4-1 SPOILERS AHDJKSJKSA.
Title: Company
Summary: Apollo finds solace from his moping by cheering up an unlikely person.
Characters: Apollo Justice, Winston Payne.
Location: A bar. (NOT a gay bar.)
Pairings: UM, NO.
Trigger: ... Blame MalindaMage.
Music: Piano Man - Billy Joel
Misc. Notes: This is just some cute crack practice with Apollo's emotional cycle. I don't care what you say, Payne is adorable.
--
He still couldn’t believe he’d come here, and so far he’d spent most of his time mulling over his skewed reasoning. His fingers were drumming and he was gnawing endlessly on his lower lip, his dark eyes darting left to right in a sweeping, suspicious manner that made him look just as scummy as the rest of the people moseying around the area. This was insane - he knew that. It was irrational - again, hardly a news flash. So why was he still here? The answer was simple: He had nowhere else to go. He was out of a job and out of a life.

A soft piano song drifted from one of the concealed corners, but it was hardly a comfort; it just reminded the fledging defender of that god-forsaken case and its accursed outcome, the idol that had fallen hard from grace and hit every obstacle on the way down, and his mentor pounding on the stand, a broken man. Around him, conversations swirled; occasionally he would catch a few bold declarations pertaining to the reason for his gloominess, mostly rumors whispered from behind a screen door, but he paid them no mind. After all, he was only interested in the solid truth and nothing but. The ambiance was that of despair, hardly providing his mood, and cigar smoke hung heavy, the pungent odor of sweat and testosterone perpetually keeping the young attorney from relaxing fully.

Apollo Justice was in a bar, hanging over the counter as dead as the rest of them.

The state he was in never failed to bring a surprised jolt to his heart. He was breathing in toxins and sitting beside strangers that had no problem puncturing his bubble of personal space, and even though his lips hadn’t graced the frothing mug of beer that he’d been clenching and unclenching in his spare hand, he was beginning to feel light-headed and buzzed - probably because of the smoke, he’d decided. It was possible that there were things of the illegal sort being used in secrecy. He didn’t particularly care, of course; he had nowhere else to go. He’d gone over that in his head whenever he remembered that no one was forcing him to stay in this Hellhole, and he now felt as if he were finally convincing himself.

“You’re looking a little blue, greenhorn,” said a rasping voice from a few seats away. Apollo’s shoulders jerked with subdued surprise, and he warily turned tired eyes to face none other than Prosecutor Winston Payne, complete with glasses and long silky hair.

Great.

“Am I?” Apollo asked with bitterness, again pondering the alcohol that lay in his grasp. It looked at least twice as appealing as it had before, the light his new company shed upon it illuminating the possibility of getting tanked unlike ever before. He hated himself for not noticing this thorn in his side sooner; he would’ve packed in and moved out in an instant.

The truly bizarre thing was that there was no hair flipping or unbearable girlishly taunting giggle.

“That trial still bugging you, rookie?” Payne’s voice hissed above the din. It was just chilling, Apollo decided, to see the ‘Rookie Crusher’ in casual clothing. “Shame what happened. I don’t really care, though.”

Apollo flinched at the sudden reaction from his bracelet. The man beside him was drunk; drunk, and despairing with an intensity that the defense attorney felt obligated to identify with.

“... I had high hopes for that Phoenix Wright,” the prosecutor admitted, pausing to sip from his own mug of beer. Apollo fought against the urge to mimic the man, instead resuming his rhythmic tightening and releasing grip on the glass’s handle. “I taught him everything he knows, rookie. I’ll do the same to you. You’ll see.”

Apollo realized that he felt nothing but pity for the dilapidated old man slouched a few seats away and his posture slumped farther.

“Everybody knows Prosecutor Payne,” the man went on. “I’ve been prosecuting for years. And one, day, greenhorn... One day I’ll crush you, too. You’ll see.”

Apollo looked away from the prosecutor, instead focusing his eyes on the filthy cup of peanuts that he didn’t dare take from. There had to be something he could do, he was sure of it - his job was to defend, and so far, he’d not been living up to the standards he set for himself.

“Tell me about some of your cases,” Apollo said abruptly, lending Payne his attention once more. The green-suited man sat bolt upright in pleasant surprise, his hair swaying like a beaded curtain.

“You... You mean that?” He asked apprehensively, using a hand to push up his glasses. Apollo released the hold he had on his mug and nodded.

All at once, Winston’s face lit up. “O-Okay... If you want, rookie. Well, there was this one time, fifteen years ago...”

This was going to be a long story, Apollo had decided. But he didn’t mind.

He had nowhere else to go, after all.

They're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone. - Billy Joel

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afhhfhgfdfgdf!!

That was just amazingly adorable and dgfdhdftr.

Payne needs a hug. ):

So does Apollo, for that matter.

Your fics are forever awesome~.

...

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SERIOUS APOLLO JUSTICE SPOILERS!!
Title: Voice
Summary: Apollo is mysteriously entranced by Lamiroir's voice.
Characters: Apollo Justice, Trucy Wright, Lamiroir.
Location: GUILTY AS CHARGED TOUR! Or whatever it was called.
Pairings: NO. ok. no.
Trigger: Officer 1BDI said, And I couldn't help it.
Music: Guitar's Serenade - DA GAVEENERS.
Misc. Notes: APOLLO IS THE CUTEST BUGLAWYERBOY EVER. Also, this fic really didn't want to upload.
--
Apollo Justice had never been a fan of roiling masses or loud noise. In fact, crowds of people had always made him nervous and loud noises made him ill, so he could only assume that this concert was the eighth circle of Hell, reserved exclusively for him. The sea of humanity that pulsed around him was hardly enjoyable, and the garbage that Prosecutor’s ‘band’ spewed out wasn’t exactly his definition of music; the tempting bribe of that particular guest singer had kept him glued to his spot in the audience, however, albeit begrudgingly so. He felt even more out of place than Trucy looked with his stiff vest and business-like air, and if his spunky assistant had nudged him told him that the crowd was watching them rather than the stage he wouldn’t have been surprised. A red-suited attorney with the eyes of a frightened baby bunny didn’t blend particularly well with all of the hardcore chains-and-leather punks moshing around him and invading his personal bubble. Things were getting awkward, and all he could do was wait until she - Lamiroir, the Siren of Ballad, a gorgeous voice to a gorgeous personality - arrived and stole the stage away from Prosecutor Gavin.

