Title: Auld Lang Syne
Author: KingMobUK
Rating: No sex, some swearing, drinking alcohol.
Genre: Drama. One Shot
Status: Completed First Draft
Pairing: PW/ME (Friendship)
Summary: Phoenix invites Edgeworth out for a drink on New Years Eve. This is set 2 days after the events in my previous fic "Starting Over" and between 1:4 (Turnabout Goodbyes) and 1:5 (Rise From The Ashes) on PW:AA. It can be read after "Starting Over" or on its own.

Spoilers: Mild spoilers for all of PW:AA and one very general reference to PW:TT 3:1.

Note: Thanks to my other half for proofing duties. The first and second of these stories were written in great part thanks to S. I'd still be struggling with writer's block now if we hadn't recently got back in touch after 15 years. He knows who he is :)

"If you would like to submit any of your work to Court Records, please make a note in your post." If any of my work is ever good enough to be submitted to Court Records go ahead (but I doubt it)!

======================
Miles Edgeworth really wasn’t sure this was such a good idea, or why he’d agreed to it in the first place. He stood outside the bar and pondered the neon OPEN sign.

Wright had been correct, of course – he didn’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve. He rarely did, and since he was in the middle of a case that reconvened on the 2nd he had intended to spend the evening and following day going over his notes and checking the evidence. Unfortunately though, Wright’s call yesterday had caught him just as he was about to leave his office. He was running late and keenly aware that he had a hungry dog at home waiting for dinner. As a result, he hadn’t been concentrating on the conversation as well as he might and the invitation had taken him by surprise.

His protestations about having work to do had merely been met by the cheery assertion that a quick drink in the early evening wouldn’t do any harm and he’d had no good answer to that. Afterwards, of course, he could think of a multitude of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea, but etiquette wouldn’t allow him to call back after the fact with a spurious excuse. He sighed. Life had been so much less complicated before Wright came back – defence attorneys had gone out of their way to avoid him rather than call him and ask him out for drinks. Well at least it’s not a meal. God knows where Wright might have dragged him and the idea of having to exchange small talk over a plateful of overcooked pasta was frankly horrific. At least this way it would be over sooner.

---------------------

Phoenix Wright sat in a small booth opposite the bar and contemplated the dregs of a bottle of beer on the table in front of him. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt quite so nervous about seeing Edgeworth again - maybe because last time he’d failed so completely as a host by having no drink in the house and then fallen asleep while his guest was out buying his own. He had convinced himself that in the social circles Edgeworth was used to, it was probably an unforgivable sin. And then of course there was the fact that the two of them had barely shared a word outside of court for fifteen years.

He was actually quite surprised that Edgeworth hadn’t just told him to go to hell. Phoenix didn’t suppose that his successful defence of the prosecutor in court would have earned him any special consideration. In fact he suspected that the defeat he’d handed Edgeworth in the trial just prior to that probably still rankled with the man. He probably thinks I’m his nemesis after I ruined his perfect trial record.

They’d made tentative steps towards getting back on speaking terms the day that Edgeworth was released from the Detention Centre. But that had been a couple of days ago when the prosecutor was at a disadvantage. Edgeworth had just spent a nightmarish week having his personal life paraded through court and across newspaper headlines. Today things might be different.

Still – Edgeworth had agreed to meet him and at least this time Phoenix knew that they’d have something to drink. If he was completely honest, he was most interested in checking that the prosecutor was doing okay since the trial. Edgeworth had looked unusually haggard in the aftermath and Phoenix had keen memories of his own lack of ability to cope with a similarly horrific personal betrayal when he’d been at college. I don’t know if I’ll be sorry or relieved if he sits there and tells me to take my drink and shove it. At least I’ll know he’s alright.

He was still pondering his beer when he became aware of a tall figure standing to his left. He looked up. Edgeworth. It was almost a relief when he noted that the prosecutor had a recognisably normal expression of polite disgust on his face.

“Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere a bit more salubrious, Wright?”

“What’s wrong with this place? The prices are good, and the service is fast.”

“I’m not surprised. There’s hardly anyone here and considering it’s New Year’s Eve that doesn’t bode well for its reputation.” Edgeworth’s sweeping glance of disdain took in the whole of the bar and its patrons, including the defence attorney.

“Would you have preferred to go somewhere full of people wearing fancy dress and trying to get you to sing Auld Lang Syne?” Edgeworth’s tight-lipped expression indicated that he wasn’t amused. I can see this is going to be a good evening.

“I can’t stay too long Wright. I’m in court the day after tomorrow and I have a lot of preparation to do.” Edgeworth made no move to take off his coat.

Great. He’s barely through the door and he’s already thinking about leaving. Phoenix sighed and stood up. “Let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do after the other day. When you’ve had it you can get home to your papers and I won’t feel like I still owe you.”

Owe me? Edgeworth was puzzled for a moment. He supposed Wright was referring to the bottle of Scotch he’d bought the other day. That kind of thinking was typical of Wright, who seemed not to have matured in his outlook at all since their schooldays. “Very well.” He scanned the selection behind the bar to assess what was the safest option. “Gin and tonic will be fine.”

While Wright went to buy the drinks, Edgeworth removed his overcoat and eased himself into the booth. He surveyed the plastic-covered seat and tatty tabletop with distaste, checking for sticky patches and rolling up his white shirtsleeves before placing his elbows on the wood. He tried to ignore the cigarette burns on the seat beside him, then placed his folded overcoat over them so they didn’t intrude on his vision accidentally. Really, this is probably the level of sophistication I should have expected from everything I’ve heard about Wright.

The defence attorney returned from the bar with their drinks and placed Edgeworth’s on a napkin in front of him. Edgeworth looked at it suspiciously. At least the glass looks clean and the ice isn’t cloudy.

Phoenix resumed his seat on the other side of the booth. Edgeworth seemed pre-occupied with stirring his gin and tonic, so Phoenix took the opportunity to check him out. The dark rings around the prosecutor’s eyes were still apparent, but other than that he seemed to be in good shape. Although I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing him in jeans.

Edgeworth didn’t look up but seemed aware of the scrutiny. “Is my wardrobe of particular interest to you Wright? You had a similar expression on your face the other day.”

“Uh. Sorry. You just look … different … when you’re not wearing the cravat.” Phoenix gestured vaguely, beer in hand.

“Indeed” was Edgeworth’s only response.

“Why do you wear that get-up in court anyway?”

“Get-up? ” Edgeworth’s steel grey eyes narrowed somewhat dangerously.

Shit. Phoenix felt unable to back out of this topic now he’d started it. “You know, your pink suit, the cravat …”

“It’s burgundy. And I wear it because I like it. And because it’s how I like to be regarded in court …”.

“What - frilly?” Phoenix couldn’t help grinning.

Edgeworth pointedly ignored the interruption “ …flamboyant.” His eyebrow quirked as he looked at Phoenix “Why do you wear that blue thing? Aside from it being the best you can afford, that is.”

