#I think about this picture of Phoenix Wright every damn day

[trlvsn]

sorry for the overwhelming amount of narumitsu thoughts im having but like. what really really gets me every time is the choosing death and forging the ace parallels because there are so many possibilities. miles edgeworth dies and makes phoenix thing he's exactly what the public viewed his as: a man who's pride got the best of him. phoenix wright forges the ace. what does miles edgeworth think? at first i pictured it as this huge fight with a "it would have been better if you never came back from the dead/stepped foot in court" moment but then i remembered miles already has deeper, less black-and-white knowledge of how the legal system works and how some decisions can be complicated. phoenix, on the other hand?? as justifiable as his motivations for forging the evidence are, he still presents himself as this guy who "maybe did actually forge the page seven years ago, it doesn't matter" and feels somewhat deserving of the public's reaction and apollo's punch. honestly, him forging the ace and telling apollo is a punishment to himself - so i feel like he would tell edgeworth too, as a kind of "you have been so convinced i was this brilliant and wronged guy for all these years, well what do you think of me now" move. i can imagine phoenix confessing the forgery over the phone and hanging up, drawing conclusions before edgeworth even gets to speak. i can imagine him getting hit by the damn car next day after the call. i can imagine miles edgeworth coming into the hospital and feeling a sense of deja vu, but this time, he is the one to pick up the magatama from the stand near the hospital bed and express very clearly he does not give a shit about the forgery but wright you are being an asshole and hiding something and you will let me break the locks that will appear right now. respectfully. god knows phoenix wouldn't talk about the jury system plans otherwise. the parallels man the parallels get me every time

#i'm having a narumitsu moment if you haven't noticed #raystextpost #not maintagging this

[the-bar-sinister]

In Justice We Trust (98739 words) thesavagesabretooth

catch up here.

With Simon Blackquill and Athena Cykes assigned as their psychologists, the Phantom and Fulbright must grapple with their identity, their deeds, their future, and their love for the twisted samurai whom they betrayed.

All the while, Edgeworth and Wright find their relationship tested as they walk the narrow path between pursuing real justice, and the dark age of the law.

-

December 25, 8:20 am

At the airport, Phoenix had insisted on taking the photograph of their target– Mr. Lovelace– and using it as a starting point to check the baggage area for clues. Miles didn't understand his methods and didn't think anything would come of it but he gave him space to do so, hanging back with Gumshoe as Phoenix paced the baggage claim floor, holding up the picture.

"There's a thin line between madness and genius, Gumshoe."

“I dunno, I think Mr. Wright tumbled head first off the bridge into madness years ago, sir,” Gumshoe replied.

"Hm. Perhaps. And yet, he still gets results. It's shocking every time." He watched idly as Phoenix paced the floor.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause he thinks like a crazy crook, so he catches them.” Gumshoe chuckled. “Hey uh..actually sir, there’s somethin’ I gotta tell you.” 

"It may be, indeed. But, oh?" he looked up curiously, away from Phoenix's antics and at the detective instead. "What is it?"

“I ran into Mr. Justice today, sir. He uh…ain’t along with Athena at the scene.”

That brought Miles up so short he practically jumped. "He's not?"

Gumshoe grimaced.

“Given that she nearly got pummeled by him this mornin? No. He ain’t. He was stormin’ around the hotel lookin’ for you, sir. Sounded like he found out about Robert Halblicht, and started beatin’ the man in the middle of the restaurant. Athena interposed herself , and he stormed off…” Gumshoe’s expression was..complicated , to say the least. He rubbed his chin. “...I had a little talk with him after that, but he wants to talk to ya about the fact he’s expected to work in the vicinity of Clay Terran’s killer.” 

Miles' heart sank further and further into his stomach as Gumshoe spoke. He felt the blood drained out of his face.

"Oh… oh no. Oh sweet Justitia…" Miles turned and grabbed Gumshoe's lapels. "In all the commotion I forgot to tell him about Halblicht! I wanted to keep it private! To give him space to be upset– but I never got a chance and it completely escaped my mind this morning that I– oh no, I–"

“Yeah he ain’t taking it well, sir.” Gumshoe grimaced futher, even as Miles gently shook him by the coat. “He’s uh…not happy he was the last to know. And he ain’t happy about Bobby neither. So uh…I got him calmed down a little…had a chat with him and he ain’t in a fury no more, but he wants to talk.” 

Miles let his head fall against Gumshoe's chest and headbutted him repeatedly–if softly– as if he were slamming his head against a wall.

"What has been wrong with me the last few days, Gumshoe? I can't keep making mistakes like this. I'm going to get someone killed."

“Nobody’s died yet, sir. Still time to set it right, yeah?” Gumshoe put his hand atop the man’s head, sighing. “I think you’re tired, Mr. Edgeworth…can’t blame ya, of course. It’s been a hell of a week. “ 

Miles leaned there for a moment, soaking in the big, earnest idiot's strength and patience. 

"It's been a hell of a week," he murmured. "Believe me, Gumshoe, I would have slowed down if I could, but this could be our only opportunity to root the Phantom's organization out of the shadows– our one lead. I couldn't hesitate– but I am making mistakes, that is undeniable."

"Someone’s gotta stop these bastards, sir. After the stuff we all heard? We can’t let it stand…we got our chance and we’re gonna go all the way with it.” He smiled that big, dopey Gumshoe smile at him. “Yeah, you’ve made mistakes, sir…but it’ll work out. Everyone makes mistakes. I know I make ‘em all the damn time!” 

Miles took a deep, deep breath and straightened up. He fixed his hair, and nodded. "You're right, you're right of course. Though thank lady justice my sister isn't here at present to hear you say that. We were raised to be perfect, you know."

He smiled at Gumshoe like it was a joke, but it was the furthest possible thing from a joke. The way that Miles had been made, a mistake was worse than a sin. A sin could be forgiven, a mistake? Never.

Gumshoe’s new that Miles wasn't joking though. He didn't laugh.

“Well, sir. Look where perfection got Mr. Von Karma. The world's shortest bungie jump.” 

The black humor wrenched a miserable, black laugh out of Miles, though, and he slapped Gumshoe in the chest. 

"So indeed, my friend. So indeed." He took another deep breath and straightened his cravat. "Alright. Let's go see if Phoenix has found anything– and then we'll have a look at the security footage. And Gumshoe?"

“Yessir?” Gumshoe asked with a tender edge to his recovering smile. 

"I expect you to help catch me again if I make any more mistakes. Thank you for helping take care of this one."

December 25, 9:15 am

The investigation of the interior of the second car ultimately had not turned up anything of use. The body, however, was a different story.

The second body had been shot, much the same as the first one had. In the front of the head, but also additionally in the throat.

"Kind of puts a damper on the 'bystander' theory," Halblicht considered. He glanced at Athena, perhaps looking for her own insight. Though he was smiling, Athena couldn't read anything from him at the moment.

Athena’s own emotions also felt numb– they always did during an investigation despite the way she’d express intensely to signal to her usual investigative partners the ways she knew she must truly feel under the static discord in her chest.

She smiled back at him with a nod, brushing her hair from her face as she tapped out another note in Widget’s system. “...it puts a major damper on the bystander theory. This looks like it was part of the plan…it’s the same style as the first body’s, right? Ema said it seemed to be the same weapon, same method…I can only imagine it was intentional.” 

"Yes, and given that they were shot twice, we can probably conclude that one shot missed." Halblicht pressed his fingers together, smiling still, but seeming deep in thought.

Athena nodded slowly, her brow knit gently as she tapped at the illusion of a screen. “That’s my guess too…the shot to the throat, then in the head to finish them off…” 

Simon came back around from the other side of the car. "Everything's burned to hell. There wasn't anything useful in terms of evidence in the front or back seat that I could find. Some scraps of clothing, but they're unidentifiable."

Kelso slid out of the front seat with a grimace, dusting ash off her coat with a sigh. “And there ain’t anything in the front seat, either…fire did its job, unfortunately for us.”

From the edge of the scene, Sheila was watching them intensely with her arms crossed, radiating a strange emotion that Athena hadn’t been able to properly place during their conversation. 

"The two cars theory is becoming more likely, strange as it sounds," Simon considered. "My main question now is what of the blood on the pavement."

“It doesn’t make sense.” Athena murmured. “After all…if there were two cars, and they were each executed in the cars themselves from a distance, there’d be no way the blood from either victim would get on the ground. Meaning it was either from the killer, or there’s something we’re missing…right?”

“Could be unrelated.” Kelso mused with a flip of the bullet between her fingers and a quiet huff breath. Athena couldn’t tell the emotion from it…subtle frustration, maybe? “Or from the killer, of course.” 

"But the killer shot at range," Halblicht pointed out. "The question would be how would they have been injured."

Athena pointed to him with a nod. “Exactly. Exactly. The killer shot at range, taking out two agents of Interpol…we don’t have any sign except the blood that anyone was injured here, and it’s too close to match the distance of the bullet wounds. So that means we’re missing something, or there’s something wrong with our thinking.”

She bit her lip “...in situations like this…Mr. Wright would tell me to turn my thinking around and look at it from another angle.”

Kelso fussed with her sunglasses again. “Coulda been an injury that was inflicted when the killer was torching the cars. People are clumsy, coulda cut their hand or something.”

Simon cocked his head. "Ah, so your theory is that the cars were torched rather than going up naturally? It's certainly the likeliest scenario given what we know about the culprits."

For some reason, Sheila in the periphery started snickering again, and Athena could hear her trying to stop herself. As she was laughing, a musical tune started playing from her direction– her phone ringing.

“That’s my theory, yeah.” Kelso nodded. “goes along with everything we know, right?”

Athena looked up towards the sound to see Sheila stifle her laughter enough to answer the phone with her wolfish grin and a cheerful “hello~.”

It was odd…the emotions she picked up from the woman when she laughed were strange…a mixture of jagged, muted sorrow and almost performative, intense joy that overshadowed all else. 

Simon's gaze followed Sheila as she answered her phone, then he turned back to Kelso. "It does. But we'll see how the facts bear out."

For some reason, as she hung up the phone, Sheila began to laugh again, doubling over and bracing herself against the SUV. It looked like it hurt. It sounded like it hurt as Athena swiped to the mood matrix and watched the sorrow and anger dimly pulse after an initial spike only to be drowned in the flashing yellow light of joy.

Sheila hung up the phone and strode over with a wave of her hand and the ghost of a snicker on her lips. 

“Great news, pack,” she purred as her features stilled once more. Casually, she pulled out a tube of lipstick and began fixing her makeup in her compact mirror. “....Forensics got back to me about the plates.” 

Simon held out his hand and let Taka land on his arm as he smiled. "Oh? I hope it's something interesting, Ash-dono."

The woman’s smile didn’t leave her face as she pointed to one of the cars. 

“That’s our agent’s car. We had one match from our database on the plates, and security footage of that very same soon to be burned out wreck leaving the airport with the agents. One.” She held up her finger. “One. Isn’t that interesting? It's the one that slammed head on into the side of the other.”

Kelso looked at the car that was swerved into the barrier with a low whistle “...huh. I knew they wouldn’t have used two cars…”

Athena slapped her hand against her knees. “I knew it! Which…actually brings up a big question? Why’s there a body in the extra car? If it’s one of the agents, it’d mean it’d been moved. If it’s one of the targets…where’s our missing agent?” 

Halblicht cocked his head toward Ash. "I assume that if one of your agents, if they'd escaped, would have reported in by now if they were capable?"

“The instant they made it to town. Every wolf in Lang’s pack knows to howl.” She snickered again, and covered her mouth “...that’s what Lang says, anyhow. In layman's terms…it’s top priority to report the instant you’re able. Especially if a comrade is killed. The fact we’ve got nothing implies he’s dead, or a traitor.”

She smiled in a way that gave chills that cut through the static in Athena’s heart. “And I’d certainly know if we had traitors in Lang’s pack.”

Kelso was flipping the bullet between her fingers again as she stared at the car. “So it's possible that someone moved the body…or one of the pack managed to crawl away only to die somewhere nearby?” 

Simon glanced down at the ground where the luminol had shown up. "The blood didn't lead away from the wreck."

"No sir, Prosecutor Blackquill," Halblicht nodded. "It was only between the two vehicles."

Athena nodded. “And it was wiped up by someone, as if they didn’t want anyone to know.” She traced her finger from one car to another. An agent trying to struggle to safety wouldn’t waste precious time wiping it…and I can’t wrap my head around why the killer might mop it up…”

"So what we've got is a scene that was tampered with after the fact," Simon said. "Someone– our shooter presumably– manipulated the scene in some way after the fact, at the very least to remove the blood, and very likely to torch the vehicles. Athena!"

He turned to her with his sharp smile, fingers on his chin.

Athena’s head shot up as her smile unconsciously mirrored his own “Simon!”

The facts spun in her head, forming connections and making theories and logical leaps.

"What was the purpose of our culprit concealing the blood between the cars?" he asked.

“To conceal their actions and throw us off the investigation” Athena murmured thoughtfully. “my guess is to hide the fact that someone bled between the two cars… likely one of the corpses… maybe it was moved from one to the other, right? To confuse us with the number and occupants of the cars.”

"But why would they bother?" Halblicht asked. "Just to throw us off the track for a little longer? Or for some other reason."

"Good question, half bright," Simon drawled. "Why don't we have a look at that blood again. Skye-dono, if you could light us up?"

Ema Skye nodded as she hurried over and began spritzing luminol over the area, flipping her glasses down with a nod. “You’ve got it. Give it a second to react.”

Athena leaned over , watching curiously with a tilt of her head. “...my guess is to obscure a crucial fact of the case…by leading us to an assumption.”

The path of the blood was illuminated. There wasn't a lot of it, all things considered, a few drops here and there. Aside from a few stray other drops, most of it seemed to be concentrated–as Athena followed the path– between the front driver side of the first car– all the way around to the passenger side of the second car.

“...it’s a trail from the first car to the second.” She traced, pacing along the line of drops and smears.. “...someone wanted to hide the fact the body was moved…. from the passenger side of the second car, to the driver side of the first.”

"So then presumably the apparent 'driver' of the first car is, in actuality, our second agent after all," Simon observed. "Who did the first car belong to, and why conceal it?"

Athena nodded at him. “exactly…and why conceal it.” She walked up to the first car with a furrow of her brow and a frown. “...it could have belonged to the killer. The person they were tailing from the airport. As for why…”

Kelso wandered back over, stepping over the luminol soaked bloodstain to lean towards the cars with a casual ‘hum’.