And arrive she did. A few notes from the piano was all it took before her voice lifted up, filling the concert hall with its delightful resonance. Apollo felt his stress melt away, sliding off of him like water droplets off the back of a graceful swan; it was as if he were now in his secret element, sitting between the parents he never knew, perhaps holed up in a room he could call his own in the family house he’d never had. The music of this stranger just felt so natural to him, so impossibly right, and he closed his eyes to better enjoy the song that brought up such an immense feeling of love and acceptance within his chest. Beside him, Trucy was tugging on the hem of his shirt, scolding him excitedly - he was missing it, there was magic, actual magic, and he had to open his eyes to see it! - but he found that it was shockingly easy to ignore her. He was rocking gently forward and back on his heels, for it seemed to fit so well with the voice of this woman, this angel; invisible hands were holding him, guiding his motions and ensuring that he wouldn’t fall, that he would never fall.

Apollo only reopened his eyes when he sensed that the song was nearing its end. He watched Lamiroir’s cape soar through the air, drifting above his head and landing on the platform in the distance. She materialized like a phantom from underneath it and belted out the last verse, allowing the final note of the ballad to taper into silence before the applause took hold of the entire stadium. Seeing her up there stirred a distant memory deep within the lawyer’s young mind, but rather than thinking upon it more heavily, he instead clapped and whistled along with the rest of the crowd. He could investigate this bizarre sense of longing later on; after all, he didn’t plan on staying for the Gavinners’ next song. No Lamiroir, no deal.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew that voice from somewhere close to his heart.

Thalassa Gramarye tenderly soothed the spirit of the infant she held carefully in her arms as only a mother could. She rocked him gently as he slept, the notes of her song wrapping him in the loving embrace of a parent desperate for the comfort of her only son and dearest newborn child. She had never known that it was possible to love something so much, but there was no denying it now - this little boy was her everything. She brought him up towards her face and gently nuzzled his cheek with her own, whispering the lullaby into his ears and finding solace in the way he smiled. If and when the time came in which they had to part, she wanted young Apollo to remember her for just this; the endearing voice that whispered only the sweetest of songs into his ears while he slept.

---

That was...so beautiful. D': If you don't keep writing fanfictions, I'm gonna get'cha. D<
<3

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... That is the sweetest thing I have ever read... Beautiful work! Now I'm going to go read it again because its too wonderful not to be read repeatedly.

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I love you guys for commenting on my stuff so quickly. ;; It's such a confidence-booster! I can't take any credit for the idea the fic was based on, though. Still, this is one of my favorite works, and I'm glad you guys like it. <3

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...

You win a million Internets. I can't stop beaming; that was so heartwarming.

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Title: Guitar Zero
Summary: Some people were just never meant to possess Rock Band.
Characters: Apollo Justice, Trucy Wright, Phoenix Wright, Klavier Gavin
Location: Wright & Co. WHOOP.
Pairings: nope
Trigger: IDK IT JUST SEEMED FUNNY.
Music: Rock Band songs. <3
Misc. Notes: n/a
--
Apollo Justice had learned to never ask questions under the roof of the Wright family. He forced himself to shut down his curiosity towards how Trucy pulled things out of her panties, or exactly where that wooden doll came from when she pressed down on her heart-shaped fanny pack - and that only started the obscenely long list of things he really did not want to know. So when Phoenix Wright had come waltzing in with a shoddily-taped cardboard box titled ‘ROCK BAND’ in bold print, Apollo had kept his mouth shut; how the little family had managed to afford such a thing, even if the technology was outdated and the program was aged, was not worth asking about. He was certain that he would regret receiving any information the two had decided to dole out.

The constant music was something he could tolerate, in spite of his dislike for loud noise. Trucy’s perpetual slamming on the fake drum set was endurable; Mr. Wright’s pathetic attempts at learning how to play the faux guitar on a level of skill that did not rival a one-handed monkey’s was okay with him; and their desperate floundering around on the first songs had been more amusing than bothersome. He even played with them a few times when he found time to put down his diary and paperwork.

His beloved assistant’s decision to invite a certain chain-covered prosecutor, however, was where he had made a valiant attempt to draw the line.

Needless to say, his cries of outrage fell on deaf ears. Begging on his hands and knees couldn’t change Trucy’s mind, it seemed - even the most desperate of pleas fell into the abyss that was the back of her mind. He’d even taken a crack at appealing to Mr. Wright’s fiery, passionate dislike for the blonde party-boy, but it was as if the false pianist couldn’t hear him or his Chords of Steel. If Trucy was happy, Phoenix was content, at the very least. Apollo felt as if he deserved a pat on the back for trying, however; Mr. Wright had actually said “I’m sorry, did you say something, Apollo?” at one point during his argument. One small step for someone that didn’t suffer from chronic neglect; one giant step for the red-suited beetle-haired boy sulking in the corner of Wright and Co. Talent Agency.

The rookie attorney would never have dreamed that Prosecutor Gavin would be stepping on his turf, especially on such friendly terms - and the friendliness was the most irritating thing about it! Klavier had strolled through the doorway with a self-confident salute of mockery in his direction, and with nothing more than a teasing call of “Good afternoon, Herr Forehead,” he had left to join the Wrights in their never-ending jam session. It had left Apollo shocked, chafed and irate, as if someone had dumped a bucket of dry sand down his swim trunks at the beach.

Perhaps competition is just written into the male genetics. Apollo found himself shouldering the spare guitar and shooting Prosecutor Gavin looks of pure venom before he even had time to realize that he was facing off in a rock game against an actual rockstar.

“You really think you can beat me, Herr Forehead?” Klavier asked with a smirk, chuckling softly and shaking his head. “You’re going to embarrass yourself in front of Herr Wright and the Fraulein.”

Apollo rolled his eyes. “It’s just a game, you know,” he grumbled, and his insides twisted. He would win this if it was the last thing he did...

