Well, hey there. Rii, here, with a brand-spankin' new fic that's actually worth sommat.

I am here to present to you Unacceptable Changes, a little experiment cooked up by me and The PCD of this here forum. It involves post 4-4 nonsense, including angry hobos, Larry actually being right about things for once in a milennia, Mr. Hat in a Baseball Cap, and some very, very tasty pancakes. Among other things.

Beware, for there's spoilers for all four games within the fic, so tread carefully if you're wary of those sorts of things. =) Otherwise, read and enjoy!

-/-

Larry Butz was a man who suffered for his art. Literally.

After all, it was entirely art's fault that he was now in the Hickfield Clinic with a broken arm, after falling off his glorious stone work-in-progress. Never mind the fact that Larry wasn't wearing a harness, nor padding the ground below with anything. It was entirely art's fault.

Though, Larry figured as he examined the lime green thing in the bathroom, casts were pretty sexy; a good way to get girls to write down numbers for him, too.

“Larry Butz, you sly dog, you are one cool customer,” he said, stroking his chin as he looked into the mirror, thinking the situation over. “That's right, man, cool with a capital K.”

After shooting a practiced smile into the mirror, he waltzed out of the bathroom, hungry and not in the mood for any of that junk they called food in the cafeteria. What Larry longed for was some fresh food, and fresh air too, for that matter—the Butz had to be free! The hospital was totally cramping his style. “Bad for my inspiration,” he said to himself, “my artistic... ness. My zen, my mojo.” He rattled off increasingly creative and increasingly less accurate terms as he went along the hospital hallway.

Needless to say, Larry was completely bypassing the fact that inspiration was probably the last thing he should have had on his mind, particularly since he couldn’t produce much art in this condition. The most pressing matter should have been thinking about how best to contact the family that had commissioned the sculpture from him (What was their name again? Tackiya? Tamina? Whichever.) to let them know he’d be unable to work on the stupid thing until his arm was better. But it probably didn't matter much, he figured; sculptures took such a long time to make in the first place, right? They wouldn't notice a few days (or weeks) missing from the schedule. Heck, Larry even doubted they were—well hello there.

He stopped rather suddenly, for his attention had been stolen quite effectively by the shy glance of a young woman on a bench in the hospital lobby.

She was pretty, unbelievably so, with hair that that fell in silken curls that were a gleaming shade of blue with soft eyes to match. A sketchbook was poised in her lap, her pencil flying over the page.

She was totally Larry's type.

He grinned knowingly, nodding as he ran a hand through his hair. Such a beauty would only be impressed by top-tier moves. Sidling his way over to the bench, he leaned against the wall with his good elbow. The woman's pencil halted for an instant as he leaned in, before darting more intensely over the paper.

"So, you're an artist, huh?" he drawled, smooth as peanut butter.

She tensed up, shoulders rising, barely glancing at him. Without warning, she flipped the page in her sketchbook (what was she really drawing, anyways?) and drew a decidedly happy face.

"...yes," she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

Oh man, that voice was too cute! His grin widened. "That's pretty good! Quick with the pencil, I like that!"

She faltered, before opening a new page and scribbling down... the same face. "...thank you," she murmured.

Man, she was totally into him! Time for introductions. "My name's Larry. Larry Butz. Nice to meetcha."

"...likewise."

Larry, being fluent in totally-into-himese, instantly translated the word in his head: "I love you. Take me, I'm yours." He sidled closer, now sure he had the okay.

"Y'know... I'm a bit of an artist myself," he said, reaching for her pencil. It had a bear topper on it. Larry liked cute girls that liked cute things. "Mind if I draw you a picture?"

Her shoulders hunched as his fingers neared it, and her grip tightened on it a moment. Larry paused; apparently, she was considering the question very, very thoroughly.

Seconds stretched, leaving Larry in an awkward half-reaching position, before she loosed her hold on the pencil. "...go ahead."

"Thanks!" Larry said, winking. Smoothly, he took the sketchbook from her hands as well, and propped it in his lap as he sat beside her. He tapped the bear top against his chin. What to draw, what to draw... Aha.

The best way to get to a woman's heart was through her face, Larry figured, and began to draw a portrait.

"Y'know," he noted, while carefully sculpting her narrow chin, “you're pretty lucky I didn't break my left arm, huh? Or else I wouldn't be able to draw for you."