“That doesn’t make much sense to me. Why’d the enemy agent bother?” 

Halblicht, meanwhile, was following the blood trail back and forth with a look of consternation written carefully on his face. He turned toward them. "Ms. Cykes, Prosecutor Blackquill…"

Athena tilted her head up at him with a concerned furrow of her brow, her growing quiet concern pulsing within her.

“Yeah, Detective Halblicht?” 

"I found something a little curious. There's more blood concentrated here at the back of the second car. Not a lot, but more than you might expect. Plus ah… did you notice there are a few drops that just sort of go off in a random direction?"

Simon looked between Halblicht and Athena. "Hmm, show me."

Halblicht saluted eagerly. "Yes sir! Right here…" he pointed, and Athena did notice that there were a few drops that went off away from the two wrecks. And then here, there's almost two fingers worth blood, which is more than the rest of the trail.

The glow of the luminol at the back of the truck was the largest in the trail.

"Perhaps the killer lingered here for a moment?" Simon mused. "Hauling a body around can be difficult."

Athena felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she walked over “....or they paused here for a long moment for some other reason…”

She traced the projected drip from the trunk to the ground with her fingers as she visualized the scene.

“At the trunk. Lingering.” her eyes fell on Simon and Robert with a grim smile. “if it wasn’t exhaustion, why would someone linger by a trunk instead of taking a shorter path around? Especially holding something so heavy as the deadweight of a corpse?”

Ema made a hissing sound through her teeth. “ah…shit.” 

Halblicht smiled carefully at Athena and nodded, then he asked; "Ms. Skye– do you think you could get the trunk here open for us?"

“I’ll get on it.” Ema broke out her tools with a grim set of her jaw. “gonna take me a minute…lock’s probably fucking melted shut.”

Athena nodded to Halblicht.

Why obscure the crime scene? Why drag the bodies around and wipe the blood? Why put a victim in a car they didn’t own, and linger with the weight of a bleeding body by the trunk of a car?

The questions hovered on Widget’s screen, the web between each piece of data entwining them together under her steady finger.

“I don’t think we’ll like what we find.” she mused softly.

Kelso wandered over to put a hand against Halblicht’s arm, as if to steady herself as she watched Ema work the trunk. 

“Got any theories, pretty?” she asked towards Athena with a tired half smile. 

Athena noticed Halblicht jolt very slightly as he was touched, and he put on a brilliant, goofy smile and adjusted his tie, as if flattered. "Oh, a few, miss agent!"

Athena was almost sure that he'd intercepted the question from her, rather than been genuinely confused who it was directed at.

Kelso laughed, glancing sidelong at him with an amused little smile. 

“Alright, pretty. Lay ‘em on me. Because I’m stumped.”

Athena’s fingers hovered delicately near the tab for the mood matrix as she watched Ema work through the pale blue of her screen. She gave Halblicht a thankful smile, before tapping over to the matrix.

December 25, 9:30 am

Gumshoe's eyes were getting tired, that was for sure. He, Mr. Edgeworth, and Mr. Wright had been reviewing the security footage for the better part of an hour already. There was a lot to go through, but admittedly, it had already yielded results that they'd called into Lang– they'd watched the two agents drive off in the parking lot after an unmarked car.

“Oof. Dunno how the lab boys do it, sir.” Gumshoe grumbled, “the light off these damn screens is turnin’ my brain to jelly.” 

Miles rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "I hate to say it, but mine as well. Perhaps we need a break– a moment to discuss what we've learned and see how the facts bear out and what our next move should be."

Phoenix, however, was still hunched over the video controls, running a segment back and forth.

“Whatcha got there, Nicky?” Gumshoe leaned heavily over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. 

"It might be nothing," he murmured, squinting at the screen "But…"

Miles came in and leaned over him from the other side. "But what, Wright? Is it another one of your famous turnabouts?"

Phoenix flushed and chuckled a little, rubbing his chin. "I don't know about that but… didn't you tell me that Agent Kelso wasn't able to follow the target and the other agents out of the airport?"

“Yeah, that’s why we weren’t sure about the uhhh…” he waved his hand, “number of cars the agents left in, right? She missed the actual departure and caught up in a delay.” 

Phoenix pointed at the screen, at a small figure in the bottom while the agents' car was pulling out of the lot.

"That's what I thought. So uh, am I crazy, or is that Agent Kelso there, getting in her car?"

Miles narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Phoenix hit play on the recording, and– though the quality of the video left much to be desired, Gumshoe saw it too. Agent Kelso getting in a car, which then pulled out of the lot.

“....yeah, that sure does.” Gumshoe squinted at the car as it pulled away. “....looks a lot like Agent Kelso getting in the car. Not many people dressed like that in the area…face matches too.”

Phoenix turned to Miles and slowly asked. "Why wouldn't Agent Kelso have reported it if she followed the agents and the target?"

"A very good question, Mr. Wright. A very good question indeed."

#dick gumshoe #apollo justice #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #athena cykes #bobby fulbright #simon blackquill #ema skye #trucy wright #pearl fey #blackbright #phantomquill #ace attorney #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #archive of our own #ao3 #fic: in justice we trust

[thunderheadfred]

hhh-him

#phoenix wright #ace attorney #glow UP #lmfao help me #I think about this picture of Phoenix Wright every damn day #Phucking Pheenix

[the-hidden-writer]

A Second Chance: Chapter 2

An Ace Attorney fanfic. Read on both AO3 and FF.net!

Summary: Miles learns the identity of his "dead" mother, and the aftermath of that revelation is a tricky one. Especially when his newfound little sister is trying to turn him into a spirit medium.

AKA Miles is a Fey. Miles also doesn't really know how to family properly.

[Chapter 1] | [Chapter 3]

Comments make my day! :D

The Sisters

Straightening himself and brushing non-existent dirt off his coat, Miles knocked on the door of Wright & Co. Law Offices. There was a buzzer, but Phoenix had requested him to knock instead. That way he wouldn’t freak out at an unexpected client.

It also meant he could take his time to answer the door.

Miles would never admit to being impatient… okay, he was. But this time he wouldn’t mind stalling. He kept his gaze on his shoes and tightened the grip on his briefcase.

He’d called in sick that day (per Gumshoe’s very adamant request) and had spent the morning thinking and composing himself. Also, he had been trying to work up the courage to come here. Once he’d made up his mind (and hadn’t changed it on the way to the car), he hadn’t bothered changing into something professional. So there he was in his white shirt, black overcoat, and brown trousers (he’d called them as such in front of Wright once, and the man had exclaimed “Jesus how much more British can you get?!”... he’d felt self-conscious about them after that). He felt like wearing his prosecutor’s suit may ruin the image of an older brother.

An older brother.

He couldn’t help but feel agitated, knowing he was the only one who knew the secret thus far. Well, apart from Gumshoe, but he hardly counted. He’d already spent too long thinking about Maya and Phoenix’s reaction that he didn’t want to waste any more of his heart going down that road again.

Finally, Phoenix answered the door. “Hi Edgeworth!” He said, with that charming smile he always seemed to wear.

“Good afternoon, Wright.”

He noticed that Phoenix look him over. He’d never come to their office in casual clothes before. He tried not to shuffle awkwardly, but thankfully Wright invited him in before he got the chance.

He had never been very good with people.

“What’s up?” Phoenix asked, once inside. He motioned for Miles to take off his coat, so he did and handed it to him.

Damn. This wasn’t the time to blush.

“Hey, are you okay? You look exhausted even for you.”

Wright looked genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine, thank you. I was working until rather late last night, that’s all. I’m not working today though.” Miles added after Phoenix raised his eyebrows.

What he couldn’t tell him was that he hadn’t slept a wink last night. He’d shooed Gumshoe away almost immediately after he’d calmed down, but it took a lot of convincing to get the detective to trust him to be alone. Every single second, right until morning, was spent thinking about his life, how it would have differed if he’d known the truth, and how he was supposed to announce the news that he was Misty Fey’s son.

“Wanna go get coffee or something? Or we could watch something, I’m not that busy.”

“Actually,” He said apologetically when Phoenix gestured towards the scruffy blue couch. “I’m here to talk to Miss Fey.”

If Wright tried to hide the disappointment on his face, he didn’t do a very good job.

“Oh… sure! She’s in the room over there.” He pointed to one of the few identical white doors. “I’ll come with you.”

“Um, actually,” Miles hated to break the man’s heart like this, but it was necessary. “Could we have some privacy? It’s rather important.”

Phoenix looked at the briefcase, and then back at Miles.

“That important, huh?”

A deflated Phoenix Wright was a scary thing.

“Sure. I’ll be here I guess… let me know if you guys need anything.”

Miles shot him a look of sympathy. “Thank you. But I’m warning you that it might take a while.”

Phoenix just nodded, that familiar smile returning, and then turned to continue… scrubbing the floorboards? Was he really that addicted to cleaning as the rumours said?

He took it as a sign to leave.

Gathering all of his courage, he entered the room.

Maya Fey was sitting at a small wooden table, engrossed in her work arranging… Limited Edition Steel Samurai Season 2 Silver Trading Cards?! He sincerely hoped his jealousy and awe didn’t show.

Alas, it did, and his eyes lit up. He had to refrain himself from asking about them.

Maybe this whole sibling thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Hey Edgeworth! What are you doing here?”

Maya was always so positive and cheerful. Miles had an awful feeling that he was about to shatter all of that.

“Good afternoon Miss Fey.” He replied, and suddenly the finalized speech that he had spent all night learning (yes, there had been many drafts) disappeared from his mind.

He blanked. And panicked.

With a deep breath, he knew he would have to improvise. He was a prosecutor for goodness sake, he knew how to think on his feet!

“I, um, came to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

The difference with improvising in court is that he could feign confidence. For some reason, he couldn’t do that here.

Luckily for him, Maya took the hint.

“Oh… okay.” She said, her smile wavering ever so slightly. She motioned towards the chair opposite to her. “Here, you can sit down if you want.”

“Thank you.”

As he sat himself down, he carefully placed his briefcase onto the table. Maya watched his movements like a hawk.

“So, er,” He began cautiously, “we searched Misty Fey’s residence.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Was all Maya said, then suddenly she opened her mouth in confusion. “Detective Gumshoe already brought me a whole box full of stuff this morning!”

He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. This may be the first time the detective acted so quickly. Well, the first time he ever succeeded in doing so.

Flashbacks of the horrid crunch of a car crash over the phone came to mind. He cleared his throat to try and rid himself of those particular memories. “That wasn’t the only box he found.”

“Really?” Maya’s eyes lit up. “What else is there?”

Miles sighed. It was now or never.

“Before I tell you, I would like to ask: what do you know about your father?”

This obviously took Maya by surprise.

“Oh… pretty much nothing, I guess. My Sis didn’t really remember him that well and said Mom never talked about him either.” She looked at him with a sudden determination. “Why? Is it to do with him? Do you know who he is?!”

“I-” He wasn’t sure how to answer. “He died. A long time ago. Not long after you were born, I’d imagine.”

As quickly as it arrived, Maya’s excitement died. Just perfect- he’d managed to crush the spirits of Phoenix Wright and Maya Fey in the span of 10 minutes.

Maya looked more miserable by the second. Time to move on.

He opened his leather briefcase. “Here, I’d like you to have a look at this picture.”

After warily taking out the picture of his- no, their parents, he handed it to her.

He hadn’t brought the entire box since he wasn’t ready to share that with the world, however, he’d brought certain items that would have served as evidence for his speech. But since the speech had been abandoned…

“That’s Mom!” She exclaimed, and he understood what she was experiencing. They’d lost their parents at a young age, albeit by different methods, and when Miles had first seen that picture he’d immediately focused on his own father. After having a very limited collection of photos to look at over the years, any new ones became a treasure.

Then Maya’s focus shifted onto the other person in the picture.

“Is that my Dad?” She asked quietly.

Miles nodded, preparing himself for that dreaded conversation. He may have forgotten his speech, but he’d faced worse in court. He could do this.

“Woah, he’s so handsome!”

What.

“Mom had good taste at least. I bet she was so sad to have to send him away!”

Maya’s enthusiasm had returned full swing, and she was practically clapping her hands with excitement.

“I, er-”

“They look so happy together!” She continued, oblivious to the heat in Miles’ cheeks. “Aw, this beats anything I could’ve imagined!”

Finally tearing her gaze away from the photograph, she looked up at Miles to see if he was sharing her joy. He wasn’t. He was confused, mostly.

Then Maya’s jaw dropped slightly. She looked down at the photo, then back at Miles. Photo, then him. Photo again, Miles again.

She laughed. “He looks a lot like you, y’know!”

Miles held his breath as the penny dropped.

Her head snapped down to study the picture again, and her grin began to wobble. “Wait is that…”

He stayed silent.

“H- That’s why he looked so familiar…” she whispered. “I remember that picture.”

Knowing exactly what picture she was talking about, Miles shuddered. It was the only photo she could have seen. The photo of his father's corpse, lying in that cursed elevator, blood streaming out of his gunshot wound. The photo that still haunted him to that day, despite knowing he wasn’t the cause of it.

Now it would haunt Maya too. He suddenly felt cruel.

She eventually looked back up at him. “My dad is Gregory Edgeworth?”

He nodded slowly.

“But that would mean-”

Miles brought up a finger to shush her. “Hold on a moment.” He said as he rummaged through his briefcase for the other photograph he’d brought, before handing it over to let her examine it.

It was a smaller photo that had been lying underneath the letter, so he hadn’t discovered it until later on the previous night. It was a picture of Misty Fey nursing a sleeping baby boy in her arms, with a young brown-haired girl peeking curiously over her shoulder. Though the baby seemed content enough, Misty had tears rolling down her cheeks. And yet she still had the small trademark Fey smile on her face.

Her expression was one that Maya wore now.

“Sis is way too young for that to be me. Is it…” She waited for Miles to finish her thought, but when he didn’t she continued. “...you?”

“I believe so, yes.” He said, voice breaking. Damn it, he was getting emotional now.

Maya leaned back in her chair and sat still for a few moments, mouth open and eyes wide. Her tears had stopped, but they had left their marks on her face. Miles felt anxious about her response but knew that it was his responsibility to tell her the truth. Especially as her-

“Oh my god, YOU’RE MY BROTHER!” Maya squealed, and he could hardly process how quickly she’d jumped out of her seat and ran around to squeeze him, and he flinched at the unexpected contact.