“Whatever you say, Herr Forehead,” Klavier purred, clearly amused. “Acthung, baby!”

“Here comes Justice,” Apollo retaliated bitterly, narrowing his eyes at the unintentional laughter his quip had warranted from his opposition. With a glance in the direction of the Wrights, merely to make sure they were still watching, he initiated their fight to the death - both on Expert, evenly matched. This was bigger than court, much bigger: This was serious business.

Perhaps it was just the testosterone raging through his veins, but Justice came, saw, and conquered. Prosecutor Gavin’s mouth hung open as the score tallied.

Justice: 89%.
Gavin: 88%.

Apollo earned his victory and retained his territory, but not his respect and dignity. He learned the hard way that the guitar-shaped controllers leave guitar-shaped welts when swung at a great force.

That didn’t stop Trucy from inviting Prosecutor Gavin over for another round the next day, however. Apollo and his ice pack decided to sit that one out.

---

That is a very, very, very epic fic.

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Very funny and a very nice read. I felt bad for Apollo being ignored like that, but at least he got to win one battle that day. He's never going to get his way with Phoenix and Trucy that's for sure. <_< Good work!

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That was epic. Go Polly! :D


Nice to see that Apollo shares the same sense of foresight as Nick. =P

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AJ SPOILERS! RARARA
Title: Mission
Summary: Sometimes the best things in life start out unbelievably awkward.
Characters: Apollo Justice, Vera Misham
Location: Wright & Co. -> Drew Studios.
Pairings: Apollo/Vera.
Trigger: ... WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER PUTTING THIS DOWN. seriously I like, never have an explanation.
Music: Awake - Secondhand Serenade. this song helps me think. <3
Misc. Notes: I wrote this with Mia_Fey in mind. Thanks for always showing up to comment on my fics! Apollo/Vera cuteness for you.
--
Apollo Justice was on a mission.

He’d had a jitterbug down his pants since he’d first awakened that morning and decisively stated that today was the day he would approach and befriend former client Vera Misham. He’d never been a social butterfly or anything of the sort, but getting to know strangers was a rather natural thing to him; he was a people person, bred to get along and mingle with his own kind, whether he liked it or not. Normally he could stride up to someone and give them a firm, confident handshake while offering his name and occupation with a solid attempt at a grin - socially awkward as he was, he was friendly, and that counted in his favor.

The true problem lay in the fact that Vera was just the opposite.

He had been keeping tabs on her out of concern, just as Mr. Wright had been doing in the years prior. Apollo knew that she was alone; she’d been left to fend for herself in a world that appeared through her eyes as dark, terrible and foreboding, and towards her he gave nothing but his most sincere sympathetic vibes, as if he were regarding a stray puppy left in a gutter. Technically all responsibility he had for her had been dropped the moment the Jurists had reached their verdict, but he let allowed himself to be driven by his own compassion, as he was prone to do. It was his responsibility to see her through the recovery of her life-long chronic phobia of the outside world now; that was precisely why he’d decided to try and create a feeling of trust between them. Before he’d departed the office to pay her a visit on a particularly pleasant Sunday morning, he had reviewed the facts and based upon them a rather solid conclusion:

Vera Misham’s communal skill was improving, but she couldn’t be expected to join a regular society without a friend to coax her along.

Forcing the awkward conversation required to warm Vera up was something akin to swallowing down an absolutely repulsive meal in fear of upsetting one’s hosts. The attorney was eternally grateful that it was he who possessed the power of advanced perception as opposed to the blue-haired girl sitting across from him; he’d never been an actor, and the pressure of the situation was making him inwardly squirm to the point of just barely being able to contain the frayed ends of his nerves. The pity he felt for her was gnawing at his stomach, and apparently his wrist as well; that bracelet was going crazy with the vibes from her tension, and the way she clenched unwillingly against his presence made his muscles twitch with uncertainty. They were getting nowhere fast; she hadn’t even allowed her dark eyes to meet his, not once, as they were perpetually fixed on a variety of other objects - her shoes, his shoes, the floor, a tea cup, an unfinished painting. She seemed only a few words away from biting down on her nails at all times - and Apollo, for one, had never thought a scenario could be so mercilessly awkward.

The only comfort in this situation, Apollo had deduced, was that the recipient of his attention was even more nervous than he was.

The rookie wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he mentally declared Operation Vera a massive failure. He knew she was trying, and he could sense that she was giving it her all, but they lacked the connection necessary to spark up a valid conversation - namely, they didn’t have anything in common, as far as he could tell. Their topics of interest were scattered like ninepins that had no hopes of ever being returned to their original order.

“It was nice talking to you again,” he said with a nervous glance in the direction of the door. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better, Vera.” His gaze returned to her just in time to see her close her own eyes, to fumble with her words, grasping for something to say. It was just so pitiful; seeing her struggle gave him the sickest feeling of empathy, and he was already growing to hate it.

“...Thank you for coming,” she said at last, opening her eyes and offering him what could have been a smile if only it had brushed against her lips for more than a few fleeting moments. “... I enjoy the company...”

“I’m glad,” Apollo replied with mock confidence, grinning uneasily. “I’d stay for a little while longer, but Trucy has a magic show she wants me to go to.”

All at once, he felt a distinct shift in the mood; Vera’s eyes widened, and for one terrible instant, her silence left him thinking that he had said something horribly wrong. A clock ticked in a far-off room, accenting the disconcerting situation with every passing second and leaving the young attorney with the strong desire to run away and never return. He’d screwed up, he knew he had... She wouldn’t be so silent if he hadn’t screwed up.

“... May I come?” Vera asked at last, shifting her arms to better cradle the sketch book she held so tenderly, as a mother might embrace a child.

“Beg pardon?” For once, Apollo’s words had failed to adequately express how utterly shocked he felt.

“... I want to come to Trucy’s magic show...” Vera’s eyes slid from the floorboards to her company’s eyes - directly into them for the first time that day. “...I really love magic... May I come?”

