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@prosecutor-in-chief
//So, this is a blog that I have kept running since 2013, off and on. I always sort of come back to it, and I always have to find more people to RP with as past people gravitate away, to other characters, or wherever they happen to go. I’m open to multi-fandom RP, and you can see my ships, rules, and other info in the appropriate section. I’m generally slow-paced, but I’m almost always present, and would like to meet more AA people here.
prosecutor-in-chief:
“There is guilt, yes - but do not so easily absolve me of my role in this corruption. I may have been unwitting in the schemes of my superiors, but I did not stop to ask important questions either - I did not question the evidence, I did not think as critically as I should have - not that I’m not intelligent, obviously, I am. I was blinded by my bitterness, and my…conditioning. But I acted of my own accord, and I have to take responsibility for the innocent lives I have put behind bars through my actions. I will work to correct those mistakes. Beyond that - yes. The system needs to be changed. It needs to be a system for the people - where defense and prosecution work together to find the truth. It is not about who wins and who loses, because when a court of law is treated like a contest to be won, the people we serve are those who truly lose.” Edgeworth accepted his cup, and took a sip. He let the warmth seep through the cup and into his fingers, and considered Wright’s questions and commentary. All reasonable questions, of course - and he wasn’t entirely done explaining himself. “Ah…the suicidal thoughts. My moment of clarity. Justice is for the victims, and the wrongly accused are just as much victims as the deceased. A legal system that only serves to benefit the police and the district attorney alone is a system meant to create more victims. It does not benefit the public, it does not benefit those who need the truth, and justice, the most. The most vulnerable, those who cannot speak for themselves, and those who have no one on their side. When I awoke from my attempt, I had a revelation - and it was you who inspired it. Yes - the man who had been Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, the Demon Prosecutor, accused of back alley dealings and forged evidence - he had died. But I had lived. I still had much I could do - I could work to change things from the inside. I could fight for people like nine year old Miles Edgeworth who did not see justice for fifteen years, for Yanni Yogi who had been innocent and victimized and manipulated to the end, for the countless victims of my own chase of a perfect win record - by pursuit of the truth. I will revisit my verdicts, look for alternate solutions, to ensure that I have the proper person responsible. Not guilt or innocence, but the truth.“ He lifted his chin slightly, his shoulders squaring, as confidence filled his frame. “I sought treatment immediately, in a place far from here where I could recover without the media descending on me. I was an inpatient for some time, but I followed your cases. When I felt the time was right, I reached out to Detective Gumshoe, not long before I flew home. I had been tracking de Killer long before Engarde had hired him, and it was I who ordered the last minute search for Max Galactica’s bust in his trial. I wanted to help you in any way that I could, from afar, while I prepared to come home. I did not expect to return to such a nightmare - but I am glad that I did." He raised his eyes from his tea, and looked at Wright with an intense expression. The face looking back at him was a good face - open and honest eyes, intelligent and ever curious - as serious as they could be playful. Wright was a man of many faces, and he could not pick just one facet that was more worthy than the other. "I have chosen to be who I am today, I decided to live, because of you. I realized today, when we were in trial together, that together, there is little we could not accomplish. I…” He trailed off for a moment, and closed his eyes, a touch of flustered embarrassment coming to his elegant features. “…I do not think that I will ever be able to fully express to you just…how much your presence, your friendship…has inspired me, has saved me. I do not think that there are words. You never give yourself enough credit where it is due. Had you not been so dogged in your pursuit of justice in the trials before and including mine, I would have never stopped to think about what justice really was. You forced me to look at myself under the harsh light of the truth, you challenged me, you…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I saw in you the same fire that I used to see in my father, and in Miss Mia Fey…and I began to realize that justice - proper justice - is not just a guilty verdict at all costs.” He took a breath, and realized that he had not completely answered the question. “As for the thoughts…I no longer have to attend inpatient treatment,“ he began quietly. "I have been discharged to a therapist who works in tandem with my psychiatrist. Together, we have developed a…treatment plan for the long term. I will likely need it for the rest of my life - but that is alright. It is…not a flaw to need medical treatment. It addresses my…post traumatic stress disorder, as well as my phobias, and my anxiety and depression. I…am a bit a horrible mess, I’m afraid. You should be aware, Wright - it is not pretty, and it is not entirely controlled either. It’s been less than a year since I made the attempt, and I have a long way to go. But I am far better than I was at the beginning of this long and difficult journey.” Miles smiled a little then, his eyes softening.
Phoenix didn’t know where to start. All he could do was take it all in and then give his thoughts once Edgeworth finished. Smiling, he nods, understanding where Edgeworth now was in his life. At least, he understood more than he previously had. It was funny how valuable communication was. Really, it was something they’d both benefit from doing more of. And he believed Edgeworth would agree.
“I’m glad you got help, Edgeworth.” Therapy was a fine way of figuring out feelings and working through traumatic experiences. It was something he recommended to clients and families who suffered with the aftermath of crimes and trials. It wasn’t always easy to arrange because of money — Phoenix knew he should probably look into it for himself, but he couldn’t really afford that kind of help — but an option he always suggested.