Almost straight away, she pulled back, as if realizing what she was doing. “You’re my… brother.” She repeated quieter, presumably as the implications sank in.

“I am.” He confirmed. She looked up at him.

“I just don’t believe it. All along! I wouldn’t’ve thought you were such a jerk if I’d known!”

Miles cocked his head. “Thank you..?”

Gently, he pushed her away from his side. “Now listen Miss Fey, I understand if you don’t want anything to change between us. We don’t even have to tell Wright. After finding out that you’ve lost your father, it may be better just to carry on as nor-”

“Are you kidding?!”

Miles blinked. “No?”

“Dude, you’re my brother! All this time I thought I was alone. My sister was murdered and then my Mom was murdered- I never even thought about my Dad really- and then I find out I still have a brother! This is awesome!”

Whatever reactions Miles had predicted in his mind, this was not one of them. Why was she being so supportive?

“Why are you so supportive of the idea? I tried to get you convicted for murder!” He exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

“‘Cause you’re my brother, duh!”

He wasn’t sure when the roles had swapped, but now he was the one who had eyes brimming with tears. It was contagious, and soon she began to sob again too.

When she hugged him again, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held her tightly, if somewhat awkwardly, and genuinely didn’t want to let go.

This was his little sister. The universe definitely tried hard to take everything away from him, but it failed. Oh goodness, it failed. And at that moment, that one blissful moment of siblings embracing, he felt calm. Everything was going to be okay.

Maya jerked backwards suddenly. “I have to tell Sis!”

“Wait, what-”

“Hold on I’ll channel her, you need to tell her too!” She cried.

“No! There’s no need! She’s resting, leave her be!” She was dead, but that's the same thing, right?

But Maya wasn’t listening, she had already crossed her fingers and furrowed her brows in concentration. The Magatama thing around her neck started to glow.

Miles began to panic again. He’d only thought about Maya, and not even considered Mia Fey at all. Cursed spirit channeling!

He turned to look at the door and wondered if Phoenix was listening in. Probably not, since he’d been very interested in his own chores, but he couldn’t help but wonder nonetheless.

He’d planned a different speech entirely to tell Phoenix.

“Edgeworth?”

That wasn’t Maya’s voice.

He turned again to see a familiar face in Maya’s clothing, looking at him in confusion. He frowned- the last thing he wanted to do was to go through that entire conversation again.

“Hello, Miss Fey.” He said, shaking slightly. Though he’d seen this practice in court before, he doubted he would ever get used to the concept of spirit channeling.

“What’s going on? Maya didn’t leave a note, so I’m a little confused.”

She looked more than a little confused, but Miles wasn’t going to point that out.

“After searching your mother’s house, we found out that your father is my father, and I’m your mother’s son. I’m your brother.”

Wow, ripping the bandaid off in one go really does make it easier.

Mia appeared sceptical. “What?”

“See for yourself.” Miles replied, gesturing towards the pair of photographs on the table.

Mia pulled them towards her and studied them, her face scrunching up slightly as she did so.

She gasped. “You’re… you’re our brother?”

Her reaction was definitely less emotional and dramatic than Maya’s, but Miles could still sense the shock coming from her.

“I am.” He nodded, feeling a sense of deja vu.

“Oh… Oh god, I shouldn’t’ve said all those shitty things about you after our first trial!”

Like sister, like sister, even at his own expense. Wait…

“OH!” He shouted suddenly as he brought up a hand to cover his mouth. He looked away in shame. “The horrid things I called you… even in court…”

Mia raised a hand. “An eye for an eye. Never mention it again?”

He copied her action. “Agreed.”

And then they both laughed. And, for the first time in a while, Miles felt safe. It all felt unreal. This wasn't him, this couldn't be happening. It was probably a dream, so he'd enjoy it while he still could.

“I can’t believe it…” Mia said after they’d settled. “I knew our Dad was a defense attorney, and I’d even researched Gregory Edgeworth once I became one. God, it all makes sense! That’s why Mom agreed to help, and why it was such a big deal to her.” She held her head in her hands, and her stolen black hair fell in front of her face. “I’m so stupid,” she muttered, “I should’ve put two and two together!”

“In your defence,” Miles responded, “I didn’t either. And it is rather obvious now.”

“My Dad was a Brit.”

Miles chuckled again. “He was.”

Without warning, Mia’s embarrassed expression turned into one of sympathy.

“I’m so sorry Miles.”

Now it was his turn to be confused. “Why?”

“We all lost our father at a young age, but Maya and I never found out, and we didn’t really mind since we still had our Mom. But you had no-one…”

Miles was about to argue that he had Von Karma, but decided against it. It wasn’t the time to bring him up. It was probably never going to be, either.

“There’s nothing we could have done.” He said sadly.

Mia scoffed. “Yeah but…” she cut herself off with a smirk. “You’ve got a little sister to take care of now.”

“I already have a little sister-” He argued instinctively, then cringed. He shouldn’t have said that to his dead biological older sister.

Still, Mia seemed to show understanding. “Franziska Von Karma, right? She’s still your sister, just as much as Maya is. Maybe even more than her. But I'm warning you, Maya is a hell of a lot clingier.” She paused. “How did she take it?”

Of course, Mia wouldn’t know since she was busy being dead. “Not how I’d expected, but good. I think she’s happy.”

Mia smiled. “Good.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, in which Miles wished he could have properly met Mia Fey while she was alive, but it was eventually broken by Mia herself.

“You should tell Diego.”

The happiness and warmth that Miles had felt began to dissolve.

“Wh-What?”

“Diego Armando. He told me he worked under Gregory Edgeworth briefly, and he never had a bad word to say about him. I think he deserves to know.”

Diego Armando was a defense attorney that he had faced off against in court a few times but never had the chance to meet properly in person. Even Miles struggled against him, though he would never admit it. The man was poisoned by Miss Dahlia Hawthorne and was in a coma for 5 years. When he woke up, he disguised his identity under the name “Godot”, and was recently convicted for…

A shaky hand was brought to his mouth, and he felt sick to the stomach.

“H-He murdered our mother…”

It was the first time that fact had really sunk in, and Miles hated it.

All of a sudden his shoulders were being gripped tightly. He was forced to look into Mia’s eyes.

“Yes, he did kill our mother.” She stated, matter-of-factly. “But he also saved our sister, whether that was his intention or not. He also mourned me, Miles. He may be a criminal, but he is nothing like Manfred Von Karma. Don’t you dare compare him to him. Deep down, he's a good man.”

“I-I won’t.” Miles replied and for the first time in his life, he genuinely felt like a little brother.

Releasing his shoulders with a satisfied look, she stood up and made her way to where Maya had originally been sitting.

“I’ll let Maya come back now. I’m sure you both have a lot of catching up to do, and I presume Phoenix doesn’t know yet either. You’ll tell Diego, won’t you?”

“You have my word.” Is what he said, but he still felt very hesitant.

“Good.” She said firmly. “I hope to speak to you again soon, Miles.”

Averting his eyes as her figure began to morph into Maya’s, he glanced at the door again. Mia was right, he was yet to tell Phoenix. How would he react, finding out that two of his friends were related? Would he break ties with him? Go into denial?

“Edgeworth!”

It was his turn to smile. This had all gone far better than expected. “Miss Fey.”

Maya (she was back to Maya now) frowned, and Miles immediately took back that last statement. “Dude, we’re siblings now, if you call me Miss Fey again I will end you.”

Once he was certain she was joking, he let himself laugh a little. Perhaps his little sisters weren’t that different after all.

“Alright, Maya.”

It felt strange on his tongue, but he could get used to it. Hopefully.

“Right, what are you up to?”

Both siblings’ heads snapped towards the door, where Phoenix stood with his arms crossed playfully. The pout looked quite authentic though…

He realized that the scene he'd walked into must look very odd, with one friend laughing hysterically and the other letting out a rare chuckle, both with tear tracks on their cheeks.

Now he had another hurdle to cross. Luckily he’d remembered his speech for Phoenix. He would have to be gentle in his delivery and be certain he had the correct order of facts. Reaching out to pick up the photos, he stood up and took a deep breath. It was time.

“We-”

“Guess what Nick?!" Maya yelled, startling him. "Edgeworth’s my brother!”

Oh.

Oh no.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #wrightworth #narumitsu #maya fey #mia fey #detective gumshoe #a second chance

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 24: welcome to Themis. 

Watch me go this whole arc without mentioning the “dark age of the law” but still trying to impress upon us the corruption inherent in the school and the legal system anyway.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

-----

“Phoenix Wright speaking.”

“Hello, Mr Wright? This is Constance Courte, one of the professors—”

“—at Themis? I remember hearing your name. What’s up? Is something going on with the school festival?”

“No, everything remains as scheduled - including your lecture that you’ll be giving tomorrow. I was calling to ask if, perhaps, you would be able to arrive a bit earlier tomorrow - say, around one o’clock? I’d like to discuss in advance what you’re planning for your lecture and seminar. I imagine that Professor Means likely told you that the stage is yours and you are free to say what you like, but he and I disagree on - well. We have rather different teaching styles, shall we say.”

“Yeah, he pretty much said it was up to me, but I’d be happy to have a chat with you about what you’d like the fledgling defense attorneys to learn to make it easier on your future judges. The mock trial starts at two, right? I can definitely be there early - oh, I invited my two junior partners along, too. Hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all. I look forward to meeting them too. And there is something else I would like to ask of you, though. It’s in regards to Prosecutor Gavin.”

“I’d heard he’s the prosecutor who was invited to speak, same as me.”

“Yes. At my suggestion - he was one of my students. I teach several classes open to students of any course. I believe it’s better to have a fully rounded view of the courtroom and understand all those positions, and I hope you might agree. Klavier was one of my favorite students, though I’m not sure I should admit that I do have favorites.”

“I’m not sure I’m following what you mean to ask. If you’re worried I take some sort of issue with him, on basis of what happened eight years ago, I’ll be the first to assure you that I don’t blame him for what happened.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear it. Now, I said that I suggested that Klavier be invited, and he agreed to come to Themis again, yes, when the academy’s administration sent him a formal email asking him if he would come speak. As for myself, I have reached out to him a number of times over the past year, most recently floating this idea, and every time, I am met with silence. Considering everything that has happened, I’ll admit that I am concerned about him.”

“...Honestly, so am I, but I am, without a doubt, the worst person to ask. I know for a fact that he will be doing his damndest to avoid me.”

“We may be in that boat together, and I fear that tomorrow he will continue to do so. This brings me to you, Mr Wright, and what I would ask of you. I have heard quite a bit about you, I’ll admit, some rumors much less court-related and much odder than others. One of the things they say is that you are quite good at seeing things that other people can’t.”

“...!”

“However that may be, I would be deeply grateful if you would, if necessary, help me corner Klavier tomorrow, because I suspect you may have also noticed that he is very, very good at avoiding people if he does not want to be found.”

-

“Well, this just feels like my first day of university all over again.” Phoenix shields his eyes against the sun and stares up at the building that looms in front of them. It’s a huge campus for a high school, but it’s also a fancy lawyer high school with alumni that probably donate boatloads of money from their lucrative careers, so it’s not all that surprising. “Lost as hell.”

“There’s probably at least three lecture halls in every one of these buildings,” Apollo gripes, staring out across the quad at the other nearby academic buildings. “Which one is the lecture hall where we’re supposed to meet the professor?”

“She said the main lecture hall,” Phoenix says. “I am making the assumption that this building in the center of campus is the main building, and thus, houses the main lecture hall.” But who the hell can actually know, really? Athena’s probably lost as hell too, since they’d waited as long as they could by the main gates to campus waiting for her, and still she didn’t turn up. 

With still an hour until the mock trial, students aren’t swarming all over the campus yet, though maybe it would be better if they were. The mock trial is also taking place in the main lecture hall, but because it’s only students and faculty attending the mock trial, there are no signs pointing the way, because everyone who is regularly at the school would know where the damn main lecture hall is. And there’s no crowd to follow, yet, and so, their current predicament.

Behind them, someone clears their throat. “By chance, you would not happen to be Mr Wright?”

It’s the hair, isn’t it? Or the blue suit. Hilariously, “hair and bright primary color suit” is also how Phoenix would describe both Apollo and Athena to anyone looking for them. The office accidentally has a theme. “That would be me, yes,” Phoenix says, turning around to come not quite face-to-face with a very tall man, with a carefully arranged gray beard and hair, and, over his vest and dress shirt, a white robe that in any other situation would scream frat party bedsheet toga. Trucy went to the Themis website last night to show him pictures of the professors so that he knew who he was looking for. “And you are Aristotle Means?”

“I am indeed.” He offers a hand and Phoenix shakes it. “It’s wonderful to finally get the chance to meet and speak with you in person.” He was the one who sent the invitation email to Phoenix. And a formal invitation letter and a pamphlet about the school and one about the mock trial and Phoenix meant to read those and has no idea what they disappeared to. 

“Thanks for the invite,” Phoenix says. “And - oh, this is Apollo Justice.” The introductions are swiftly made - “The other lawyer at our agency should be coming, too, though I’m not sure where she’s gotten off to” - their situation and desperate need of directions explained, and Professor Means offers to escort them up to the main lecture hall, which is on the third floor of this building, meaning that Phoenix and Apollo almost had it. “Thank you. I appreciate it - and for the invitation to come here to speak. I wasn’t expecting that - I’m sure there are other defense attorneys around, and alumni at that, who are…” Phoenix searches for any words at all that won’t drag himself too fiercely through the mud. Apollo is suddenly seemingly very interested on all the posters on the walls advertising school announcements and campus clubs. 

“Nonsense!” Means says brightly. “Truly, I could think of no defense attorney I would rather have to our illustrious school, and I am glad that situation has been sorted out that you may return to the courtroom. I have had my students study your cases for years, you know.”

“R-really?” Kind of flattering, kind of alarming that he had his students study up on the tactics of a disbarred lawyer. Unless they were “what not to do” kinds of lessons, in which case that’s not flattering, and also why would he invite Phoenix here, then. 

“Indeed. Your defense of Will Powers is one that I find particularly exemplary. That even while you were backed into a corner, you still managed to shift the blame well enough to buy yourself and your client further time, and another day to investigate. I have my students practice how to make effective accusations of a case’s initial witnesses, and to sound convincing even if they themselves do not believe their gambit.” Phoenix’s stomach flips over itself. Apollo really isn’t looking at him now. Means, oblivious to the tension between the two, that Phoenix hoped was going away but now is back in pained full, continues, “It is unfortunate, in truth, but is our client’s acquittal not our utmost priority? Is it not ultimately justified, what we do in pursuit of that?”

