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Crying in Public (Chapter Four up)Topic%20Title
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Slightly Disheveled Radiator

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Hey. Due to reading Raelle's pwnsome fic, the Von Karma siblings thread, and this here picture, I got inspired to write a little about Friska and Edgey as children. The concept is in the same vein as Raelle's story and I felt like I was ripping Raelle off the entire time I wrote it...sorry, Raelle. I tried to make it my own, really ;_;

This is what that picture made me think of. May or may not be continued later...I don't even know. Credit to Capcom, the girl who drew that picture, and Raelle for being a genius.

*cough* With no further adieu.

Note: Made an edit to make it clearer where they are. Hopefully it works.

Crying in Public

The girl’s lips were fixed in a sour pout, her eyes trying too hard to be piercing. Her childish, chubby arms were crossed tightly over a ragged bear with stuffing coming out of abused seams. A perfectly measured amount of stormy blue hair had been neatly pulled back on the left side of her head, symmetrical to the right side and clipped with a blue band. It was almost obvious how much time the child had put into fixing her hair that morning, agonizing with frustration as she eyed the levels of the ponytails in a mirror.
In fact, the only asymmetrical part of her was the plastic bracelet on her right wrist. It was too big for her and kept sliding off her stubby hand, the gaudy cerulean flowers dangling. The cheap-looking bracelet was the only thing that made her look at all like any of the normal four-year-olds Miles had ever seen before. Other than that, she was a miniature robot.

An angry miniature robot.

He ought not to be staring at her, Franziska decreed in her head. He shouldn’t be looking at her so curiously and with such a studious air! The silly boy was probably thinking foolish things about her and he had no right to, not with shabby, downtrodden clothing like that. His bowtie was a vulgar burgundy, out-of-place, and worst of all askew against his rumpled dress shirt. She couldn’t stand the way his hair lay in his face in an untidy way. Although her perfect hair gave away enough about her, she probably would never be able to imagine how long the boy had spent on it that morning, trying his best to get it to look somewhat tidy and nice. He’d tried much too hard to get it to lie flat and had succeeded too much; but the girl could only see the effect, not the cause.

He was dirty, shameful, and just…common.

The two hadn’t said anything to each other, even when they had been introduced. Upon hearing her name plainly presented to him – “My daughter, Franziska.” – Miles had begun to greet her politely. His hello had been caught in his throat when he realized that the little girl’s stare was not one of welcome. The boy had choked on his word, swallowed, and nodded his head while his new guardian gestured towards him.

“My new student. Miles Edgeworth.” Franziska’s beloved Papa used few words to describe the odd little creature in front of her. But they were all bitter to her ears, and the tiny girl reveled in the fear she seemed to be installing in the boy. His cloudy eyes had grown wide and his gaze had lowered, shoulders drooping. The ugly beige jacket hung heavy on his small frame, making him look even littler.

She couldn’t believe it. Her perfect Papa had chosen him as her companion? This scared-looking boy would steal away Papa’s attention from her? That was simply impossible. She had asked to come all the way to the airport for this boy, curious about him. She had heard plenty of stories from the television about Miles Edgeworth. This mouse was the star of them?


Prosecutor Von Karma’s cell phone had rang while his daughter stared Miles down, and although the old man frightened the young boy dreadfully he found himself missing his company. The older Von Karma was less terrifying then this perfect little doll, and Franziska had smirked when the boy mournfully watched her Papa walk away for a moment, speaking in rapid German to his cell. They were alone in the terminal with a hundred strangers.

It was then that they had begun to stare at each other. He was nervous, yet curious and bewildered by her. She was merely irritated by the fact he existed.

Von Karma appeared to have forgotten that he had children, and it took a half hour for Franziska to become bored with their unspoken staring contest. Sticking out her front lip, she clutched her teddy and gave a great sigh.

“Well? Don’t you say anything? Or are you too stupid?” One look on the boy’s face told her that speaking in her native German wasn’t going to do much for her. Papa had said that Miles was from America, and not many Americans spoke the same language they did. She would have to use the English he made her practice.
How frustrating it was, having to stoop to using such a lowly language in order to communicate with a fool! His confused expression caused her to stomp on the ground with her Mary Janes and nearly drop her bear.

“Your language is disgusting.” She informed him, exaggerating a nasally American accent. He looked up at her with disappointment – in her? Or in himself? – and tried to remember what he had taught himself on the plane.
“Es tut ich Leid.” I’m sorry. Miles knew from the moment she started whooping with laughter that his feeble study session with a German-English dictionary hadn’t done him much good. The dictionary hadn’t exactly said how to pronounce anything, and although he had had the better part of the book memorized before the plane had touched down in Frankfurt, the child was little better off than he was before.
“You’re hopeless.” She mocked him with perfect English – six years younger than him and she was already bilingual! What did Papa see in this boy? He was nothing more than a typical American commoner.

He was anything but perfect.