Phoenix was wrong-footed by the sudden redirection. “Uh. Well. The Chief, I mean Mia, said that blue matched my eyes and made them show up better.” He coloured slightly as he said it, realising how silly it sounded. He busied himself by taking a long drink of his beer and glancing round the bar in an attempt to look nonchalant.

Edgeworth was silent and when Phoenix looked back he saw a familiar smirk on the prosecutor’s face “She did, did she? Miss Fey really was a very clever woman.”

“What??” Phoenix bristled. “What’s the joke? I’ve never been able to choose clothes. I’m useless at it. I have no idea what looks good. So sue me. And don’t smirk at me like that Edgeworth, we’re not in court.”

“Wright.” Edgeworth looked as if he was in two minds whether to continue but seemed to be similarly unable to get off the subject “Have you ever wondered why she might have considered it an advantage for your eyes to “show up better” in court?”

“Um, well … not really. I think it was more just a general suggestion I wear more blue, really.” Phoenix’s voice tailed off as he noticed that Edgeworth still looked amused.

“I don’t think that’s what she was driving at, Wright. She was encouraging you to trade on your strengths in a trial. When you really believe in something – in your client, or in the evidence - your conviction shines through in your eyes. It’s really quite compelling.”

Phoenix was surprised by Edgeworth’s poetical turn of phrase and it seemed Edgeworth was too because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his eyes dropped back to his drink and he resumed stirring. It seemed to Phoenix that there was an air of embarrassment in the gesture although the prosecutor’s face was expressionless.

“Of course, you may be right. She may just have thought you looked hot in blue”.

This time Phoenix blushed properly and Edgeworth looked ever so slightly smug. You sarcastic bastard. Well, at least we’re talking.

“So, how have you been since I last saw you, Edgeworth?”

“Perfectly fine.” Edgeworth’s face resumed its usual guarded and slightly pained expression. The defence attorney sighed inwardly. Normal service has returned then. But Phoenix wasn’t going to give up that easily.

“I was, uh, surprised that you went back to work so quickly.”

Edgeworth felt uncomfortable at the direction the conversation was taking. He was rarely at ease discussing his personal circumstances and lately even less so. He sipped his gin and tonic. Passable. “Why? I’m a prosecutor. It’s what I do.” It’s what I am, for better or worse. “Sitting around at home doesn’t pay the bills.”

Phoenix could see he was getting nowhere with his solicitous enquiries. Yeah, like you have trouble paying the bills, Edgeworth. You should see my pile of final demands. “I guess.”

An awkward silence fell across the table. Phoenix waited for the prosecutor to break it first because he was at a loss himself to think of safe conversational ground. Is this what I waited fifteen years for? He picked at the label on his bottle of beer and glanced around the bar again. He almost wished that someone he knew would come in but it seemed unlikely. Larry was in the Caribbean with the current love of his life and most people he knew would probably be getting ready to go to parties with family and friends. Not hanging about in bars with people they barely know any more.

“How’s the G&T?” Phoenix asked finally, feeling defeated.

“Passable”. Edgeworth sounded less than enthusiastic.

Ooo-kay. “Larry asked me to say hi, by the way”. It was a lie, but at least it was something to say and from Phoenix’s point of view it was an improvement on the pointed silence.

Edgeworth looked surprised. “Did he? I can’t imagine why – I only spoke to him two days ago.”

Phoenix did a double-take. You spoke to Larry? What?

“He called my office from the Caribbean.” Edgeworth grimaced. “There was some … female … twittering in the background - his latest femme de couer, I presume. I think he was … a little inebriated.”

Phoenix couldn’t resist a smile at the thought of Edgeworth taking that call through the receptionist at the Prosecutor’s Office. “Yes, he often is when he’s off on modelling shoots with his lady-friends. What did he want?”

There was a long pause.

“I have absolutely no idea. Something about a photograph. He was … somewhat incoherent.” Edgeworth’s mildly confused expression almost caused Phoenix to choke on a mouthful of beer mid-gulp. They looked at one another across the table and this time Edgeworth was the one who smiled. “If something smells …”

“… it’s usually the Butz”. Phoenix finished, smiling himself in response.

This time the silence that followed their conversation was less intimidating, and Phoenix decided to stay on safer ground when he broke it.

“So, tell me about the case you’re working on – assuming it’s not against the law to discuss something with the enemy.”

----------------

An hour later they exited the bar to find that the once-empty street was now filled with revellers on their way to parties and dressed in all manner of garish and ridiculous outfits. Luckily it meant that there were also plenty of cabs going in both directions and Phoenix was relieved. He wasn’t sure that he could afford to pay the fare for a round trip given that Edgeworth lived at the opposite end of town from him and he was reluctant to let the prosecutor see how dire his financial straits were.

Edgeworth looked as if he was preoccupied with his own thoughts again and Phoenix supposed he was already starting to consider the piles of papers that he had waiting at home.

“Thanks for letting me buy you that drink Edgeworth. I feel better about the other day now.” The prosecutor gestured dismissively. “Good luck with the trial – it sounds as if you’ll have it pretty much sewn up.” Phoenix spotted a cab for hire and was about to raise his arm when Edgeworth’s voice stopped him.

“Wright?”

Phoenix turned.

“Thank you.”

What?

Phoenix looked at the prosecutor blankly, and that seemed to make Edgeworth think he needed to say more. The prosecutor looked slightly embarrassed. “For the … company, I mean. Sometimes I think I’m alone with my thoughts too often.” The last sentence came out in a bit of a rush and Phoenix could tell that it had been an effort for the prosecutor to make what was, for him, a devastatingly personal revelation. Phoenix felt himself blush slightly on Edgeworth’s behalf.

“Yeah. For a prosecutor, you’re not bad company yourself.”

They stood opposite one another for a moment longer, and this time it was Phoenix that held out his hand and Edgeworth that took it. It was a formal gesture of farewell, but it felt comfortable.

The prosecutor turned on his heel and as he crossed the road Phoenix called out over the noise of the traffic “Hey Edgeworth – Happy New Year!” Maybe he imagined it, but he thought Edgeworth winced slightly, and it was Phoenix Wright’s turn to smirk. “Taxi!”

---------------ends

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gies a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-wullae-waught,
for auld lang syne.
- TRAD.

---

Last edited by KingMobUK on Mon Sep 17, 2007 1:47 pm, edited 5 times in total.

Title: The Book Of My Life
Author: KingMobUK
Rating: All ages.
Genre: Drama, possible angst chasm teetering. One Shot
Status: Completed First Draft
Pairing: None
Summary: Miles Edgeworth has a few days off work and ends up reflecting on his life. This is set shortly before 1:5 (Rise From The Ashes) on PW:AA. It can be read after "Starting Over" and "Auld Lang Syne" or on its own.

Spoilers: Mild spoilers for most of PW:AA, especially 1:4 and one for PW:T&T 3:1 (sorry, tried not to spoiler T&T but couldn't make it work properly without. Tried to keep it to the basics though). No spoilers for JFA that I can see.