“That’s a bit of a slippery slope, don’t you think, Professor?” Apollo asks. He finally looks Phoenix in the eye, but he’s glaring at him instead, and that just makes Phoenix feel even worse. He’s supposed to give a lecture to these students; what’s he supposed to say when all they know him for is his most desperate and shadiest moments? Hell, what’s he supposed to say to Apollo once Means leaves?

“Unfortunately, if it is, then it is the prosecution who have given us our push down it.” Apollo’s frown deepens. “Consider how many of them value only victory and have their own underhanded tricks that, if we did not act, would convict our clients not on strength of evidence but simply on the prosecution’s say-so, that they demand this of the judge. We are letting our clients down if we do anything but fight their fire with our own.”

Phoenix expected him to protest further, but Apollo is strangely quiet. Maybe he’s thinking about Blackquill threatening Mayor Tenma to try and get a guilty plea, or maybe even that time that Klavier didn’t tell even his detective that the defendant could see and the witness was blind. He doesn’t mount a defense of the supposed minority of prosecutors who aren’t underhanded on behalf of his friend, at any rate. Means changes the subject and Phoenix carries on a conversation with him without his brain in it, and when they come up on the lecture hall, Phoenix has no idea what the hell they were talking about. He just wonders what Courte thought about inviting him here, considering it was her favorite student who got him disbarred. She hadn’t given any hint of animosity during their weird conversation last night. 

“If I see Professor Courte around, I will let her know that you’re here,” Means says as he leaves. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up for a while. She labors under the unfortunate curse of being habitually late.”

The size of the lecture hall reminds him of his own university days, but not the quality of the room itself, which is unfathomably better. Hell, it’s at least as nice as the courthouse, stark white marble-looking walls and shiny white desk surfaces, with a screen at every station. Students wouldn’t even have to remember to bring their laptops for lectures. The cynic in him wonders just how much this all cost, and whether they could have gotten even more nice screens and supplies if they hadn’t tried to make this hall look like a temple or museum. Wealthy alumni, he thinks again. 

“So when he said ‘curse’ there,” Apollo ventures slowly, the first thing he’s said since he asked Means that question, and Phoenix is just glad that this all hasn’t put them off speaking terms yet. “Do you think that was just a turn of phrase or - I mean, that just sounds really petty, for a curse.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself of such, rather than actually believing it.

“Petty’s what they are,” Phoenix says. “Besides, I know a guy who has a fae blessing that he can memorize any words that are written down on a page, so long as he eats the paper it was written down on. A curse that’s just chronic lateness? Might not be that far off.”

“Eats the paper?” Apollo repeats.

Phoenix sinks into one of the seats in the back row. Apollo has no idea how lucky he is that the fae in his past saw it fitting just to give him plain, unvarnished Truth. (Magnifi gave the same to Thalassa and Trucy, presumably because in the human world he thought he would need them, but what was the motivation for Apollo’s fae? Just a gift?) “Eats the paper.”

Time crawls by, with Phoenix checking the clock every few minutes, neither Courte nor Athena showing up. “I did tell Athena we’re meeting at one, right?” he asks, and Apollo, staring bored down at his phone (“Your daughter is texting in class” he said a few minutes ago) nods. “Right, because I told both of you at the same time, and you’re here.” The back of the chair is low enough that he tilts his head the whole way back to stare up at the ceiling when he tries to lean back. 

1:30 comes and goes. Apollo encourages Trucy’s bad habits of texting in class. Phoenix sinks down into the chair and props his knees up against the edge of the tables. The hall slowly starts to fill up with students and their colorful uniforms, based on what profession they aspire toward; and then with an overhead announcement telling all students and faculty to please make their way to the lecture hall, the room begins to flood. Apollo springs up out of his chair and waves to someone. “Hey, Athena!” he shouts, ignoring all of the eyes that turn toward him for his loud yell and the fact that he’s someone not dressed like a student. Athena’s probably run into a dozen people who mistake her for a classmate and asked why she isn’t wearing her uniform. 

“Apollo! Mr Wright! I am—” She doubles over, hands on her knees, to catch her breath. “So so sorry that I’m late!”

“You’re lucky that the person we’re supposed to be meeting is running even later,” Apollo says. “So you’re not the last one here.”

When Means returns, he informs them that he still has not yet seen Professor Courte this morning, and then Athena immediately launches in to badgering him for information about the school. He seems to appreciate her enthusiasm, and she for her part seems enthralled by the whole concept of Themis. And why wouldn’t she be? She doesn’t know enough to know the rot that crept under the foundation and, for all Phoenix knows, still lingers there. 

“Excuse me, Professor Means?” A small but firm voice interrupts the conversation, and Phoenix’s wandering mind. What subject had the conversation gotten to, anyway? “Forgive my interruption, but with the mock trial starting soon, and you giving the opening speech, it would be best if you went up to the balcony now to wait for when we start.”

“Ah, of course, Ms Woods,” Means says. “As organized as ever, aren’t we? I shall leave you to keep this trial running smoothly, but do introduce yourself to our guests, wouldn’t you?”

The young woman wears the black dress that marks the students of the judges’ course, and she has pinned a sunflower up in her ashy brown hair. “Of course,” she says to means, and then she turns to Phoenix. “My name is Juniper Woods. I’m a third year in the judge course and the Student Council President. Professor Means must have given you the introduction to our prestigious academy, but if there’s anything you wish to know—”

“J-Junie?” Athena gasps. “Junie, is that you?”

“Huh?” The young woman blinks in confusion, and then her dark eyes go wide and she too gasps, a hand flying up to slap over her open mouth. “Th - Athena? I barely recognized you! I didn’t know you were back from Europe.”

“I know, I know, that’s my fault, I’ve been so bad about staying in touch with people since I got back and started working and everything - I kept meaning to write!” Athena’s grin gets progressively more nervous and her babbling picks up speed. Widget can’t decide whether to settle on green, yellow, or blue. She clasps her hands together tightly. “I didn’t realize you’d for-sure decided to study law! And such a prestigious school, too!” She casts an admiring glance around the hall. 

“So,” Phoenix asks when Juniper doesn’t respond and instead continues to stare ahead, not at Athena but somewhere between Apollo and Phoenix, in blank shock, “old friends?”

Athena nods, her hair swinging about wildly with her enthusiasm. “We knew each other when we were kids! We were best friends, right, Junie?”

Juniper has nowhere near Athena’s energy, or apparent glee. Maybe it’s still her surprise, or maybe it’s some sort of embarrassment, or maybe it’s - whatever, but all the same, a pang of sympathy shoots through Phoenix’s heart. A long-lost childhood best friend who’s much more reluctant to pick up the relationship again. Poor Athena. Juniper isn’t even looking at her, and has turned her eyes toward the floor now. “Yes. We lived close by each other, and used to play in the forest together.”

Maybe she just likes plants, and nature, with the sunflower in her hair, running around in the forest as a child. Not everyone grew up right in the city. It’s possible for that to be an innocuous statement. Some people actually just have yards and trees in them, Phoenix, he tells himself, failing to convince himself. Because on the other hand, she’s an old friend of Athena’s, and she’s studying law and there’s that old joke about that, and Phoenix can say it all he wants, my kingdom for one normal kid, for one other person besides Ema in our ever-expanding social circles to be relatively normal, relatively unaffected by fae bullshit—

And Juniper’s not looking at anyone, and Athena and Apollo are looking at Juniper, so Phoenix can cast a quick glance over her.

He closes his eyes to reset himself to regular vision, and to ask himself if there’s such a thing as fate or destiny that drives them all together like this, or whether Edgeworth is wrong every time that he says most people in the greater Los Angeles area are maybe a little more superstitious than most but otherwise unremarkable and unmagicial. Because he claims that, and then Phoenix meets someone else, just by chance, and no, no, they’re at least somewhat fae-adjacant too. To hell with it all.

Also, her name is Juniper Woods, which, come on. That’s a very fae-trying-to-figure-out-how-to-name-someone-like-humans-name-humans name.

“I’m afraid that we only have the one seat reserved for Mr Wright in the mock trial, and otherwise, you should wait in the lobby down on the first floor,” Juniper is saying. She seems much more comfortable and self-assured when they’ve switched back to talking about the organizational details of the day. “It is a part of our curriculum, after all, and we need the space for all of our students.”

“Oh,” Apollo says. “Darn. I wanted to see what the mock trial was all about.”

“I’ll trade you,” Phoenix says. “You can take my seat, and I’ll go wait for Professor Courte still, with Athena.”

“But I want to watch the mock trial too!” Athena protests.

“Sorry kiddo, but Apollo got first dibs, and he’s got seniority on you, too.”

Athena groans. She doesn’t try to engage Juniper in conversation again, either, when she escorts the two of them downstairs. Juniper leaves them in the lobby there, as stark white and like a Greek temple as the rest of this building has been, but there are a few nice couches and some wide windows that let in enough natural light. Phoenix sinks down into a couch, even though it reminds him a bit of the courthouse lobby couches and he has an official long-standing rule against those. Athena would hopefully stop someone who tried to beat his head in with a fire extinguisher. 

But he needs to take the time to figure out what he could possibly say in a lecture, that won’t make him sound morally bankrupt or like an idiot who only wins by lucky bluffs. And maybe he is, but he doesn’t need to encourage the legal system to fill up with more people like that, especially not if Means is already doing so. He closes his eyes. What are the most important things that Mia taught him? What has he noticed Apollo and Athena have trouble with - what parts of defending has he watched them learn on the fly, because it can only be learned in a courtroom? He could talk about body language; he’s not Apollo or Trucy or Thalassa, but he’s pretty good at that.

Or, hell, what are the biggest mistakes he’s made over his career? What could someone have said to prevent those? Don’t trust evidence given to you by strange girls in top hats, except if Apollo had heeded that then Phoenix wouldn’t be here. Always check what’s written on the back of your evidence. Someone who seems too weird to be human might still be human but you should always watch the way you phrase your statements anyway. He’s going to sound like a paranoid morally bankrupt bluffing idiot. And again, maybe he is, but that’s not something he wants to encourage. Is it paranoia if it’s justified fear? Is the terror that he’s instilled Apollo with something that will help or hurt him in the long run? Or the short run.

Something loudly shatters. Athena yelps. “What did you break?” Phoenix asks, opening his eyes, expecting to find Athena frantically attempting to hide the pieces of some broken Themis decor that costs more than anything in the Agency because appearances might be important but Phoenix hasn’t ever been secure enough in the amount of clients he has to spend a thousand dollars on an easily-breakable light stand, Mia. 

“It wasn’t me!” Athena protests. She stands in the middle of the lobby, staring all around, and there’s nothing broken in Phoenix’s line of sight, so with a yawn he swings his feet down from the couch. “I think it came from outside.”

“Guess we should go take a look,” Phoenix says. “Everyone else on campus is supposed to be in that lecture hall right now.” Maybe it’s Professor Courte, wherever she got off to.

Outside, Athena swivels her head around like an owl, trying to judge where that sound earlier came from. “Maybe over there?” she suggests, pointing across a stretch of green to, further along the side of the main building, a stage set up with a line of spotlights and giant speakers along the scaffolding. As they approach, Phoenix sees that the stage is set up like a courtroom, with two benches on either side, a judge’s podium looming high in the back, and a witness stand in the center. Just like apparently everything else at Themis, they are all designed to look like they’re made from white marble, and trimmed with gold. The whole school balances precariously on the line between classy and pretentious. “Do you think they’re having some sort of concert here?” Athena asks.

With Prosecutor Gavin around, it wouldn’t surprise him. There’s something lying on the stage behind the witness stand, something green. “Athena, what’s that there?”

They hurry closer to the stage and up the stairs on the side, close enough that Phoenix can see the woman lying on the stage, in a green track suit, her hair fanned out across the ground, a dark bloodstain spreading out across her white shirt from the arrow jammed in her side. Athena screams. Phoenix has been here too many times before. “Athena,” he says, turning to her, watching her face pale and go slack, “call the police.”

She nods silently, fumbling the phone from her pocket and dropping it to the stage; her hands are shaking when she picks it back up, and she casts one last glance at Courte before she turns her back on the scene. Phoenix kneels, finding no pulse in Courte’s neck. Her skin is cold. Already dead - already gone. Athena’s voice shakes, but all considered, she does a good job at relaying the necessary information and sticking only to that. “I’ll run and go tell everyone in the lecture hall, too,” she says, tucking her phone back into her pocket. 

“Wait.” Athena stops with one foot raised. “Don’t. They’ll find out as soon as the police get here. We might as well do some investigating now, before anyone else gets here.” Who knows what sway someone at this school might have with the police, whether that someone is the murderer or just wants the incident buried for the sake of the academy’s good name. If they know what the crime scene looks like now, they’ll know if it was tampered with later. 

“Are we allowed to do that?” Athena asks. Her eyes turn back down to the body and then she looks away, pressing her lips tight together and swallowing hard.

“We’ll make sure to leave everything just like we found it,” Phoenix says, picking up the little notebook lying next to Courte’s body and paging through it. A planner, with a sword emblem on the front cover and every page. Under today’s date, she lists mock trial preparation in the morning, the meeting with Phoenix at 1:00, and the start of the mock trial an hour later. No hint as to who she may have interacted with in any of that span of time. Her limbs have begun to stiffen, so it definitely wasn’t recent. “But considering—”

Considering the rot inside this institution. Does Athena need to know that? Is it going to help her solve the case if she does?

“Considering?”

There’s no reason to dump all the rumors and past troubles of Themis on her now. It might not even be relevant, and Phoenix can keep his eyes out, with that in mind. Athena is still standing at a distance, her hands to her mouth, her eyes big and fearful. “C’mon,” he says. “Deep breaths, and take a look at this and tell me what you see.” She, unfortunately, has to get used to this if this is the career she wants to stick with; there’s nothing like dropping right into the deep end for acclimating to it, and Apollo saw a man die within his first month of working at the Agency, so Athena’s got a lot of catching up to do.

-

The murder is just like the mock trial. The body’s location, the lack of blood suggesting that it was moved, the murder weapon - just like the mock trial. Apollo’s head is buzzing, or maybe that’s Athena in his ear, seemingly more indignant about the school newspaper she found than the actual murder. “—and Junie would never lead guys on like that! ‘Battle for the she-devil’s black heart’! This is slander!”