She took nearly a minute to reply, staring at the back of the sketchbook now in Larry's hands. "...I suppose so," she finally said.

Larry practically squealed in delight, but managed to keep relatively cool, resulting in a happy squint. Man, that voice was cute!

As the pencil skated over the paper, he caught sight of her leaning in, half nervous, half curious. He smirked and waggled a finger. "Ah-ah! No peeking 'til it's finished, all right?"

"Ah..." Her left hand clenched faintly as she watched her pencil. "...all right."

Larry’s tongue poked out between his lips as he went, glancing at her occasionally for reference, imagining what flawless pickup line he'd use after he showed her the masterpiece, and she'd gushed about it.

"Madam, it was a pleasure; and yet, almost a crime. I'm unworthy to translate such a beautiful face to paper." Oh yeah, that one would do.

"And... voila!" With a wild flourish and scrawl of signature, he gave the book a dramatic spin to show off his handiwork. "Touche, bon appetite, mon petite chou!” Larry didn't speak French, and he hoped the girl didn't either.

Her eyes fixed on the paper, darting over their penciled counterparts, before she leaned forward and, so gently, plucked the sketchbook away from him.

Larry grinned, expectant, as she pored over it. Any second now, here came the praise—and the phone number.

"...it's very nice," she finally replied. Larry leaned forward, nodding.

"...mhmm?"

She looked back at him, before returning to the sketchbook.

"Mhmmmm?" Larry said again, for good measure. She was just speechless, he figured—some people were easily impressed.

"...I'd like my pencil back... please..." she said, not looking at him.

"What?" His face fell an instant; that wasn't exactly what he'd wanted to hear, but he put the grin back on before it was missed. "Right! Right, your pencil. Here y'are."

She snatched it back a little more quickly than seemed necessary.

Hours seemed to pass. Larry had begun tapping his foot on the floor. Just what was up with this girl? And on top of that, he was getting rather hungry. A man was nothing with an empty stomach, after all.

There was a flip of paper, and a scratch of pencil. A smiley face peered back at him. "...thank you for drawing that for me," she said. And she smiled, just a little.

Score one for Larry.

"Hey, it was my pleasure," he replied. "Any time."

She nodded, and closed the sketchbook, fingers playing with the edge.

Well, not everyone was blessed with confidence. Larry figured he'd do the girl a favor. "So, how 'bout lunch?" he asked.

A startled flinch, and she peered back once more, gripping her book tight. Ooh, she was so excited she'd nearly jumped out of her skin! He beamed and scratched the back of his head. "I'm buyin' and everything, so you can get whatever! Anything you want, leave it to the Butz!"

She considered the floor carefully, and after what seemed a year, she flipped open the book again. A few strokes of the pencil, and a grin stood out on the paper. "...that sounds nice."

Larry performed a very long and elaborate mental victory dance in his head as he stood, grinning. "Great! Where were you thinking?"

Once more, she brought her nail up to her lip, but didn't bite it. Instead, she held the sketchbook. "...I eat lunch in my room," she replied.

Oh, man! Five minutes, and she was already inviting him to her room! What a find! Larry truly was a lucky man. He thought his face would break if he grinned any harder. Shooting another thumbs up, he babbled, "Sounds great to me! Your room! Sounds awesome!"

"...will you bring more sketches of yours?"

O-ho! Man, did he pick the right job! "Oh, yeah, sure, got a ton in my room!"

She presented him, once again, a doodle of a grin. "...I'd like to see them," she said.

"Sure thing! I'll show you whatever you want!" Larry said. "Anything! Sure thing! Yeah! So, uh," he added, "where's your room, anyways? You want me to get my stuff first?"

She nodded, and became engrossed in yet another drawing. It seemed to be a map. "...third floor. ...seventh room. ...I look forward to it." Before Larry could get a good look at the map, she had flipped the page over and drawn another smile. "...it will be fun."

Larry was gone before she could say anything more, whether she wanted to or not. Fun. Oh yeah, it was going to be fun.

Up to his room in a flash, his sketchbook was quickly tucked under his arm, and just as quickly he was back in the halls, puzzling over which room his ravishing beauty resided in. Was it the third room of the seventh floor? The seventh room of the third floor? The tenth room of the first floor? Oh well! Might as try all of them! Didn't matter much, so long as the end result—lunch with a startlingly beautiful girl—was achieved.

