#;hobo

[dadicalwright-blog]

v; Lost in the Darkness

Since this is currently the AU I’m having the most fun with, it’s probably best I make a post talking about everything that happened. Like I said on my AU page, this is from Lup Mun’s Hobo blog, so this is me gathering information from that thread to portray this right. And oh boy, after rereading some things, it is worst than I remembered it. I’ll put it under a read more since this post is gonna be long.

“The story goes, Phoenix came to the office one day and found a letter. It stated that he was to bring $10,000 to the courthouse or else Trucy and Apollo lose their lives. Phoenix tried to gather the money up, tried to get the police to help, but in the end, he couldn’t find the help he needed. So he tried to call Miles Edgeworth, his last hope. Unfortunately, Miles was overseas, and the time difference caused Miles to miss Phoenix’s call.In the end, Trucy and Apollo are murdered right before Phoenix’s eyes and this picture shows that Phoenix doesn’t have the energy to take Miles’ calls, to which he receives an abundance of, for he’s too busy crying. The cracked locket symbolizes how Phoenix is feeling at the loss of his daughter and employee…” (Source) 

A few days after the incident, Phoenix went to a tattoo parlor where he got a tattoo of a Phoenix on his arm with the initials T.W. on it as a way to morn the loss of his beloved daughter.

About six months later, his life was a wreck. He was filled with self-loathing, depression, and no doubt had PTSD, which would explain his alcoholism. His eyes were bloodshot from the combination of alcohol and rubbing his eyes of tears. At times, thanks to the alcohol in his system, his balance would tend to be either nonexistent or all over the place. If someone were to try and deprive him of his wine, he would immediately switch on rage mode, telling whoever it was that you shouldn’t take alcohol from an alcoholic. It would be worse if someone was in on it too. He was lighter than he should have been too; either eating very little or not eating at all, not like his stomach alerted him of any hunger either. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, the images and emotions of what happened came back to him, reminding him of how useless he was. His pay was very little, not like he really did anything in the first place, and he was on a horrible losing streak in poker as well. Getting out of bed was a chore; most days he wouldn’t wake up until two or three in the afternoon, then it’d take him an extra hour to actually get out of bed where he’d then stumble down to the Bowl Club to clock into work. 

Traumatized by the moment of Shelly de Killer murdering Apollo and Trucy, bit by bit, memories of what had really happened started to disappear and were distorted, the nightmares following that day made the memory even more so twisted. Eventually it came to the point where he himself was in the place of the killer, meaning he believed that he was the one who pulled the trigger on them. Because of this, the true events of what had happened are locked behind five black psyche-locks. 

Cheap wine and cold borscht was all he was able to afford and was all he survived off of, along with other small snacks. He now lived in an apartment above the Bowl Club, in which he very rarely paid the rent, resulting in many late rent notices or eviction notices. His apartment was horrible; smelling bad, unsanitary, no power due to it being cut, garbage everywhere along with piles upon piles of wine bottles laying around, dry vomit and possibly dry blood on the floor,

He doesn’t have a will to live anymore. Everything was taken away from him within a split second. If he were to drink himself dead, then he wouldn’t care. He’d more or less prefer it. A life without Apollo or especially Trucy was one not worth living. Then again, very few people would even care about his death anyway. If he had his way, then either they would be alive, or he’d be dead with them. 

[dadicalwright-blog]

@acekuratetto

It was a normal day for Simon in the prosecutors office until a certain Hobo barged in, plopped a few files down in front of him, and then plopped himself down on the sofa in his office.

“Edgeworth wanted me to deliver those files to you, so there ya go.”

[dadicalwright-blog]

lilmagica replied to your post: What if you could secretly turn into a bird this...

Do you Squawk or Tweet? Oh oh, do you do that weird noise that pigeons make?

“Who knows? Though I can tell you that Apollo is the squawker. And do you mean Coo or something? Well, again, who knows?! Ha ha ha!”

[dadicalwrightrises-blog]

hobo what would you do if a tiny talking cat was trying to tempt your sweater bro into becoming a magical boy?

“Drop kick the thing to the sun. I don’t even like the sound of whatever a ‘magical boy’ would be.”

[dadicalwrightrises-blog]

seriously, why do you bill yourself as a pianist when you can't play a single instrument?

“Because I play the piano. Though I never said anything about playing it good.”

[dadicalwrightrises-blog]

FACT: lions are immortal, just ask Simba

“If that’s so then tell me what really happened to Mufasa?”

[dadicalwrightrises-blog]

Mr. Hobo, what's the scariest thing you can think to dress up as for Halloween?

“A lawyer.”