“It sounds like tabloid trash,” Apollo says. Campus newspaper standards sound like they’ve really fallen since he was in school. 

“Ugh, I know,” Athena says. “That’s what Mr Wright said.” Compared to the explosive reaction when the police arrived and put a halt to the mock trial, campus is eerily quiet now, as the police have begun to send away most of the student they believe could not have been involved. Apollo wonders how they could have alibis for the time the body was moved - there was some sort of check-in or attendance taken of students at the mock trial, given that it is part of their curriculum, after all. 

Apollo stuck around while Phoenix and Athena were questioned, and now Phoenix has gone off elsewhere and set them loose. Athena wanted to go find Juniper. Apollo really hopes she’s not going to bother her more about this damn school newspaper. “But it was talking about the two competitors in the mock trial being rivals for her affection. You saw the mock trial, Apollo. What were they like? Were they any good at being lawyers? Were they better than me?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like you think they’re rivals,” Apollo says, pushing open the door of the stairwell to let them out on the third floor, back to the lecture hall; if Juniper is anywhere, it’s probably here. “Your rivals,” he amends, because Athena doesn’t look like she gets it. “For Juniper’s attention.”

“Well, isn’t everyone at least a little in love with their best friend?” Athena asks.

Apollo snorts. “My best friend is insufferable,” he says. Which doesn’t necessarily refute Athena’s point, given that someone else in Apollo’s life who is also insufferable is Prosecutor Gavin, and that - that’s a road Apollo’s not going to go down. Not that they’re actually friends. But the half of that. The insufferable part—

“So?” Athena prompts. “So what’s your point? So whenever I meet him don’t say things like that, because then he’d be more insufferable?”

“Sure,” Apollo says. Might as well go with that answer. He pushes open the lecture hall doors and looks out over the large hall. Almost empty now, he spots Juniper sitting in the bottom row, and two other students, one in the red uniform and one in blue - they might even be the same two guys from the mock trial - standing by one of the benches, talking among themselves.

“Because being insufferable doesn’t rule out—” Juniper glances up at the door opening, and then she stands, smoothing down her skirt, and Athena hurries down the stairs to meet her, abandoning the current thought. “Junie! Are you all right? I was worried that—”

“I’m all right,” Juniper says, a little stiffly, and Apollo can’t decide which of the two girls he feels worse for. Athena, whose eagerness to reunite with an old friend keeps being rebuffed, or Juniper, whose body language screams uncomfortable with her every action. “I have to be. I’m Student Council President, and representative of the school, after all. I need to keep myself together, and act properly, for the sake of the school and my classmates.”

Athena nods, more in a way like she’s acknowledging what Juniper is saying rather than agreeing with it. Her fingers flutter toward Widget. “Um, I hate to ask this of you, especially right now, but could you tell us anything about Professor Courte?”

Juniper sounds like she greatly admired the professor - her professor, considering that she’s one of the judge course students. She coughs a few times as she’s talking; Apollo figures she’s just got a cold from working too hard - this might be a high school, but Apollo remembers college, and this seems more like college - but Athena appears incredibly alarmed, and she keeps restlessly shifting her posture, unsure of what to do. Maybe Juniper wasn’t in great health when they were younger? Whether it’s either of them steering the conversation, or just the way it happens to go, Juniper moves on to telling them about the mock trial. She wrote the script that outlines the initial scenario and the evidence involved, and she and Courte were the only two involved in putting it together.

As she explains, her two fellow students finally finish whatever conversation they were having and approach to join her. Hugh is a smarmy and rude budding defense attorney who has high opinions of only himself and Juniper; Robin is a very excitable prosecutorial student whose voice cracks when he yells too loudly and he carries a lump of clay around in his pocket to fiddle with and smush back up whenever its shape becomes unsatisfactory. Athena cheerily introduces herself, and then as soon as the two boys are looking at Juniper, she turns, aghast, to Apollo, undiluted panic written across her features. Horrified by her best friend’s apparent taste in guys? (Apollo can sympathize. The best taste Clay has ever had is his low-key celebrity crush on Klavier, and Apollo’s not gonna get into that.)

They do seem to genuinely like Juniper, though, or at least they can’t stop talking her up - once they’re done arguing about which of the two of them was closer to winning the mock trial, vowing to beat the holy hell out of each other, and then assuring Athena that they won’t actually be beating the holy hell out of each other, because they’re all best friends and have certifiable proof of that. (Athena gets a strange expression on her face when they say that. Maybe she hears something in their voices, or maybe it’s just hitting her that her long-lost old friend has new friends in her life, people who have their own in-jokes and secrets shared with her. It would be like Nahyuta meeting Clay, and that thought makes Apollo feel very strange, too.)

But besides their appreciation for her mock trial script, and her acting as the defendant in said mock trial, she is - or was supposed to, before this happened - singing in a concert for the school festival. “It was supposed to be later today,” Juniper says, ducking her head. “I’m only singing because most everyone else was too embarrassed to try out…”

“But still!” Athena has joined what’s now a triangle of people gushing over Juniper. “The stage outside, right? My Junie singing in front of a crowd - that’s incredible! You’ll be amazing!”

“Ah - th-thanks.” The poor girl is definitely uncomfortable with all of the attention now. “I made my own costume for the performance,” she adds. “I was still working on it this morning.” She takes her phone from her pocket and Athena eagerly leans in to see. Apollo rests an elbow on her head to push her out of the way enough that he can see without crowding Juniper’s personal space. “I based it on the outfit of a singer I really love—”

“Lamiroir?” Apollo didn’t mean to interrupt so loudly, but he recognizes that ruffled white dress and the beautiful blue cloak; he would remember it even if the brooch on her costume hadn’t come into contention as a piece of evidence.

Juniper almost whacks her head on Athena’s when she raises it. “You know Lamiroir?” she asks, and Apollo almost laughs, because he knows she wouldn’t think to mean it like that, but he does know Lamiroir, as in, met her, multiple conversations with her, cross-examined her.

“She’s an amazing singer, isn’t she?” Apollo says, and Juniper nods in eager agreement. He can’t actually listen to much of her music all at once, though. Something about it makes him homesick for somewhere, and he’s not really sure where - it isn’t Khura’in, exactly - but it always leaves him melancholy at best. And while Lamiroir’s songs are beautiful, none of them are what he would call upbeat, and that doesn’t help either.

“She’s incredible,” Juniper says, her words turning into a sigh of admiration. “I was so excited to hear that she was coming here for a tour last year, even if she wasn’t the main act, and then I couldn’t make it—”

“You didn’t really miss much,” Apollo says. “Since she only sang one song, and then there was the murder.”

“Huh?” Athena asks. Hugh and Robin don’t exactly appear to be in-the-know either.

“Were you at the concert?” Juniper asks. “Wait,” she adds, before he can answer, and she finally seems to have a little more energy than she did before, and to be relaxing her formality, even just a little. “Your name - you’re Apollo Justice. Didn’t you defend Machi Tobaye?”

“Er - yeah.” What’s this weird feeling - being acknowledged? Being recognized? Weird. “That was me.”

“Now you’re really gonna have to catch me up on what that case was about.” Athena interrupts with some force, sounding more than anything like a petulant child. Though she also has to be feeling bitterly left out, finding Apollo suddenly pulled into this group of people who have some connection to her old friend that she doesn’t. “Whenever we have time to talk about old cases. Whenever this case is dealt with.”

Maybe that was a bad thing to say. Maybe that cursed them, cursed the investigation to be suddenly kickstarted in the worst way. Maybe that’s a ridiculous thought, and it’s just unfortunate, unlucky timing, that at that moment, Detective Fulbright enters, trailed by a few officers. “Hello, my lawyer friends! Long time, no see, though I’m afraid we’ve no time now to catch up - Juniper Woods, you’re under arrest for the murder of Constance Courte!”

Athena shrieks louder than Robin, and both of them are louder than Juniper, who blanches and then goes a little sickly green, her hands over her mouth as another bout of frantic coughing escapes her lips. It’s not Juniper who Fulbright has to argue the reason for arrest with - it’s Athena, Athena demanding the evidence, the motive, why why why, and when Fulbright tells her everything he can he adds that Prosecutor Blackquill won’t let him say any more, Apollo’s stomach drops through the floor. “Blackquill?” Athena repeats indignantly. “Prosecutor Blackquill is the one—”

“Indeed!” Does Fulbright have any idea how terrifying the man actually is? Or is his casual attitude only feigned. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do, and we must be going. Come along now, miss.” Two officers flank Juniper, escorting her up the stairs to the doors, one of them holding the mock trial evidence that she still had in her pocket. 

“Hold it!” Athena cries. “Hold it, hold it!” Fulbright stops, and so do the other officers, but Juniper doesn’t look back at Athena. “It’s not her! I won’t believe that! Junie! I’m going to defend you! I promise I’ll get you freed!”

At that, Juniper turns her head. She still looks green and pale, and tears flow freely down her cheeks, but a smile crosses her face, the first one that Apollo has seen her give. “Th-thank you, Thena.”

“Have you ever actually defended a case before?” Fulbright pushes his sunglasses back up his nose, from where they had slid down as he gave Athena a disbelieving look. “As more than the assistant, I mean. You’re pretty new to this, aren’t you?”

“I’ll help,” Apollo interrupts. Can’t let Athena start to second-guess herself now, especially not with her friend the defendant, and likely in desperate need of reassurance, at that. “I’ll be right here with you, Athena, for the whole case.”

“You don’t need to worry about a thing, Junie!” Athena calls after her, and between coughs, in her tiny voice, she thanks them again, and then she, and the other officers and Fulbright, are gone, and the door closes on the silent hall. 

The first person to make a sound is Hugh, with a derisive snort. “Please. Like rank amateurs are going to be able to handle this case. I’ll get this solved and have it under control for Juniper’s sake.” He turns, hands still in his pockets, and stalks toward the doors behind one of the mock trial benches.

“You don’t even have a badge!” Athena shouts after him. “And I do, you smug little—”

Whatever her particular choice of insult would be, she is drowned out by Robin, also yelling after Hugh, and then running after him. “Totally rude, man! And I’m in this too, don’t you forget it! I’m gonna save Juniper!”

Athena places her hands over her ears and leaves them there a moment, until both of them are also gone, and silence returned to the hall. Just the two of them now, in over their heads with another case and client. “The mock trial,” Athena says finally. “You said that it was all kind of like the real murder?”

“It was almost exactly like what we know of the real murder,” Apollo says. “The body probably having been moved to the crime scene, the arrow as the weapon, the - the stage wasn’t set up yet in their mock crime scene photo, but—” Is he missing a detail? He’s still pretty sure he’s missing something. Rope, was there a rope? No, he’s just assuming because of the bruising on the victim’s wrists in the real crime scene. “I’m going to start scrambling the two in a minute. I wish you’d seen the mock trial, too, or we had a script, so then we’d be sure we’ve got all the details right.” Fulbright mentioned the script, so it’s probably part of police evidence now, and way out of their hands. And by the time they’ll be able to talk to Juniper again, she’ll have gone through questioning by Prosecutor Blackquill and who knows what state that traumatic event will leave her memories in. “It’s not like I took notes on the mock trial or anything.”

Who could have thought it would be this direly important?

Now that everyone else is gone, Athena’s bold, decisive confidence is falling apart, and her shoulders slump, almost like she’s deflating. “We’ll write down what we know for sure and then come back to this later,” Apollo says. This is Athena’s case, and she’s going to need to take charge, but he’ll give her a few moments longer to come to grips with their situation. “Then we’ll need to—”

“Or, Herr Forehead, we could just take a look at the script now, ja?”

Apollo nearly smacks him in the face. It’s not Apollo’s fault, really, because Klavier could have given him warning, and how was Apollo - how were Apollo’s reflexes - supposed to guess that he was right behind him? It’s Klavier’s fault for putting himself right in arm’s range of a startled defense attorney and deliberately startling him. He’s got no reason to look so offended that Apollo nearly hit him. 

“Prosecutor Gavin! What are you doing here? And how did you—”

He remembers that Klavier attended Themis when he was younger, yes, and he’d wondered if along with Phoenix, there had been a prosecutor invited to lecture, just for equity - but that doesn’t explain why he’s here in the lecture hall, and in his hand, a professionally-bound booklet that, on the front, reads submission by Juniper Woods. “Is that the script? How did you get that?”

Klavier winks. “I just so happened to borrow it for you, Herr Forehead. And not even a word of thanks?” 

“So you aren’t supposed to have it. Just to clarify.” Apollo glances around the hall, knowing he won’t be surprised if he spots a certain faery dog in the vicinity. If Vongole picked up something and ran off with it, would the ordinary person just see a floating object, or does what the invisible-to-most hound picks up turn invisible with her, too? 

“Ah, I’m sure we’ll get it back before it’s noticed to be missing,” he says. Definitely stolen, but maybe he took it himself, ghosting in and out of wherever the police have their evidence piled up.

“So is anyone going to introduce me, or are you just gonna leave me hanging?” Poor Athena, left out of the loop again. “I guess you know this guy, Apollo?”

“Why hello there, Fräulein. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” And there goes Klavier turning on all the rock-star charm, a brilliant smile and his accent falling on thick. “I believe I would remember your face.” Apollo rolls his eyes. Typical Gavin. Athena doesn’t seem entirely taken with him, yet, but she’s definitely relaxing from her earlier frantic nervousness. “My name is Klavier Gavin. I’m a prosecutor, though I was rather more famous for my band, the Gavinners. Regrettably the band went, ah, kaput, last year, but I was the lead localist. Perhaps you heard of us.”

“Gavineers,” Athena repeats. “No, sorry, don’t know it.” She pauses for a moment, considering something that Apollo expects to be smarter than what she actually says. “Can I have your autograph anyway?”

Klavier laughs. 

“No, Athena, don’t encourage him. His ego’s already the size of Jupiter.”

“Ach, jealously hardly becomes you, Herr Forehead. And you’ve no reason to be - you’re the one always being trailed by the lovely Fräuleins, ja?”