Thanks to K. for suggesting the letter.

===================

Miles Edgeworth’s reverie was disturbed by the February sun. Its tentative rays of light were pushing their way through the blinds that shaded his apartment windows. Pess was still curled up tightly at his feet on the sofa, exuding canine contentment from every pore.

Had he really been sitting here all night? Not that that would be so unusual, if he was completely honest. He’d often lost entire days just sitting in this room when working on a case, obsessively seeking the slightest contradiction or nuance in every witness statement and police report in order to be completely prepared in court. Perfection had been his goal for the longest time, and perfection had meant a tireless, constant, single-minded pursuit of the guilty that had eaten into his days, months, years with no respite. And until Wright had appeared opposite him in court, he’d never had cause to regret it.

Sleep, by contrast, was his enemy. In sleep lurked the nightmares that had stalked him since his father’s death. And these days the nightmares had been joined by something that Miles found even more unsettling – self doubt. It was not a state of mind that he was accustomed to, and he found its presence at the back of his conscious thoughts both uncomfortable and frightening. Since his trial he’d become obsessed with his failure to see through the manipulations of Von Karma for all those years and now he found himself second-guessing almost every decision, trying to distinguish his own voice from that of his mentor’s. On the heels of those thoughts followed doubts over his chosen career and the means he’d used to further it. It was easy to push away these concerns with work, and he had applied himself to that end within a day of being released from the Detention Centre.

But at the moment he did not have a case to work on. In the Prosecutor’s Office and the Police Department there was a build up to the annual Evidence Filing Day, and most new cases were being scheduled to go to court after that date to ensure that existing resources were not too stretched. So Miles Edgeworth had found himself in the unusual position of having a few days off, precisely at a time when it was even less welcome than usual.

That first day, he’d actually gone into work. Frankly, at the moment he didn’t really want to have too much time with nothing else to do but think. So he’d spent the day organising his office, clearing out old paperwork and rearranging and re-compiling all his files. Detective Gumshoe had assisted him. Miles had always had an irrational fear of heights and despite Von Karma’s insistence on perfection at all costs, he had never overcome it completely. So Gumshoe had acted as his assistant; climbing the narrow, mobile ladder that tracked back and forth along the wall of shelves, spending the whole day taking down files and putting them back.

He’d been grateful for the company. Gumshoe never said much when they were together alone, but he never felt obliged to speak either, so it had been a peaceful day. He’d not been alone with his thoughts, but neither had he been plagued by inane conversation.

But like it or not, there had only been one day’s work at the office, and despite his compulsion to get away from his thoughts, he wasn’t about to go in and be the ghost at the feast when supposed to be on leave. He knew that most people regarded him as someone who lived for his work, but he was certainly not going to demonstrate to his colleagues just how true that actually was.

So he’d ended up staying at home, restlessly moving about in his apartment, playing with Pess, reading old law books, trying to find things to occupy his hands or his brain and keep the dark thoughts at bay. He’d considered going away for a couple of days but lacked a desired destination and was averse to aimless wanderings. Also, there was always the danger that Wright would report him as a missing person if he did that, he’d considered wryly. The defence attorney’s attempts at unobtrusive checking-up on him the past month or so had not escaped Edgeworth’s attention and he was half-exasperated, half-amused by it. Subtlety simply wasn’t in Wright’s repertoire, it seemed.

Mostly he'd stayed indoors, venturing out only for food or to take a walk with Pess. Since his trial there remained the danger that he’d be a target for press attention if he stepped too far out of his daily routine, and Miles preferred not to provoke any more scrutiny if he could possibly avoid it.

Clearing out his cupboards and closets had seemed like a good idea when he’d started it, and he’d gone to work with his customary zeal and thoroughness. He was habitually neat, a symptom of his compulsive need for perfection in all things, however minor. It was probably a fault, he reflected, but at least it provided him with an excuse to always have something to do.

Things had been going well, and he’d managed to kill the best part of a day by the time he started on the last cupboard in the hall. Pess had followed him from room to room with that mild canine curiousity that he usually exhibited when Miles was doing something that made no obvious sense.

Then he’d found the box.

He’d almost forgotten it was there, but once he saw it he remembered putting it in its current position on a high, back shelf, out of sight and almost out of reach, on the day that he had moved in. For years he’d regarded it as a sign of his weakness and had told himself he was ashamed of it. But he’d never felt able to part with it all the same, and when he’d moved back from Germany it had come with him.

Thoughtfully he hesitated over it, and then carried it back to the living room. He sat down on the white leather sofa and placed the box on the table in front of him, considering it, and the memories that it brought with it. Pess joined him on the sofa, obviously deciding that his human was exhibiting more sensible behaviour at last.

At some point he supposed he must have fallen asleep. Now, as sunlight continued to creep into the apartment, Edgeworth sat forward with sudden resolve. In his head, he could hear Von Karma’s sneering voice accusing him of sentimental romanticism as he pulled the box towards him.

He ran his fingers over the aging wood, feeling where in places it was rubbed into an almost polished smoothness from fifteen years of handling. Carved into it in a childish but surprisingly neat hand was the legend TREASURE. He let his fingertips explore the edges of the now worn engraving and a smile caught at his lips as he remembered Larry Butz giving the box to him on his birthday all those years ago, with a look of pride in his eyes and the exclamation “Look Edgey - I made this myself!”

He remembered being awed then that someone his age could make something that looked so complex and simultaneously being embarrassed that they would make something like that for him. Larry had always been able to make anything or do anything if it involved skills of craft or mechanics.

He looked down at his own hands – well manicured, uncalloused and unmarked, save for a few healed paper cuts. He would never be able to make anything like this, had never made anything like this. The Von Karma search for perfection did not include mechanical or artistic tasks. Those were things that one could pay someone else for, someone … inferior.

He remembered that birthday well. It had been a happy day. His father had taken them all to the mall for lunch and then to see a movie. The novelty of Miles having friends to share his birthday with had made everything seem even more special. He and his father had moved often, and he’d always been a shy child. Had his moral outrage not overcome his reticence to speak up in defence of Phoenix Wright at the class trial, he would likely have passed that year at a new school without friends.

After they got home from the mall, he had sat on the porch with Phoenix Wright and Larry Butz, laughing, opening presents and drinking chilled lemonade that his father had made. He remembered the fresh-baked cookies that Wright’s mother had sent – no doubt partly out of sympathy for the boy with no mother of his own, but delicious all the same.

Edgeworth glanced up at his bookcase and his sharp eyes picked out a slim, tattered volume on the history of common law that was tucked away high on the top shelf. He remembered unwrapping that book and looking up with a smile to see Wright watching him apprehensively, unsure of his choice. It had been second hand, of course – Wright’s allowance would never have stretched to a new copy and as it was, Edgeworth had suspected that several weeks’ pocket money had been put aside to buy it.