“I don’t really know what to say…” He admits. “I was just… doing what I always thought was right. What I believed in.” And he didn’t do it for any kind of special credit or acknowledgement. It was his job and his passion. Not something he thought he needed any kind of attention for. Hearing it from Edgeworth was quite overwhelming, but he nods in gratitude.
“Moving forward is the best next step. Or even staying still. Maintaining your position is still progress.” Because that was better than a relapse of some kind. Tilting his head slightly, he sets his cup down. He smiles, too.
“I bet it feels good to get that out there. You know, I’ve always been here to talk.” But there had always been a barrier between them that had been difficult to penetrate. It had a lot to do with pride, but now it seemed to be gone.
“Honestly, all this time? I didn’t think you even really liked me.” Because there had always been strain between the two. “I always felt like a bother.” If Edgeworth was being truthful, then he should be, too.
“I know. And that in and of itself is rare, and remarkable. So many people would choose the easy path, to not do what is good and right, but you fight the uphill battle. It’s to be commended, truly - though I know you aren’t one to seek the spotlight, or have any desires for accolades.” Miles took a moment to look at the cup of coffee, and quietly took a sip. He had been preparing for this conversation for months, and now that the bulk of it was out in the open, he could say that he did feel...well, a bit more free. That Wright had not immediately turned him out, had been eager to listen and understand, only impressed upon him further just how important of a person he was to have in his life. He looked at the dark liquid inside, warming his fingers, and listened to his old friend. He breathed out, and nodded at his assertion. “I convinced myself for some time that I did not like you, that I did not want to have you back in my life. In truth, I...was afraid. I didn’t want you to get too close, that you would...be hurt, getting too involved in certain matters, or that you would see the truth that I had told myself for a long time - that there really was nothing of worth left. Of course, you proved me wrong...” He smiled a little, though, and looked up. The expression did wonders for his features - a little softer, a little younger, the way they brightened just so. “Though you are still a bother, make no mistake.” It was evident that he was teasing him, just a little. “...Not one that I generally mind, though I suppose it depends on the setting.” He really hoped that Wright could appreciate his effort at humor, and not take it the wrong way. He took another breath, cleansing. “I’ve never truly disliked you. Oh, you infuriated me for some time, but through your persistence, I learned a great deal. No, I admire you, really. I don’t know that I could do all that you do for others. I’m no longer the innocent boy I was when we first met. But you’ve shown me that this doesn’t mean that I turn my back on making a difference.”
//Oh thank goodness, I thought I had lost the login to this account completely. SUCCESS.
ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ᴍᴜsᴇs—ᴜɴɪᴛᴇ!
ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ 20 ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɪs ᴀ ғᴜɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ—ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɪᴛ ɪs! ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜɴ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ'ᴛ sᴛᴏᴘ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʜɪᴛs 30. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ’s ᴘʟᴇɴᴛʏ ᴏғ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇs ʟᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʜᴀᴅ.
ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ ʙʟᴏɢs—ɪғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜsᴇ ɪs 30+ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴏʟᴅ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴏsᴛ sᴏ ᴜs “ᴏʟᴅɪᴇs” ᴄᴀɴ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ!
prosecutor-in-chief:
“Not the trial itself, but what I learned during its course…well. I was already in what I would not identify as a spiral of self destructive thought, but upon learning that Damon Gant and Lana Skye had used me in their misappropriations of justice - the incomplete evidence, that I had been merely a pawn in those schemes even up to Detective Goodman’s death - it shattered what sense of self worth I had left.” Miles had been preparing for this conversation for weeks leading up to his return, aware that it might not have even occurred. He took it as a bit of a blessing that Wright had been so willing to see him and hear him out - but then again…
“…Time and again, I have sold you unfairly short, Wright. Another shortcoming I must apologize for and work to rectify. And I will. But extreme mental illness that I was grappling with, years of trauma, emotional abuse - it does not leave one in the most rational of mindsets. After the close of the trial…” Miles turned and looked towards the windows, at the facade of the Gatewater Hotel across the way, just visible through the blinds. He did not like this feeling - this sensation of vulnerably, of being so exposed - but there was also a sense of peace here as well. No judgement. Phoenix Wright had heard him admit to the most heinous of crimes - patricide - and had never turned away from him then. He took a breath.
“All I could think of was all of the dreadful things that I had done, the horrible things I had been unwittingly party to, how far that I had fallen from all that my father had taught me, from what you had shown me was the right and proper thing to do…it suffocated me. You…seem to have been under the impression that I ran away because I could not handle being anything less than perfect - but that would be incorrect. Perfection is an illusion, and you are the one who helped me to understand that more than anyone else. No, this was…”
Another pause. He had not prepared a proper speech - not in any format, but this was almost more like the preparation of a statement of his case before court. A compilation of evidence and testimony from the only witness, himself - to a lone judge who was making inexpensive black tea for two to share. “…von Karma expected perfection. No flaws, nothing deviant or aberrant was allowed in any aspect of my life. He always held a condescending scorn for me, though I could never wholly understand why until very recently. And so, the parts of myself that were unsuitable, I repressed harshly. He fostered my hatred of Hammond and built it into a fierce hatred for defense attorneys, turning me against the memory of my own father. He chipped away at self esteem in order to build the pieces back up into the exact antithesis of my father. I repressed…my sexuality, as well, and…well, all of this is precisely why I still have trouble expressing myself. After a while, like nearly all abuse victims, I simply accepted this as normal behavior, and stopped questioning why. I hid behind my intelligence with a mask of arrogance and sophistication, prickly on purpose, to keep others at bay, distant entirely from me. And then…you. Phoenix Wright, barreled into my life with all of the grace and tact of an oncoming freight train.”