He showed little change in emotion at her laughter, only swallowing and blinking. Inside, Miles felt like he was melting in shame, and he had tensed to the point of pain to keep himself from breaking down.

But he’d always been good at looking collected. Even after his Father died the boy had allowed few people to see him cry.

Instead, he bit his lip and crossed his arms, feeling an unfamiliar stern stare cross his face. “I’m trying the best I can.” The boy defended himself, searching for the confidence he had had back in school. He used to be so proud of himself, so smart and knowledgeable. His friends used to rely on him for everything, and he’d always try his best. Father used to say it was always the best thing one could do, to try as hard as one could.

The little girl almost was surprised by his defense, but she showed no sign of it. “Try?” She scoffed, kicking at Miles’ ankles. “You don’t just try. Only trying will not make you unbeatable.”
Franziska landed a solid kick at his foot and he recoiled. She smirked again. “A Von Karma does not try, as you say. A Von Karma is perfect.”
It made her feel good to repeat her Papa’s mantra. If nothing else, she would take that line from her lessons with her for the rest of her life. “But you’re not a Von Karma.” She raised her little shoulders high in her puffed sleeves. “Obviously.”

Miles gave up and looked towards the crowd of people bustling through the airport. Being taller than him their heads blocked the windows, but he could make out the city of Frankfurt just barely through their bodies. It looked just as imposing as the girl.

“A Von Karma is all about perfection. Papa’s never lost a single case. He never will, either.” He barely heard what she was telling him, letting himself nod politely to please her as his thoughts gently crept away from her lecture. The city outside was frightening, and it was all he could do to ward off a feeling of homesickness. He couldn’t imagine himself living here, blending in with the sidewalks and concrete buildings and thick German accents. Miles couldn’t picture himself reading German letters with ease or conversing with any of these strangers in a tongue that seemed far more sophisticated than the one he spoke. This was not his culture. These were not his friends. If they were anything like this odd little insulting doll…

He was more relieved than anything to see Von Karma walking back towards them, no matter how irate the expression on his face was. With almost too much enthusiasm the boy walked towards him as Franziska muttered on to herself, not even looking at Miles anymore. She hadn’t even noticed her father’s return and Von Karma hardly even noticed her, barking only a half-interested “Come along” at her before turning his back and throwing a heavy suitcase at the boy. He caught it and started to drag it along, struggling to keep up with the stern man’s quick, professional pace. The girl was left behind.

It took Franziska a moment to realize that she was alone in a crowd of unfamiliar people without her Papa’s new student to lecture, and when she did, she found herself scared. Clutching her teddy tightly, the girl tried to ward off the tears welling in her eyes as she found herself struggling to find her companions.

Papa? Where are you?

She shoved through the crowd, instinctively scared. “Papa? Papa!” Several times she caught a glimpse of his blue coat or his graying hair and it made her rush even further. The foolish boy wasn’t even visible in the thick sea of people around her, and when she saw a hand reach out to her Franziska didn’t even stop to consider. She only grabbed it for fear of being left behind.

The minute she touched the palm she knew it wasn’t Papa’s. Papa had no gentleness about him at all. This touch was soft and kind.
He pulled her in next to him, the bracelet on her wrist sliding and knocking against his own arm as she charged to catch up. Panting, she finally looked up at her savior to see the American fool shrug and offer her half of a grin, his eyes hopeful.

The girl responded with another kick to his ankle, ripping away from his firm grip. A few fast paced skips brought her up to speed with Papa and she took only a moment to look back and glare at him while wiping any evidence of a sob from her eyes before anyone could notice. A Von Karma did not cry.

It was then that Franziska Von Karma vowed to herself that she would never let Miles Edgeworth make her cry again.


---

The more I reread it, the more cheesey and angsty and cliche and overdone it feels. But I suppose I'll let everyone else be the judge of that.

Was fun to write though. *shrug*
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~ Crying in Public ~ The Kallisti Project: Samurai Arc

Married to Sakuro*And Eximplode07


Last edited by MercuryKitten on Sun Dec 16, 2007 8:10 pm, edited 4 times in total.
Re: Crying in PublicTopic%20Title
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Quote:
The more I reread it, the more cheesey and angsty and cliche and overdone it feels. But I suppose I'll let everyone else be the judge of that.


I actually thught it was pretty good, but I have never written any fan fictions yet so I don't know how that would feel. :yuusaku:
Don't mind me, just passing through.
Re: Crying in PublicTopic%20Title
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I like a man with a big ... vocabulary.

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I didn't think it was cheesey at all. I thought it was incredibly touching, actually. A few issues of phrasing that confused me for a moment here and there but I really liked it.

I have tried to come up with some Fran ideas but she's an intimidating character for me to attempt and I'm constantly impressed by the number of people who have written her so well in fics.
"Independence is my happiness, and I view things as they are, without regard to place or person; my country is the world, and my religion is to do good". - Thomas Paine
Re: Crying in PublicTopic%20Title
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Slightly Disheveled Radiator

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KingMobUK wrote:
A few issues of phrasing that confused me for a moment here and there but I really liked it.