Then Butz had presented the box. Like the book, it was now somewhat battered. A selection of scratches and dints covered it, each one telling part of the story of its life and to some extent, of his own. It was chipped on one corner where he’d dropped it while trying to retrieve it from a high shelf in his bedroom. The fine marks on the bottom were from the grit on the wooden floor under his bed in the Von Karma house. Another deep scratch had been inflicted during a fight with his stepsister when the box had been the recipient of her considerable ire. And then there was a whole array of overlapping scuffs and chips that had built up during the constant packing and unpacking that the box had undergone through school and college.

Carefully he gripped the box between his knees and eased off the always-tight lid. It made a protesting squeak as he jiggled it in an unconscious memory of the easiest way to complete the task. It surprised him how easily he remembered.

Placing the lid to one side, he cast his eye over the contents. The smell of ink and paper mingled with the smell of old sawdust and he inhaled it deeply and closed his eyes, just as he had many times before. Memories stirred of past times that he had done exactly this. The box seemed smaller in his adult hands than it did in some of those recalled scenes. It was fuller, too – its contents had grown over the years.

He pulled out the tightly packed jumble of envelopes that were crammed inside. Most of them were unopened and some had the address crossed and re-crossed, having been at the mercy of the postal forwarding system. They were in a variety of sizes and styles, with differing values of stamps according to their age and the distance they had travelled. He weighed them in his hands just as he had when he received them, puzzled now as he was then why someone would go to this trouble month after month and year after year for no apparent reward.

He hesitated over one that was open, then pulled out the carefully folded, lined notepaper within. Opening it out, he noted that the paper still smelled lightly of a perfume that reminded him of his own mother, although he knew it belonged to someone else. The untidy and unchanged handwriting was entirely familiar, as was the signature.

He didn’t reread the letter because he knew what it said. Day to day news written cheerily, but carefully; haltingly expressed friendship; an underlying feeling of hurt and concern in the variations of ink pressure. He knew what they all said, even the ones he hadn’t opened, but had just carried to his room and filed away in the treasure box. He didn’t even really know why he’d kept them, he just knew that he had to, that he had never been able to shred them and forget them. They had been his only link to what had gone before. Somehow, keeping them but not giving in to the temptation to read or reply had seemed an adequate compromise between weakness and perfection when he was a child, and as he had become an adult, it had simply become a routine.

He tried to imagine Wright painstakingly writing these letters each month with no real knowledge of whether they reached their destination, or whether Miles even read them. He wondered if a reply had been expected and hoped for. He wondered if Wright had realised how much he had treasured these letters, even unread, or if he suspected that they still existed.

Carefully Edgeworth began to replace them in the box, making neat rows, organised by date.

Thrown in among the pile of letters were two photographs. He placed them on the table side-by-side until he’d finished filing the envelopes. Then he turned his attention to them.

The first was of his father, in black and white, smiling for the camera. Taken in his office, surrounded by papers and with his glasses pushed up onto his forehead. Miles remembered that picture being taken, by a newspaper journalist who was doing a story on Gregory Edgeworth, the great defence attorney. He remembered conquering his childish shyness to ask the journalist if he could have a copy. He remembered receiving it in the mail and being delighted that the woman had sent it. His father had just laughed and said it was a bad likeness, but to Miles, then, it was a treasure that summed up his life and hopefully his future.

The second was of three boys, in colour, with rough edges where it had been torn from a strip. Was that really him? He and Wright were squeezed onto the front of one of those photo booth stools on the day of his birthday, with Larry balancing precariously on his knees behind. His mouth twitched into a smile as he remembered that moment and the instant afterward when Larry had lost his balance and they had all collapsed in a heap while the final FLASH caught a tumble of limbs and feet. He shook his head. Larry hadn’t changed at all.

Edgeworth slotted the two pictures among the letters and pushed the box away from him across the small table.

He sat back, pulled up his legs and rested his head against the soft leather of the sofa, absent-mindedly stroking Pess’ head. Closing his eyes, he wondered if he would ever be able to explain to Wright why he had never replied to any of those letters, or why he still kept them. Probably not. He wasn’t entirely sure himself – it seemed completely irrational to him even now – as irrational as Wright continuing to send them in the first place. He was certainly not going to admit to keeping the mall photograph, although seeing the matching image on Wright’s keyring the day after his trial had almost prompted the confession out of him.

On an impulse Miles sat forward and flicked through the letters again with his forefinger, selecting one from nearer the end of the batch of correspondence. He particularly remembered receiving this one as it was the only one he’d opened in the last few years.

Dear Miles

Things are not going so well here. There was a murder on campus and I was accused of being the killer. I didn’t do it!! but it looked bad for me for a while. I think if you had been the prosecutor I would have been writing this from jail.

I’m free now but my life is over. People are saying that my beautiful Dollie may have been involved. I don’t know what to believe any more. As you know from my past letters I loved her very much and I thought she might be “Mrs Wright”. But it looks as if she might have been deceiving me all the time.

I feel like an idiot. I have been too ashamed to talk to anyone and have been spending more time in the law library than in class. I’m glad that I can write to you about this. Even if you never read it, I will feel better knowing that I told you …

Miles didn’t read any further but half-folded the letter and let the edge of it rest against his lips as he mused on it thoughtfully, grey eyes half-lidded.

Finally he replaced it in its envelope and pushed himself up from the sofa. Maybe there was a reason Wright had written these letters after all. Crossing the room, he sat down at the mahogany desk. Pess watched him silently, clearly wondering why the day’s routine did not appear to be going as normal.

The prosecutor picked out a sheet of stiff, burgundy edged paper and placed it in front of him, then reached for his fountain pen. He paused, and put the pen down again, realising that he didn’t really know where to start. The only letters he had ever written outside of work or business had been to his stepfather and stepsister, and even those had always been semi-formal. He almost laughed imagining either of their reactions at being confronted with Wright’s tortured prose and he could feel Manfred Von Karma’s glowering disapproval at his back as he picked up his fountain pen for the second time and started to write.

Dear Phoenix,

I regret that it has taken so long to reply to your letters. Unfortunately I cannot give you a satisfactory reason for never having done so before.

He winced at his apparent inability to sound informal, but pressed on, unwilling to be defeated by a simple letter.

I think that by now you understand the events that occurred after we last spoke outside my father’s home that Christmas. I hope that knowing those facts you may understand why I was never able to write back to you, perhaps even better than I do.

Things are not going so well here …

Miles continued to write for several hours. He surprised himself at how easy it became once he’d started. He stopped for breakfast, to take Pess for a walk, and to take a shower, but the letter was on his mind all the time and he returned to it immediately afterwards.

He wrote about his father, his life in Germany, his stepsister, his time at University and law school and his first, ill-starred trial as a prosecutor. He wrote about how he blamed himself for being so easily manipulated by his mentor. He tried to explain his decision to become a prosecutor, and how his desire for retribution and a perfect win record had driven him to use every underhanded trick he could to get a conviction. Finally he tried to explain his fear that he would never again be able to distinguish which thoughts came from his own head and which were from Von Karma’s, and how he wondered if it would be better for him to start his life over again somewhere else where he was unknown and could do no further harm.