“She’s the new lawyer at the Agency,” Apollo says irritably. It really is so much easier to like Klavier with no one else around, no one he’s putting on a show for, putting up this facade. It feels - almost dishonest, and like Apollo’s talking to someone entirely different than the man he knows, or thinks he knows. And it doesn’t surprise him that he’s currently dealing with this version of Klavier, especially because they’ve already failed this month to deal with the elephant on the calendar. It’s been a year since they watched Kristoph break down into the changeling shadow of himself, and a year since Klaver told Apollo everything there was to know about him and his brother - and Apollo texted him about it, earlier in October, and Klavier refused to engage. Threw up a stone wall and Apollo has no idea why he’s so much less willing to talk than he was in April. Now they’re face to face and Klavier’s just playing the vapid Eurorock flirt, and Apollo can’t even wring his goddamn neck because he has a case to deal with instead.

“I’m Athena Cykes! Nice to meet you!” She extends a hand and Klavier slaps the mock trial script into her palm instead. He does give her a little bow of his head, saving her from looking too off-put, and she turns her attention to the script. “So this is Junie’s script?” she says. “The one the actual crime is like.”

“I figure we could give it a little mockup of our own,” Klavier says, sweeping a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. “With myself as the prosecution, of course, Herr Forehead as the defense, and you, Fräulein, to fill in as both judge and defendant.”

“So like a mock mock trial,” Athena says. “All right! I’m ready to go!” She flips open the script and starts paging through it. “Let’s see, what do we have for evidence…?”

“And you, Herr Forehead? Ready to rock?”

“No,” Apollo says. “Why can’t we just, you know, look at the mock trial script and just read it?”

“Ach, but where is the flair? The drama? To the bench with you!” He plants his hand in Apollo’s back and shoves him off toward one of the mock trial benches. Athena has already taken her place at the witness stand, her nose in the script book.

“You are insufferable,” Apollo mutters, and he regrets saying it - or that specific choice of word, or using that word earlier because that’s more how he tends to describe Klavier, not Clay - because Klavier doesn’t seem to hear him, and Athena’s head snaps up and she shoots him a look, and then tosses another pointed one in Klavier’s direction. Apollo shrugs. Athena’s not the one that reads body language. If he doesn’t say anything she can’t hear anything. She flips to the next page of the script and pulls a few photographs out from where they were wedged.

“Achtung, baby! Let’s rock!”

-

The murder is really, really just like the mock trial. The body was moved from the location of the murder (the art room in the mock trial, currently unknown in the real case) down to the quad (just the stretch of ground in the mock trial, on the stage set up in the real case), where it was found with an arrow in its side. The athletics storehouse lies around the side of the main building, near the art room window, and contains heavily padded high jump mats and ball carts, which would allow the body to be tossed out the window without showing signs of trauma and easily moved. The real murder weapon wasn’t decided in the mock trial - it wasn’t the arrow, Robin argued, and the mock autopsy report agreed - but Klavier suggests it’s an awl from the art room. The mock trial script has several photos packaged with it, including the awl, the one Juniper had in her pocket.

“I hope that was just paint on it,” Athena says, pressing her lips together. “It’s scary how similar this is.”

“It can’t be a coincidence,” Apollo says. He believes in coincidence, but not to this extent. “I guess we should investigate the art room.”

“I’ve got to sneak that script back, so I might as well check up on whether the police have gotten to that.” Klavier leans onto the bench, propping up his head on one hand. “What’s your next move, Fräulein and Forehead?”

“Wait, wait, hold up!” Athena yelps. “I need to finish scanning the script! I want to have a copy of the whole thing!” She has laid it out flat on the stand, and Widget is lit up, recording everything in front of it and projecting a screen to the side, where she is checking her photos of each page to be sure they are readable. “And then we’ll - we’ll - Apollo, what should we do next?”

“Start by interviewing everyone who might be related to the case,” he says. “Hugh, Robin, definitely - Mr Wright might be able to tell us if Professor Means has anything to say - and we’ll ask around to see if there are any other witnesses.”

Athena nods vigorously, and as she continues her work with the script she bounces on her feet with nervous energy that once again collects within her, the tension in her shoulders and the deeper furrow of her brow, anxious to get moving again. It might be a miracle if she finishes her task with the script without bolting off and chasing the need to feel like they’re making tangible progress. Klavier at the other bench has gone silent, and now that Apollo thinks to look, takes a wide glance around the hall, he spots Vongole stalking about the edges of the room, the way she did in the courtroom a year ago, circling silently and ceaselessly. Could Athena see her? Apollo doesn’t know what the pattern is for who can and can’t, and he isn’t sure he wants to.

Instead of a lot of things he could say, he goes over to the other bench and says, “You’re in an awfully helpful mood today.”

“Am I not supposed to be? Shall I keep all of my information to myself, though I am not the prosecutor, and this not my case?” He straightens up. “We have the same goal, ja? To find the truth of who killed the professor.” 

Is that the goal of a defense attorney? The truth, or to save their client? Is that the goal of a prosecutor? The truth, or to get justice for those wronged? Should all of those be the same thing? “Did you know Professor Courte?” Apollo asks. Athena closes the script book but doesn’t move. Her intent stare, and her head tilting this way and that like an owl, tells him she’s not just waiting for the answer, but waiting to analyze it.

There is a moment after the question when Klavier slips, when even his powers of glamour don’t hold up, and actual, real, emotion finds its way across his face. He looks exhausted, he looks distraught, and Apollo has barely a moment to take it in, to process that pain, before it is gone, smoothed over and replaced by Klavier’s neutral expression. And more than neutral - more like he’s ratcheted the glamour up a few more notches, bright and gold and hard to tear his eyes off of Klavier’s face, but impossible to get even a glimpse of the actual person and feelings behind it. “Ja, I knew her. She taught the judges’ course, but she made some of her classes available to all students, and I was fortunate enough to be able to take some with her before I went to study abroad.”

Athena’s eyes narrow into a suspicious squint. So what she’s hearing is definitely more than yeah, took a couple classes from her a decade ago. Apollo guessed as much. He remembers Klavier talking about Themis, about a professor he had there, one who if not knew what he was and what the fae had done to him, had guessed by knowing enough about the fae to notice his horrible high-sodium dietary habits. Apollo opens his mouth to mention that. 

Whether Klavier notices that, or notices Athena’s expression, or was just steeling himself for a second and always intended to keep talking, he adds, “She was a brilliant woman. Always concerned with truth and fairness and the proper means to an end, and determined to dig out corruption wherever it could be found. I’ve rarely known a more honest person, or a better one. I had not seen her for quite a while and had expected to speak with her again as I came back here. And now…”

Athena’s face falls. She raises a hand to brush aside her bangs and surreptitiously wipe her eyes. “So,” Klavier continues tersely. “I have as much reason as you to want to be sure that we find her real killer, ja?”

What to say to that? I’m sorry is hollow as it ever is, and the best Apollo can do - the only thing he can ever do - is to investigate, find the truth, expose the murderer. He and Athena should get moving again, but he doesn’t quite want to just leave Klavier alone now either. Not with the grief that keeps flickering across his face, a different kind of grief than before: Kristoph and Dayran were murderers. Professor Courte was murdered. 

“Were you going to be giving a lecture like Mr Wright was, too?” Athena asks, offering the script book back to him. 

Klavier takes it and idly thumbs through the pages, stopping on a photograph stuck between two middle pages, of Professor Courte lying in the dirt holding an arrow to her side, posing as the mock trial corpse. “Ja, and a concert as well. You saw the stage outside? That was to be for a bit of a reunion performance of the Gavinners, just this once, one last time.”

“Really?” Apollo asks. “I didn’t expect you’d just—”

He and Klavier never spoke about the band, the break-up, and Apollo had just assumed what it was about. No replacing Daryan, and then, after Kristoph, Klavier reevaluating everything, re-prioritizing, figuring out who was Klavier Gavin, and what was he, prosecutor or rock star? Or something like a crisis of faith. Of identity, though honestly, given what he knows, he thinks Klavier can’t really afford to get hung up on identity crises because that’s his whole life.

“Ja, well, the school asked, and suggested having a student representative up to sing one song, and at that point I could hardly refuse someone the grand opportunity to get up on stage there with me, could I?”

He winks, leaving Apollo more the fool to have expected something meaningful from him. “Oh! That was going to be Junie, right?” Athena asks. “Had you met her before? She’s a real sweetheart! She would never kill anyone!”

“We exchanged a few emails discussing song selection and other such things, but I am hardly the man to determine whether she did what she is accused of.” Klavier waves a hand, feigning a casual dismissal of Athena’s statement, when his own response is, knowing his history, anything but casual. Athena’s face darkens, but she perks up a moment later as he continues, “As I am neither prosecution today, nor ever the defense, I will refrain from judgment, and simply do my best to help you find the truth. That is an acceptable agreement to us, ja?”

“Ja! Danke! Whatever help you can give us would be fantastic!” Athena says brightly. “Thank you so much!”

Klavier grins back at her. First meeting of the Themis German Language Social Club, call to order. One day they’re going to need someone who knows Khura’inese and then they’ll all be sorry. (Ha. As if.)  “Best we all get back to investigating, but I won’t say goodbye, as I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again. Bis Später! Herr Forehead, Fraulein.”

Vongole follows him up the stairs out of the lecture hall, close at his heels, confirming for certain that Athena can’t see the fae dog. “Au revoir!” Athena calls after him, and even still down on the floor, Apollo hears Klavier’s laugh. 

“Huh, German sounds different than I remember,” Apollo says.

“Always the critic,” Athena says. “Prosecutor Gavin seems like a pretty good guy. Really friendly. It’s kind of nice, to be reminded that’s possible - I mean, I know, like Mr Wright and Prosecutor Edgeworth, and Prosecutor Debeste was very friendly too, but—”

“And then we’re against Prosecutor Blackquill for this case.”

Athena sighs. “And then,” she echoes, wearily, crossing her arms, “there’s Prosecutor Blackquill.”

-

“I’m afraid, by orders of Prosecutor Blackquill, that no one not affiliated with the police’s official investigation is allowed in here right now!”

Fulbright’s broad shoulders block off almost all of the doorway of the main building’s third-floor art room. Behind him, Phoenix gets a glimpse of some colorful mobiles hanging from the ceiling, several officers bustling about between easels, and, very likely not affiliated with the police’s official investigation, Prosecutor Gavin. Frozen with wide eyes, he stares at Phoenix, and then as an officer passes by barely an inch from him, he hops to the side, landing on one foot and bouncing to the other, deftly maneuvering himself between people who have no idea he is in their midst. “So Blackquill is the prosecutor on this case?” Phoenix asks, and it takes all of his years of practice to keep a straight face with Klavier, over Fulbright’s shoulder, making a slashing motion across his throat. Definitely not supposed to be there.

“I am here, am I not?” Fulbright asks. “Prosecutor Blackquill and I are a team! Which is to say yes, he will be prosecuting!”

Does Blackquill consider them equally a team? Somehow Phoenix doubts it. Though, all considered, the detective seems to like Blackquill well enough, which makes him someone Phoenix should try and talk to. He’s only going to learn so much about Blackquill from facing him in court, or talking to Edgeworth. What of the detective who has to be his eyes, ears, and hands on the crime scene?

(Although, as far as eyes are concerned, Phoenix tries to peer at the window to see if, by chance, there might be a hawk sitting on the outside sill.)

“I thought the crime scene was down at the stage,” Phoenix lies. The lack of blood beneath Courte’s body refutes that suggestion. “What are so many officers doing up here?”

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to say,” Fulbright says. That’s a pretty good hint that they think this is a place of interest, and that they’re looking at it as, possibly, the real scene of the murder. “If you would, Mr Lawyer, please leave us to our work.”

“All right,” Phoenix says, catching Klavier’s eye. Kid still looks like he thinks the eye contact is a preamble to being hit by a train. “I’ll just be heading out that way.” He tosses his head back down the hall and with that, does as he is asked and leaves, and immediately after turning the corner he parks himself there and leans up against the wall. Just out of sight, but the stairs and elevators both lie beyond him, so anyone leaving or going to the art room passes right by him. And he waits there with his magatama burning a hole in his pocket, metaphorically; if it ever does anything, it gets cold, like ice against his skin that will never melt with his body heat. 

The minutes tick past, and then, finally, the hellhound rounds the corner first, tall, tall as Phoenix has ever seen her, but still wispy, barely corporeal, head held low yet almost eye-to-eye with Phoenix, her empty red ones and his blue. Klavier follows a moment later, all gleaming shining gold like the sun shines only on him, like different light illuminates him than the overhead fluorescence of the academy hallway. Funny, how Thalassa looks like dusk, a rich blue and starlit night, while it’s the daylight that glows out from under Klavier’s skin. The same, and not at all; two sides of the sky, and the magic in the very air of the Twilight Realm soaked through them to make them so.

But Klavier’s eyes still gleam that haunted blue that says every way he turns his head, he expects to see fae, or just fears that he will. Balanced on a knife’s edge between paranoid and justifiably so. “What’s the word in there?” Phoenix asks.

When he stops looking with the Sight, everything about Klavier goes dark, dull, desaturated, gray and tired. Lines under his eyes like he hasn’t slept well in weeks, and the color sapped from his face by that same exhaustion, he’s two different people when the magatama cuts through the bright glamour that a changed child effortlessly breathes. A star, and the black hole it left when it burnt out.

“They think it’s the location that the murder actually took place,” Klavier answers. “Luminol reactions detected traces of blood on the floor that was wiped away. The suspect’s script also had the art room as the most likely scene of the crime, so they are only further convinced of her guilt.”

“Planning out a murder in advance so well that it gets chosen as a mock trial case.” Phoenix shakes his head. “Hell of an argument the prosecution is making. But that’s good to have confirmed for sure. Any talk about a motive?”

“None that I heard.”

“Not that they’ll necessarily need a motive, with this other evidence looking like it does,” Phoenix muses, “but Prosecutor Blackquill will probably figure out something anyway. I wonder what Ms Woods’ grades look like. She’s probably a smart kid” - her script was the one chosen, and she’s Student Council president too - “but that’s the first place I’d look if I was trying to figure—”

“How can you do this?” Klavier asks. 

“What?”

“Just stand here and - and talk to me like nothing happened! I ruined your life!”

“Is that what you think happened?” A year ago, the only time they’ve seen each other since that unfortunate, life-changing trial, even with Vera, Trucy, and Apollo around as a buffer, Klavier still ran from him. Phoenix knows that this is exactly what Klavier thinks. Guilt wouldn’t have him running and hiding otherwise. “I don’t think the truth of that matter is as clear-cut as that.”