Any examples for me? :D?

But I really appreciate the compliments, thank you.
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~ Crying in Public ~ The Kallisti Project: Samurai Arc

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I like a man with a big ... vocabulary.

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Well I was bit confused about who was speaking in the bit where Miles and Fran speak to each other. I had to read that bit a couple of times. I hadn't realised that her "your language is disgusting" comment was a general remark - I thought she was responding to something he'd said but then I was a bit confused thinking he'd asked if she was stupid.

I think making it clear it's an airport earlier would be good too. I had to do a mental reload of the image once I got to that bit as I had assumed they were meeting at the Von Karma home.
"Independence is my happiness, and I view things as they are, without regard to place or person; my country is the world, and my religion is to do good". - Thomas Paine
Re: Crying in PublicTopic%20Title
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Slightly Disheveled Radiator

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Yeah, that sort of occured to me halfway through the story, that anyone who wasn't imagining that picture would have no idea where it was taking place.

I'll have to fix that...
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Hey, I really enjoyed this! Your characterisation was excellent and the dialogue flowed pretty well. The dynamic between the pair is a very interesting one and this piece was a nice exploration of it. Thanks for writing it!
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Your depiction of Franny as a little brat was precious! The ending was pretty sweet too ^^
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This was a nice read, and I didn't think it was a ripoff of my story at all. XD

Interesting characterization of Fran and Miles and how they got off on the wrong foot. I liked some of the little details you threw in there a lot--Miles trying to get his hair to stay flat and succeeding too much was very cute. I enjoyed the description of the feel of Miles's hand versus Manfred's. Franziska is a charming little terror.

The main suggestion I'd have is that the pace is a little uneven; a lot of time and effort is put into their bad first impressions of each other, with Franziska beating on Edgeworth relentlessly as he mostly takes it, whereas Franziska being left behind, her terror and vulnerability, and Miles coming to her rescue all happened very fast.
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Slightly Disheveled Radiator

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Thank you guys ;_; I never realized this many people would look at it. I'm inspired to add to it now.

I really appreciate your suggestions, everyone. As one can see, i tried to make it clearer that they're in an airport. Please let me know if that wasn't understandable enough. I'll also try to flesh it out a bit, the break between the insults and the left behind part. (it was around midnight and I was trying really hard to finish it so I wouldn't forget about it.)
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I decided to make a part two since I got some great feedback. It gets a little...hopefully not out of character? but I liked my ideas a bit and wanted to try them.

-----

She made a point not to rub at her ears. No matter how much they stung, even for just the briefest second, Franziska never acknowledged that she had been wounded. It didn’t hurt too much, anyway, and if she failed to react to the whack then it made Miles’ response ever the more sweeter. He didn’t hesitate to reach for his head and nurse at the wound. This gave her grounds to scoff at him.

“You think that hurts.” She would try to sound more mature than an eight year old, wanting the effect of someone older and more experienced referencing past struggles. Her childish pout, however, always made her real self appear through the façade.

Miles knew it didn’t hurt that much, when Herr Von Karma would smack them for answering wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be an abuse as much as an embarrassment, and it would never be hard or undeserved. It was just taking some time for the boy to get used to it, was all. He hadn’t been aware that his father was the only one who didn’t whack his son around once in a while.

It was a good thing Herr Von Karma was around to expose him to the real world, or he might have grown up…soft. Sheltered. An idiot. In the states he would be a lowly high school freshman, complete with his foolish friends that would drag him down even further. Here, under Herr Von Karma’s wing, he was flourishing to the point where prestigious law schools were practically begging him to apply, and so soon! Although he had a bruise or two to pay for it, the pain was quickly forgotten whenever Miles held the crisp, gold-lined invitations to universities in his hands.

“Just an instinct, Franziska.” He would normally murmur to her when she chided him, sometimes in German, but usually in English. The little girl had had a field day when the older boy – was she even aware he was older? – had begun his German lessons. No matter how fast he progressed he was still prone to little mistakes that anyone learning another language would make. To most people, a grammatical error or mispronunciation every once in a while would be forgivable.

But a Von Karma was perfect, Franziska would dutifully remind him, often insisting violently that he study his every mistake for hours after he made it.

Her joy in his errors didn’t last very long as Miles quickly picked up the language that now surrounded him. Day after day his mistakes became fewer and fewer, and when she came to the conclusion that he could speak her native tongue just as well as she could speak his, the tiny girl nearly combusted in her frustration. An hour had been spent yelling at him incoherently, asking him how he dared felt himself superior enough to even try German, when Miles finally interrupted her.

“Franziska?” When he interjected he spoke in such a quiet and serious voice that she couldn’t help but shut up. He had paused, looked directly into her fiery eyes with his own cool ones, and confirmed that she would be silent before continuing.
“Would you prefer me to speak English?”

