that were handed out for every class party when we were in school and every legal gala during our adult years beg to differ." Gant smirked.
For a few moments, there was a pregnant pause as Manfred tried his best to think of some way to get himself out of this mess, but before he could, Edgeworth broke the silence.
"Wait a minute, so the reason why we have never been allowed to have chocolate in the house, despite spending most of our time in one of the chocolate capitals of the world, is because you can't have it? So all those documents showcasing how eating chocolate causes you to secrete a pheromone that attracts rabid bears are lies?"
Gant gasped. "Manny! Just what are you teaching these kids?"
"That you can achieve anything with perfect evidence. I'm doing these children a favor. Everyone knows that people who enjoy chocolate become overweight in their later years."
Upon hearing this statement, Gant gave Manfred one of his infamous stares for a solid minute before speaking.
"I happen to like chocolate, Manny…" Gant calmly stated with an undertone of agitation. "Are you calling me fat?"
"Well, you're no Slim Jim, that's for sure."
"That's not fat, Manny, that's muscle- muscle that I got from swimming!" Gant yelled as he shook his fist. "Sure, I have a bit of a sweet tooth, but at least I exercise! What's your workout routine, standing behind the prosecutor's bench? So if I want to go down to the boardwalk and enjoy some chocolate ice cream, then that's what I'm going to do!"
Normally, Manfred would be the type of person to perpetuate the argument, stating how unlike Gant, he actually had class and enjoy more sophisticated forms of physical activity, such as golf, cricket, and fencing. However, Gant was an entirely different case.
The orange-clad detective was a favorite in the legal world for not only his high success rate, but because he was one of the kindest, most patient, easygoing people on the force. If you asked him for $50, he'd give it to you without a second thought; or if a complete stranger wanted to host their birthday party at his house, he'd be setting up the punch bowl. Heck, whenever someone pranked him on April Fool's Day, he'd just laugh it off. But that doesn't mean that Gant was a pushover- far from it! Sure, it took a lot to anger him, but when he was angered, you'd best watch out, for Gant's rage was in a different league from his friends. While Manfred would show outright contempt for his target and Blaise would bully them like a grade-schooler before making them disappear, Gant would play mind games with his unfortunate foe- initially going on a huge tirade and then, a few hours later, calming down, acting like it was all forgotten. But Gant remembered, he always remembered, and those memories would surface in a variety of forms, ranging from minor- a passive-aggressive comment sprinkled into conversation, ordering pizzas and having them sent to the aggressor's address- to major- 'accidentally' orchestrating a police search of the offender's house, or, when dealing with prosecutors, allowing for some evidence to 'slip' his memory when consulting with the prosecutor, only to surface once in court, causing great embarrassment for the offender and the trial to be prolonged. And to make things worse, just like his friends, Gant could hold onto a grudge indefinitely.
So that is why, even though it went against every fiber of his being, Manfred chose to swallow his pride and apologize to the orange-cladded detective.
"Fine, fine. I get the point, chocolate is not all bad. Now can we please end this?" Manfred huffed as he crossed his arms, earning him another long stare from Gant.
"… Sure thing, Manny!" Gant chirped, his scowl quickly morphing into a grin as he clasped his hands together. "I can't stay mad at you! So, got anything planned for the evening?"
"Nothing in particular."
"Well, in that case, how about you and the kids join me in going to Sky-High?"
Edgeworth cocked his head in confusion. "Sky-High? I've never heard of any place by that name, Detective Gant."
"I'm surprised, Miles Edgeworth. You of all people should know what Sky-High is since it's another name for your sheer amount of foolishness." Franziska sneered.
"I'm sorry; I was under the impression that it was the term used to describe your overinflated ego." Edgeworth retorted, earning him a lash from his adoptive sister's riding crop.
"Congratulations, Miles Edgeworth, that last foolish comment of yours just made Sky-High even higher!" The silver-haired girl growled as she bent her beloved instrument of torture.
Manfred slammed his cane on the ground. "Both of you, cease your bickering at once or Sky-High will refer to how much you will be punished!"
"Yes, sir." Edgeworth and von Karma stated in unison.
"Actually, it's a game room, but its main selling point is its namesake. It's 50-stories off the ground, giving customers a breathtaking view of the beach. So, you guys wanna join me?"