“Don’t—”

“If I held a grudge against everyone who inadvertently, or with good intent, helped a bad actor’s ploy to ruin my life, I wouldn’t have any damn friends left,” Phoenix interrupts. Maybe that’s an exaggeration. He would still have Larry and Maya - but Edgeworth? Pearls? Iris? Vera? Trucy? For Redd White, Morgan, Dahlia, Kristoph, their hands on the strings, knowing how to play a perfect prosecutor or a family member against their latest target. 

(And Kristoph and Dahlia may be too alike, poison and betrayal and petty pride and a devil’s horns, but Iris knew exactly what her sister was. Iris consciously chose to help her manipulate and lie because she wanted to stop her from killing anyone else but didn’t want to see her caught for her crimes. She was a well-intentioned accomplice who knew exactly what she was doing to help her sister. Klavier had no idea. Phoenix would be a damn hypocrite to forgive one and not the other.)

“Don’t - don’t patronize me, just because I’m not one of your little band who can see lies.”

Phoenix swallows, forcing down a strange and foreign anger that bubbles up from his stomach. Is it because he’s hearing someone else’s voice when Klavier speaks, someone they’re both conspicuously avoiding mention of. “Dammit, Gavin, I’m not. Look at me” - he motions to his chest, to the cursed necklace mark imprinted around the base of his neck, that he knows Klavier can See with his marked eyes - “and tell me that your brother was the first person to hate me enough to not care who becomes collateral and who gets used!” He drops his hands to his sides and they smack against his legs. “I’ve been here before, and I’m not lying to you, and I don’t hate you or blame you.”

“You don’t hate me,” Klavier repeats, his voice dead and dry and wholly accentless. Does he do that on purpose? Or is it an accident that it slips, that he sounds just like - like him. “You don’t hate me, of course you don’t, I’m to believe that, yes? Then do you always carry that magatama with you?” He tilts his head; his eyes don’t waver from that grayer shade of blue. “Or that’s just something you happened to grab knowing that I would be around.” He leans forward a few inches so that he’s closer to looking Phoenix in the eye. “Couldn’t let me get past you. Couldn’t bear the thought of something slipping out of your control.”

“Are you sure you’re still talking to me with that last bit?” Phoenix asks. Or does he just want to bait Phoenix into reacting to the comparison - does he want to make Phoenix hate him for these things he’s saying? Does he want Phoenix to hate him, to hate him for his part in what happened as much as he hates himself for it. “Yes, I did bring my magatama along because of you, but I was going to lend it to someone.”

He’s got no way of knowing how Klavier is going to react - especially since they don’t know who killed Courte, who to blame, who to hate and hold responsible, but Phoenix, Phoenix is right here, and Klavier already lashing out at him as the specter of his guilt and everything that went wrong - but he knows he needs to say it. “Professor Courte gave me a call last night. We were supposed to meet earlier about the lecture, but she also admitted to me that there’s a particular someone who she was worried was avoiding her, for whatever reasons he might think he has, and she asked if I had any way to help her be sure that he wouldn’t be able to slip away without her getting a chance to chat with him.”

The last of the light bleeds from Klavier’s face; something dies behind his eyes. “She’s worried about you,” Phoenix says, realizing as the words emerge into the air that there is a problem with the statement, and Klavier blanches, hearing it too. “She - she was. I’m sorry.”

Klavier’s nod of acknowledgement is a shallow motion, and his face pinches together like he fears moving too fast will make him sick. And then he bolts for the stairwell, flinging the door open and disappearing inside. 

“Klavier—!”

The door slams with a force that shakes the hall. But the hound remains there in front of Phoenix, looking at him, as though she’s waiting for something. Seeking some kind of help or reassurance Phoenix doesn’t know how to offer.

-

Over behind the main building, beneath one of the art room windows, they find Robin Newman high-strung and lamenting - loudly, furiously - the fact that as a prosecutor there’s nothing he can do to save Juniper. The police investigation at the stage is ongoing - they tell Apollo and Athena to go away because students aren’t allowed to be snooping around, and Athena gets fired up and Apollo has to urge her away before they have a Nine-Tails Vale redux but with more witnesses. Stomping away and telling Apollo that they’ve just got to come at this from another angle, literally, to hide and eavesdrop, Athena stumbles into a conspicuous cardboard box that pops up to reveal itself to contain a student - Myriam Scuttlebutt, one of Juniper’s classmates in the judge course, by what of the uniform they can see not hidden beneath the box. It has arm holes in the front so that Myriam can have a fuller range of motion. It’d be impressive dedication to snooping if she wasn’t the one who wrote the trashy campus tabloid and its slander about Juniper, and if she hadn’t just tried lying to Apollo about being Juniper’s friend to get information on the case. As it is, she’s annoying.

She’s the prosecution’s witness for tomorrow. Blackquill has bagged a girl in a box who hisses like a snake, and when the sunlight hits one of the punched-out handholds in the box, the place that presumably Myriam sees through, her eyes catch the light and glow like a deer in a car’s headlights.

Human eyes don’t reflect light like that. 

Surprise isn’t even an emotion that Apollo feels in these situations anymore, just resignation. Maybe Blackquill will say something tomorrow that drops a hint. Maybe Phoenix will sit in the gallery and be able to tell them. Maybe Apollo is too tired to care anymore.

Phoenix they find again in the main campus building, with Professor Means, who, on finding out that Athena took up Juniper’s defense, tells her that he will do everything in his power to help the case and that if they aren’t finding the evidence they need for the correct verdict, to come see him at once. Phoenix’s face darkens as the professor speaks, and Apollo is glad to know that he isn’t alone in thinking that all sounds mildly shady. 

By the time they’ve made this full loop of the campus, they find that Hugh has also circled back to the lecture hall, where he tells them that he actually saw Courte’s body when he was wandering around before the mock trial started, but he didn’t want to say anything because the mock trial would be called off and he knew he had to win because he was going to confess to Juniper when he won. Athena looks aghast, and she doesn’t say why but Apollo thinks he has an idea: that, of all people who could be in love with her friend, it has to be this black hole of egocentrism that took it to the point of ignoring a corpse.

If these are the kind of people that go to a law high school, Apollo will gladly take the college debt instead. (Not that Themis isn’t probably expensive as hell, but. The point remains.)

The autumn sun sinks down through the orange sky as they navigate rush-hour traffic to the detention center. Athena’s leg starts bouncing in the waiting room, enough to disturb Apollo’s chair next to her, and she continues to vibrate as they head in to see Juniper. “I think you can afford to take it down a notch,” Apollo tells her, and she nods even while she continues to drum her heel against the ground. So much for being a bastion of calm to support their client. He just hopes that Juniper won’t really notice Athena’s frantic nervous energy. 

Juniper is already on the other side of the glass when they enter, but she sits with her body positioned away from them, her arms folded and her hands tucked away, and her long hair hanging down past her face. “Heya, Juniper?” Apollo ventures, Athena gone silent but still twitching her leg, and all of that movement in the corner of his eye doesn’t help him as he tries to understand Juniper’s body language. She’s afraid, upset, understandable, but is some of that - is she nervous because they’re here now? Is some of her fear directed at them? “How are you doing? We’ve talked to everyone that we could but there are a couple things we wanted to ask you.”

Juniper turns her head. Apollo’s stomach drops; Athena gasps, and Widget lets out a staticky, surprised warble. No word to this emotion - “surprise” doesn’t quite cut it, even with Widget’s yellow background. “I wanted to tell you, Thena. I just...” Juniper coughs into her hand. Her skin has taken up the yellow-green color of a plant that hasn’t seen enough sunlight, and when she pushes back some of the hair that frames her face, she tucks it behind a pointed ear. 

When Athena said that Vera reminded her of an old friend of hers, she didn’t mean Juniper, did she?

“I didn’t know how,” Juniper concludes at last, when the silence stretches on without interruption from either Athena or Apollo. “Or if you could still think of me as—” Another coughing fit interrupts her. 

“Of course you’re still my friend!” Athena says furiously. Widget lights up red, bright enough that it illuminates the bottom half of her face. “And of course we will still defend you!” She clenches her fists and turns her impassioned glare on Apollo. Does she expect that he’s going to be the weak link? That after Tenma Taro, no, this is what’s too weird? They’ve been working together for a whole six months. She should know him better than that. 

“Of course we’ll still defend you,” Apollo repeats, before Athena can kick him or something, like she looks like she might. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re not the first changeling I’ve defended, anyway.”

“Huh?” Athena cocks her head to the side. They didn’t tell her about Vera - Vera didn’t mention it, and so Apollo and Trucy never did. “Wait, really?”

“I’m not” - Juniper coughs - “a changeling.” She raises her head and finally looks them in the eyes. Her own aren’t the plain red of all the fae’s true forms that Apollo has ever seen, though if he actually thinks about it, that number is only three, Kristoph, Vera, and Iris. The whites of her eyes are still white, and still have dark visible pupils in their centers - it is just the irises that have changed to that bright, distinctive faery red. And thinking back, he definitely remembers noticing that Vera’s ears were large, distinct and almost batlike, while Juniper’s aren’t much larger than a human’s ears, and if they had the points but without her sickly green skin, Apollo isn’t sure that too many people would notice. Her hands, nervously clasped together, lack claws. “I’m half human.”

“Really?” Athena has finally stopped bouncing. Was she worried about some discord she heard in Juniper’s voice, that has now cleared now that she’d admitted this. “How is that - how does that happen?”

“Athena,�� Apollo says, “nobody here wants to explain to you how babies are made.”

Juniper covers her face with her hands.

“I know how that works, Apollo!” she yells, her face reddening like Widget’s face reddens into anger. “I’m not asking that! I mean, I didn’t know that was - I guess there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be possible - so you’ve always been like this? Looked like this? I definitely don’t remember that when we were kids.”

Juniper doesn’t lower her hands but pulls them apart so that she’s peering through at Apollo and Athena with one eye. Pink has begun to show through the yellow-green of her cheeks. “I didn’t know when I was younger,” she says. “My grandmother - you remember I live with her, right, Thena? - never said anything until she thought I was old enough to understand, and to be strong enough to consciously hide it.” She bites her lip. “It’s easier if you don’t know, and just believe the whole way that you’re human.”

“Grandmother on which side of the family?” Apollo asks. He’d be lying to say he wasn’t personally curious, but who can honestly say before it happens what kind of information becomes relevant in a trial. They might need to know.

“She - she isn’t human.” Apollo wonders if that’s odd that even someone who shares blood with the fae seems reluctant to name them as they are. “And she warned me that this might happen if I get too stressed or emotional and now—” Another longer coughing fit overwhelms her.

“Do your friends know?” Athena asks. “Robin and Hugh?” Something like distaste hangs evident in her voice on their names. Earlier she told Apollo that all three of them sounded anxious when they spoke about the strength of their bonds, like maybe they really are on the verge of a triangular friendship breakdown, be it over the supposed love triangle or something else. Some other secrets, and she’s worried about Juniper in the middle of it.

“N-no.” Juniper seems especially nervous again, tense across her shoulders and she’s moved one hand to clutch her other wrist tightly enough that her knuckles don’t quite turn white, but a very pale shade of yellow. Close enough to white on green skin. Is she worried what they think of her for not telling them? For not telling even her closest two friends? “I wanted to, really. But I just - I never - I—”

“You couldn’t figure out how,” Apollo says, remembering Klavier talking about that same problem, Klavier telling him that he never even told Daryan, never knew the way to. “I understand completely.”

Athena raises her eyebrows at that - now she’s probably wondering what secret Apollo is hiding, and good luck to her if she ever tries to guess, but Apollo isn’t even thinking of his own situation right now - but Juniper visibly relaxes, slumping in her seat. “And I wanted to tell you too, Thena, as soon as I got to see you again, but you’d been away for so long that I couldn’t even start to guess how you would react. Or if you’ve been away for so long that you wouldn’t even believe me and would just think that I was crazy.” She looks down at her hands. “I think I started, um, showing” - she touches a hand to her face - “during the interrogation, and that prosecutor, Prosecutor Blackquill—” Her head snaps up and her red eyes widen. “Prosecutor Blackquill, Thena, he—”

“He’s a real jerk, I know,” Athena interrupts, “but we’ve beaten him three times before and I’m not gonna let him convict you! I promise, Junie, you don’t have to worry about that.”

She nods. By the expression on her face, that wasn’t all she was going to say, but after a few more seconds of silently looking at Athena, she continues, “He must have seen me this way that you’re seeing me but he didn’t even say anything. And I’m afraid that he’s waiting for some perfect time to reveal it, because—” She stops talking and they wait while she coughs. “Because—” Again, she coughs so badly that she can’t continue through it.

“Are you all right?” Apollo asks.

“Sasha has a heart condition,” Athena says abruptly, and the confusion might have successfully paused Juniper’s fit. “And so did Azura, and they were both selkies. And they said that it’s like, a thing, for people who are magic like that, trying to grow up in the human world.”

Juniper nods. “There’s so much metal and iron everywhere. And here especially. I feel like I can’t breathe in here.” Her shoulders shake as she inhales.

“Being partially human doesn’t help you with that?” Apollo glances down at the ring on his hand and is glad that she didn’t offer to shake hands with anyone when they first met.

“My grandmother said that it’s a genetic grab bag,” Juniper replies. “I guess I’m just not very lucky. But I’m worried that the prosecution will” - she coughs - “that I don’t know how he could know but—” She coughs again, but keeps talking through it, her voice growing more and more high-pitched and strained like she’s running out of air and choking. “But Professor Courte was the only person at Themis who knew this about me.”

She doubles over, wheezing. 

She’s afraid that Blackquill is going to turn that into a motive. Apollo gives it some thought and decides there’s no point to reassuring Juniper that even if her glamour hadn’t cracked up, Blackquill would still probably know. That’s not reassurance.

“I…” Athena’s voice emerges faintly and her eyes dart toward Apollo, as though he isn’t equally clueless to how to respond to this revelation. Finally, she repeats, firmly, “We’ll get you found innocent, Junie, I promise.”

Get as much other information from Juniper as she knows about the mock trial and the real case, and then go into the trial tomorrow with their heads held high. That’s all they can do. They have to hope that it’s enough. They’ll have to make it be enough.

#fic: the witches of los angeles #roddy fanfics

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 1X16 - Heart of Darkness

Howdy! It’s been well over a week since I wrote my last review, so will this episode get me back into the swing of things or just leave me with a heart of darkness?

Your answer to this most deliberating question lies below the cut.