An actual smile curved on his lips then, and Miles glanced up out of the corner of his eye, catching Wright’s eye. His expression softened a little, with a certain note of wry, but sweet sadness. “…You made me question everything. You began to force me to look hard at myself, to peel back the layers and bleed out this poison.” Because of you, I have been saddled with these…unnecessary feelings. “I wanted to hate you because of it, but…some lost little boy within me was crying out for you inside of me, I suppose. Then, of course, it came all crashing down with Hammond’s murder.” He sat back, hands still clasped in front of him, but he appeared to be relaxing ever so slightly. "…I never told you. But you saved me that day. Not from von Karma, or from the past. You saved my life from the noose, yes, but…there is nothing I will ever be able to do, to repay you for what you have done for me. You saved me from myself, even if…it took me a little while to come to this point….After Lana’s trial, when I was faced with what she and Gant had made me party to, forged evidence and the awareness that I had certainly put innocent men and women behind bars or on death row because of their incomplete and illegal evidence, something inside of me….fractured. I didn’t know how to ask for help, I simply wanted to…I did not want to live, being the person I had become. I had fallen so far…done so much, that it seemed wholly insurmountable.“
Now, he came to it. The crux of the issue. His expression darkened just a little and he lowered his eyes. He’d only ever discussed this with his therapist before, but now…perhaps the one person who needed this truth more than anyone else would finally - hopefully - have some sense of closure about the last year.
”…I did not want anyone to stop me, when I left. I left that note, knowing that someone, most likely Detective Gumshoe, would find it. I had not…expected to survive, you see, so I knew eventually that someone would find me when they began their search. I will spare you the morbid details, but…I did attempt to take my own life. I survived, and when I awoke…I had a moment of clarity.“
That was a lot of information to receive, but it was better out than festering away inside Edgeworth and coming out in a negative way. Phoenix didn’t want to interrupt or offer his thoughts until the other reached the end of his retelling. It was uncomfortable to listen to Edgeworth speak about what it was like growing up under von Karma’s mentorship and how it affected him, but that was to be expected.
The tea preparation was complete and yet he felt awkward closing the distance to pass Edgeworth his cup. It felt as though any disturbance in the flow of conversation would snap the prosecutor back to reality and make him realize what he was saying. They didn’t need him to suddenly change his mind and close up before he told the entire story. For now, Phoenix would wait until there was a lull before a change of topic.
He observed every expression that came to settle on the other man’s face. Since gaining experience in his career and interacting with a range of individuals, both innocent and criminal, Phoenix had developed people-reading skills. Along with the guidance of the Magatama, he knew what miniscule muscle twitches to look out for, knew what body language was used to cover up a lie. Such skill came into play here, but he knew Edgeworth wasn’t lying. He didn’t expect anything but the entire truth today. However, what he didn’t expect was for Edgeworth to talk about how he felt Phoenix saved him. He blinks, visibly surprised.
(I saved him…?)
When Edgeworth finishes, Phoenix steps forward to pass his cup to him. Where did he even begin? He wasn’t a therapist and saying something as predictable as ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t come across as genuine. He sits down and looks at his own cup for a few seconds before responding.
“Thank you for telling me all this. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
It was difficult to think about Edgeworth taking his own life; Phoenix was glad he’d been unsuccessful. No, he wouldn’t ask for details. Bringing up those memories wouldn’t do them any good. He warms his hands with his mug and looks up.
“I know I could sit here and talk about the mistakes that were made by your superiors and how unfair the entire system is, but I won’t. Because that doesn’t take away guilt once you’ve made your mind up about it.” And, anyway, who was he to say how someone else should feel? He couldn’t do that.
“But tell me something… these suicidal thoughts… are they gone?” Ah, he wanted to be as sensitive about this as he could. “Or are they still there, but… under control with therapy?” He knew these things took time. But it seemed to be helping if Edgeworth felt like he could talk about all of it.