“Y-Yeah,” Apollo managed, the sense of his victory beginning to sink in. He was actually bringing Vera Misham into the outside world! He had honestly thought that he wouldn’t be able to do it... “Yeah, of course you can come. Trucy would love to have you there.” The look of sheer delight on Vera’s face caught him off-guard, and he couldn’t help grinning back in return. “Are you ready to leave now? It should start soon.”

“... Yes,” she responded firmly, bowing her head in a nod that made the curls and waves of her hair bounce. “... I’m ready...”

“I figured as much,” Apollo said with a relieved smile. “Come on; let’s go.”

He held the door open for her, and as they both exited, Apollo couldn’t shake the feeling of immense pride that washed over him like a blessing. He had coaxed Vera out, made her happy; and now she was holding onto his hand.

Tightly.

As uncomfortable as the situation had become - again - he didn’t have the heart to pull away from her. He was there to escort her from place to place and offer her moral support as she ventured into previously unexplored territories; if this is what he had to do to calm her down, so be it.

Mission completed? Hardly. But it was certainly an acceptable beginning.

---

You beat me to it! I've just finished writing an Apollo/Vera story of my own and hopefully I'll manage to get it posted eventually. This is adorable! Nice work.

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I'm glad we're going to be some of the first to bring attention to this pairing. :D I hope I didn't steal any of your ideas, though. :< If anything is similar, never you mind, I don't care at all. (I only wish I smiled that cool.)

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The basic plot of helping Vera get over her fears and the ending with Apollo agreeing to take Vera to a magic show (because of her canon love of magic) are similar. The middle is pretty different though. Maybe I'll try to rethink the ending... I'm not quite sure how else to end it though. Again, an adorable story. I thoroughly enjoyed it!

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Last edited by Mia_Fey on Sat Mar 08, 2008 8:22 am, edited 1 time in total.

Just so long as you don't glare as dangerously as he does....

I'm quickly falling for the Apollo/Vera ship as well, so I was thrilled to finally see an A/V piece on... well, any web site. And like Mia_Fey said, it's only natural (read: "virtually canon") for something like Trucy's magic show to bring Vera out of her shell. I think you pinned the initial awkwardness of their relationship down pat.

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HUUUUUUUGE AJ SPOILERS
Title: Laughter
Summary: Laughter is the shortest distance between two people. -Victor Borge
Characters: Phoenix Wright, Thalassa Gramarye, Apollo Justice, Trucy Wright
Location: FOOD PLACE. WAHOO!
Pairings: Phoenix/Thalassa
Trigger: I LOVE THESE TWO AND I THINK LAUGHING IS GOOD. ok.
Music: Calling All Angels - Train
Misc. Notes: I am INSANELY tired and I wrote this on very little sleep, but it might be my new favorite...
go fig
--
Laughter is the shortest distance between two people. -Victor Borge

It was just his luck that the first shamelessly warm and comfortable day of spring would be offset by scattered showers. Of course, the destruction of a beautiful day wasn’t enough - Phoenix Wright had arranged to meet Thalassa Gramarye for lunch that day after checking the weather a thousand times over; it was going to be an outdoor café, and bad weather was absolutely unacceptable, doubly so considering how frail the woman was. He had stared out the window upon receiving the news with his hands pressed up against the glass, his lower lip trembling slightly with contained emotion like that of a child being scolded. It was officially too late to back out of the little meeting by the time the forecast had changed, he’d decided, and the distress it caused him twisted his insides into knots. He’d always been something of a nitpicker when it came to minute details, even for the most casual of gatherings; as he exited the office and picked his company up by taxi he had managed to convince himself that their little dining excursion would be a complete failure. Time wears down everything, he pouted cynically as he held his umbrella above his companion’s head, ambling towards the café with a feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. That includes optimism, I guess. Where’s youth when you need it? Gone.

Fortunately for the dining duo, that particular establishment happened to have fully-functional awnings that completely shut out the elements. Phoenix silently cursed himself for worrying as they ate in the comfort of the humid day, conversing quietly above the soothing patter of rain against the pavement. He was far from surprised by the topics of interest the magician had prompted (How is Apollo faring in the defense business? Is Trucy doing well in school? They aren’t causing too much trouble for you, are they?) and he did his best to satiate them all with that practiced careless smile, picking at his food distractedly while they spoke. Her concern for her estranged children stirred up emotions so moving that he was tempted to break his façade in favor of a more genuine display, but presently Wright was in a darker mood; Thalassa was to be trusted, naturally, but he couldn’t bring himself to show her his true self, not after she’d just regained her sight. She wasn’t ready for that.

Approximately halfway through the meal, Phoenix came to realize that it was quite pleasant to have somebody that wasn’t a 15-year-old scatterbrain to talk with. He munched on a chicken strip and nodded along with what Thalassa had been telling him as he pondered this more deeply. He loved his daughter dearly, but there was just something endearing about the way Thalassa spoke so eloquently, the way she gestured with her hands and very subtly shifted her eyebrows with the mood of her speech. It was no wonder people spoke of how beautiful her eyes were - he was staring right at them, determinedly maintaining eye contact so she knew he was paying attention, and he admittedly found them to be very soothing indeed.

All the while he knew he had to keep the brutal truth in the back of his mind; he hadn’t invited the last free-roaming Gramarye out to dine with her, but rather to study her, as if she were some rare, endangered species. He wanted to soak in her mannerisms and commit her voice to memory, as he made a habit of doing with all who became close with him in time; it was just what he did - he studied others. He silently observed the way she ate and drank and communicated her ideas, a furtive smirk pasted sloppily onto his unshaven features.

“Tell me,” she said suddenly, folding her hands over the table with a kindly smile, “where did you send the children for today? I couldn’t help but notice that nobody is with them, to my knowledge.”

“Oh, they’re just wandering around town... Probably shopping, knowing Trucy. Apollo should be fine on his own,” Phoenix replied, edging a hand underneath his hat and scratching lightly through his hair. “He’s a smart kid. Trucy’ll be fine with him, too. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“And why were you so adamantly set on keeping them from seeing us together?” The honest curiosity in her voice caught Phoenix off-guard, and he stumbled over his words, clearing his throat in a lame attempt at recovery for his little slip.