By mid-afternoon he was done. Miles put down his pen and gathered up the pages feeling slightly embarrassed at the sheer amount of writing that he had produced. He was quite sure he hadn’t written this much since University.

He sat back and picked up the china cup of tea that perched on the edge of the desk, grimacing and putting it back down when he realised it had long gone cold. He sighed and pulled himself out of the leather chair, stretching cramped muscles carefully and shaking his writing hand to encourage his circulation.

For the remainder of the afternoon he busied himself with household tasks, keeping his eyes averted from the letter that sat on his desk and threatened to expose his fears and doubts to the world. Finally, he admitted defeat, walked over and picked up the pile of papers.

For a moment he held the letter between his thumb and forefinger, then he dropped it into the shredder. You were wrong, Wright. I don’t feel any better. With a sigh, he threw himself down on the sofa next to Pess and challenged the dark thoughts to do their worst.

------------ends

There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.
- STING

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Last edited by KingMobUK on Mon Sep 17, 2007 1:25 pm, edited 4 times in total.

Title: An Accident Waiting To Happen
Author: KingMobUK
Rating: No sex, some swearing.
Genre: Drama. One Shot
Status: Completed First Draft
Pairing: None
Summary: It's a couple of days after the end of 1:5 "Rise From The Ashes". When Phoenix answers his cellphone the last person he's expecting to hear from is Gumshoe. It can only be bad news. This story is set after the events in my previous fic "The Book Of My Life". It can be read after "TBOML" or on its own.

Spoilers: Spoilers for all of PW:AA and one very general reference to PW:TT 3:1. No specific spoilers for JFA.

Note: Thanks to K. for proofing duties.

"If you would like to submit any of your work to Court Records, please make a note in your post." If any of my work is ever good enough to be submitted to Court Records go ahead (but I doubt it)!

----------------------------

Phoenix cursed creatively in his head as the sound of the door buzzer cut into his brain. Leave me alone. His blue eyes fluttered open and then squeezed tightly shut against the brightness of the early morning sun. I’m not expecting any mail, and it’s too early for visitors. Probably a neighbour looking for a lost cat or something.

The buzzing ceased, and he smiled to himself, snuggling back under the quilt away from the frosty late-February sunlight.

It was the Monday after his most recent trial victory and he was trying to catch up on his sleep. Defending the Chief Prosecutor against a murder charge had taken a lot of legwork as well as taking its toll on his wits in court. Typically he’d been unable to sleep properly for the duration of the trial, between constant examination and re-examination of the files and poring over the evidence. Even with Ema’s help he’d found the whole case to be totally draining. Lana’s silence. Gant, who had scared him enough to make him wish he carried a firearm. Being manipulated into putting Edgeworth on the defensive. It had all been too much.

Phoenix knew that he’d been used to discredit the Prosecutor’s Office and Edgeworth in particular. The manufactured evidence scandal that the prosecutor had been involved in during an earlier case had become as big a scandal as the Skye trial itself. It had all come to light in court last week and Edgeworth had suddenly become the subject of a renewed hate campaign. Now the years of rumours about his manipulation of evidence and witnesses had a proven foundation, and while it had been clear that in this case the evidence he had presented was given to him by the police, it was also clear that he had not been rigorous in his checking, either by accident or design. It’s his responsibility, and he knows it.

Phoenix wasn’t sure how he felt about Edgeworth as a lawyer right now. He’d always heard the whispers of course, and seen the looks that the prosecutor got from members of the police department and other lawyers. For years he had clipped out articles about the “Demon Prosecutor” and his mentor Manfred Von Karma and all that time he had worried about his friend. One of them had prompted his decision to finally give up the arts for good, become a defence attorney and meet Edgeworth in court.

It troubled him that he found it impossible to match up the Edgeworth that was so often demonised in the press with the Edgeworth he’d known as a child, or indeed the Edgeworth that he had come to know over the last couple of months. In the immediate wake of the prosecutor’s own stint as a suspect and Phoenix’s defence of him, they had succeeded in making some awkward, halting steps towards renewing their friendship.

And yet … the first time he had faced Edgeworth in court, Phoenix had witnessed the sleight of hand that the prosecutor practiced with evidence and the way that he coached witnesses to produce the most favourable testimony. It had shocked him at the time to see for his own eyes how far Edgeworth had come from the idealistic would-be defender that he remembered from his schooldays. He’d struggled that day to reconcile the Edgeworth who stood opposite him, smirking and tapping his forehead condescendingly, with his memory of the prosecutor as a child. Back then, he remembered Edgeworth struggling to overcome his shyness to stand up and speak out against injustice, trembling both with the effort and his own emotions. How did he become so cold?

But during the Steel Samurai trial he’d seen a trace of the old Edgeworth returning. Phoenix knew that he could easily have lost that case, had Edgeworth not made an about-face in court and effectively helped him corner the real culprit. Again in the past week, he’d seen Edgeworth’s childhood desire for justice surface once more, even if it meant sacrificing a guilty verdict and his own reputation.

Phoenix hoped that this would be a turning point. As foolish as it might be, deep down, he even cherished a fantasy of Edgeworth following in his father’s footsteps as a defence attorney after all.

It was no secret that Edgeworth had been having a hard time over the past couple of months. At the end of the previous year when the prosecutor had been on trial for murder, the revelations in court had meant that although he had been acquitted of the crime, he’d lost his life all the same. All the things that Edgeworth had taken for granted had been swept away and Phoenix knew that the prosecutor had been having difficulty coming to terms with it.

To the casual observer Edgeworth hadn’t changed much – he was still taking on cases in court, still working all hours of the day and night, even winning the King Of Prosecutors award. His quick mind and biting wit had not been diminished. But to anyone who worked with him on a daily basis or had more than passing conversations with him, it was obvious that there was a war going on beneath the apparently calm surface. It was a struggle between the Edgeworth that he had been as a child and the Edgeworth that he had become under Von Karma’s tutelage. And if Phoenix was completely honest with himself, he was sometimes afraid which side was going to win.

Still, the prosecutor had become more approachable since his trial, and little by little Phoenix felt that they were regaining some of the ground they had lost during their fifteen-year estrangement. It was a painfully slow process, and Edgeworth was a difficult study, being naturally reserved and unused to having any confidantes other than his mentor. But Phoenix had persisted, albeit subtly, in finding reasons to call the prosecutor, or to bump into him in the District Court building and even go for coffee on a couple of occasions. He’d also kept his own name off the court docket since the beginning of the year to avoid any clashes in court. It meant he had a drawer full of unpaid bills and an empty refrigerator, but that was better than risking the fragile beginnings of a renewed friendship.