In fact, Larry's search went relatively well. Several options were knocked off once he realized that the clinic only had three floors, and on top of that, only ten rooms per floor. Plus, the first floor was all ER's and operating rooms and places where nurses glared at him, saying things like “You're not allowed back here, sir,” and other completely uninteresting stuff. They’d be way more interesting, Larry thought to himself, if a few of them looked more... nurse-ey, and not so much like middle-aged ladies in scrubs with icky hair. Those types weren’t much fun at all.

With utmost care, he opened the door to a room on the third floor and peered inside—and, much to his delight, found exactly what he was looking for.

“My sapphire-haired goddess!” he proclaimed, flinging the door completely open and basking in the brilliance that was his as-of-five-seconds-ago favorite nickname for his soon-to-be-girlfriend. “I have returned! Brought my sketch-”

There was another man in the room.

Larry's sketchbook fell to the floor with a thump of cardboard and folding paper.

“Hey! What gives?!” he yelled, screwing up his face in anger and stomping towards the offender—though keeping his distance. Said offender was a rather big fellow. “You don't go on dates with two people at the same time!!”

“...oh, I'm sorry,” Larry's sapphire-haired goddess replied, apology clear on her face. Her other date, or whatever he was, didn't seem to be nearly as sheepish, however. He didn't really look much of anything, really, since his back was turned to Larry.

“Baby! Don't be sorry!” Larry said quickly, managing a quick, dashing—or at least semi-dashing, whatever he could muster—grin. “It's him who should be sorry!” He frowned again, and with utter determination and guts, he tapped his rival in love on the arm. “What're you doing here, bub?”

The bub turned around, and blinked, eyes half-closed. He tilted his head a little, and looked at the open door. “...eh?”

“Yeah! Just what's your problem? This is my date. My lunch. Dunno who invited you,” Larry continued, absolutely steamed.

“...ah. Sorry,” said the uninvited man.

Larry blinked a few times, befuddled by this lack of resistance. He was probably winning. “Yeah! So, uh... get lost!”

“...mm?” said the man who was supposed to get lost.

Larry squinted at his opponent, unsure what to make of him. “...man, really, are you even listening to me?” He scratched the back of his head. “My artistic Venus, darling, who is this?” he asked, turning to her with as valiant a smile as he could manage.

“...it's Mr. Right,” she replied.

Larry's stomach sank. Oh, crap. He was dealing with a Woman Already In A Relationship. He hated when this happened. “Ah, right... uh... so I ... so I guess you've already... huh.” With just the slightest twist of dejection in his face, he glanced from his shy-eyed, stolen paragon of perfection and into the face of the man who owned her heart.

He could have sworn he'd seen that face before. Where had he seen that face before?

“...you should stop mumbling, I can't hear a word you're saying,” the heart-thief told him.

“WELL!” he blurted back, jarred out of his thoughts. “Uh. I'm, uh, happy for you two,” Larry stammered, forcing a parody of a grin onto his face. “You're a, uh, great-lookin' couple! Haha! Real great...”

He was in agony.

The guy in front of him smirked, looking down. “Wow, aren't you observant,” he said.

“Well, I am an artist,” Larry replied with excessive pride, almost forgetting how angry he was. “I was born to observe.”

“Oh, really.”

Larry squinted in skepticism, realizing just then that he was being treated with a fresh dose of sarcasm. He frowned. “Don't make fun of me, buddy,” he growled. “That's just not right!”

The man looked at him, still smiling in a patronizing sort of way. Despite himself, Larry began Observing, as if trying to prove a point.

It was upon this Observing that Larry realized something.

There was something there, something in the sharpness of that man's eyes that he knew, that he had known for years and years and years. Sharp, blue-black eyes, the color of something shiny and dark, like a raven, or, or some other bird...

Larry's own eyes, sharp but brown as mud, widened. “...Phoenix?” he said.

The sharp-eyed man blinked a few times, this time staring out the window, before turning back to what Larry thought was his lover and giving a casual, lazy wave. “Nice seeing you, Vera,” he said, and began on his way out.