Like we have any choice in the matter? If I accept, I get to suffer in some game room filled with noisy brats with an orange, grinning, ball chained to my ankle, but if I refuse, then it'll be the same as to former, only with that foolish detective essentially kidnapping me. If only there was some excuse I could use to not go up that… Of course! Once again, Gregory Edgeworth's murder works in my favor.
"I'm sorry, Gant. We would love to accompany you to your game room, but Miles has a fear of elevators, and it would be an arduous task to climb up all those stairs. So in order to not leave the boy feeling left out, Franziska and I will stay with him. But please, don't let that keep you from having fun." Manfred stated in a sullen tone, tilting his head sown to make his ruse all the more believable.
"Aw, that's too bad. And here I was looking forward to having some fun with you guys…" Gant bemoaned, fiddling with his hair before slowly walking off.
However, before Gant was out of earshot…
"Wait, Detective Gant!" Edgeworth shouted, prompting the detective to turn around and walk back to the group.
"Yeah, Worthy?"
"Don't let me get in the way of your and Mr. von Karma's evening. Take Franziska and enjoy your time at the game room without me."
Curse you, Edgeworth! Why must you defy me so? Is it in your damn attorney genes to make my life a living hell?! Manfred internally fumed, his eyes to bugging out as his plan- which was so close to fruition- was falling apart.
"That's awfully nice of you, Worthy. But what about you?"
"Don't worry, Detective Gant." Edgeworth said with a dignified bow. "I'll entertain myself by walking around the boardwalk at my own leisure."
"Objection!" Manfred bellowed. "Miles, you are too young to be left alone in public."
"Sir, with all due respect, I'm 16. If I'm old enough to drive and go with you to crime scenes and interrogations, then I'm old enough to be by myself on a boardwalk."
"Yes, but what if someone kidnaps you? By the time we'd find out, you could very well be long gone, you're flesh being used as a windbreaker."
"In that case, I'll watch over Miles Edgeworth! That way, if any fools try to lay a finger on him…" Franziska cracked her riding crop. "They'll wish they hadn't!"
"See, Manny? The kids are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves! Now, we'll meet you two back here in an hour, which is plenty of time for you to have all sorts of fun! But don't get too carried away, or I'll be seeing you sooner under much different circumstances." Gant joked before grabbing the veteran prosecutor's arm and rushing off in the direction of the game room.
After what felt like an eternity in an elevator with a teenager wearing a cologne noxious enough to kill the dead, Manfred burst out of the confined space gasping for air as if he was being drowned.
"*Wheeze!* *Wheeze!* *Wheeze..!* My lungs…! They're on fire! What putrid concoction from the bowls of Tartarus was that!?" Manfred wailed as he fell to his knees. Though fortunately for the veteran prosecutor, Gant was right behind him to help him back in his feet.
At that moment, the boy who was on the elevator with Manfred and Gant stormed over to the duo, and upon closer inspection of the lad, they winced in shock.
Manfred and Gant were seasoned professionals, having seen many sights that would drive lesser men to overpriced therapists- mangled corpses, unhinged defendants, disturbing witnesses… You name it, the two men saw it. However, no amount of experience could prepare them for the adolescent standing before them.
The teen's appearance looked as if someone took an Abercrombie and Finch catalogue, threw it in a blender with a copy of Vogue, and hit frappe. The lad's face was covered in so much powder that his skin looked as pale as a polar bear in a blizzard, only being topped by his bleach-white hair that was styled in a bob cut. But the real attention grabber was his clothes- an outfit that would give Liberace a run for his money- which consisted of a green beret, a goose pelt that he wore around his neck in a similar fashion to how one would wear a sweater at a country club, a gripping, sleeveless, neon-pink shirt with two fishnet openings exposing his nipples, skin-tight, purple leather pants, and yellow wooden clogs that look as if they were stolen from the Keebler Elf's closet.
"Excuse me, but THIS cologne that I'm wearing, L'eau de Merde, is a very elegant, EXPENSIVE blend directly imported from Paris!" The teen yelled in the most flamboyantly condescending voice that either Manfred or Gant had ever heard in their lives. "Though I wouldn't expect YOU to understand fashion! Tell me, where did you get that ratty outfit of yours, Dracula's corpse? Scratch that, not even Nosferatu would be caught in something so HIDEOUSLY bland!" The boy joked, covering his mouth with the tips of his fingers as he let out a refined, condescending snigger.