She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or being sincere. Sincerity would be hundreds of times worse, and naturally, it was what she assumed of him.
The girl’s response was a kick to his shins – something else he was still getting used to – and a storming charge to her room, where she then threw a silent temper tantrum into her pillow.

Since that day, Miles had spoken whatever language struck his fancy at the time. Not to be outdone, his young companion took up doing the same, spouting English phrases at random that proved that she could be just as bilingual as he was. Months passed and he thought she was over the incident until he caught her studying a Japanese dictionary tucked into the cover of a legal textbook.

“Anyone can learn German from English, or English from German.” The girl had said in explanation to his half-smile. “They’re both derived from the Anglo-Saxons. They might as well be the same thing.”

She hated his stupid little knowing grin that he gave her so frequently. She hated his silence even more and promptly filled it. “It takes a real genius to learn a whole new alphabet. I bet you couldn’t do it, Miles Edgeworth.”

He should have known. No one ever outdid Franziska von Karma.

That was something he was also still getting used to. Life with the Von Karma family was so alien to his old life with Father across the ocean, but it became more normal each day. After a while it felt like it had always been him and Franziska answering to her father, every day a new achievement. He forgot about anything more to life than studying constantly and memorizing dates and facts and obscure laws and that made it so much easier to work hard. Miles became firmly convinced that this family, even in light of the tragedy that had brought him here, was the best thing that ever happened to him. Here, he could actually find the success that Americans only spoke about.

The only thing that concerned him, on occasion, was that the boy sometimes had difficulty remembering Father. He had a few cutouts of Gregory Edgeworth, the ones he had meticulously saved as a child from the newspaper, but they were only the professional Father. Miles struggled to remember his Father, the kind-hearted, strong man who he had idolized for such a great portion of his childhood.

Being a teenager he found that he was beginning to look a bit like Father used to. When no one was around, he would stand in front of a tall mirror and peer at himself, making circles out of his hands and holding them up to his face to resemble glasses. Sometimes it worked and Father’s face flashed through his mind for a blissful second.

Usually it didn’t. Then, he would remember how foolish he was – what if Franziska were to find him like this? – and go back to his studies. That was the most important part of being a good prosecutor, Herr Von Karma often emphasized to his students. One must never show emotion. In fact, it was better if one didn’t have any emotion to show in the first place.

Father had said that emotions were too precious to sacrifice and that it was better to lose than not to feel anything. But Father wasn’t the lawyer with a perfect record.

A Von Karma is…

“Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect.” Was she still telling him off for showing pain? Of course she was. He reclined in his chair, swiveling by his desk, and looked at her with a bemused grin. It only encouraged her to huff and continue more.

She ran out of breath when she realized he wasn’t listening. An angry silence followed as the little girl crossed her arms. “I simply can’t believe you.”

He was contemplative, which never meant anything good for Franziska. Internally she braced herself.
“Do you hate me as much as you did when we first met?”

What did that have to do with anything? She tossed her straight hair back behind her shoulder and scowled at the boy. What sort of answer did he want to that question?
“What do you mean?”
Exactly what he said, Miles thought. “You hated me the moment we met, Franziska. Has that changed?”
The child wrinkled her brow and took very little hesitation. How she wanted to wipe the smirk of his face!
“Why yes, Miles Edgeworth.” Her voice had become even higher with frustration, and it was all the girl could do to keep her composure. “In fact, I think I hate you even more.”
No less than he had expected from her. Without any significant change in expression, the teenager turned back around, shoved his hair out of his eyes, and went back to poring over a book with a highlighter.
Her dress was rumpled from the tension of her little body. How dare he!
“Well?” Franziska stamped as hard as she could with her sturdy shoes against the brown carpeting. Her stubby hand grabbed at his white collared shirt, yanking the cotton between her fingers. “Do you still hate me?” He couldn’t ask her a question like that and then merely act as if nothing had happened!

He didn’t rotate his whole chair around again, only his broad shoulders. She could feel his skin press against her hands through his thin shirt as she grabbed him, and the realization of how close she was to touching him made her drop the fabric with an emotion she couldn’t identify.

“I don’t think I ever hated you.” Of course he would respond with something like that, and in the same innocent tone of voice he would use to talk about the weather, no less! Franziska found herself facedown in her pillow moments later, seething as she emitted screams of rage that would never meet the ears of the boy she longed to target. She might snap at him, but she liked to think herself mature enough to keep her temper tantrums to herself. They were a sign of emotion, after all, and that was something she could not show.

For a while she sulked in her room, hiding unproductively under the sky blue canopy that hung over her bed. She had picked out the canopy herself, insisting on her favorite color as opposed to a gruesome magenta that Papa said most little girls liked. When she complained about the color, Miles had dared asked her what the big problem with pink was.
If he liked it so much, he could have it. He had opened his closet later that day to find a plethora of rose skirts and coral pull-overs. She’d even stolen a cerulean jacket of his to complete her revenge, much too large for her of course, but still very pretty. As far as she knew, he still had all of her old pink clothing in his closet.