Larry was too preoccupied with the fact that he now could recognize the man's voice to even register that his shy, sweet, dew-eyed teddy-bear without a name now had one. “Nick! Is that you?” he said.

Phoenix, or whoever the man was, did not reply. Larry followed in hot pursuit down the hallway, leaving his sketchbook abandoned on the floor, with a very confused and deserted young woman behind to look through it a few minutes later, in vague awe and delight.

Larry, however, was feeling increasingly confused and maybe, just maybe, the slightest bit hurt. “Hey! Nick! That's you, isn't it? Nick! Hey! Stop for a sec, will ya? It's me!” Phoenix had bypassed the elevators and opened the door to the stairwell. Larry followed suit, now only a few steps behind. “Y'know, me! Larry Butz! Dude, how have you been? I haven't seen you in forever!”

“Nope,” was all he said in reply. They reached the bottom of the stairwell, and Phoenix walked out onto the first floor.

“Man, stop for a moment, will you? I wanna talk!” Larry continued, still trying to keep in stride with Phoenix’s surprisingly quick pace. “It's been ages!”

“Mhm.” He still wasn't stopping.

Larry continued on, regardless. “How've you been, anyways? Still lawyering and all that?”

“I'm fine. Nice seeing you, Larry.” He kept walking, exiting the hospital.

At that point, Larry decided that it was time to Take Action. He grabbed Phoenix's shoulder. “Dude! Just stop! You in a hurry or something?”

Phoenix blinked, almost sleepily, and finally stopped. “Not particularly,” he admitted.

“ Right! Okay!” Larry said, completely satisfied by the answer. “Now then...” He leaned in conspiratorially. “What are you doing in that fine young lady's room?"

"Talking."

"Yeah? But you're not dating, right?”

“Yeah.” Larry hardly noticed that Phoenix wasn't looking at him.

“Ah! Cool, cool. So... you two're buddies, right?”

“In a sense.”

Larry grinned, snickering. “Man! How'd you meet a dream like her?"

Phoenix didn’t respond; he still was looking away.

"Ooh, gonna keep your secrets from me, huh? Huh?” He pushed Phoenix’s shoulder, grinning and laughing. “Nick, you dog! C'mon, man, let me in on your secret."

"I don't think you really need to know,” Phoenix replied, lowering his head and smiling slightly, but without any enthusiasm. His hat—weirdass hat, Larry thought—hid his eyes.

“No way, Nick, 'course I do!” Larry insisted.

"No. You don't." Phoenix's voice was cold and harsh, and his smile had disappeared. Larry felt a shiver run up his spine.

“Dude, what's wrong?” Larry said, after gulping and collecting his nerves.

“Nothing. Nice seeing you, Larry,” said Phoenix, and turned to leave.

“Waitwaitwaitwait! Nick!” Larry called, reaching and grabbing him by the shoulder again. “Man! You don't see me in, like, what, ten years?"

Even Larry could see that Phoenix didn't look amused. "Seven.”

"Seven years, and you're, like, completely ignoring me! What's up with that?"

"Nothing.” He turned around. “Nice seeing you, Larry,” he said, his voice indicating otherwise.

Larry grabbed him again. "No, dude, seriously! C'mon!” Phoenix's eyes were downcast and stern as he paused, Larry’s face growing more concerned. “Lemme know what's going on, did something happen?"

Phoenix didn't answer.

"C'mon. Let me probe your brain a bit, okay? Buddy?” He attempted a smile, and a comforting pat on the shoulder. Phoenix tensed. “Like, what's with the hobo gear? I thought I'd never see you out of the suit-"

“Go away.”

Larry backed off, horrified by the terrifying tone in his supposed friend’s voice. “Dude. Dude. What's the matter with you?”

“Nice seeing you, Larry,” Phoenix repeated sourly, shuffling off. Larry stood in shock for a while, before gulping and collecting his thoughts; he couldn’t just let Nick go. Unsure, he started to follow after Phoenix, careful this time to keep distance.

Larry... wasn't sure what to think of it. He knew Nick. He'd known Nick since they were kids. And the man he'd just seen here—the man with the same face and voice as his age-old buddy—that man had not been Phoenix Wright. Because Phoenix did not ever, ever cold shoulder his friends.

