An Act Of Infinite Optimism
Trucy notices it first.
Of course she does. Polly, for all he’s quick on the uptake, can still be kinda oblivious at times!
Honestly, she wouldn’t know what he’d do without her help in court, he’d be—! Well, not hopeless, but certainly more sweaty than he already is!
Trucy’s been a magician for years, and helping Daddy win poker games for even longer. She’s had far more time to practice at perceiving than Polly has, so she can’t really fault him, can she?
The point is, Trucy perceives a lot about the world around her. Little things, hidden things, things that other people don’t notice.
She’s like, the best at that. Even better than Polly (though he is catching up.)
But when he’s pulling apart Lamiroir’s testimony on the stand and shocking the singer so much that her veil flies up when she rears back in surprise, Trucy can’t help thinking as she watches, “Huh, doesn’t Lamiroir’s jaw look a lot like Polly’s?”
And of course, once she’s thought that, she kind of can’t stop?
It’s not just the jaw that resembles Polly. They both have the same long-fingered hands, the same pale brown hair, the same slight stature, heck, even the same Chords of Steel when Lamiroir calls out Daryan Crescend!
Sure, Polly has a darker complexion and brown eyes instead of blue, but Trucy’s doing biology in school! Maybe she can’t remember what the square with all the rabbits is called, but she knows brown eyes are more likely to show up even in the kids of blue eyed people.
Still, she tells herself, she can’t just jump to conclusions like this! She learned that lesson at Ashley’s pool party not long after she became a Wright. She doesn’t know Polly’s family situation, doesn’t know if he has relatives in Borginia that Lamiroir might secretly be part of. For all she knows, Lamiroir’s a distant aunt or something! A distant aunt who, for some inexplicable reason, looks scarily a whole lot like Polly.
Yeah.
Which is why, when they get back to the Agency after the trial, Trucy subtly segues from talking about Daddy’s secret mission to, “What about you Polly? Were your parents away on business a lot when you were a kid?”
Polly stops.
Only for a moment, not long enough that anyone who isn’t Trucy would notice. To anyone else, he’s moving stuff into neat piles on the sofa.
But Trucy watches as his hand creeps towards his other wrist between stacking, fidgeting with the gold bangle there.
“Ah, that’s kinda complicated?” He attempts to evade. “And it’s not all that interesting, so.”
“C’mon, Polly!” She presses. “You’re one of the Wrights now, so we gotta know! It’d be super rude if we invited you to Thanksgiving, but there’s a whole family of Pollys we left out on accident! I gotta know how many places we need at the table! We might even need to buy more chairs!”
One of the Wright Anything Agency, she means.
She’s not sure why it came out like it did.
But Polly’s eyes are shining slightly, and he actually stops fidgeting for a moment to swipe a shirt sleeve across them. Maybe he got dust in them?
“No, I, ah.” He lets out a laugh that sounds more sad than anything. “I don’t really have anyone else? I mean, I only came to the States when I was eight, and I was fostered before that, and, and after too, but—! There’s not really any, no bio and my fosters were never really—! It’s just me, I mean. If, if I do have an invite.”
!!!
Uncle Valant then bursts in, so Trucy kinda has to put a pin in this to deal with a blast from her own past, but!!
Polly was fostered. Polly only came to the States when he was eight.
Polly doesn’t know who his bio mom is!!
It’s practically guaranteed, so sure a bet that she’d be willing to go all in on it, but she needs to be certain. 99% isn’t 100, but she can’t provide that last 1% herself.
She needs someone else to see it. A witness.
Her first instinct is Daddy, but Daddy is so busy with his secret mission he barely stops by long enough to press a kiss to Trucy’s forehead before he’s gone again. Also, he’s never seen Lamioir before, so he can’t really speak decisively on the matter.
Uncle Valant is also an option, but. But even if he knows Lamiroir, he doesn’t know Polly. He can’t give unbiased testimony based on one conversation, even if he is a magician.
Someone who’s observed Polly and Lamiroir for long enough apart to make a solid judgement comparing them together…
She could kiss Polly when he takes them to Prosecutor Gavin’s office to eavesdrop.
She lets the boys have their fun as they poke around, but makes an announcement in the hall when Polly decides it’s time to leave.
“I need to use the bathroom! It’s that time of month, you know!” Is enough to leave Polly red-faced and spluttering as she flounces around the corner, then takes two lefts and a right that lead her right back to Prosecutor Gavin’s office.
Thank heavens for Uncle Miles and field trips to visit him with Daddy before he left again for Europe.
“Fraulein Magician?” Prosecutor Gavin looks amused as she slips inside the door. “I believe the ladies’ room is back—“
“Shh!” She whisper-scolds. “I need to talk to you about something important! And secret!”
“An important secret?” To his credit, the prosecutor does grow a bit more serious at that. “Well, danke for your trust, Fraulein. Consider me all ears.”
Trucy takes a deep breath.
“I think Lamiroir might secretly be Polly’s bio mom.”
Prosecutor Gavin stares at her for a few moments. The corners of his eyes twitch, and his lips press together.
The amusement is back in full force, barely held back by Prosecutor Gavin’s wavering self-control.
“Before you laugh or say it’s impossible or whatever!” Trucy draws herself up, does her best imitation of Uncle Miles’ scary stare. “Think about Polly and Lamiroir, for a second. Everything you know about them. Isn’t it weird how similar they are, especially if they aren’t related somehow?”
The amusement is fading slightly from Prosecutor Gavin’s face as he considers it. “Yes, but Fraulein, Herr Forehead is American. How exactly could Lamiroir, a native of Borginia, have a son in this country when it’s her first time here? One she has completely failed to acknowledge every time they’ve spoken, no less.”
Trucy smirks.
“Polly wasn’t born in America. He told me he came to the states when he was little, that he’s been fostered ever since. Plus, hasn’t Lamiroir said over and over she can’t remember any of her past beyond performing with Matchi? Well, what if part of that not remembering is not remembering that she’s not Borginian? Or that she already had a son and had to give him up?”
Prosecutor Gavin doesn’t do what she’d like him to do, which is collapse into his plush desk chair crying, “Mein Gott, you’re right! How could you be so intelligent and beautiful, Fraulein Trucy Wright?!”
But she sees her words hit the mark. The indulgent amusement is all gone, a deep and pensive frown on his face as he messes with his bangs.
“It is an astute observation, Fraulein Magician.” He finally says. “But, as I’ve told Herr Forehead countless times, theories do not a case make. Nein, what we need is evidence.”
Trucy can hear Polly calling for her, voice leaning into concerned, but one word makes her pause as she goes to slip out of Prosecutor Gavin’s office.
“We?”
“Ja, Fraulein Magician.” Klavier Gavin’s eyes glitter with a mischievous determination reflected on Trucy’s own face. “We.”
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