“There is guilt, yes - but do not so easily absolve me of my role in this corruption. I may have been unwitting in the schemes of my superiors, but I did not stop to ask important questions either - I did not question the evidence, I did not think as critically as I should have - not that I’m not intelligent, obviously, I am. I was blinded by my bitterness, and my...conditioning. But I acted of my own accord, and I have to take responsibility for the innocent lives I have put behind bars through my actions. I will work to correct those mistakes. Beyond that - yes. The system needs to be changed. It needs to be a system for the people - where defense and prosecution work together to find the truth. It is not about who wins and who loses, because when a court of law is treated like a contest to be won, the people we serve are those who truly lose.” Edgeworth accepted his cup, and took a sip. He let the warmth seep through the cup and into his fingers, and considered Wright’s questions and commentary. All reasonable questions, of course - and he wasn’t entirely done explaining himself. “Ah...the suicidal thoughts. My moment of clarity. Justice is for the victims, and the wrongly accused are just as much victims as the deceased. A legal system that only serves to benefit the police and the district attorney alone is a system meant to create more victims. It does not benefit the public, it does not benefit those who need the truth, and justice, the most. The most vulnerable, those who cannot speak for themselves, and those who have no one on their side. When I awoke from my attempt, I had a revelation - and it was you who inspired it. Yes - the man who had been Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, the Demon Prosecutor, accused of back alley dealings and forged evidence - he had died. But I had lived. I still had much I could do - I could work to change things from the inside. I could fight for people like nine year old Miles Edgeworth who did not see justice for fifteen years, for Yanni Yogi who had been innocent and victimized and manipulated to the end, for the countless victims of my own chase of a perfect win record - by pursuit of the truth. I will revisit my verdicts, look for alternate solutions, to ensure that I have the proper person responsible. Not guilt or innocence, but the truth." He lifted his chin slightly, his shoulders squaring, as confidence filled his frame. "I sought treatment immediately, in a place far from here where I could recover without the media descending on me. I was an inpatient for some time, but I followed your cases. When I felt the time was right, I reached out to Detective Gumshoe, not long before I flew home. I had been tracking de Killer long before Engarde had hired him, and it was I who ordered the last minute search for Max Galactica's bust in his trial. I wanted to help you in any way that I could, from afar, while I prepared to come home. I did not expect to return to such a nightmare - but I am glad that I did." He raised his eyes from his tea, and looked at Wright with an intense expression. The face looking back at him was a good face - open and honest eyes, intelligent and ever curious - as serious as they could be playful. Wright was a man of many faces, and he could not pick just one facet that was more worthy than the other. "I have chosen to be who I am today, I decided to live, because of you. I realized today, when we were in trial together, that together, there is little we could not accomplish. I..." He trailed off for a moment, and closed his eyes, a touch of flustered embarrassment coming to his elegant features. "...I do not think that I will ever be able to fully express to you just...how much your presence, your friendship...has inspired me, has saved me. I do not think that there are words. You never give yourself enough credit where it is due. Had you not been so dogged in your pursuit of justice in the trials before and including mine, I would have never stopped to think about what justice really was. You forced me to look at myself under the harsh light of the truth, you challenged me, you..." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I saw in you the same fire that I used to see in my father, and in Miss Mia Fey...and I began to realize that justice - proper justice - is not just a guilty verdict at all costs." He took a breath, and realized that he had not completely answered the question. “As for the thoughts...I no longer have to attend inpatient treatment," he began quietly. "I have been discharged to a therapist who works in tandem with my psychiatrist. Together, we have developed a...treatment plan for the long term. I will likely need it for the rest of my life - but that is alright. It is...not a flaw to need medical treatment. It addresses my...post traumatic stress disorder, as well as my phobias, and my anxiety and depression. I...am a bit a horrible mess, I'm afraid. You should be aware, Wright - it is not pretty, and it is not entirely controlled either. It's been less than a year since I made the attempt, and I have a long way to go. But I am far better than I was at the beginning of this long and difficult journey." Miles smiled a little then, his eyes softening.
☠️
//Sorry this took so long, I’ve been recovering from surgery.
Miles does not fear death in that it is a normal part of life - we all must die some time, and that’s just the fact of it. What he fears is violent circumstances surrounding death, death by natural disasters - abnormal causes of death, rather than death itself.
Questions For My Muse(s)
Introspection
👁🗨 - what is a secret that your muse hasn’t told or is hiding
💬 - for my muse to directly say a secret or confession
⚪ - what are small things that mean something to your muse
🔴 - what are bigger gestures that are important to your muse
👌 - what are some of your muses quirks?
💦 - mannerisms that your muse has when they’re shy or nervous
💢 - mannerisms that your muse has when they’re angry or sad
🙌 - mannerisms that your muse has when they’re extremely happy
🤞 - what’s the most impulsive thing you can picture your muse doing
☠️ - does your muse fear death?
👻 - recall one or more times your muse has been the most scared or fearful
😠 - what is something or someone your muse has ever hated or hates
🏹 - would your muse ever kill and why
💢 - what would cause your muse to be annoyed
👍 - what are your muse’s good traits?
Flaws
👀 - is your muse prone to jealousy?
🖤 - can your muse be selfish?
❓ - can your muse be indecisive?
🙈 - can your muse be blindly loyal?
❌ - what would cause your muse to be petty or say something hurtful
🙊 - has your muse ever put their foot in their mouth?
💥 - is your muse reckless? or too cautious and paranoid?
🔷️ - is your muse good or bad at lying?
🤔 - is your muse cynical? naïve?