He didn't when Larry had broken his favorite action figure in second grade, nor after Larry'd convinced him to try jumping off the roof into a dumpster in middle school and ended up slamming his head into the metal corner; not even after Larry had ditched him to hang out with Emilie and he waited outside the movie theater for two hours. He'd grumble, he'd scold, but he'd never, ever snap.

And Nick had most certainly just snapped. It was something altogether new to Larry, and it scared him.

Sure it was a long time since they'd last really seen each other--seven, eight years?--but there was a difference between changing with time and becoming something entirely different.

So, in the disbelief and wonder of what exactly could have made Nick into... that, Larry could only think of one course of action: stalking.

Larry considered himself quite the accomplished stalker, though he preferred to refer to it as "Stealthy Scoping." It was a fantastic way to do research on potential dates, when he was younger and pickier; hence, he didn't use it as often these days. But Larry still had it... or at least, he thought he did.

He was five minutes away from the hospital before Phoenix glared at the bush serving as Larry’s hiding spot. "Go away, Larry," he said.

Larry said nothing, diving further behind the bush and peeking over the top, just in case. Phoenix sighed and continued walking. So did Larry.

He followed for quite a while longer, and quite effectively (he could count the number of times Phoenix saw him on only one hand--success!), at that. Finally, he caught sight of Nick vanishing into a building--a restaurant? Aha, his first hint. Stealthy as a tiptoeing giraffe, he sidled in after.

The place was poorly lit, greasy, and, it seemed, just opening. A faint gurgle from his gut reminded Larry of his desperate need for lunch, and he almost took a seat before he recalled that he was stealthing. Keeping close to the wall, Larry scoped the room before catching sight of Nick debating with a man by the piano, his friend's back turned to him.

"...can't even play it, then I've got no need for you here."

"Ah... That's fair. I do want my pay, though."

"You never did anything!"

"I never got any complaints until now. How was I supposed to know to change?"

Larry's hunger and lack of understanding kept him from listening to the argument too carefully, but he could tell that this guy was talking to Nick about a job. What the job exactly was, however, Larry couldn’t tell. He listened more.

“If I hire you to play piano, you play piano. You’re not supposed to just sit around and look pretty!”

“The customers didn’t know that, though, did they? They didn’t have a problem.”

“Just get out of here,” the man (the manager, Larry guessed) growled. “And I’m not paying you!”

Phoenix did nothing but nod, and left without a word. Careful not to arouse suspicion, Larry didn’t follow immediately (doubtless he’d be able to find Nick again after a good bit of wandering). Instead, he took the opportunity to get some information.

He approached the manager of the restaurant, who quickly tried to mask his irritation. “Hi, can I help you with anything?” he asked, rough annoyance still behind the relatively cheerful tone.

“Yeah, uh, who was that guy just now?” Larry asked. “Y’know, kinda tall, blue hat?”

“Oh, him.” The manager's face fell. “He's just a nobody I hired a while back 'cause he said he could play piano. Huge mistake. Turns out, jerk can't play it at all!”

“Eh? So what'd he do?” Larry said, his face wrinkling.

“Beats me. He mostly just sat around,” the manager sighed. “Finally decided to fire the guy, and—get this—he wanted me to pay him! What a jerk.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Larry said, nodding absentmindedly. What in the world was Nick doing, pretending to be a piano player? Maybe it was just a side-job, but even then, Larry knew that Nick didn't play piano.

He played violin. And he played pretty well, Larry’d always thought. But one day, he just packed the thing into its case and shoved it under his bed, where it had collected dust ever since. Larry’d been there the day he did it.

“I just don't like it much, anymore,” he’d explained, and that was that.

But even if he didn't like it, he could still play it, no doubt. So why would he pick piano, of all things? It was absolutely perplexing.

"Ah, but enough about him," the manager continued, snapping Larry out of the memory. "What, do you know him or something?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do, he's an old friend," Larry said quickly. "Y'don't happen to know where he lives, do ya?"

"Huh? No, why would I?" snapped the manager, raising a suspicious brow.

"Ah... Uh, thanks anyways!" Larry replied, and darted out of the restaurant, hoping he'd find Nick shortly afterward. So much for getting information...

