"M-mother?" Apollo's mouth hung open. Tracy clasped her hands to her face. And Phoenix Wright, ace attorney, folded his arms and nodded.
"Yes, it is true."
For a moment, Apollo felt like pinching himself. It had been years since he had ever bothered with that sort of activity, but he suddenly felt sure, absolutely sure, that he was slumped over at the bar table popular with college students, with a few too many glasses beside him.
But he knew that what was in front of him was absolutely real. And he was at a loss for words.
He looked at the faces of the people in front of him...Phoenix, Franziska, Tracy, the twins, and the woman in the chair...Lamiroir.
His...mother? His mother was Lamiroir?
Phoenix's mouth was moving, but Apollo could not hear a single word. The buzzing in his head made it impossible for him to discern what his mentor was saying.
Are they telling the truth? Could they prove the familial connection? And if so, how did they find out? How long?
He could weep, he could shout, he could approach Lamiroir, he could hug her, he could slap Phoenix, he could grab Trucy by the shoulders.
In the end, he did none of these things.
He half-stumbled, half-rushed back out the door.
Apollo wandered across the traffic lane, just lucid enough to avoid stepping into a pothole.
It was. probably bad, both in terms of courtesy of pragmatism, to just leave. But he did not know else to handle the torrent of emotions.
Life was not a novel. But it all seemed to fantastical...for him to force himself through school, meet his idol Phoenix Wright, discover the criminality of his mentor Kristoph Gavin, to learn a sinister truth behind a girl he liked, and then find out that one of his former clients was now claiming to be his long-lost mother.
He would eventually have to go back to the agency. He had not seen the last of Lamiroir, no doubt. He could not hold off another meeting forever. But did it have to be tonight?
What should he do? He did not know how to just walk back to everyone. And he could not lose himself in the streets.
Finally, he blinked. He still had his anchor, so to speak. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He flipped through the numbers, found the one he wanted, and smiled before clicking it.
Clay Terran knew he did not have to worry. Not as long as he had the two words in mind.
"I'm fine!"
He shook his head , clearing his thoughts. Something, just, he had to...
"I'm fine!" His voice was louder this time. He was glad that it was just him in the observatory.
He looked down at himself. He had his coat, already inspected carefully for any rips or loose threads. His toolbox was nearby, with every individual item oiled and sharpened, if needed. He had been keeping up with the morning push-ups and sit-ups proscribed for him.
His morning rituals were thus complete. And yet…
His face tightened. There was that incident seven years ago…
He shook his head once more. He could not afford to dwell on it. The past was the past. Today was the day for the new mission, and it had to be completed.
"I'll remind you one more time, Mr...no, Prosecutor Edgeworth, sir. What you've been suggesting is truly unprecedented, if I do say so myself."
Edgeworth folded his arms and studied the person in front of him. He was a man approximately thirty years old, with slicked spiky hair showing a broad forehead. He wore a non-regulation white uniform, perfectly tailored and without a single crease. He could only assume that the newcomer had put aside money for the day that he would finally be offered the position of Detective.
They were inside a cell in the Detention Center. It was a little larger than the average, and with a few more creature comforts; a desk, bookshelf, fresh stationary, and a cup of pens. Close to the window, which was cut into the stone above the bed, there was a small bowl. A hawk was hovering over it, picking up pellets periodically.
"Your name again, please?"
"Officer...no," The newcomer shrugged apologetically. "Detective Bobby Fulbright, at your service."
"Well met. I've heard that you are a stronger believer in, and protector of, the legal system and justice itself?"
"That I am, Prosecutor Edgeworth!"
"And you believe in walking the good path at every fork?"
"Absolutely!"
"Then surely you don't mind if I allow this prisoner to do some good for the community, something to help his chances of clemency?"
Detective Fulbright looked momentarily torn, but he forced his face into a smile. "I've heard a lot about you, sir, so I'll trust your judgement!"
Edgeworth turned to the prisoner, who was sitting upon the bed.
"And you have no objections to this plan?"
The prisoner was a sour-looking man, with a white streak clashing his long black hair. His eyes were sunken, and his mouth was taut. He wore a long-sleeved jumpsuit typical of his fellow inmates. Nonetheless, he presented himself with as much dignity and confidence as possible for someone in his position.
"None at all...Prosecutor. I, Simon Blackquill, am ready to proceed."
-A multi-chapter story; Chapter 38; story idea by CRed1988 and writing by Jerviss.