✋ - can your muse be rude or unfriendly?
🤝 - is your muse a people pleaser?
😔 - is your muse insecure?
🎭 - does your muse try really hard to compensate for something?
🤜 - is your muse overprotective? in-between? or not protective/concerned enough?
⬛ - what are some bad traits your muse might have?
They finally went to optics shop
Like always, the justice system was an unfair beast they were forced to fight, but they worked together and made it through another tough case. Now, they were relaxing in Edgeworth's office. Phoenix was tired as he stares at the opposite wall, tie undone and hanging around his neck. He holds his glass and his eyes glaze over. "We live in a society, Edgeworth." Ah, great. Now he had Meme Brain. That's what Maya called it, anyway.
“...I’m sorry, what?” It was the most obvious non sequitur that Edgeworth had ever heard. Yes, they did, in fact, live in a society - but he was missing the joke in the statement, and he was aware of this. That irritated him a little, but he was also confused as to what had prompted Wright to say such a thing. He was seated beside Wright, cup of tea in hand, and while he wasn’t nearly as dressed down as his companion was, he was not holding himself nearly as rigidly as he did out among his other colleagues. Wright was his friend, after all, not merely just a colleague. “I gather that you are making a reference with that, but I’m afraid I’m not understanding it,” he remarked wryly, smiling over the rim of his teacup at his old friend.
//Interested in having some help with a couple of promos. Does anyone who follows me make nice ones?
prosecutor-in-chief:
The office was somewhat a private space, in that they could go into the interior and speak without interruption as Wright might any client. It was not necessarily the ‘safest’ of places to have this discussion, emotionally speaking, but it was secure, and he knew that he could easily leave if it became too much. Of course, leaving if overwhelmed could introduce its own whole host of problems as well. Of course - Wright had just locked the door, but he willed himself to remain calm. Wright was someone safe to speak to, and he would not let himself get too distraught. Wright deserved the truth. “Ah, whatever you have is fine,” Edgeworth said - he didn’t particularly want a cup of tea, but the act of holding something warm and familiar as tea in his hand might help him in this matter. Shedding his overcoat, Edgeworth turned and took a seat - he was shockingly, not dressed for work - bereft of the armor, so to speak, that he wore to court, his cravat and crimson, he looked remarkably…normal. Stylishly dressed in slacks and a high necked sweater, but certainly not for work. He took a seat, seated perhaps a bit stiffly - he hoped he could relax in time.
“…Before I begin,” Miles said after a moment, “…I want to apologize for putting you through such grief. I…admit, I had not anticipated that you would be so stricken by my actions. I had thought that…very few would miss my departure. Clearly, I was mistaken.” Without a cup in his hand yet, he simply clasped them together in front of them, and searched for a place for his eyes to settle. “You see, I was…exceptionally unwell, for a very long time, before I finally broke.”
Phoenix didn’t want to interrupt, so he continues to prepare the tea, his back turned. He didn’t know what he expected from this conversation. What happened was in the past, but they needed to figure out a way to communicate or misunderstandings — hopefully not as extreme as this — would only occur again and again in the future.
“What was it that made you break?” He asks finally, turning to observe the prosecutor while he waited for the water to boil. Did Edgeworth really believe that nobody would grieve over what happened? Even after he had people fight to prove his innocence when he was on trial? Phoenix had always known that Edgeworth struggled to figure out feelings and how others might perceive him, but Phoenix thought it would have been obvious. The news had hurt everyone who thought of Edgeworth as a friend. Even those who didn’t had been shocked.
“Was it Lana Skye’s trial?” He knew that had been tough for many involved, but they reached the truth in the end. From that point on, they could have worked together to rebuild the justice system and restore people’s faith. Of course, Phoenix didn’t know how much he could have truly contributed, but he would have done all he could.
“Not the trial itself, but what I learned during its course...well. I was already in what I would not identify as a spiral of self destructive thought, but upon learning that Damon Gant and Lana Skye had used me in their misappropriations of justice - the incomplete evidence, that I had been merely a pawn in those schemes even up to Detective Goodman’s death - it shattered what sense of self worth I had left.” Miles had been preparing for this conversation for weeks leading up to his return, aware that it might not have even occurred. He took it as a bit of a blessing that Wright had been so willing to see him and hear him out - but then again...
"...Time and again, I have sold you unfairly short, Wright. Another shortcoming I must apologize for and work to rectify. And I will. But extreme mental illness that I was grappling with, years of trauma, emotional abuse - it does not leave one in the most rational of mindsets. After the close of the trial...” Miles turned and looked towards the windows, at the facade of the Gatewater Hotel across the way, just visible through the blinds. He did not like this feeling - this sensation of vulnerably, of being so exposed - but there was also a sense of peace here as well. No judgement. Phoenix Wright had heard him admit to the most heinous of crimes - patricide - and had never turned away from him then. He took a breath.
“All I could think of was all of the dreadful things that I had done, the horrible things I had been unwittingly party to, how far that I had fallen from all that my father had taught me, from what you had shown me was the right and proper thing to do...it suffocated me. You...seem to have been under the impression that I ran away because I could not handle being anything less than perfect - but that would be incorrect. Perfection is an illusion, and you are the one who helped me to understand that more than anyone else. No, this was..."