The thought of her teenage rival having girly clothes among his suits and trousers made her snicker to herself a bit, and she loosened her grip on her pillow. No matter what Miles said, she could always outsmart him. This comforted her, and she finally started to relax.

A sound like a firework went off and she jumped, nearly falling off of her bed. Curiously, the girl turned around, not too surprised by the sound. Lots of people set off firecrackers in the street; she had done it herself once or twice during the holidays with her Papa.
But it wasn’t a holiday, was it? Had she been so engrossed in her studies that she had forgotten about a holiday?
Before she could get to her window to examine the source of the small explosion, another loud bang penetrated her skull. This one was louder, less familiar, and accompanied by a large shatter.
The girl jumped back, confused and frightened. She had no time to regain her composure when another shot rang out. The glass the window on the other side of her room seemed to fly out into the air on its own, hitting the ground in one swift, elegant motion.
She saw the whole in the wall where the bullet had gone through and it was only then that she thought to scream.

Franziska felt her experience of cold calculation melt off as she rushed to the side of the room, her eyes not leaving the broken window. Her back slammed against the door and she grabbed for the knob, her entire body shaking.
It was only then did she realize she had locked the door in her fit earlier.
Her body was numb as another gunshot echoed through her head and even though the only sensible part of her sanity had heard her lock click open, her nerves wouldn’t let her escape…
“Papa….” Her throat was sore from her rage earlier, and the whole world felt like it was melting right in front of her eyes…
A gentle touch was on her arm and she felt herself being pulled away. It wasn’t Papa’s touch and the last of her functioning mind recognized it with disdain, but the rest of her was too comatose to be concerned.
When Franziska’s head returned to her, the first thing she did was shove out of the web of arms that had entangled around her. The light was dim, but she could make out stupid-looking bangs and a pair of cloudy eyes.
Not that she needed any light to recognize Miles…

When she was free of him she found her voice. “What’s going on?” She demanded of him, and he reached out and touched her arm.
“We’re in the closet, Franziska, in the hallway. There are no windows here. I think your father is taking care of it…”

“But what’s happening?” She knew she wasn’t going to get an answer. He was shaking too, she could tell.

He didn’t say anything and instead reached his thumb out to her rosy cheek, wiping away a cluster of tears that were clinging to her girlish eyelashes. That’s what had made the room look so blurry, the girl realized with a flush, and tore away from him. Her own little fist rubbed against her blue eyes to no avail – she was crying again.
She was terrified and she hated herself for it. She hated it even more that Miles would see her tremble!

“I’m not scared.” She lied. It was an awful lie. “I don’t get scared. Being scared is…is an emotion.” His face was so kind that she wanted to keep on crying. “A Von Karma doesn’t get scared. A Von Karma is…”
His finger touched her lips as she sniffled, cutting off her half-hearted recitation. Strangely enough, she felt no reason to shove his other hand off of her shivering shoulder.

“You know, I get scared sometimes.” Miles admitted in a low tone. He nearly expected her to start into another lecture about how he was a terrible excuse for a Von Karma. At least it would show that she was feeling a bit less nervous.
But all she said was in the form of a childish whisper. “Really?”

Miles hadn’t seen her this much like a real child in a long time. He gripped her arm gently, touching the plastic bracelet that clang to her wrist. Franziska had been wearing the same exact bracelet when they had first met and although her wrist had grown thicker with age and her arms longer, those beads were still the only piece of childhood he could ever really sense in the girl.

“Yes.” He nodded lightly. “Gunshots – like these – scare me a little. But earthquakes…those scare me a lot. So much that I can’t even stand up or think straight. I just start crying.”

Franziska had never seen him in an earthquake, he didn’t think. A few weeks after his father’s death there had been another small one in his Californian hometown. It had taken hours for the boy to stop crying and worst of all he had been alone when it happened. Grimly, he could remember crawling up in the corner of the room and burying his face into his body with the vain hope that if he made himself small enough, the earthquake would just pass him by without notice.

And Franziska thought she was out of her mind now…

“But that’s…that’s silly.” It made him feel a little better to see the hint of her trademark pout appearing on her lips. “Earthquakes aren’t scary at all. They’re just little tremors. Papa taught me all about them…”

“You see?” The teenager replied, giving her a grin. “You’re braver than I am.”

Franziska said nothing.

She let go of his hand only when he cracked open the closet door, giving the room a quick look. When Miles declared it safe she bolted out ahead of him, peering down the hallway as she went. Sirens outside and a lack of any more shots reassured the both of them that the danger was over and the one firing the gun was safely in custody.

A stern-looking police officer had come in to retrieve them and when the pair bumped into him further down the hallway, he explained curtly in German what had happened at Franziska’s request.
“An old criminal that your Father put behind bars a few years ago, Miss Von Karma. Got released recently and was merely shooting without thinking at the house. You were never in any real danger and your Father intends to replace your window...”