But Nick was nowhere to be found, even after a good hour of searching. Larry was in a foul mood, made only fouler by the fact that he was starving. He patted the seat of his pants--yes! He hadn't forgotten his wallet, at least. Thanking his lucky stars (of which there were very few) he stepped into the first restaurant he saw and ordered a burger that was far too large for a man his size.

Midway through the massive plate of fries that came with said enormous burger, a man in an odd, electric blue hat passing by the window caused him to jump up, slap some bills on the table (consequently overpaying for his meal by at least 20) and run after him.

The chase was, once again, on.

With lunch in his belly, Larry's sneaking skills improved considerably, and he noticed with glee that Nick didn't take notice of his pursuit. It was a rather exciting thought, which very nearly gave him away as he rounded the corner and gave himself an enthusiastic fist pump.

It as then that he realized he was walking down some unusually familiar streets.

Wait... Wasn't that where his offices where? Nick vanished through a door, and Larry followed cautiously behind, peering in the glass of the door and watching him walk up a flight of stairs. "So is he still lawyering...?"

Larry needed answers. And he just knew he'd find those answers by climbing up the fire escape and seeing what the other windows would offer him.

The fire escape led to a window on the second floor that, fortunately enough, looked into the lobby of Nick's office.

At least, what used to be it.

The place had completely changed, and was an absolute mess, at that. Weird... things were strewn everywhere, organized (if even) haphazardly. There were stacks of books and random junk, and, on a hook on the wall, a beautiful blue stage costume was hanging.

"What in the...?" Larry began, but quickly hushed himself, ducking behind the window as the door opened and voices came in from behind it.

"And be sure to get me extra fries, 'kay Polly?"

"Yes, okay, fine... You sure you don't want anything, Mr. Wright?"

The speaker's voice was unfamiliar and young, but quickly joined by Nick's. "No, I'm afraid I've already eaten."

"What? That's not fair. Daddy, why didn't you tell me?"

Larry flinched, nearly losing his balance and causing quite a clatter. D-Daddy?!

"Ha ha ha, I stayed out longer than I had expected. Forgive me," replied Phoenix's voice.

"Aw, it's really okay, Daddy," said the voice of what was somehow Nick's daughter. "C'mon, Polly, just 'cause Daddy's not getting anything doesn't mean I’m not hungry!"

"Better get going, Apollo."

"Fine, fine, I'll be back later," groaned the owner of the third voice, and Larry was already down the fire escape by the time the door had closed behind him.

"Leave it to Mr. Wright to have me pay for my own victory banquAAAGH!"

Larry leaned in, grinning. "Hey, kid, can I ask you something real quick?"

The young man that Larry had just scared the crap out of grabbed his chest and started to pant. "What in the...?"

Larry took that to be a yes. "Do you know Nick?"

"Nick...? Who's Nick?"

"Phoenix! Yeah, I mean Phoenix. Phoenix Wright. You know him?"

"Uh..." The young man caught his breath, and now gave Larry a perplexed stare. "...yeah, uh, I guess? Why, do you-"

"Great! Maybe you can help me with something, then," Larry interrupted, grin stretching to a full-on beam.

"Uh... Sure, I guess. I'm in a bit of a hurry, thoug-"

"Awesome! So, uh, what's Nick been up to?" Larry asked.

"Nick...? Oh, you mean Mr. Wright... Well, uh..." The young man scratched the back of his head. "It'd help if you were a little more specific, Mr...?"

"Oh! I'm Larry, Larry Butz," Larry said, and extended a hand. His offer wasn't accepted. "I'm an old friend of Nick's."

"I see... Funny, I've... never heard of you."

"What, really? Nick totally saved my life. Like, more than once," Larry explained, nodding for emphasis. "I was his first client, y'know! And believe you me, I’ve saved his butt more than a few times myself. Decisive witness, ‘n all. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Uh... sure."

"Speakin' of which!" Larry said, suddenly remembering what he was going to ask in the first place. "How's that going for him? He still at it?"

"Still at...?"

"You know. Lawyer stuff," Larry replied. "This is his office, right?"

"Well... yeah, but it's not exactly a law office anymore," replied the young man, looking at the offices himself. "It's an... Anything Agency, I guess."

"Cool! Uh... what's that?" Larry said, a mildly vacant smile on his face. "And why's it not a law office or whatever anymore?"