I swear, the next person that compares me to Dracula is getting a wooden steak through their still-beating heart! "And where did you get that noxious cologne from, a toilet?" Manfred angrily sneered.
"I will have you KNOW, you decrepit FOSSIL, that L'eau de Merde is the epitome of the fashion world, renowned for its ability to drive both men and women MAD!" The teen boasted.
"Yeah, mad with the desire to slice their noses off as soon as humanly possible." Manfred retorted. "Similar to how I want to stab my eyes out with a pen after looking at you, you garish abomination!"
The adolescent let out an overdramatic gasp, putting a hand to his chest as if he had been shot through the heart.
"How DARE you!? I will have you know that I have been voted Most Fashionable at my school for TWO years running!"
"In my opinion, the tittle of Most Fashionably Impaired would be more appropriate." Manfred wryly stated with crossed arms.
"Well, I NEVER… One of these days, I'm going to become a PREMIER fashion designer, and when that day comes, you will RUE the monument that you crossed Florent L'Belle!"
"L'Belle? An ironic name, considering that you are the exact opposite of beautiful."
Finally reaching his breaking point, Florent whipped out his bottle of L'eau de Merde and sprayed it in Manfred's face, causing the prosecutor to fall to the ground screaming as he gripped his eyes and flailed his legs, like an infant on a changing table.
"Serves you RIGHT, you unstylish BOAR!" Florent huffed before sauntering away with a walk that looked like Henery Hawk trying to grip a stick with his derriere.
"You alright, Manny?" Gant asked as he helped his friend back up.
"*Cough!* *Cough!* I got some in my mouth! Whoever designed that product should be tried with crimes against humanity!"
"Perhaps with a little digging, that can be arranged. But for now, let's just enjoy the game room."
"Fine…." Manfred groaned. "It's not like this evening can get any worse."
Despite how much Manfred didn't want to be at the game room, he couldn't deny that its aesthetics weren't half bad. For unlike other arcades, which usually had a rustic feel and a very cluttered layout that didn't bode well with crowds, Sky-High had the appearance of a stereotypical old-time casino- bright red carpeting, atmospheric lighting, and soothing, yet jazzy, music playing- and a very open layout. Essentially, the arcade was one big circle, with the games against the wall of the half closest to the entrance, the prize counter and change machines right in the center, and a large, empty space sandwiched in-between. But while the place wasn't big on the game room aspect, it more than compensated for it with its namesake. On the far side half of the room, the wall was one big window, allowing patrons to gaze at the lovely beachside view for a by-the-minute fee while also having the option to buy from a wide variety of desserts, ranging from pudding and ice cream to more sophisticated items, like fruit tarts and sorbet.
While there were plenty of games that were on the more modern side of things, such as flight simulators and first-person shooters, Manfred and Gant, being from a simpler time, kept to the classics with a casual game of skee ball- that is, casual for Gant and a competition of life and death for Manfred.
"400 points! Pretty good for a first round, eh Manny?" Gant jovially asked as he looked up at the scoreboard after he rolled his ninth and final ball.
"Pathetic! You didn't even reach half of the maximum amount of points." Manfred scoffed, waving his friend's accomplishment as it was nothing.
"Calm down, Manny. This isn't a competition, we're here to have fun!" Gant chirped as he clasped his hands together.
"Your last statement was an oxymoron…" Manfred stated as he inserted four quarters into the machine, resetting the scoreboard and causing nine smooth, plastic balls to roll out, before snapping his fingers. "Brace yourself, Gant, as you bear witness to perfection in skee ball-form!"
Manfred picked up a ball, cupped it in his hands like one would a bowling ball, and rolled it down the lane with a level of smoothness and precision found only in machines where it landed in one of the 100-point holes.
"Good job, Manny!"
"Of course. What else would you expect from the perfect prosecutor. Manfred stoically boasted with crossed arms.
The veteran prosecutor then went on to mirror his perfect first roll seven more times, bringing his score up to 800. However, the ninth and final ball was far from flawless.