He gave a glance to the American boy and exchanged a nod before looking back at the girl. “Are you alright?”

Franziska looked at Miles for a split second before staring the officer back in the eye.
“Yes, Officer, I was fine. But my little brother seemed a bit scared. You might want to tend to him.”

---

I guess it's a little uncommon for Fran to seek solace in Edgey, especially since she hates him. But in the first part I tried to emphasize that during a desperate situation (being left behind) she panicked, and Edgey cared for her briefly then. That's kinda what happened again.

Comments loved <3 Same with suggestions and critique. It's a bit of a rush job since it's around midnight and I really wanted to get this up tonight.
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Created by Vickinator, the greatest person EVER.
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nice story.
However, in the game, after Edge left(sorry got the timeline wrong) Wright he was cold so I don't think he personality would be like that. I mean his father died, and this family basically hates him so wouldn't think he would be that nice.

Last edited by ... on Thu Sep 06, 2007 11:02 am, edited 1 time in total.
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He's already met Wright by this point.
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Uh....whut?

What does Nick have to do with...uh? *confused* He's not entirely cold yet, I was trying to portray, since he's still a (young) He's working his way up to it as he keeps trying to shove emotion out of the way....

*sort of confused by the two responses* He knows Nick from gradeschool, but not any more recently since he hasn't gone back to the states yeah.

Bleh. I said it was OOC ><
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I still want more. This is the only other story I read that is on CROIK(most are, well...gay).
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In response to your edited comment up there, Oh okay, I get it now.
*was very confused*
I think Edgeworth, at that point, hadn't quite lost the forgiving nature he had gotten from Gregory. In the next installment, he's going to be a bit colder.
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MercuryKitten wrote:
Uh....whut?*sort of confused by the two responses* He knows Nick from gradeschool, but not any more recently since he hasn't gone back to the states yeah.

Bleh. I said it was OOC ><


Sorry - my response makes no sense now that the previous one is edited. I was referring to grade school.
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sorry about the timeline mixup. I forgot the timeline.
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Part threeee. Not my favorite part to date, and it feels like it's missing something. Hmm. I dunno. Have a better part planned out after this, so stick with me, my (two?) loyal fans!

-----

The courtroom was cold and dry on the February morning. The young teenager found herself pulling her cerulean jacket closer to her shoulders as she drummed her fingers on the desk. The beads on her wrist hit the wooden stand before her with every tap.

It’s late. She thought to herself, ignoring the hubbub around her. Franziska had been ready nearly a half hour before the defense had even arrived and had been studying the clock ever since. The arms indicated that it was several minutes past the hour. We were supposed to begin this at ten.

Franziska did not let herself look out into the crowd. In fact, she paid them no mind. The onlookers didn’t matter much at all, especially the young man in the second row who was meticulously writing notes down onto a sheet of paper. She couldn’t even hear his pen scratching against the pad.

The prosecution is not distracted by the jury, nor the audience; however, she is distracted by the fact that this building has no heat. She has made this fact evident, exposing it as a weakness to herself.

Even if she didn’t want to think he was there, he was going to watch her anyway. It was her first trial but that meant nothing about getting any slack – no, on the contrary it meant that she should run things even more smoothly. If a thirteen-year-old girl was going to prosecute, than it was expected of her to know what she was doing. She couldn’t afford to make a mockery of the courtroom if she had been hailed as a prodigy.

They would find out, that day, just how much of a prodigy Prosecutor Von Karma’s youngest daughter really was.

She’d earned just as much press as his other student had and lately even more. Although Edgeworth was young when he had gone to college, she had barely been ten years old her first day of classes. And she was prosecuting publicly already!

Edgeworth, however, was the first one to have started at a university. Being close enough to school he had stayed at home in order to continue his studies with Von Karma simultaneously. Although she knew it would only be a year or so before she would join him at college, Franziska had brimmed with jealousy the first day he had come home.
She never directly asked him how his day was, or what college was like. He could tell she was dying to know if the university was as wonderful as everyone said it was, and he answered for her instead.

“You wouldn’t like it, Franziska.” He had told her while sitting down to review his notes from the day. He didn’t resist when she grabbed them from his desk, both as a trophy and as a hostage.

“And why not?” The girl had inquired harshly while pouring over his pages with a critical eye. There were facts and numbers on there that she hadn’t known before and when she discovered them, she scowled.

“Because you won’t be the best one there.” He explained, letting her look at them without any qualms. The girl looked up at him and he continued.
“No doubt you’ll be one of the most talented in the class, Franziska, but you won’t be the best. There will be people who are better than you.”

Miles could see her glare as she dropped the papers back down on his desk.

“Maybe there are people who are better than you, Miles Edgeworth, but that only goes to show that you shouldn’t be in university yet.” The girl reached for her side and Miles winced as she hit him lightly with her whip. She said she carried it since in a court one must remember that they always have to be in charge of whatever situation occurs. He never saw anything symbolic about her random attacks.