"Beats me," the man replied with a resigned shrug, before giving Larry another once-over. "Also, didn't you know? He lost his badge several years ago."

Larry stared a second, blinking, his grin frozen. "Eh? Whazzat mean?"

"It means he's not a lawyer anymore," the man said, glancing back up the stairway. "Look, Mr. Putz? I really gotta go."

"I really need to hear what's up with him, though!" Larry whined, screwing up his face.

"Why don't you just talk to him yourself? I gotta run..."

"I can't!" Larry protested, and received a sigh in return.

"Listen, I'm sorry, but I gotta go," the young man said, and promptly left Larry alone to gawk.

"Crap," Larry said.

"My, what brings you all the way over here, Larry?" said a familiar, yet uncharacteristically cold voice behind him. "The hospital's quite a bit away from here."

Slowly, Larry turned around to see Nick standing in the doorway with a joyless smirk on his face.

Larry stiffened and gulped, forcing a quick smile. "Nothing just enjoying the weather seeya!" he babbled, before running for dear life.

-/-

Phoenix waited until the annoyance was out of sight, sighed, and went back up the stairs. Trucy was busying herself by tidying up in the living room... as best as that room could be tidied, at least. "Who was that, Daddy?" she asked, smiling over her shoulder.

Phoenix shrugged, a hollow smirk on his lips. "Just a bad memory," he replied, quietly. And that was that.

-/-

Collapsed on a bench and staring above at the nearly-cloudless sky, Larry tried to catch his breath while simultaneously collecting his thoughts (and seeing as Larry's thoughts were complicated enough without multitasking, this was quite a task).

So, his best friend had cut himself off, losing his job and all recognizable personality, and somehow gained a daughter and some other unknown kid.

What was the deal?! People could change in seven years, yeah, but... Nick just didn't seem the "changeable" type. Now Edgeworth, he was a different story. He went from a stick-up-the-ass ice cube to a slightly-more-sociable ice cube practically overnight, and stayed that way.

Well, at least Larry thought it was a huge change.

Either way, Edgey'd had decades of trauma to turn himself into a prick, Nick had a measly seven. People didn't screw themselves up that fast, not when they were Larry Butz's best friend!

Though Nick was kinda making it hard to figure anything out, refusing to let Larry near him or anything. As much as he hated to admit it, Larry simply couldn't do this alone.

So, picking himself up off the bench and brushing off the dust for effect, Larry headed back to the hospital, grabbed his stuff, checked out, and went home to pick up the phone.

Even though he was a firm disbeliever in it, Larry found himself thinking, as he dialed, of an old familiar mantra that Phoenix once had. His mind drifted to college, where Phoenix was stuffing a hideously adorable pink sweater in the garbage can and dousing it with gasoline.

“Larry, I'm through with women,” he announced, stern-faced. “They're nothing but trouble.”

“Man, they're not all bad...” Larry protested. “I mean... there's so much good about them!”

Phoenix struck a match, and watched it burn for a moment. “Mm. But it's not so good when they try to kill you.”

“...Yeah, true.”

“Besides.” Phoenix grinned as the flame slowly crept down the wood. “Bros Before Hos, man. Right? You and me.”

Larry grinned, though it was forced. “Well, all right,” he said, and Phoenix tossed the match in. The adorable sweater burst into flame, and Larry wished, regretfully, that he'd someday own a sweater like that one. Except without the psychotic girlfriends. Still, Dahlia had seemed like such a nice girl...

His mind snapped to the present, and he furrowed his brow as he listened to the phone’s ringing: Bros Before Hos. And Phoenix was most certainly a Bro.

“Edgey, we've got an emergency on our hands,” he blurted the instant he heard the voice at the other end. “Nick's brain is broken.”

-/-

*gasp* Does this mean Edgeworth's going to show up?
Why, yes. I do believe it does.

Once again, feedback's appreciated! Thank you very much!

OOH, a Larry Butz fanfic! Wow, I love it so far, you really showed his character. Which brings me to my question: There's a second chapter, right?

---

IT'S AN OREO SIR.

<3 I leik.

---

YES AND WHAT A TASTY OREO IT SHALL BE 8D

RBJ: Glad you like what we've got so far! And oh, oh yes. There shall be a second chapter and much, much more.

---

YAAAAY! *smiles*

---