“... Trucy seems to think that I’m always looking to find her another mother,” he said with a sheepish grin that he quickly smothered the moment he was conscious of its presence. “She sees me with a pretty lady and automatically thinks I’m looking to get her a new mommy.”

Seemingly comforted, Thalassa let out a gentle, tinkling giggle and bowed her head in amused acknowledgement. From there the idle conversation picked up once more, natural and delightfully easy to maintain. By then the food was gone and the bill had been paid, and they sat together at their little table, listening to the rain and to one another in perfect content.

That is, until Phoenix recognized the distant sound of a voice. A voice with Chords of Steel.

“... Oh, not even,” he growled, leaning sideways. He could just barely make out the distant shape of a cloaked young girl in a top-hat and a red-suited fellow walking by her side through the light sheets of rain that fell around them.

“What’s the matter?” Thalassa questioned, her voice filled with concern. She, too, turned about-face and leaned, and her body gave a startled jolt when her worn eyes had discerned the silhouettes of her children through the precipitation. “Oh... Oh, I see.”

“They can’t see us together,” Phoenix said adamantly, reaching out to tap her shoulder so that she would turn those gentle eyes onto his own. “They’ll get the wrong idea. They’re just kids.” Thalassa nodded firmly in response to his little pep-talk, but before she could question his method of operation, he had grabbed her wrist in one hand and the umbrella by his seat in the other. “Are you ready to go on a little adventure, Lamiroir?”

Shocked, Thalassa Gramarye could only widen her eyes and nod. Phoenix grinned - an actual grin, not the falsified substitutes he put on for show - and rose to his feet, taking the woman up with him. “We’re going to run,” he explained. “Stay by me; you don’t know this town like I do. Don’t let go of my hand, alright? If we book, it those two might not see us.”

Thalassa didn’t have time to agree. Phoenix had already begun to sprint, water from the puddles that had began to gather sloshing up and soaking his jeans. She matched his pace as best as she could, though the umbrella he had positioned haphazardly above her head obscured her vision completely - she couldn’t see where she was going at all, just her own feet and the feet of the man beside her, both of which were clad in sandals that were growing progressively more waterlogged. Only very recently had she regained her eyesight, and now she felt robbed of it once more; for some reason, however, she didn’t mind as much now. This wasn’t the darkness she’d had to live with for so many years; it was merely a deeper shade of the light. The confident warmth of Mr. Wright’s hand encasing hers was enough reason to trust him to be her eyes.

It was only a matter of time before she realized that Phoenix was laughing, quivering with mirth and cold as he surged through the dampness and lead her carefully along every step of the way. She had no choice but to join in on the childish delight this horribly planned escape act provided; her laughter joined his, two voices meshing together in a harmony not unlike that of a beautiful song. The sound of his voice had somehow urged her closer, and she found that she was now pressed up against the soggy fabric of his sweatshirt - and there she remained, even after they had rounded one final corner and slowed their run to a jog.

“I suppose the rain isn’t so bad,” she suggested as she ducked under the protruding roofing of the nearest shop, reluctantly releasing the warm pressure of her escort’s palm. Phoenix grinned at her again, almost doggishly this time, and returned the umbrella to its dormant state with a violent jerk.

“No, I guess it’s not bad at all,” he agreed. “It helps to have an umbrella, though.”

Thalassa smiled. “You know what they say. April showers bring May flowers,” she recited, pressing her hands together and rubbing them against one another for the warmth derived from the friction.

Phoenix nodded, rolling his shoulders and casting a borderline paranoid look around the corner. “May flowers, huh? And May flowers bring Pilgrims,” he quipped in retaliation.

Thalassa responded to the witty little pun with a burst of laughter; it was unexpected but hardly unwelcome. Phoenix put a friendly arm about her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle half-hug with an expression of unsolicited joviality that he didn’t have the heart to mask. He had never planned on growing this close to the woman, especially over the span of a few hours - he was, however, and always would be, a human being controlled by powerful emotions.

Against the strength of laughter, everyone was powerless.

---

Another great story. It is just so sweet and adorable. Incredible work yet again.

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Aww, that was sweet. You've given me a soft-spot for that pairing. (well, made it softer anyways.)

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Lol I can see Apollo and Trucy now

Hey whos that woman with Daddy?

I don't know Trucy let's find out.

Ah crap we have to leave...NOW!

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Aww, I've been waiting for some Nick/Thalassa material for awhile.

I love the pairing even more now!

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I really can never thank you guys enough for all the positive feedback you give me. ;; I'll try to write something for April Fools' Day before it ends.

Speaking of which, THE WORD FILTER! MY FANFICS! Oh, dear God, I read them from the school's library computers and I lol'd. I lol'd hard.

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Ha, ha! Winston Payne and John Travolta, Best friends forever~

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I know, I know, the filter. I'm sorry. Do your best.
Title: Hair Care
Summary: Never, ever tell your secrets, no matter how trivial.
Characters: Apollo Justice, Trucy Wright, and OH MYSTERY MAN I WONDER WHO THAT COULD BE
Location: Polly's apartment.
Pairings: NONE. CAPSLOCK.
Trigger: HAPPY APRIL FOOL'S DAY AHAHhahha ha.
Music: A Kiss As Long As Eternity - Vitas. song unrelated.
Misc. Notes: I'm sleepy
edit'd, lol typo.
--
It was common knowledge that Apollo Justice spent several careful minutes a day on his hair. He maintained it with an almost girlish obsession, seeing to it that his appearance was immaculate before leaving the house to start a day of work. The young gentleman happened to be very proud of the way he kept himself clean, so he hardly kept his routine a secret to those who knew him, and he preferred to dole out his secrets like prizes when people became keen on his practices.

That being said, it should be known that Trucy was, indeed, keen on her “big little brother’s” habits. She had taken to sitting on the toilet and watching him style his hair whenever she stayed with him to watch movies on weekends, carefully studying him as if he were some sort of mythical creature. It was really quite amusing to watch the majestic Polly in his natural habitat, carrying out his morning routine - to her, anyway - and she was, in a way, fascinated by the dedication with which he set about fixing up his appearance.