Manfred set up for the ball just as he had done with the others before it, but when he actually executed the roll, it all fell apart when, on his upswing, a burning, searing pain shot through his right shoulder. The bullet that Manfred kept hidden, a never-ending reminder of his hatred for both Edgeworth and his father, decided to punish him, as if possessed by Greggory's vengeful spirit, by inflicting a jolt of pain powerful enough to cause the infamous prosecutor's arm too jerk back, sending the ball flying right into the ten-point hole.
"Mulligan! I had a pain in my shoulder that threw off my last throw! I demand a do-over!" Manfred growled as he slammed his fist on the machine
Gant flashed his friend one of his stares. "Manny, it's okay to choke up once in a while, you don't have to go making up excuses or taking your anger out on the poor machine."
"But-But-But…" Manfred stammered as Gant pushed him away from the machine.
"Let's go play something else to calm your nerves. But what to play…?" Gant fiddled with his hair as he looked around the arcade before going over to a small space where a crowd was starting to gather.
"Hey, little guy, what's all the hubbub about?" Gant jovially asked a young boy who was trying to squirm his way into the crowd.
"You didn't hear? This place just got the new Whackhim Brother's Business Mole game!" The lad shrieked with excitement, a grin plastered on his face that quickly morphed into an irritated scowl upon noticing the older gentlemen's lack of reaction. "What? You never heard of Mite Business Mole, the greatest cartoon character to ever live? Do you geezers live under a rock or something?"
"No, we actually have lives and can't afford to spend all day picking our noses and eating them in front of a television, boy." Manfred wryly commented.
"Manny, he's only a child. Be nice…!" Gant said, flashing Manfred a stern look before redirecting his attention to the lad with a grin. "Well, that explains the kids, but what about all the adults?"
"Them? They're here because this place is celebrating the game's release by holding a contest: first person to score 10,000 points gets a thousand dollars. Stupid adults… I just wanna play the game!" The boy pouted.
"Gant, I'm playing this game." Manfred spontaneously proclaimed.
The detective winced back with a look of shock on his face. "Am I hearing thing? Did you, Manny von Karma, Mr. Perpetually-Serious, say that you actually want to play a game?"
"Yes."
"You alright, Manny? Do you feel a fever coming on?" Gant asked with a worried tone as he touched his hand to Manfred's forehead.
"Get off of me, Gant!" Manfred snapped as he swat away the detective's hand. "I only want to play this game so that I can win that $1,000. If I have to suffer at this santaforsaken vacation town, then I should at least be compensated."
"That's the spirit, Manny!" Gant remarked as he slapped his friend on the back. "Way to make lemonade out of lemons!"
"However, the only thing standing in my way of my victory is this sea of people." Manfred stated, gesturing to the large group of adults and children swarming the machine.
"Just leave it to me…"
With his badge held out, Gant was able to walk through the crowd of people with Manfred by his side up to the front of the line, where they saw a young teenage boy with black, spikey hair standing in front of a large-scale version of whack-a-mole where he was bemoaning his pitiful score of 500.
"Move it, boy. It's my turn." Manfred curtly stated as he pushed the lad off to the side with his cane and inserted the required money into the machine and hit start, causing a mole wearing black, square-rimmed glasses, a matching fedora, a grey suit, and a red tie to pop out of one of the holes as music that would be appropriate for a cartoon played.
Manfred von Karma always bragged about his immense emotional control. He was fully aware of his actions, only doing what his logic dictated was appropriate, and could never understand people who used the excuse that their emotions got the best of them. Utter rubbish! How could one's logic be deterred by mere hormones? But at that moment, all those thoughts were pushed out of the veteran prosecutor's head and replaced with blind fury as he saw his old arch enemy, Gregory Edgeworth, in mole-form, prompting him to swiftly beat it down with the foam hammer on the machine.