Another pause. He had not prepared a proper speech - not in any format, but this was almost more like the preparation of a statement of his case before court. A compilation of evidence and testimony from the only witness, himself - to a lone judge who was making inexpensive black tea for two to share. "...von Karma expected perfection. No flaws, nothing deviant or aberrant was allowed in any aspect of my life. He always held a condescending scorn for me, though I could never wholly understand why until very recently. And so, the parts of myself that were unsuitable, I repressed harshly. He fostered my hatred of Hammond and built it into a fierce hatred for defense attorneys, turning me against the memory of my own father. He chipped away at self esteem in order to build the pieces back up into the exact antithesis of my father. I repressed...my sexuality, as well, and...well, all of this is precisely why I still have trouble expressing myself. After a while, like nearly all abuse victims, I simply accepted this as normal behavior, and stopped questioning why. I hid behind my intelligence with a mask of arrogance and sophistication, prickly on purpose, to keep others at bay, distant entirely from me. And then...you. Phoenix Wright, barreled into my life with all of the grace and tact of an oncoming freight train."
An actual smile curved on his lips then, and Miles glanced up out of the corner of his eye, catching Wright’s eye. His expression softened a little, with a certain note of wry, but sweet sadness. "...You made me question everything. You began to force me to look hard at myself, to peel back the layers and bleed out this poison." Because of you, I have been saddled with these...unnecessary feelings. "I wanted to hate you because of it, but...some lost little boy within me was crying out for you inside of me, I suppose. Then, of course, it came all crashing down with Hammond's murder." He sat back, hands still clasped in front of him, but he appeared to be relaxing ever so slightly. "...I never told you. But you saved me that day. Not from von Karma, or from the past. You saved my life from the noose, yes, but...there is nothing I will ever be able to do, to repay you for what you have done for me. You saved me from myself, even if...it took me a little while to come to this point....After Lana's trial, when I was faced with what she and Gant had made me party to, forged evidence and the awareness that I had certainly put innocent men and women behind bars or on death row because of their incomplete and illegal evidence, something inside of me....fractured. I didn't know how to ask for help, I simply wanted to...I did not want to live, being the person I had become. I had fallen so far...done so much, that it seemed wholly insurmountable."
Now, he came to it. The crux of the issue. His expression darkened just a little and he lowered his eyes. He’d only ever discussed this with his therapist before, but now...perhaps the one person who needed this truth more than anyone else would finally - hopefully - have some sense of closure about the last year.
"...I did not want anyone to stop me, when I left. I left that note, knowing that someone, most likely Detective Gumshoe, would find it. I had not...expected to survive, you see, so I knew eventually that someone would find me when they began their search. I will spare you the morbid details, but...I did attempt to take my own life. I survived, and when I awoke...I had a moment of clarity."
//This is a friendly reminder that I am open to interacting with any and all people, especially fellow AA muses! Nothing would make me happier than to get a little IM wanting to plot. I’ll be here later to respond to them!
thedoctornumber11:
prosecutor-in-chief:
Aliens. Shape shifters??
Cocoons and clones??? It took everything in Miles Edgeworth’s impressive willpower to not cut the Doctor off mid sentence. It was the most asinine bunch of drivel that he had ever heard, something out of a second rate science fiction script. But - he had already agreed to take the man to the morgue, and at this point, he knew that he was backed into an evidential corner, and when one was in a corner, the best thing to do was to take the Phoenix Wright approach to solving the problem. Follow the most ridiculous line of thinking to its inevitable conclusion, and bluff about it the entire way. At this point, he had no other leads, so as ridiculous as it sounded, this was what he was doing. Getting into his vehicle with a possible madman who thought aliens existed and were on Earth, to investigate possible extraterrestrial remains. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the possibility of aliens - scientifically speaking, the odds were generally in favor. But as a man of logic and reason - he would need proper evidence to encourage him to believe. “My vehicle is the Porsche. It’s only a five minute drive to the ME’s office.” “
“My vehicle might be faster even,” the Doctor told him and walked over to where his TARDIS was parked. Even though he had only met the man a few moments ago, he felt like he could be trusted. However, the more important part was making sure the man realized that the Doctor knew what he was talking about. He snapped his fingers to open the TARDIS doors. “You may wish to take a look inside yourself,” he told him.