At least, that was the way she made it seem to the unsuspecting lawyer. Apollo didn’t particularly mind the attention that she more or less wasted on questioning him about his grooming, and he decided it was not worth thinking upon further, content to dismiss it as her childish curiosity. His bracelet didn’t give off any sort of reaction when she probed him; that left him to assume that her regularly-occurring third-degree of questioning was genuine, and she wasn’t just trying to make him feel important or ‘special.’

“I spend about forty-five minutes on it,” he explained to her once while he applied more and more gel to his head. “Ten for gel, ten for drying, then more gel, then more drying, repeat; then I use the last five minutes to make sure it stands up straight and doesn’t droop or anything. Then I squeeze the extra gel out, but not too much - just enough so that it keeps standing upright. I hate to waste hair gel.”

Trucy looked at him with genuine surprise. “How early do you have to get up in order to fit all that in?”

“I get up at five for my vocal training,” he said, pinching one of the antennae, which had begun to curl at the tip, between his thumb and forefinger. “You know that. Then after I’m done with that I go to the bathroom, shower, and fix my hair. It’s usually six thirty by the time I get around to it.”

And one day the questions stopped coming, just like that. Apollo knew Trucy’s attention span could be lacking at times and he dismissed it as such. He had more important things to worry about than her ridiculous temporary obsessions.

Unfortunately, there came a day where he forgot to check his calendar - but even if he had, he probably never would have expected what was to come.

The day started out normal. He woke up early (five AM, to be precise), did his vocal training (Chords of Steel, as usual), entered the bathroom (around an hour later) and began to run the water to the shower. That was when things began to go awry, unbeknownst to him.

He exited the shower without incident (to be expected; wasn’t it just a normal day?) and began working with his hair. As usual, he spent the typical forty-five minutes on it, gelling and drying and styling and lather rinse repeat. Once he had gotten it to the pinnacle of perfection, he wrapped a towel around his waist, then turned about-face and headed for the bathroom door, shoving it open with his typical over-enthusiasm.

The cold water had spread all over his body before he even had time to register the shock. If by some miracle the water hadn’t crushed his perfectly-positioned locks, the bucket that came crashing down, which consequently landed directly on his head, did the deed quite nicely. When the initial shock of the assault had worn off, the shivering defense attorney removed the bucket with the despair that only an artist with a ruined masterpiece could possess.

Attached to its bottom was a note in familiar handwriting.

I had an insider. You get three guesses. You’ll probably only need one of them.

Happy April Fool’s Day, Apollo.

What’s the moral of the story, you may ask? There is none.

But there is an epilogue of sorts. As it turned out, Apollo had to redo his hair. He tried to think of a way to get back at the duo of delinquents, but he didn’t have the heart, and he instead gave them the cold shoulder until his bitterness ended.

He is still wondering how they got into his apartment, seeing as neither of them had a key.

---

Last edited by Soramimi Cake on Thu Apr 03, 2008 1:16 am, edited 1 time in total.

Ha! Oh I love it! Poor Polly. All that work down the drain. I can actually imagine something like that actually happening. Wonderful work yet again. I really adore family-based stuff particularly about those three characters.

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SPOILERS FOR T&T.
Title: Goodwill
Summary: A short, emotional fic that I really can't summarize for once. Open to interpretation.
Characters: Should be obvious enough.
Location: Figure it out.
Pairings: Miego.
Trigger: MAN I DON'T KNOW why do I even bother
Music: Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley. GIMME A C GIMME AN L GIMME AN I GIMME A C GIMME AN H GIMME AN E WHAT DOES IT SPELL CLICHE
Misc. Notes: First fic in a while. SORRY. :D
--
Had the sky always been this dark while daytime storms passed? He couldn’t remember.

The rain was coming down in thick torrents, but he hadn’t thought to get an umbrella on his way out - he just clutched mindlessly at the gift clenched within his fist, walking like a machine-driven monstrosity towards his destination. This was the first time he’d forced himself to go there, and it wouldn’t be the last, but knowing that this place was his future didn’t make it any easier on his aching, hollowed heart. He was just starting out, and at the moment the whole ordeal felt more like a chore, an obligation, than a gesture of goodwill.

He had always been able to feel the mud stirring beneath his boots prior to the day he lost his life, but now it was empty motion attached to non-existent entities. The rain was no longer something beautiful and life-giving; it was cold and wet, bothersome. He didn’t give thanks to the weather, pleasant or not - and the things he had once enjoyed eating felt as if they turned to sawdust in his mouth. There were few tastes could reach past the layer of broken mortality that had settled over his tongue.

He stopped short before her. Rivulets of blood from the hand that held his gesture of goodwill mixed with the droplets of rain, but it went unnoticed. He didn’t see it, and he didn’t see his gift. It was okay, though; she couldn’t see it, either. She couldn’t see anything.

Awkward and shy, he kneeled down into the mud. His fist rose, and he relaxed his grip; they fell from his open palm, and the sound that they made as they hit the sodden grass was something he heard even above the unkind hissing of the rain. He hoped that she wouldn’t consider the gesture careless.

He cleared his throat and spoke, quiet and hoarse.

“I brought you roses, kitten.”

---

Aw! That is so sad and sweet. I love it!

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Title: Waste of Time
Summary: When a rock star reaches his breaking point, he drudges up some unwanted memories in the heart of his hateful detective partner.
Characters: Ema Skye, Klavier Gavin, Jake and Neil Marshall (mentioned)
Location: la oficina de klavier gavin (I aced part one of my spanish speaking test, thank you very much)
Pairings: Okay, confession - I don't ship Ema and Klavier. I think they'd have a nice friendship, though, so there you are.
Trigger: This is based on an RP between Glimmerous (formerly known as MalindaMage) and I. It's probably a lot different, though, because... I couldn't remember what happened. ~OTL~
Music: Apocalypse Lullabye by the Wailin' Jennys. I LOVE THEM.
Misc. Notes: BEEN A WHILE HASN'T IT C-R
--
So there she was, the underappreciated detective, waiting in the office of that cocky rock star for hours. It was just her luck that the inconsiderate fop was out partying the day she’d discovered something that could very well be decisive evidence, she thought, tossing the highly scientific bag from hand to hand as she watched the door like a hawk. Normally she would just drop her luggage on his chair, ‘accidentally’ kick over his guitar, and leave, but this particular find required at least a little bit of explaining. He wouldn’t have a clue without her - the same went for many people, actually - and she wasn’t about to let a guilty man walk free.