However, as is the case with all games of whack-a-mole, as soon as that first mole was beat down, two more rose up to take its place, furthering Manfred's anger by reminding him of how even though he soundly defeated Gregory at Master's Mansion, the pesky attorney rose up in court to present that damn recording and give him his first penalty. And then afterwards, how Miles shot him in shoulder when he was merely passing by. And how even after Gregory died, his image and defiant spirit lived on in the boy, who dared to oppose him with regards to the existence of Santa and the evils of soft-serve. Oh, but no matter how much the Edgeworth name was a thorn in his side, all that suffering would be worth it come December 28th, 2016, when Miles would be put on death row for not only killing Robert Hammond, but for patricide. And the best part would be that Manfred would pull a few strings so that he could be the prosecutor for the case. Sending the son of his most hated enemy, the boy that he had spent many years transforming into a near-perfect, heartless prosecutor and who saw him as a father, to his doom by his hand… It would be like Christmas all over again. Celebrations would definitely be in order, but he would wait for Edgeworth's execution to be done with. That way, he could get the body and-
"Manny!" Gant yelled, snapping Manfred out of his thoughts. "Manny, you alright?"
"Wha… What happened?" The veteran prosecutor asked as he rubbed his forehead.
"The game's over, Manny. And guess what? You won the contest! See?" The detective stated as he pointed to the scoreboard, which read 13,582. "Though I shouldn't be so surprised. Your arms were like greased lightning and not a single mole went unnoticed. It was like you wanted nothing more than to brutally kill each and every last one of them!"
"What can I say? I'm perfection incarnate." Manfred nonchalantly remarked, making sure that no one, not even Gant, would learn of his dark thoughts and desires.
Suddenly, a loud alarm went off, prompting a person wearing a Mite Business Mole costume to push their way through the crowd and rush over to Manfred.
"What do you want?" Manfred asked, to which the costumed person responded to by handing him a stack of money. "Oh right, thank you."
Manfred accepted the money before leaving the table with Gant.
"So, Manny, any other games…" Gant paused as he glanced behind him, noticing the person in the Mite costume following them with the intense focus of a horror movie villain.
"What is it, Gant? You know how much I hate incomplete questions." The veteran prosecutor said with a tone of irritation.
"Is just me, or is the guy in the costume following us?"
"It's probably just your imagination, but if it'll make you feel better, we'll hasten our pace."
The duo began walking faster, but much to Gant's vexation, the character sped up after them.
"Not today, psycho mole!" Gant nervously barked before grabbing Manfred's arm and sprinting both of them into the exit elevator and closed the door.
"Damn it, Gant, I'm 57! I'm too old for this kind of nonsense!" Manfred complained as he straightened his cravat.
"Sorry, Manny, but I'm not dying in some game room! If I'm dying anywhere, it's in the pool!" Gant stated as his breath became shallow. "What kind of psycho do you think we're dealing with? Escaped criminal that wants revenge? A just-fired madman who's thirsty for the blood of innocents? … A timeshare salesperson?" The detective nervously pondered, the terror in his voice especially showing for the lattermost possibility.
Manfred slammed his cane on Gant's foot, snapping him out of his panic spell.
"Get a hold of yourself, man! For Santa's sake, you're a trained detective, not some whimpering defense attorney!"
"You don't understand, Manny. You can spend years training, honing your body and mind, but the second you come face-to-face with a psycho, all that gets thrown out the window and you enter their world. You ever see horror movies? The cop's always the second person to get axed!"
"This isn't a horror movie, Gant, this is real life." Even if that mascot was after us, which I highly doubt, with my stun gun and your self-defense training, we could easily take them."
Gant breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, I'm feeling much better now."
"Good. Now while we're here, let's leave this-" The veteran prosecutor is interrupted as the elevator door opened, revealing the costumed person.
"However, before Manfred and Gant could get to the bottom of things…
"Manfred von Karma, Damon Gant?" The voice asked, causing the infamous prosecutor's eyes to bug out as he became the terrified member of the duo.
"That voice…! It can't be…!" Manfred backed himself against the elevator's back wall as he began to break out in a cold sweat.
"Manfred, that's no way to talk to your…" The person took off their costumes head to reveal her identity: Wendy Oldbag. "old kindergarten teacher."
"You're still alive!? How old are you!?" Manfred shrieked.
"Whippersnapper!" Oldbag fumed as she glared at the infamous prosecutor with the intensity of a thousand suns. "You never ask a woman for her age! The nerve of kids these days…!"
"Hi, Ms. Oldbag!" Gant chirped, all of his previous fears completely dispelled.