To start with he’d been concerned for Edgeworth’s health. Phoenix found it difficult to even contemplate the enormity of the betrayal that had been revealed at Edgeworth’s trial, to have it publicly demonstrated that the man who had taken him in, given him a home, educated him and guided him was not only the murderer of his father but also planned to be his own destroyer. Phoenix knew all about betrayal, and he had worried for weeks afterwards whether the prosecutor would be able to deal with the aftermath. I remember how badly I handled it, back then. He’d found it hard to judge how deeply Edgeworth was affected because asking him outright was out of the question.

He wasn’t sure if Edgeworth suspected that Phoenix had been keeping watch over him, because if he did it was not something that they discussed. Their topics of conversation were rarely personal – after New Year’s Eve, Phoenix had instinctively stuck to neutral subjects in a bid to avoid the awkwardness and uncomfortable silences that threatened their interactions. Occasionally though, the old Edgeworth of their childhood made an appearance, and those rare, unguarded moments that Phoenix witnessed were treasured by him like precious jewels. He had stored away in his heart every instance of a smile that spread to the eyes, a sidelong glance of a thought that they shared without words, and each hard-fought effort by Edgeworth to speak about something even slightly personal.

Yes, he was afraid which Edgeworth might win the battle, but every time he saw the prosecutor his hope increased that it would be Gregory Edgeworth’s son rather than Manfred Von Karma’s protégée that would be victorious.

With that hope and his increasing faith in the tenuous relationship growing between them Phoenix had also started to convince himself that Edgeworth would feel able to turn to him if the fight became too hard, and he had gradually let his worries subside.

Sure, Edgeworth’s stated intention to leave the Prosecutor’s Office had come as a shock to Phoenix. But Edgeworth had seemed determined to take responsibility for his actions in court, and Phoenix was reassured when the prosecutor promised to call him so they could talk it over before he handed in his resignation. Maybe we’ll even get along better if we never have to face each other in court.

----------------------

His drowsy musing was interrupted again – this time by his cell ‘phone. For Christ’s sake!

He reached out to the bedside table with a sigh and picked up the ‘phone without opening his eyes. He wasn’t sure who he was expecting to hear calling at this time but Larry seemed the most likely culprit. He kept peculiar hours and company so dramatic calls from him at any time were not unusual. Maybe he’s back from Dimension Sex and needs picking up at the airport.

Recognising Detective Gumshoe’s voice was a surprise - and the surprise brought with it a sinking feeling. Gumshoe rarely brought good news in his wake.

“Sorry pal, I know it’s early but I have to talk to you.”

“Uh – what’s happened?”

“Not on the ‘phone, pal” there was something about Gumshoe’s voice that made Phoenix suddenly alert.

“Where are you?”

“Right outside your door, pal. One of your neighbours let me in”.

Shit. No longer sleepy, Phoenix sat bolt upright and reached for his shirt and sweatpants from the evening before. Dragging the clothes on as he hurried to the apartment door a million worries niggled at him. Bad news? About Maya? Ema? The case?

The buzzer sounded again just as he reached the door and he yanked it open, not caring if he looked as frazzled as he felt. Gumshoe was standing right on the doorstep and one look at his expression caused Phoenix’s chest to contract in sure anticipation of something bad.

“What’s happened, Detective?”

Gumshoe didn’t answer. He just stood there, holding out a piece of neatly folded paper. Phoenix looked at the note blankly as Gumshoe pushed it towards him insistently.

He took it, started to unfold it and as he did he noticed that Gumshoe had averted his eyes. His fears crystallised. I know that paper. Stiff, expensive paper with burgundy edging that he had received notes on in court more than once. He only knew one person who used paper like that and indeed, as he folded back the last crease he saw the neat, controlled handwriting that he was expecting.

He was unsure what bad news he initially feared might be concealed under the folds, but the message he revealed was a complete shock. He stared at the piece of paper for what felt like an age, reading and re-reading, not taking it in. This isn’t happening. He stepped backwards into the apartment, reaching behind him for support from the table by the door.

Eventually Phoenix found his voice. “Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death? This is a joke, right?” But one look at Gumshoe’s face denied that faint hope. I don’t … I can’t believe it.

“Steady, pal.” Gumshoe put out a hand, but Phoenix brushed it away.

“What the hell happened? This is crazy.”

“We found that on his desk this morning at the Prosecutor’s Office. No one’s seen him there since the trial.”

“Since the trial?” But he said he was going to his office right after he told me he’d call me. “Have you checked his apartment?” Phoenix knew as he asked that it was a futile question. Of course Gumshoe would have checked. He idolised Edgeworth.

“Passport’s gone, but his clothes and stuff are still there. Uniform found his car at the airport. He took a direct flight to London, but he didn’t have a hotel booked there and there haven’t been any sightings since.” The detective shrugged, looking frustrated and angry at his own lack of information.

“Do you believe this?” Phoenix demanded.

“I don’t know, pal. I can’t believe Mr Edgeworth would … but he’s been different since … that trial. And with all this stuff about the SL-9 evidence coming out as well last week …” Gumshoe hunched his shoulders and looked down at the floor evasively.

It’s my fault. That’s what he thinks. Maybe he’s right. Phoenix felt numb. He pushed the note back into Gumshoe’s hand and made to close the door, but the detective jammed his foot against the wood.

“Sorry pal, but I have to ask you to come down to the station. We’re taking statements from everyone that spoke to him after the trial.” Gumshoe’s eyes were apologetic, but determined.

“You saw him at the same time I did, Detective. I don’t … I can’t guess why he would do this, or say … that. I don’t understand why he would even think about it.” Phoenix was convinced that at any moment he was going to choke on his words and he really wished that Gumshoe would go away and leave him alone.

“Sorry pal. Orders.” Gumshoe was immovable.

This is a bad dream. It has to be. “…. Right. Just … give me a few minutes.” Phoenix left Gumshoe standing at the door and retreated to his room, moving in a daze, waiting to wake up for real.

As Phoenix stood under the warm jet of the shower his mind was still working overtime. All he could see was the image of the note, and everything that it implied suddenly overwhelmed him. He placed his hands on the wall for support and let the water run over his head and down his back. Involuntarily, he sobbed, and salt tears joined the water as it trickled into the drain.

-------------------------

They were the only tears that Phoenix Wright would shed for Miles Edgeworth. By the time he had dressed and made ready to leave the apartment, shock and sorrow had been replaced by anger.

Fifteen years of trying to find him, see him again, talk to him. I gave up my old life to help him. I thought he’d started to change, but I was wrong. And now it’s over. He’s gone. It felt as though fifteen years had dropped away and he was nine years old again, standing on the sidewalk and looking at the empty porch of the Edgeworth house. It was all a waste of time.

The enormity of the betrayal settled over him like an icy cloud, and it reminded him of another betrayal, many years ago but still a raw memory. He said he’d call. He said that he had to face his responsibilities. He lied, and I was a fool to believe in him.