Faster? Speed was relative when the morgue was less than ten minutes away, and as the Doctor was a guest expert witness of his offices, it stood to reason that he should have been the one to provide any and all transportation. But - if it meant that the Doctor would ultimately be more cooperative, then there generally was no harm in acquiescing to his strange request. Miles paused by his vehicle, keys in hand, and looked up as the strange fellow ambled right along past where he was standing towards a corner near the back of the parking garage. He wanted to comment that no one could park in this section of the garage without an office permit - when he saw a blue police box nestled innocently where he was certain nothing was there this morning. Edgeworth frowned as he approached the box, and paused a few feet from it when the Doctor snapped his fingers, and the doors opened. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s a 1950s police box from the UK,” he observed, familiar with the history of their use. Inside, one could lock up a criminal and dial a telephone in the small front compartment to have the police come retrieve him. The prickling of an old phobia rose on the back of his neck - a small box, a dark space, unable to breathe, unable to escape - but he tried to push it down. He did not understand how a police box qualified as a vehicle of any sort, but he was not entirely willing to put himself into a small confined space with another person so immediately. “Ah. So your police box is faster than a Porsche?” he asked levelly, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He had the distinct feeling that he was missing something here - something important. But - again, the Doctor was his guest from UNIT, and if he had answers, then perhaps he had to do something strange now and again. Clearing his throat and taking a steadying breath, he told himself that he wouldn’t just walk inside - he would look. Looking was safer, and less prone to having a full on PTSD meltdown in front of a perfect stranger. With the reasoned consideration of a skeptical man, Edgeworth walked up to the open doors, past the Doctor, and spared the man a raised eyebrow before he turned his head and peered inside - His eyes widened. No. Impossible. He turned his head back to the Doctor abruptly, staring at him for a moment as he rapidly tried to process what he was seeing. He turned his head again, and gazed in at the impossible view that he was seeing. A large interior space, gleaming metallic walls with circular glyphs and hexagonal detailing on the paneling. Ramps lead to a central console area with a glowing pillar in the center, and the entire thing hummed with life. It was impressive, and absolutely preposterous. Straightening, Miles turned and immediately began to walk around the entire box, running his hands lightly along the painted wooden panels. It was, externally, just a blue wooden police box, taking up a small corner of the parking garage. There was no way that he was seeing what was inside, which was… He came back to the open doors, and stared inside for a moment longer before he turned back to look at the Doctor in no small amount of surprise. “…It’s. It’s bigger on the inside.”
“It’s called the TARDIS,” the Doctor told him, walking inside the box, “And it can go anywhere in time and space. I’m UNIT’s expert on alien technology because I am indeed an alien myself. How else do you think I would have made it all the way from UNIT to here in less than a few hours? The only reason it took that long is because it took that long for UNIT to get in contact with me. I’m not always easy to reach.”
The Doctor walked up to the console and began to program the coordinates. “I am showing you this because I could tell you weren’t entirely sure about the details of this case and whether you believe what I was telling you. Now you’ve seen the impossible for yourself, I assume you believe that what I’ve told you is quite a bit more possible?”
The TARDIS. Time and space travel. An expert on alien technology because he was, in fact, extraterrestrial. If Miles suspended his disbelief and thought about the puzzle as a whole, it did make a great deal fall into place. The time frame for his travel, his expansive knowledge about a wide variety of apparently alien topics - his eccentric manner - his way of dress was not at all strange for his DA’s office, in any case. Straightening, and faced with a whole plethora of new information, he looked around at the parking garage for a moment, before he straightened his clothing and glasses, and stepped inside. “I have been persuaded to accept that there is a great deal more going on here than I anticipated, and only human arrogance would make me unwilling to accept that there are things that I do not know and that may be beyond my comprehension. I do have a few questions for you, if I may...” He walked into the central control space within and looked around with no small amount of awe. It really was something out of a science fiction novel, marvelous and wonderous to behold. If he weren’t on business, he might have been far more excited about it, but ever insular. “Why a police box? And...you speak perfect English and you look perfectly human. Is this by design? Or is it a disguise?” At least it wasn’t small and confined quarters in here. He could breathe a bit easier, even as he tried to continue wrapping his mind around what precisely was going on around him. He turned and looked about, listening as the Doctor messed about on the console. “...This is remarkable, Doctor.”
the originals : season 2 … sentence starters
“You ruined me.“
“This is a city of death.“
“Did anyone suspect you?“
“Do tell me, what’d I miss?”
“You, my dear, are leverage.“
“You’ve been awake for days.“
“I’m not gonna kill you, you idiot!“
“Am I supposed to fear you, too?“
“I will make you suffer as only I can.“
“So, we risk our lives while you hide?”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.“
“I will not follow you into this madness.“
“Your mind always drifts to violence, doesn’t it?”
“The only delicate thing about you is your ego.”
“You waited for me, so I’ll do the same for you.”
“Well, that’s a grim sentiment coming from you.“
“For an upgraded model, you’re not very sharp.“
“No offense, but your dad sounds like a jerkwad.“
“The castle closed its doors, and the kingdom fell.“
“You absolutely will not believe the week I’ve had.“
“Well, I was a little distracted by the murdery part.“
“Turns out I have complicated feelings for a monster.“
“Don’t you dare walk into my house and threaten me.“
“I’m not looking for tough guys. I’m looking for warriors.”
“Is this rash a side effect of the witchy acid trip he’s on?“
“Am I crazy, or did he just do his version of a nice thing?“
“How do you expect to show them the error of their ways?“
“As a devout feminist, I refuse to say that you hit like a girl.“
“And does this monster have complicated feelings for you?“
“I kept you from becoming a beast for as long as I possibly could.“
“Well, no mountain is endless. Some are just steeper than others.”