"Well, hello to you, Damon!" Oldbag said with a reserved wave. "It's good to see that at least one of my former students is happy to see me." The elderly woman commented as she quickly flashed Manfred a glare. "My, how both of you have grown…! So, how's life been treating you, boys?"
Manfred crossed his arms, becoming even more antisocial than usual in an attempt to snuff out any further conversation. But unfortunately for him, Gant was more than happy to talk for the both of them.
"Well, I'm an acclaimed detective for the L.A.P.D., and Manny here's an international prosecutor. So I'd say that we're doing pretty well."
"That's wonderful!" Oldbag exclaimed. "I always knew you two would make something of yourselves! You were always such wonderful students- following all the rules, doing all your work, cleaning up your messes…"
"Well, we had a wonderful teacher." Gant said as Manfred groaned and rolled his eyes, disgusted by how his childhood friend had morphed into a goody-goody teacher's pet.
"Oh Damon, you were always such the charmer! Your wife should thank her lucky stars that she caught such a fine specimen of a man."
"Actually, Ms. Oldbag, I never married."
"Is that so…?" Oldbag stated as she started slowly rubbing her finger up and down the detective's chest. "Don't you get… lonely?"
"Uh, not really..." Gant awkwardly said, taking a step back to escape the elderly woman's reach. "See, I dedicate my time to my work and swimming, so a wife would only serve to slow me down. Plus, if I ever need company, I can always spend time with Manny and Blaisie since-"
"Blaise…!" Oldbag fumed through clenched teeth, her face reddening like a tomatoe. "Just the mere mention of that ragamuffin's name makes my blood boil! That brat was the spawn of Satan, pranking me at every opportunity- putting salt in my coffee, giving my telephone number to every telemarketer in the state, cutting my car's breaks…! What's that little hoodlum up to these days? Trucker? Used car salesman? Red Cross phone operator?"
"Nope, he's the Chief Prosecutor."
"Typical! How is it that all the hooligans get all the power and wealth while good, hardworking people are always on the bottom of the totem pole? I blame modern media, brainwashing society into thinking that it's cool to be a bad boy who plays by his own rules! Why, back in my day, if you were kind and respectful to others, they'd be kind and respectful back to you, and if you were a troublemaker, you were thrown in jail. Nowadays, if you're dishonest, you're celebrated! Cheat on a test? You get a sticker! Rob a bank? You get a cookie! Kill 50 people and burn down an orphanage? You get a national holiday in your honor and a statue in the park! What is this world-"
"Sorry, to interrupt you, Ms. Oldbag, but I'm curious about what you're doing nowadays. Still teaching?" Gant asked, ingeniously stopping the crotchety woman's tirade with one of the few things that she loved more than ranting about the things she hated: herself.
"Unfortunately, no. I was fired after a parent complained that my 'rants' crushed their poor child's self-esteem. Why, back in my day, when a teacher broke us down, we didn't run to our parents for help, we rose above it and built ourselves back up and became stronger because of it. We built character!"
"Sorry to hear about that." Gant commented as he played with his hair. "So is this your new job?"
"Oh no, dearie, this is just a part-time gig. My real job's being a security guard at Global Studios where I get to live out my dream of pursuing all the handsome movie stars that I've adored from afar for so many years. Sadly, I'm a bit late in the game to see the likes of John Wayne and Cary Grant, but there's a new star that blows them out of the water: Jack Hammer. The man is a gift from Heaven- he has the body of an Adonis, the voice of an angel, and the soft hair of a teacup poodle! Oh, Jacky-poo, one day we will be toge-"
"Manny, she fantasizing! Run!" Gant wailed as Manfred repeatedly jabbed the elevator's down- button, causing the door to close.
"Whippersnappers! It's rude to interrupt your elders! I ought to teach you a thing or two!" Oldbag yelled, but unfortunately for her, the duo were already out of her reach.
Manfred and Gant, weary from their Oldbag ordeal, slowly made their way to where they'd meet up with the kids.
"Oh God, Manny! I'm having bad flashbacks of how Oldbag would spend story time telling us why guys like Rock Hudson and Eisenhower were God's gift to humanity and why they should have been dating her!" Gant bemoaned with a shudder.