Phoenix told himself that he didn’t care if Edgeworth had run away, or if he did indeed intend to kill himself. He told himself that it would be better if Edgeworth did die. He resolved that after today was over and the statement given, he would never mention the prosecutor’s name again. Wherever he is, he’s dead to me.

The defence attorney picked his keys up from the table by the door and the keyfob containing a photo of himself, Edgeworth and Larry as children caught his eye. He regarded it for a moment, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. Then his eyes narrowed. Opening one of the table drawers he unclipped the fob, threw it in, and closed the drawer again with no second thought.

Then he looked up at Gumshoe, and this time his voice was perfectly calm. “Okay detective, let’s go. But I don’t think I’ll have anything useful to tell you. Outside of court, I didn’t know the man at all.”

------------ends

“Time up and time out
For all the liberties you've taken.
Time up and time out
For all the friends that you've forsaken.
If you choose to waste away
Like death is back in fashion
You're an accident waiting to happen.”
- BILLY BRAGG

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Last edited by KingMobUK on Mon Sep 17, 2007 2:15 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Well the first thing I thought of was "...uh T&T spoiler? Where?"
I could not see one. So you did a good job of disguising it! I assume when I finally play it I'll be like "OHSOTHAT'SWHATOHOKAY."

I'm so excited you wrote this and it looks like you're writing more. Your writing style is really very captivating and Edgeworth is like, very witty without even trying. He makes me laugh. The line about the eyes was also very sweet.

I also like how this didn't fall into a romantic stereotype by, well, not being romantic. As much as a yaoi fan I am, it's good to simply see them getting along.

Edgeworth struggling with saying thank you was perfectly in character.

Can't think of too many bad things on this one! Great job! <3

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Well it's probably not long enough to generate too many bad things - apart from being completely ill-conceived in total, that is :)

This one and the other two that follow (still working on them) are shortish snapshots that cover the 1:4 to 1:5 period to flesh out the events that led from the end of one to the end of the other and explore Phoenix and Edgeworth's relationship.

Glad you like Edgeworth's dialogue. I probably enjoy writing him more than I do Phoenix if I'm honest, but I'm never sure if I'm on target or not. I regard him as a great wit in the games and often I don't think he gets credit for that in fics.

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Interesting how you gave spoiler warnings if it's set between 1.4 and 1.5. I couldn't see any JFA spoilers, either, actually, unless you count [spoiler]Larry being away?[/spoiler]

Can't wait for the next ones!

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I don't think there are any spoilers for JFA, and the one for T&T is barely there but I wanted to be careful.

I list anything that might be a spoiler, just in case anyone (like me) played the games in the wrong order and hasn't played AA yet!

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Updated with second piece.

Feedback actively welcomed please.

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I really don't want to be the only one who reviews D:

EVERYONE ELSE READ THIS.

I love how you allude to your other fics. (ie, the photo and stuff)
I love how human you make Edgey without being an angst-puppet.

his fear that he would never again be able to distinguish which thoughts came from his own head and which were from Von Karma’s

That part really really hits home. It hit home to me, and it's going to affect a lot of people who have been influenced heavily and have tried to start over.

Bleh, I'll make this short since I've harassed this thread enough, but enourmous job. This made me cry ;_;

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I'm sorry ;_; It almost made one of my work colleagues cry too, but she tends to do that a lot so I didn't think it was quite that angsty.

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Both of these are great. As always, I think you have a wonderful grasp of the characters, the way they continue to reach out awkwardly to one another. It's not easy, and in a lot of respects, it's not fun...but it still comes across as important. I like the mental image of Edgeworth writing and writing and writing, just getting everything out. And then, he doesn't do anything with it. In a way, he can't do anything with it.

I also like the way you work Larry in. At the stage you're writing, I think he would be more of an impact than perhaps in other stages of the games, but it's nice to get the feeling that for all his issues, he's still important to both Edgeworth and Phoenix.

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Ah yes, Larry.

:) <----guilty as charged.

I had originally intended to write a fic in this set including Larry or even from his POV as an observer but I found him impossible to handle without the piece turning into out and out comedy. Also I don't have AA around any more (someone borrowed it) to replay to get a better feel for his character and try to get in his head, and I think that's what I'd have to do or I won't do him justice. I've seen him written both beautifully and badly in fics online and didn't want to end up in the "badly" camp just for the sake of including him.

I'll make up for it one day by doing a Larry-fic (never one to back out of a challenge!), but I thought that I'd work round him for now by having him be somewhat pivotal in the stories without actually being there. I feel at this stage he and Phoenix would have a reasonably close relationship in terms of seeing each other often (although possibly not exactly confidantes because I doubt Phoenix would get a word in edgeways between the dramas, heh. I think of Larry as one of those friends who's great when they're around but prone to vanishing into Dimension Sex - as my OH and his mates used to call it - whenever he has a girl he's enamoured with).

And yeah, the problem for Edgeworth is that he *can't* do anything with the letter. He isn't like Phoenix, or Larry - he doesn't know how to make something from the heart and give it to someone else. At this stage he's basically adrift.

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It's so easy, in fic, to have characters reach a breakthrough and then make it all happy shiny downhill from there. But that's not how these stories are working at all, and it's both painful and wonderful to see the guys awkwardly work at some semblance of a friendship. Especially Edgeworth, I read the part where he poured himself into the letter and was thinking, "Oh, you poor thing, you'll never be able to mail that", and really feeling for him. You write bittersweetness very well.

Love all the details and mementos from Phoenix, Edgey and Larry's childhood, too. Even if I have a major hard time imagining Larry (at any age) using woodworking tools without pain and terror being unleashed upon the world.

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Ah, but Larry's a hero in his own little way. He has a genius way of doing exactly the right thing at the right time on occasion without knowing it at all :)

And he can make clocks at the beginning of AA without apparently losing an arm, so I thought he deserved some credit :) I'm very fond of Larry from the games which is why I'm leery of getting him wrong in a story.

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Updated with last story of this cycle (unless I do a Larry fill in later)!

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Holy crap. That was EXCELLENT.
It started out a BIT slow but it did flow really well. It was one of those instances where anyone who had played JFA would be like "Ho MAN" right when they knew what was coming. I even gasped and gained odd looks from several people in the immediete proximity.

Aww on Phoenix worrying about him, I was using that aspect in something I'm hoping to post soon as well.

And that last line...damn, did you get into Nick's head. That was his whole attitude through JFA.

Well done <3333 You've satisfied my insatiable Miles/Nick fanfiction desire <3 I was on such a withdrawl, trying to avoid the major GS3 spoilers....

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Heh. Glad I helped out with your fic desirings :)

It was a deliberate slow start as I was trying to not make it obvious big news was coming. I also wanted it to stand alone as a fic as well as work as a set so I did deliberately skim over some recapping.

Next stop - springtime in Paris, I guess. Maybe :)

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I just finished reading all three. And I just have to say WOW. I'm pretty much speechless. Auld Lang Syne was such a cute continuation to Starting Over. A great show of how awkward their friendship is at that point. Though they are trying to rekindle it has its awkward bumps in the road. But the two of them are trying. You handled the characters extremely well and that "Thank You" by Edgey at the end was sweet. A breakthrough on his part, it shows that he is trying. As awkward as it might be, he's still trying.