Press Release Mary Margaret hires Mr. Gold as her attorney when Emma is forced to arrest her for the suspected murder of David’s wife, Kathryn. Meanwhile, back in the fairytale land that was, Prince Charming sets out to stop a determined and unhinged Snow White, whose memory is still clouded by Rumplestiltskin’s potion, from assassinating the Evil Queen. General Thoughts Past Snow’s character in this episode is just phenomenal. Her character builds on the aspects introduced in other episodes. In addition to seeing almost this path she’d walk if she’d never met Charming come out in full force, demonstrating just how much love is necessary in Snow’s life, we see some of the snarkiness (Such as in her scene with Red in the flashback of “7:15AM”) taken to eleven. And what I think works even better is that while Snow is undeniably showing unfavorable behavior, especially to her friends and roommates, until we get to Charming, just like Rumple in “Skin Deep,” it’s kept funny. It’s domestic (A term that the fandom often abuses and can sometimes demand too much of, but here it works because those scenes act to better the story) and snarky - and most importantly, fully enjoyable for the audience. Annoying characters should be annoying to the other characters, not to the audience, and Snow fulfils that so well. I found myself cracking up so much here! And at the same time, the tonal shift for when things need to get serious lands. Originally, I thought it happened after Snow went to Rumple, but I was shocked when we saw just how horrifying Snow could be in the second flashback. Not only do we see her viciousness in that attack on the knight, but those bits of manipulations towards Grumpy do a good job reflecting her change and lack of concern. Present The conflict in this episode is richer than a bite of the world’s finest cookie, and by that I mean that it’s tragic as all hell, but so fascinating to sit through. The main relationships are being picked at and brought to their limits - friendships, romances, power dynamics, rivalries - and it all works so well. Everyone’s motivations are laid out and you can see where they are coming from because they’re all from real places - even those on the more fantastical side of things. For the first time, we’re seeing Emma in this impossible lose-lose position where to help Mary Margaret, she has to hurt her, and Mary Margaret’s expected frustration is so understandable. While they make it clear that she logically understands what’s going on, her frustration at having to be the person going through all of these consequences is - while hard to watch - a reasonable reaction, especially as the evidence against her grows that much more. And that in turn fuels Emma’s frustrations, though those are kept more reserved, a very in-character move for Season 1 Emma. And I love how Regina is there - making things as painful and complicated for all involved. From her mere appearance to her fake shows of sympathy to her brief shows of her hand, Mary Margaret and Emma’s conflicts rise like gas prices in every instance of her presence. It gives this episode the feeling of breathlessness because you never know when she’s going to show up next. Both I feel like the episode was trying to push a theme of “maybe you don’t really know the people in your life as well as you think you do,” but the fact that the people judged are either being framed or have their memories wiped makes it fall flat. It works better in the present, since Regina’s the one who is setting everyone up to fail (Another instance of Regina bringing up the theme of the episode), but in the past, it’s weaker. Insights -Ruby taking off that hood makes me feel things. Very gay things. :D -I think that opening in the flashback may be in my top 5 opening flashbacks in the entire series! -I know that this is more of a “That Still Small Voice” things, but it just came to mind: Do you think a post-finale Jiminy is still immortal? Will he die as soon as Marco dies? Blue mentioned that he’d live as long as it took to help Gepetto. Did the curse take that away since he wasn’t a cricket anymore? -Why did no one let Jiminy out of that thing?! -Damn, I love Regina’s dialogue throughout this whole interrogation scene. In addition to touching each and every nerve of Mary Margaret, David, and Emma’s as I stated before, because we know now what happened to Regina, everything she says has this double meaning. -I shouted “FUCK” when Snow attacked that guy. Snow...I know you go on to kill Cora and all, but that was just fucking brutal. -I love how (1) Emma’s knows that Henry’s going to sneak out to hang with her no matter what and is now just making moves to ensure he’ll be safe about it, and (2) the MM picture with Henry reflects on her too, as if that’s her ideal life now. -The more I see August and Henry, the more I wish they’d bro’d out a bit more in the later seasons after Henry became the Author. I know they wanted to give more of an impression that Henry was going into his authorship blind so he wouldn’t have all the answers and make conflicts too easy, but I feel like since August was pretty flawed and didn’t fully understand what it meant to be the Author, he and Henry could’ve still had some interesting conversations about it. -”As real as I am.” August, was that a backhanded compliment I spied? -Gold, you glorious bastard! That smirk as Emma’s leaving fucking kills me! -”If you can bottle love, you can do anything.” That is just a cool fucking line, and it sort of comes back in Season 3 with the time travel recipe. -Fuck, I’m always so impressed by the double meanings of these lines, and half of what Rumple says in his flashback scenes can go here. -And the way that Rumple sells himself as a madman to make others underestimate him is so genius. The way that he only lets that down for a few individuals throughout the flashbacks shows just how much he respects them. -Snow, that was a very good reaction! Charming, love you man, but you are such a dolt sometimes. -JMo’s “holy shit” faces are priceless! The door opening was incredible! -Josh’s eyes are so blue! They’re like the color of the ocean in Florida! -Davie, my boy. If MM killed her, how did she suddenly grow and de-grow all of that hair? -Why no rainbow of love from that Snowing kiss? -Can anyone tell me the timeline of Snow living with the dwarfs? Like, Charming was getting married at most one day after Snow’s visit. Then Grumpy tells Snow that the wedding was off, presumably on the day of the wedding, and that’s when Snow took the potion. And after an undisclosed amount of time, Snow became Bitchy Snow. How long did the dwarfs have to get to know the real Snow before that ended? -Why weren’t the keys court-worthy? Is it because she’s the mayor? I still feel like they should count for something? Phoenix Wright, anything to add on this? Arcs Kathryn Nolan’s Kidnapping - The strength of this arc comes not from the mystery itself, but from all of the character interactions we get out of it. Like, last week, I found the search for Kathryn that didn’t touch upon Ruby’s character to be confusing and a little boring. However, those character moments between them? Amazing! For instance, in this episode, I feel like things were better structured because they played around with and prodded their most engaging relationships. Emma’s search for evidence probably wouldn’t have done anything for me had Henry not been there to hang out with her and help her solve things. The strain on Mary Margaret and Emma’s friendship that this case and Regina was causing was heartbreaking and drew my attention like a fly to a house light. But the development of the mystery did work, hitting all the plot points it had to to bring out everyone’s desperation. Favorite Dynamic David and Mary Margaret - Because I haven’t really liked this dynamic for the most part in the present, I felt especially impressed with them here. David’s determination to help save Mary Margaret, even at his own expense, is just inspiring. Taking a fall like that shows the dedication I wanted to see out of David and it really makes me feel like he learned his lesson from “Whatever Happened to Frederick?” And that just makes those subtle bits of manipulation, the horribly timed bits of memories returned, and his discussion with Mary Margaret so sad. On Mary Margaret’s side, it’s so awful to see that someone who believed in her who wasn’t bound to a job turned on her. From her perspective, that just happened on a dime and it makes that scene between them so profoundly powerful. Writer Chambliss and Goldberg are at it again! These guys are so solid together. They have a way of taking advantage of these story ideas and making the nitty gritty of these conflicts so nuanced. While I’ve only adored their use of theme in one episode (“Fruit of the Poisonous Tree”), they do a great job balancing out their episodes through their use of story and characters to make the ride fun! Rating 10/10. I genuinely had no problem with this episode. While the theme isn’t an especially strong one, the story and character interactions more than make up for it. We finally get to see what so much of Regina’s plotting and scheming is starting to add up to, and it brings everyone to their brink. And in the past, we get to see so much of Snow with other characters and understand what a Snow without love could become. This is such a tragic episode to watch, but it’s so engaging seeing everyone try to figure out this mystery as obstacles are introduced and allegiances are tested. Flip My Ship Snowing - I love how these brief windows of time when Snow and Charming can actually be together show how strong their love actually is. Their lines are poetic and their actions are big and dramatic but not at all off-putting. Additionally, unlike in “Whatever Happened With Frederick,” we see what Snow’s life would’ve been like without love, and we see just how much Charming has changed and benefitted Snow’s life just by being there for her and showing her that she can be there for someone too. Additionally, their banter is just fantastic. Finally, Snow said the full line for the first time! Squee!!!

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Another winner! Let’s see if the next episode can pull something similar out of it’s hat!

Thank you again to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales for putting this together and giving me some space on their pretty page!

Season Tally (139/220) Writer Tally for Season 1: A&E (41/70) Liz Tigelaar (17/20)* David Goodman (24/50) Jane Espenson (36/60) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (29/40) Daniel Thomsen (8/10)* (* = Their work for the season is complete)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 1x16 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #ships mentioned #snowing #basically every character in this episode is discussed

[kiaronna]

Soulmate AU Suggestion Master List!

a flower/bouquet blooms somewhere on your body when going through puberty. It will be completely unique, except for your soulmate, who'll have it in exactly the same place. HOWEVER, it will be in black-and-white until the first time you first see/meet your soulmate, and then it slowly begins gaining colour. The colours don't even have to be natural. Maybe the flower(s) have an associated meaning? (Phoenix Lumen, FFN)

everyone were born with "marks" on different colors and shapes and whenever your soulmate came closer the mark grew. (With mark I mean colorful swirly things. Not picture-like marks of flowers or stuff...) (Kirei Ao Tori, FFN) Another is when the the Soulmate-pair meet in dreams. It could potentially be pretty great if neither if the pair could speak to the other in human language and they both were in the shape of an animal("spirit-animal"?) in the dreams. It could actually work since no one knows what animal other people are. Bonus COULD be that you only understand what the other said if you had heard their voice in real life and NOT through a TV-screen. (I kind of came up with this now wile writing... -_-') (Un-relevant(kind of relevant?) side-thing, what if people could somehow project their "spirit-animals" like a patrons? (Kirei Ao Tori, FFN)

 Idea 1: until you meet your soulmate, you're physically incapable of feeling Idea 2: you don't age past puberty until you meet your soulmate or, conversely, you age rapidly without them.  Idea 3: you're ADD until your soulmate comes along- they bring focus to life.  Idea 4: you share your soulmate's heartrate/heartbeat. Yuri has panic attacks, Victor is an athlete, they go back and forth.  Idea 5: you feel your soulmate's fears.  Idea 6: you don't feel your own injuries; your soulmate does. There's a precarious culture surrounding soulmate's because of the potential for abuse.  Idea 7: when you eat and sleep and drink, your soulmate is affected as well. Yuri's eating habits and Victor's stress come into play.  Idea 8: you share ideas, but not information. I.e. shared procedural memory and imagination.

(Laura, FFN)

 you can't feel pain/be injured when you're around your soulmate (booopsboops, FFN)

 a world where, the day you meet your soulmate, you both suddenly become allergic to something (the same thing). So like say you're eating ice cream with this cool new person you just met and you suddenly find yourself with puffy eyes and a sore throat, and you're never able to eat ice cream again, and you're chatting with them one day and they casually mention how torturous it is to watch others enjoy ice cream while they have to sit on the sidelines because of their damn allergies, and it's too bad because they really used to like the stuff, and you just think to yourself, "Oh. OH." (Unconscious Again, FFN)

Siulmate AU where, when you first meet your soulmate, you burst into song. It isn't necessarily loud or long, it could just be a line or two of something, but it's your soulmate's favourite song at the moment. So, say your soulmate was a closet Broadway geek, you might end up singing a verse of "Memory" from Cats and breaking your vocal chords because the key is so damn high.  (Unconscious Again, FFN)

au where wenever you wright something on yourself it also appears on your soulmate. (TDIHP, FFN)

story wherein the soulmates feel each other's emotions when their eyes meet. Or where soulmates hear the songs their soulmate is hearing in their mind. (principessa luna fiorella, FFN)

1.   You have a tattoo that illustrates something about the moment that you fall in love with a person. Examples: fall in love at the beach? Seagull. Realize you love your best friend at their bday party? Party hat. 2. You occasionally have incredibly vivid dreams about the person, but aren't given details as to what they look like(I like this one cuz your soulmate is literally the person of your dreams, but you don't love them simply based on looks) 3. You are born with a streak in your hair that's the color of your soulmate's eyes or hair or both (I can see issues coming up with this one where it isn't really definitive, especially in cultures that doesn't have much diversity appearance-wise)  4. You can do a perfect impression of your soulmate's favorite animal (strange, I know, but the image of yuri perfectly imitating makkachin and victor thinking 'that was so cute' popped into my head) (drkm2000, FFN)

soulmates could feel each other's emotions (LiannaAila, FFN)

 a world where whatever soulmates write on themselves shows up on the other's skin? Sometimes people use this for any mark too, like bruises etc. (booopsboops, FFN)

Every time your soulmate gets a surface wound (bruises, hickey, scrapes, cuts, stuff like that) it appears on your skin, in a color that represents their soul, for as long as it takes for the injury to heal. It can happen from the moment you are born so I think it would work for your fic because of the age difference. I read about this and think that it is utterly adorable. (Stuffs-and-zzzzs, FFN)

 they swap bodies for 24 hours and have to figure out who the other person is and how to contact them (BookdragonBeth, FFN)

you constantly dream about yours and your soulmate's wedding day ceremony. But, the dream ends abruptly, ending right before the priest says their full names towards the end right before they kiss. With Victor and Yuuri already being in their 20's, they've had this dream enough times that they could recite their own and each other's vows. In their vows (LeMinaChan, FFN)

what if you could turn into your soulmate's favorite animal? With some kind of discerning feature. Like an animagus in Harry Potter. (It feels like I'm referencing Harry Potter a lot.) It would be hilarious if small children ran around in different shapes of animals especially since kids change favorite animals all the time. One day you change into a cat and the next into a bear or something. (Poor, poor parents...) I'm thinking the animal would have to be something specific so people couldn't just go up to someone and claim to be their soulmate. Or just have a shared specific feature. (Kirei Ao Tori, FFN)

veryone is born with a blank outlined design on their body. While the outlining design is a prefect copy of their soulmate the color schemes that make up the rest of the design are different. The colors show the different emotions and trials that their soulmate has went through. The mark fills in a little each year until the soulmates finally met. The size of the mark depends on the great things that your destiny has in store for you. Normally a persons mark is small, just enough to fit on the back of someones hand... But for Victor and Yuuri it was different. Almost their entire bodies were canvasses. (guest on FFN)

where one doesn't age until they meet their soulmate (The Blood Cloak, FFN)

 your greatest accomplishment or, as they called them, Deeds appeared on your soulmate's skin.  (The Blood Cloak, FFN)