She’d gone to university with him within a few months. True to her word, she was the best in her class and graduated earlier than he had. Now, she was at the prosecution’s bench, squirming.

Edgeworth placed the pen down quickly when he heard the judge slam down his gavel. “All rise.”
He stood and watched Franziska do the same. He could tell she was shaking as she sat down and he didn’t note it on his paper.

Across the way, he could see the defendant seated near the defense. She was a younger woman, in her late thirties at most, with a waxy expression and hollowed eyes. She hadn’t slept in days, that much was clear, but neither Miles nor Franziska felt any sympathy for her.

Franziska was speaking at the judge’s request. She cleared her throat, looked the defense right in the eye, and responded.
“Two days ago, the defendant, Ms. Agnes Hubbard, was found standing by her the body of her husband with a knife in her hand.” A good, clear start, she thought. The case was cut and dry, like she wanted it to seem. “According to the autopsy report delivered to me this morning, the knife was used to stab Mr. Ernst Hubbard four times in the heart in his own home around seven-thirty last night.” She paused, and finally gave the court a good look.
“I see no reason that anything should be looked into further. What has happened is obvious. Ms. Agnes Hubbard murdered her husband in cold blood.”

Although she speaks convincingly, the prosecution must learn to not elaborate on simple fact.

Before Edgeworth finished writing the sentence, the defense had leaped on the opportunity.
“Objection!” Franziska showed no shock of any sort to the exclamation. “The prosecution has no proof that Ms. Hubbard premeditated the murder.”
He knew what Franziska was about do before she did it. He watched her smirk, pleased with herself that her first tactic had been a success, and seemed to grow taller with confidence.
“So the defense claims that Ms. Hubbard did in fact murder her husband?” The defense cowered a bit. Although Edgeworth knew that they would be able to recall the remark and replace it with one with different wording, the court was on Franziska’s side now. She was being psychological.

The defense quickly retaliated. “If you have no proof that the murder was premeditated, then the defense is prepared to venture a guess that you have no other evidence apart from the weapon to claim that Ms. Hubbard was the true murderer.”

She’d been lucky, getting a government-assigned attorney as a rival. It was obvious that the man standing behind the bench opposite of Franziska did not believe his client was innocent in the least. In a minute she’d having him working for a reduced sentence.

“I don’t think it is up for me to provide any more evidence at this point.” She was using one of her Father’s well-used lines.


“Objection, Ms. Von Karma. You are not the only one in this courtroom with access to forensic testing.” There were other fingerprints on the knife and Edgeworth made a note of the surprise on her face when this was revealed to her. Hadn’t she checked on that? What a pity, that she didn’t even examine the only evidence in the case.

“It proves nothing. Someone else could have handled the knife before the murder. But no one else was found at the crime scene besides the defendant.”

The defense handled his rallies with an almost bored manner as Franziska retaliated with almost too much excitement. Things were going well for her, and although the defense and the defendant made feeble claims – why wasn’t the defendant resisting at all, anyway? – the girl sent her lobs back with vigor every time. No, no one else could have been in the room at the time since the door was locked from the inside, and if that was so…

Well, at least you’ll go down in history as the first attorney to lose to Franziska von Karma. She smirked as tears began to roll down the defendant’s eyes. Ms. Hubbard only took the stand when her attorney had nothing else to say.

The court was silent as the ragged woman wrung her hands, looking at the little girl with all the innocence in the world. “Miss Von Karma…my husband was a drunk. He spent all my money and he threatened me…”

Franziska sighed with disgust and looked up at the judge. “Judge, your verdict, please.”

The defendant, however, was not finished. “Miss, he was going to stab me! I was only, only defending myself…”

“Ms. Hubbard, you already confessed to the crime, and all the evidence has been looked over. You murdered your husband with meticulous planning…”

“It was a crime of passion!” The woman shrieked, turning to her own attorney. “I told you this! Why aren’t you helping me?”

By his lack of response, it was obvious that she had been given up on. Melting by the minute, the defendant whipped her head back to the prosecutor and fell to her knees behind the bench so that only Franziska could see her.

“Please, Miss Von Karma, please. You are young, aren’t you? You are good and innocent. Please, tell them I only did it because I had to!”
Tears rushed over the woman’s dirty cheeks, mixing with the grime.

“Judge!”

The elderly man behind the bench began to raise his gavel, equally exhausted with the defendant. Still, the woman did not give up.

“They haven’t corrupted you yet, Miss!” Her voice whispered as she clutched onto her only chance with dirty hands. “Don’t let them! You are still a child…”

The glare that suddenly lit up Franziska’s face was enough to stop even the judge from banging his gavel down. Raising her hand to stop him, she did not seem aware that the entire courtroom had silenced.

“A child?” The girl’s voice had risen with so much fury that she nearly started laughing. “I am here with your fate in my hands, and your only defense is to call me a child?”