The Book of My Life, I have to admit, I was crying at the end. It brought me to tears. And trust me, that's a good thing. You wrote Edgeworth so well that you felt for him and thats what any writer or artist wants to do, have their audience feel for their characters. That note, wow, he tried to do what was right, but couldn't, because he can't. That's just like him, he just can't with all that he has been through. I love the fact that he was struggling with his Gregory part of himself and his Von Karma part of himself. Cause he literally is in turmoil with his self that he doesn't know which part to trust of for that matter which one feels right. I can so see that would be what Phoenix would put in his letters and it's good to actually hear what one of them sounds like. And Larry, oh my how adorable about him making the treasure box. I bet he bared enough scars for a lifetime.

And last, but certainly not least, is An Accident Waiting to Happen, I was beginning to tear up here as well. You really got into Phoenix's head with his thoughts and emotions. I always wanted to see what happened when Phoenix heard the news about Edgeworth. I wondered what was going on in that head of his, I wanted to know what he felt at the moment he found out. And you did a wonderful job putting it into words. You lead up to it wonderfully as you explained the Rise to the Ashes case, the emotional turmoil in and out of court that in turn, eventually lead up to when Gumshoe came to Phoenix's door. I wanted to experience what Phoenix initially felt that lead to his actions in JFA. I wanted to know why he became so angry. And you showed that very well. I felt for Phoenix and I teared up. I really loved it. Great Job.

I absolutely love your work. You write these characters extremely well and I literally feel for them every time I read one of your pieces. You get into their heads and flush out their emotions. I really love it. I can't wait to read more.

Oh, also, are you planning on writing the moment Edgeworth returns in JFA fic? I would love to see what's going on in that head of his, mostly Phoenix's, okay well both of them really. *giggles* I know that it is touched on in JFA but not by much. Like a reunion of sorts, a moment that Phoenix lets his emotions all come bubbling to the surface. A point where he explains his anger and frustration. And I'd love to see what Edgeworth's reactions to this side of Phoenix would be. Just a thought. Oh and a Larry fic would be SO cute.

Again great job! (sorry I wrote so much )

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I guess you liked 'em then, huh? I'm glad because I really did enjoy writing them. Especially the middle one even though it was the hardest.

I may move on and have a poke round in the innards of JFA at some point, yes. But before that I might take a stroll round Paris in Edgeworth's shoes. May take a while though as much as I love writing from his POV it's probably going to need as many rewrites as the one above took <rolls eyes>.

I was a bit worried these wouldn't work for other folks to be honest, especially the latter two as there was a lot of thinking and not much doing and I'm not sure if that's the done thing.

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*nods and laughs* Yeah I liked them. Edgeworth's POV was great and yeah it can be hard sometimes when you want a thought explained rather than action. Sometimes it can be a little hard to get a point across BUT it fit well for the piece. Because we wanted to know what was going on in his head, what he is feeling. We want to learn more about the character. I know I do, because we do in the games get a little insight to his past, etc. (along with Phoenix's) but not by much. So I really liked seeing what was going on in that head of his. Same with the third piece, when we got into Phoenix's head. I really liked it because we got to see what he was thinking, and his emotional reactions to what was happening around him. So I really enjoyed it.

As I've said before for "Starting Over", as an artist I can see many of the moments clearly and I want to draw them out. Which, by the way, I have several pieces I'm working on that were inspired by your work, including two from these three pieces, especially the last two. Once finished, colored, etc. (I'm picky with my work so if I don't think I got it right I'll do it over *sighs* so there's no telling how long it'll be *laughs*) I'll post. So you've done a wonderful job.

Oh and ooh an in Edgey's shoes idea huh? That's very cool. That would be great to see him in another environment away from the stresses of court. Sounds awesome. Tea time with Edgeworth, that's a great idea.

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I finally got a chance to read the last one. I like the sense of building to that climax we all know is coming. In a way, it's sort of like that "bomb under the table" narrative style, really pushes up the tension. I'm always interested in how people portray Phoenix finding out about the suicide note--one thing I thought you did that was interesting was have it clear that Edgeworth had left the country right off the bat. I think that's a logical conclusion, but not one I've seen before.

I'm definitely looking forward to what you do with Edgeworth's "journey" over in Europe. You write him very well--both him and Phoenix, but Edgeworth especially--that I kinda blinked and grinned when I was perusing your LJ and saw your questions RE: Paris (hahaha, and you think you come across as a stalker?).

If there was one bone of contention I had, it was that I think Phoenix moved on to anger too quickly at the end. Even if it's clear that Edgeworth has skipped town, they still don't know that maybe he wanted to off himself in the von Karma ancestral home or whatnot. Plus, with such a huge shock, I think Phoenix would be shocked numb (perhaps even to the point of throwing up, as distastefully graphic as that sounds), and then the anger would come much later when it'd have a chance to really settle. I think he would lose himself in trying to find out as much as he possibly could at first--half disblieving what Gumshoe is saying. Then maybe at night when he has no where to turn but his thoughts...

Hahaha, sorry! No, it wasn't a bad way to do it by any means! I just got sort of lost in my own meanderings there... XD

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Yeah I could probably have been more dramatic over the Phoenix reaction but I'm always really worried about going a bit too far in that direction as I'm wary of melodrama in general. It's tough to get the right balance. I did consider him being sick it has to be said, but lacking a beta reader who has actually played the flipping game I decided to err on the side of caution. Maybe I will rewrite in a couple of weeks with a more critical eye.

In regard to him being angry though, it's all about the betrayal and whether Edgeworth has skipped town or still plans to off himself in the Danube is irrelevant I think. The end result is the same in regard to Phoenix. But I don't think that Phoenix ever really truly and honestly thinks Edgeworth is dead. He just thinks the note is a "F*** you".

Hum - so you copped my LJ infograb did you? Dammit - I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for those pesky kids! Dang, I accidentally revealed my sources for story research!

Surprisingly to myself, I have 5000 words done already in the space of two evenings and that's only in the form of individual scenes that have popped into my head so it'll prolly end up being a long one if I ever finish it.

I am finding however that Edgeworth is a completely different person when not in LA. It's interesting. So not sure if people will end up liking it or not if I'm completely truthful. Hm.

Oh God, I just remembered! "He would also not be averse to having it served by attractive and possibly exotic waiters." Argh! You saw that! Argh!

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Last edited by KingMobUK on Thu Sep 20, 2007 4:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Hahaha, yes, I know what you mean when it comes to wanting to avoid melodramatic excess, but don't let that stop you from going for the drama. As your first fic showed, you have a good eye for it and can make things that might seem cliche in your head work very well. It's not so much what you're writing as how you write it.

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Mmmmaybe :) I'll see how it goes in Paris. With the waiters :)

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