"Don't expect any sympathy from me. You're the one who started socializing with her. Had you been like me and kept your mouth shut, she would have just gone away." Manfred retorted.
"When had that woman ever just gone away?"
"Point taken."
"Plus, you know that being silent in the face of conversation goes against my nature! I was thinking that you'd get us out of there by pressing the down-button sooner."
"This is Oldbag we're talking about, Gant. If we tried to escape when she wasn't fantasizing about men, she would have jumped in the elevator before the door could close, and knowing her, not even my stun gun would have saved us.
"Yeah…" Gant said, playing with his hair, before a grin spread across his face. "But it's not all bad. You did win that sweet one grand, after all. So what do you plan on doing with it?"
"Putting it in savings."
"Manny, how is it that you can twist the courts in your favor and yet be the dullest person I know?"
"Hey, I'd rather be dull and financially sound than exciting and living out of a box."
Gant placed his arm around Manfred's shoulder. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to live life a little and have some fun with your money. After all, there are no pockets in Heaven."
"There are also no pants in Heaven, but you don't see me going out without a pair." Manfred retorted.
"Excuse me, fellows, but I couldn't help but overhear your little discussion…" An overweight, middle-aged man with a bald spot, a pony tail, and a five o'clock shadow, wearing a stained, white undershirt, neon-green sweat pants, and blue flip-flops, said as he stepped in front of the duo.
"And you are?" The veteran prosecutor asked.
"Sorry, how rude of me. I'm Tyler Stirr, but my friend's call me Ty, and I'm here to offer you a whole lot of fun for a small cost."
"In what? Wasting my time?" Manfred wryly replied, to which Ty replied to with an obviously-fake chuckle.
"Sharp tongue, eh? In that case, I'd better just get straight to the point. Follow me…"
The man led the duo over to a small booth containing several rows of milk bottles stacked in pyramid-form and a wide variety of plushies hanging on the wall.
"Welcome to my stall, Ty's Terrific Throw Fest! The rules are simple: I give you a baseball, and you try to knock down all the bottles. Succeed, and I'll give you one of the wonderful prizes hanging on the wall!" The stall owner entered the both. "So, wanna give it a try?"
"Waste my hard-earned money on some rigged boardwalk game for the chance to win a cheap stuffed animal? I think not. Come, Gant, we're leaving."
Manfred and Gant began to walk away, but before they could leave, the sleazy man threw out a hook more powerful than anything a fisherman could buy.
"Well, if you don't think that you've got what it takes…" Ty sneered, prompting Manfred to immediately turn around and march back to the booth.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" The prosecutor growled, slightly leaning forward in an attempt to intimidate the stall owner.
"Don't take it personally, sir. There's no shame in knowing one's limits. After all, no one's perfect."
"Bah! Do you know who I am? I am Manfred von Karma, a legendary prosecutor who has not lost a single case in over 30 years! There is nothing I can't accomplish- learn languages, write documents, train animals…" The infamous prosecutor snapped his fingers. "I can do it all!"
"I don't doubt you in the slightest, Mr. von Karma, honest. It's just that you look like you're getting up there in years, and your strength and coordination may not be up to snuff for a game like this. I mean, you're outfit's probably old enough to be my dad." Ty sneered, causing Manfred to grit his teeth as he slammed his fist on the counter.
"My age is of no limitation, and I will show you by winning your foolish little game without breaking a sweat!" The infamous prosecutor roared.
"Manny," Gant whispered in his friend's ear, "This guy's clearly a con man and the game is rigged. I've deal his kind all the time, and it will not end well for you if we stay."
"Bah! I do not need your warnings, Gant! I am not like those imperfect fools who suffer at these games, for I am a von Karma! Manfred scoffed as he pushed the detective away. "So, how much is it for a ball?"
"First one's free." Ty smirked as he handed Manfred a baseball. "You're on row #1. Good luck…!"
After much careful aiming, as he did when playing skee ball, Manfred threw the baseball with amazing precision, striking the stack of bottles square in the center. But alas, while practically all of the bottles were knocked over, the bottommost row stayed intact.
"Aw, too bad." Ty said in an obviously-fake sad voice, complete with pouty lip. "Wanna try again-only $2.50 a ball?"