“You’re outnumbered. Are you going to beg for your miserable life?“
“It’s not safe being out this late. You never know who you’ll run into.“
“A warrior fights for what they believe in. A warrior fights for his family.“
“I am the top dog. Your job is to ensure the battle doesn’t come to me.“
“The worst has past. Though, I suspect the nightmares are far from over.“
“You think having people makes you strong? It proves how weak you are.“
“You chase my redemption like a man rolling a stone up an endless mountain.“
“I have a rather long list of people of people I need to track down and deal with.”
“It’s not for everybody. Some folks, well, let’s just say, it brings out the worst in them.“
“Come find me when you don’t have fools, women, and children fighting your battles.“
“A single violent outburst at a filthy road-side café, and one never hears the end of it.“
“Confrontation is inevitable, child. Your fear will prove to be our greatest disadvantage.“
“That’s why I stood by you. That’s why I fought for you! I would have done anything for you.”
“Gosh, that would be such a nice compliment… if it didn’t link me to so many homicidal lunatics.”
“If I tell you who I am, and you refuse to believe me, then I can hardly be blamed for your disappointment.“
“Actually, he’s a liar, a beast, and a degenerate, but in this exceptional instance, he may be of some use.“
“You rant, and you rage about the monster I’ve become, but you are the author of everything I am.”
“I told you to clean yourself up… that if you were clean, no one would know what you are or what you’d done.“
“If you were a little more clever, you would recognize that there is opportunity in our current circumstances.“
“Do you mind? I’m trying to reverse a very complicated sacrifice spell and you whining about jazz is not helping me.“
“You will need to remain vigilant against those who would seek to destroy you, some of whom you may never see coming.“
“Regale me with your contributions to society. Medicine, philosophy, art? Or have you two merely cut a path of destruction across time?“
“Imagine hearing the sound of a heart beating, beating, beating and wanting more than anything to feed. That’s what it’s like to be a vampire.”
“You began to believe that as long as your suit was immaculate and your hands clean, you could look in the mirror and tell yourself it’s all okay.“
“You just have to figure out what’s best for you, and think long and hard about your decision, because you’re the one who’s going to have to live with it.“
“No, I’m trying to figure out why a smart, level-headed woman such as yourself would choose to stick around a town that to my eyes seems to offer you nothing but danger.“
The 28th of December was not the most remarkable or auspicious of days for most people. It fell during those strange, hazy days between the garish splendor of Christmas festivities and the drunken revelry of New Years in which most people tended to forget what day it was, and everyone existed in liminal spaces. People came and went, some still on vacation, some pretending to do work at jobs where no one would care much at all until some distant time after January 4th. For Miles Edgeworth, however, the day was his least favorite of the year.
The facts and details of a once infamous murder case had long since passed out of current knowledge; destined for the textbooks, a fifteen year old cold case on the brink of close, solved in the most stunning and unorthodox of ways. It didn’t matter if the public had forgotten the name of Gregory Edgeworth, the date and time and means of his death in a dark elevator at the hands of a vengeful and cruel man. It didn’t matter that Miles had gone through nearly ten years of rigorous therapy and medication for his mental health to come to a point where he could look at this day and its past events with a calm and logical mind. It didn’t matter, because grief was a strange thing. He didn’t shed tears any longer, save on the rare occasion in which he was plagued by a nightmare again, but that sense of loss would always be present in his heart - a gap in his heart, a space that had healed, but would never be whole again. A part of him would always grieve his father - but in that grief, there was also hope. Strength. Grief acknowledged that yes, a good man named Gregory Edgeworth had once lived. He had once had a son, and he had been a loving and insightful father. It recognized that he had dedicated himself to the just pursuit of truth, fairness and honesty - and he had died for those ideals. Grief (and a damned stubborn, wonderful rookie defense attorney) had been what had given Miles the strength to pick himself up and forge his own path, to find what it meant to be in this new world out from under the thumb of von Karma - what it meant to be Miles Edgeworth, not a disciple of Manfred von Karma. It was his least favorite date of the year. It was the day that he had lost everything.
Fifteen years later, it was the day he would begin to regain everything.
Sitting there in the defendant’s chair, watching a man he had no right to call a friend fighting desperately for his future, for the truth that he himself could not see through the darkness - he had seen the spirit of his own father in that fire there, in those last, fearful moments when understanding had begun to dawn on him.
He did not grieve for the space in his heart - he drew courage from it. The events of his past, and the choices he made, are what had made him the person he was today. The wonderful people he chose to surround himself with, friends who had effectively become his family - they brought him peace, even in their chaos. He did not believe in the esoteric, but he had seen enough strange things in his life now to accept that his father’s life in days on this earth may have ended, but the spirit of his ideals, who he was and what he strove to achieve, lived on.
//Hello everyone! I am still here. I have not missed DL-6mas. Every year that I have been active on this blog, I have written something. I will do so today! It may be a little late. I am recovering from surgery and it is painful still to sit at my desk and write. But I know I also owe posts and replies. I will try to do all the things.