It had been at least three hours before the room showed signs of life, Detective Skye excluded. The flustered woman had chosen not to waste her time, instead occupying herself by gathering together some highly-offensive words to sprinkle on the glimmerous prosecutor upon his arrival. Irresponsible jerk, stupid frat boy, douchebag (that being a purely scientific term), etcetera. She’d been so involved in her thoughts that she jumped when the door issued a loud crack, perhaps signifying that someone had overshot the distance and run right into it; and she had a pretty good idea of who the culprit was, considering who she’d been waiting for. The rage she’d been withholding dumped into her veins the second her startled heartbeat had returned to a normal pace, and she stood abruptly, leaving the baggie behind as she stalked like a tiger towards the door.

The door swung open before she could reach it, confirming her theory; there stood a disheveled, drunken fop, and oh!, how much of her power it took to keep from punching him in the face for being so damn inconsiderate. Ema huffed like a scorned mother preparing to ground her son for staying out past curfew.
“And where were you?” She challenged, her hands on her hips. The prosecutor remained silent, his reddened eyes sweeping around the area like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t summon up the words to do so - and boy, did that burn her.
“Do you know how long I was waiting here?” She snarled, the brute force of her words causing her pink-tinted glasses to slide down from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose. She glared at him through neon vision, adjusting the glasses so that they wouldn’t slide further. “Three hours. Maybe more. Three hours! And for what? You come stumbling in, completely wasted, and...”

Ema trailed off, raising a brow as she studied the face of her opponent. Klavier was... Frowning. Actually frowning - it wasn’t the discontented pout of a child that didn’t get what he wanted. Curiouser and curiouser...
“What were you doing out there, anyway?” She questioned, blissfully unaware of how soft her tone had gotten. “Besides getting drunk.” She reserved the right to know who he’d been getting plastered with, considering that he’d wasted her time with them. He shrugged in response, raising a fist and rubbing at his eyes.
“There’s... A little bar, Fraulein,” he mumbled. “Lost track of time...”
... A little bar. That’s not a convenient place for a party, and the truly sickening thing was that he didn’t seem to be lying.
“You were drinking alone,” Ema deduced, catching his frown. God help her, was she feeling bad for him?
“Ja,” he said with a nod, shuffling past her.
This is officially pathetic, the detective decided upon seeing how uncoordinated he was, trailing behind him. No wonder he smacked his head on the door. She breathed in deeply, attempting to summon up her previous anger.
“Where do you thing you’re going?” She demanded. “I’m not done with you yet.” Klavier stopped in his tracks, unusually obedient, and turned to face her, staring down at the pink lenses of punishment.
... Right, the glasses - she couldn’t properly tear him a new one with those on. She hurriedly pushed them back onto the top of her head.
“Alright, glitter-boy, listen up. I honestly don’t care what you were doing.” That was a lie, and a bad one. She was lucky he was too drunk to tell. “I just need you to sober up and take the evidence for this case. I found something really important - do you understand? Rea-lly im-por-tant. I’m not wasting more of my time here, so you’d better just drink some water and... Are you even listening to me?”
Klavier blinked. “... You have pretty eyes, Fraulein,” he said matter-of-factly. Ema’s blood boiled.

“That’s it,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air in defeat. “I’m done with you. Just... Figure it out yourself, okay?” Her tone left no room for argument, and with that she turned about-face and stomped towards the door. And she would have made it to freedom, too, if not for the large hand that clasped her shoulder with an eerily gentle, needy touch.
“Wait,” Klavier’s voice said from behind her. She hesitated - why did she hesitate?
“What do you want, Gavin?” She snapped, losing patience. She risked a glance over her shoulder, and the sweet, childish face stared back at her. The face of a fop in distress.
There were tears in his eyes.

“... Gavin?” She repeated like a broken record, turning herself around to face him with a sensation similar to missing one of the steps on the way down the stairs. Something was wrong here. “What’s the matter with you?” She got her answer in the form of his shrinking away from her and rushing off to the nearest garbage pail.

He drank himself ill, she thought, her eyes widening. Was he crying? Probably - she could hear his dismayed whimpers from the doorway. Just like...

Neil ain’t comin’ home, bambina. She’d sat beside him for God only knows how long those years ago, patting the back of a man mourning the loss of his brother. Neil ain’t comin’ home.

She swallowed, tugging awkwardly at her bow. Just like him... Instinct took over, and she kneeled beside Klavier, easing his long hair behind his back for him.
“It’s gonna be fine, Klavier,” she soothed. His watery eyes glanced up at her; apparently he wasn’t too wasted to realize that she’d used his name for once. At least she knew she had his attention. “You’ll feel better soon, trust me...”

Then she realized that now was her time to ask questions.

“Were you drinking because of your brother?” She asked, knowing it was a stab in the dark - baseless conjecture, as Mr. Wright or Mr. Edgeworth would have said. His wince was an answer in and of itself, but he spoke anyway.
“Ja. Kristoph...” He shuddered. “... I remembered... Today... ... Never gonna see him again, Fraulein...” His tone suggested that he was still hiding something, but Ema was presently too thoroughly horrified to pay it any mind. His hair suddenly felt greasy in her hands - greasy, longer, straighter, black, mingled with the smell of cigarette smoke... She shot a frantic look at the door. She could still leave...

But she wouldn’t. She hadn’t left Jake; she won’t leave Klavier.