The young woman before her cowered, burying her heads as the girl continued. “I am not a child. I am a prosecutor, and a prosecutor is not swayed by dirty tactics such as pity!”

Before anyone could stop her, Franziska’s hand was at her side, removing her weapon. A sickening crack filled the courtroom and the defendant screamed out in pain, causing several members of the audience to gasp. Even Edgeworth raised his eyebrows momentarily.

Yet no one tried to stop her. The girl looked back up at the judge and nodded her head. “The verdict! Please!’
The gavel slammed and a loud, booming voice filled the hall. It was the most persistent thing he had done all morning.

“Guilty!” The defendant was handcuffed and dragged out the door as she resisted and sobbed. The audience, while shaken, slowly began to disperse as they acted like nothing was wrong. Miles stood, capped his pen, and left with his legal pad under his arm, not giving a single word or emotion to anyone.

Fools. Franziska nodded her head as she tried not to watch her rival leave, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Only she would ever know that until Ms. Hubbard had called her a child, she had been shaking. The victory had been hers from the start that much she knew; but it had been much too easy! Any minute she had secretly expected some sort of underhanded tactic that would throw her off guard and embarrass her…

She had overestimated the defense attorney greatly. Angry with herself, she stormed out into the prosecutors lobby, ignoring the press, and flagged down a taxi to take her back home. The win had been successful, but not entirely satisfying. She had much more work to do.
It would be years later when she realized that fear had been the only thing keeping the defense from trumping her argument.
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lol

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I am a 100% official fan of this. Now make more. Please.
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lol

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Err..Just to point this out, doesn't Franziska have an older sister?...
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...I KNEW I was forgetting something....
..........I MEAN I just sort of assumed that the sister was old enough to be out of the house? I mean if Manfred was like forty when Franny was born, his other daughter could be like, up to twenty years older than her. And seeing as she's not a famed lawyer from our knowledge, Mr. Von Karma probably doesn't think of her much.

Maybe I'll throw her in. *doh's* Can't believe I forgot that...
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lol

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Yeah but a Von Karma is perfect. I would've thought is the other girl grew up with Manfred then she would be all "perfect-y" and everything. But let's shove that out of the way unless you want to add it.. 'Cause that changes the whole story.. Cuase wouldn't the other kid know Edgeworth, or no?..
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If she's too old, maybe they knew her but he didn't see her often? I'll do something about that...
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lol

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Quickly, make part 4, I might die of not reading anything but my own fanfic. Will part 4 be like, up soon?
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Soon, maybe. I haven't worked on it, but now that you've said that I'll go do it now :D
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Just to say I'm not ignoring your fic, I know you've updated, but I'm currently working on some childhood Edgeworth/Fran scenes of my own and I don't want to accidentally lift anything of yours so I'm waiting until I'm done to catch up on these. It's bad enough that I have Raelle's Realization of Perfection still rattling around in my head and I'm super-paranoid of unwittingly using a "false Edgeworth memory" as a result :)
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AHH! <3 It's totally okay. Don't you worry about it.
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"Independence is my happiness, and I view things as they are, without regard to place or person; my country is the world, and my religion is to do good". - Thomas Paine
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lol

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Quick, I am in need of a new chapter. Not to rush you so you make it crappy, but here:
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lul. Enjoy. And just to add: Great fan fic.
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XDD BWahahaa.
Next part is about 50% done.
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lol

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Okay. I'll wait. I'm just excited about When she finally gets owned in court. Meanwhile, see my horrible Japanese! I suck.


I will wait for you however, hurry!
私遺言待つためにあなた.しかし,急ぐ!
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Is he doing JAZZ HANDS at the camera!?

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Great job, Mercs! :3 My comment via IM still stands, lol...looking forward to the next installment!
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Thank you. ^^;
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lol

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You still there? I'm still a fan. =) I haven't given up on Court Records. ^^
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I'm all caught up on this now and it's just lovely (as usual). I'm totally in love with your Young!Miles and Young!Fran and it's nice to see a story that treats their relationship seriously without descending into melodrama, abuse or incest.
"Independence is my happiness, and I view things as they are, without regard to place or person; my country is the world, and my religion is to do good". - Thomas Paine
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Aww, thank you very much! I don't really see Fran as much as abusive (maybe wannabe abusive? xD) I just think Edgeworth has enough AAAANGST as it is by then and Fran almost alleviates it a bit, in her own little obnoxious way.
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I meant Manfred-abusive actually :) But yes, either way ENOUGH ANGST ALREADY! XD
"Independence is my happiness, and I view things as they are, without regard to place or person; my country is the world, and my religion is to do good". - Thomas Paine
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Ahh, okay. He just seems more like the sort to go "Oh dammit. I have kids." And just kinda whack them around if they're not being productive, but other than that I don't seem him like locking them in closets and stuff...
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I tend to agree. XD I think if he had to do that he would regard it as a failure.
"Independence is my happiness, and I view things as they are, without regard to place or person; my country is the world, and my religion is to do good". - Thomas Paine
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