Manfred slammed a $10 bill on the counter. "Four balls is all I need!"
"You're the boss…" The sleazy stall owner said as he gave Manfred four baseballs.
"Manny, I really think you should reconsider and walk away…" Gant said with a tone of caution.
"Stop treating me like a child, Gant! I have complete control of myself and can end this if I see that it is going nowhere."
Manfred had blown through all of the money that he had won that evening, yet was still unable to succeed in knocking down all the bottles. But even then, he refused to give up. So in order to continue his crusade while not dipping into his personal saving, the prosecutor offered his suit coat, shoes, cane, and even car as methods of payment. However, even with all that, allowing him to purchase 30,000 balls, Manfred was still unable to topple the accursed milk bottles.
"Manny, please stop! This isn't healthy!" Gant pleaded.
"Like I said before, I will stop when it I see that it's going nowhere! Stirr, another round of balls!" Manfred demanded.
"And how are you going to pay me? All you have left are your shirt and pants, and we'd all be paying the price if I took those from you."
"How many balls would a beach house get me?" Manfred asked as he put the deed to Blaise's beach house on the counter.
"Selling Blaisie's beach house…!?" Gant proclaimed before flashing the infamous prosecutor one of his stares, his face becoming cold and serious. "Manfred, you have a problem and you need help."
"Bah! I have no problem!"
Gant grabbed Manfred's shoulder and got in his face. "Look at yourself, Manfred! You have no suit, no shoes, and your selling your friend's property behind his back! If this isn't a problem, then I don't know what is!"
Manfred pushed his friend off of him. "Minor setbacks, that's all these are! I promise you, my victory is nigh!"
Later, Manfred- who is walking with his arms slightly outstretched in order to balance himself and is holding a smiling, stuffed banana that has black dreadlocks and a matching goatee and is wearing a Rastafarian tam- and Gant resume their trip back to the area where they planned to meet up with the kids.
"Words do not describe how disappointed I am with you right now, Manny." Gant coldly remarked, his face devoid of emotion.
"What's there to be disappointed about? I won, didn't I?" Manfred smirked, gesturing to his Rastafarian banana.
The detective rolled his eyes. "Yes, Manny, and all it cost you was one grand, your suit, your shoes, your ability to walk, your car, and where you're staying for the night."
"I win wars, not battles, Gant. These setbacks are nothing compared to my ultimate victory! As for your other concerns, I can still walk, albeit quite limited, without my cane, and Stirr is allowing me and the kids to stay at the beach house until tomorrow morning, which is when I'm leaving. So when that time comes, the beach house is Blaise's issue"
"That's cold, Manny. Blaisie may not be the nicest guy, but he doesn't deserve this kind of betrayal."
"Blaise gave me my only penalty over something that we've both been doing for years. If anything, I'm getting even." Manfred retorted. "But please, don't breath a word about this evening to anyone."
Gant let out an exasperated sigh. "… Fine. But I'm doing this as your friend, not because I support your actions."
When Manfred and Gant finally reunited with Edgeworth and Franziska, the latter wasted no time in asking about her father's altered appearance.
"Papa, where's your coat? And for that matter, where are your cane and shoes?"
"I was robbed by a band of filthy defense attorneys. Gant and I tried to fight them off, but their numbers were too great and their tactics too cowardly." Manfred curtly responded.
"So did Detective Gant try to arrest them, or did you at least call the police?" Edgeworth asked with a perplexed look on his face.
"Thing is, Worthy, they were so quick, that by the time we realized what was going on, they were long gone. So we don't have any information on their appearances to file a report. And even if we could, the incident would be a massive blow to Manny's reputation. It'd be like chopping off an eagle's wings and having it try to fly- very sad, and very messy… That's why Manny and I are just going to let this incident slide."
"Even though I don't agree with your decision, I trust your and Mr. von Karma's judgement. So, sir, are we going to call it a day and return to the beach house?"
"Yes, Miles, but unfortunately, those blasted attorneys stole my car keys, so we're going to be riding with…" Manfred groaned as he glanced at the grinning detective. "Gant."
"Don't worry, kids, I'll get you back to Blaisie's beach house nice and quick. But before that, we're going to be making a quick stop…"