“But you weren’t drinking because of that,” she assumed, hoping that she was right for the sake of her ego. He nodded, looking a little surprised. “You were drinking because... Something reminded you of how alike you are - were.” Klavier nodded again, sitting upright now that he no longer felt nauseated.
“Ja.” He smiled slightly, staring up at Ema with a vulnerable expression that was somehow more charming than his usual rock star grin. “Do you know everything or something, Fraulein?”
“Basically,” she replied with a coy smirk. There was so much of Jake Marshall in everything about this man - at least for the moment. “You don’t have to worry about your relation to Kristoph anymore, Klavier. You’re different.”
“But what if I’m not?” He insisted. “I... I always thought...”
“You’re not Kristoph Gavin,” she interrupted. “Alright? You remind me of someone - and it’s not Kristoph Gavin, scientifically speaking.”
Silence fell between them. “Alright,” Klavier relented finally, still staring up with that desperate expression on his face. “Thank you, Fraulein.”
“I only tell the truth,” Ema said, adjusting her glasses with a smile that she didn’t have to force, “but I’m glad I could help. Call me when you’re feeling better; we still have to talk about that case.”
“Ja... Alright, Fraulein,” he agreed weakly, rubbing his temples with his thumb and pointer finger. “Thank you - again... Thank you.”
The detective waved dismissively and started off towards the door again, but not before pausing and casting a glance over her shoulder one last time.
“This doesn’t change anything, by the way, you glimmerous fop,” she stated in the coldest tone she could manage, closing the door behind herself as loudly as possible.

He was Klavier Gavin, after all - he wasn’t Jake Marshall - and he’d wasted her time.

---

Aw. That was sweet. :) I quite liked it and I can read into it if I wish. :P I could very much see that scene happening between them. Nice work!

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I'm glad you enjoyed it. :D And feel free to read into it, because my fics are always meant for the reader's enjoyment, not mine! Ship away!

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SPOILERS FOR AJ, DUDES!!
Title: Depth Perception
Summary: Apollo Justice can't help but notice when the mental state of his friends is less than stable, and the loneliness is slowly becoming a little too much for him to bear. tl;dr apollo sees what you did there
Characters: Apollo Justice, Phoenix Wright, Trucy Wright, Klavier Gavin, Ema Skye, Vera Misham
Location: Wright'n'co, yo.
Pairings: nein
Trigger: I can't take my eeeeyes off of you...~
Music: The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice
Misc. Notes: for some reason.
... I love this fic so hard. watch everybody else hate it.
I LOVE YOU, APOLLO JUSTICE.
--
Apollo Justice looked at Phoenix Wright with a smile.
“Of course,” he said dismissively, waving the man and his daughter away. “I don’t have anything else to do today. I can keep myself entertained; go have fun.”
“Just looking out for you,” the older man said with his usual cocky smirk, reaching up to adjust the blue beanie.
Apollo’s heightened senses examined the dark circles underneath his eyes, the steadily growing stubble, and the gradually-forming frown-lines. He could see where exhaustion streaked the eye whites with red and a general display of carelessness snagged the skin with a razor when he actually bothered to shave. The rookie lawyer was getting good at this perceiving thing, and it felt like a curse. “Watching an entire office is hard work, especially when you have the TV to distract you. I think you can handle it, though,” Mr. Wright said absently, putting his hand atop his daughter’s hat. “Huh... You’re getting tall, Trucy.”
Apollo sympathetically winced at how utterly distraught his newest mentor looked, if only for a moment. Was he the only one that saw that...?
“Aww, Daddy, don’t be silly! Everyone knew I was gonna be taller than you, anyway,” Trucy said, winking and tilting her hat.
Apollo was surprised to see dark circles there, too. He’d never really noticed how pale his assistant was before now, and through her smile he could spy a very subtle frown, an unspoken I’m sorry. He swallowed back his discontent.
“Well, we’d better get going,” the ex-lawyer suggested, putting a hand - rough, calloused, probably from those years of hitting desks and pointing and being free, Apollo noted - on the young magician’s back. “See you in a few hours, Apollo.”
“Have fun, you two,” he said with a grin, a grin that felt stiff and forced, and with that they were gone.

Prosecutor Klavier Gavin. His eyes tended to dart back and forth when Mr. Gavin or Daryan were mentioned, like a puppy that’s been kicked one too many times and is now waiting for the next blow. His fists clenched around the chain on his belt when a casual conversation began to go in a direction that displeased him.
Detective Ema Skye. It didn’t take a Gramarye to see her rotten moods, but sometimes, when she thought nobody was looking, her scowl would drop and she would just look so helplessly lost he almost felt like grabbing her by the hand to ensure that she didn’t wander off.
Vera Misham. She made him hate his heightened senses more than anybody. Her nervous twitches and tenseness made his bracelet tighten to the point of being painful and viselike with no intention of letting go. She just always looked so helpless, so scared, so horrified by everything and anyone, himself included. It was... Horrible.

He was starting to hate this habit of Perceiving.

Apollo heaved a tremulous sigh, resting his head in his palms. Trucy could see all of this, too, but she was naïve and she rarely noticed it when their friends and family suffered in silence, not on the same level that he did. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, reminding himself that he was still here in his shared office and he was alone.

... He was always alone.

As the first tears fell, Apollo was grateful, for once, that there was nobody else out there that could Perceive him.

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ahhh that was so sad and so believable and dffddfsg, I love it.
if there was a favorite button here i would have just clicked it hard enough to send my mouse to moon.

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That is such a wonderful piece. It's so very emotional and so beautifully written. Excellent work!

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@Glimmerous: MY GRIN REACHED NEBRASKA.
@Mia: I really, really appreciate you always being so quick to comment ;; <333! It gives me so much confidence. I have to do something nice for you... ~thinking pose~ What's your ultimate pairing?
let me hazard a guess and say phoenix/iris

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Without a doubt. <3<3 I'm always looking for more.

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~salute~ I'm on the case, madam. Consider me an Elite Fic Agent.

You, of course, are the person that just went HEEEAAAAAALP!

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aww, Depth Perception = soo adorable and sadd. It was seriously awesome, you captured the feelings of the characters really well.

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Thanks for the reply. :D I'm really glad you liked it! <3

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I really liked Waste of Time- I loved the way you included details from the SL-9 Incident. I'm not an Ema/Klavier shipper personally so it was nice to read a fic where they're just friends (come to think of it this is the only one of its kind I've found anywhere!).

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Wow, there's no friendshipfics between Klavier and Ema? Seriously? O_O I personally find them cuter as a friendly, I-tease-you-you-punch-me-in-the-face pair of friends than a paired couple. Glad to see someone else thinks the same way I do! <3

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