This fic marks my entry into the world of livejournal kink-memes. Quite exciting I must say, though the prompts I can answer are limited by my lack of inclination to write smut. Still, there will probably be a few more kink-meme fics eventually. Anyway... please enjoy. I certainly sniggered myself sick writing this.
Prompt: introduce any character to the term 'spankerchief'. (Basically a handkerchief for the sole purpose of cleaning up the ejaculate after masturbation.)
Miles Edgeworth had always been meticulous about his hygiene. He showered daily (for five minutes exactly), was always clean-shaven, had a standing monthly appointment for his hair, and washed his hands before every meal. He even remembered to clean under his fingernails while doing so.
Phoenix Wright, on the other hand, was not so careful. Oh, he'd shave, on work days, and he showered every morning before a court appearance (for about an hour, nervously mumbling about the upcoming trial all the while), and washed his hands after using the toilet. Every couple of months, he popped in to a barbershop to get his hair trimmed (if it got too long, the spikes might droop), but that was the extent of it. Phoenix generally was pretty healthy, and the rare cold could generally be vanquished with a few Coldkiller X... and frankly, he didn't especially care beyond how his cleanliness might affect his health, so basics was good enough for him.
Thus, when Edgeworth stormed up to him during the recess of a particularly difficult trial, it didn't even cross his mind that his cleanliness – or lack of it – might be what the prosecutor intended to discuss. Call him crazy – he'd expected something about the actual trial itself.
"Wright, I've had it," Edgeworth declared, jamming a hand violently into his pocket. Phoenix experienced a moment of terror; perhaps Edgeworth had finally decided to follow in his mentor's footsteps and murder the defense attorney who had been dealing such damage to his reputation.
The look on Edgeworth's face was such that Phoenix was only mildly reassured when the item the man removed from his pocket turned out to be a small magenta case, with a Steel Samurai zipper (Phoenix made a mental note to find out where Edgeworth had gotten that; it would be a perfect Christmas present for Maya) rather than a gun.
"I can no longer bear it," Edgeworth continued darkly, unzipping the case with malevolent force. Phoenix took a cautious step backwards, eyes flicking towards the guard at the door. Not even Edgeworth was crazy enough to attack him in front of an armed bailiff... right? A glance back at the fingers emerging from the case, clenched so tightly around – something that they had turned white, was enough to create a reasonable doubt.
Phoenix opened his mouth to try to talk his friend down, only to leave it hanging open in surprise as Edgeworth's hand lifted into the air, finally revealing his murder weapon of choice – several neatly folded handkerchiefs.
"That sweat dripping obscenely off your face is an affront to both the courtroom and civilization at large, Wright – why have you not yet invested in a handkerchief?" Edgeworth demanded, brandishing his own selection accusingly.
"A-are you serious?" Phoenix sputtered, hand pressed to chest. "That's it? I thought you were gonna kill me!"
Edgeworth narrowed his eyes. "If you keep this up, I suspect I shall find myself tempted to do so. Your behavior is abominable."
Growing a little defensive now (ha, ha), Phoenix frowned. "Hey, I'm not that bad. It's not like I'm stinking up the courtroom."
"Objection! The odor of your sweat wafting across the aisle is enough to put me off my lunch."
What, and the gory crime scene photos aren't?
Edgeworth crossed his arms, thankfully unaware of Phoenix's mental retort. "As I said, I can bear it no longer. By the next time I face you in the courtroom, I expect you to have a handkerchief. Scented, of course, preferably rose."
He apparently misinterpreted Phoenix's incredulous expression, as Edgeworth then said, "Of course, I do realize there's no way you have enough time in this recess to go out and buy a handkerchief of your own. That is why, for today, I am willing to let you borrow one of my own, provided you return it immediately after the culmination of the trial, and pay the dry-cleaning bill."
As he spoke, Edgeworth deftly removed a hanky from the stack, and expertly shook it out. Phoenix twitched out of his you-dryclean-your-handkerchiefs-what-is-wrong-with-you stupor in reaction to the gentle scent of roses. He looked at the handkerchief, then shook his head.
"No. No way. I am not going to sit there in court, dabbing my face with a pink lace hanky. That is just not going to happen."
Edgeworth glared at him. "Then you choose one. I don't particularly care, so long as you use it, and I am no longer forced to endure the wealth of your prodigious sweat glands every time the judge scolds you... which is often."
"...Fine." Rolling his eyes, Phoenix reached out and took a white handkerchief with a stylized 'S' one one corner from the mass arrayed in front of him. It, too, held the strong rose scent, but at least it was less offensively feminine than the others. And, once held in his hand, Phoenix found he liked the feel of it as well; a cotton blend perhaps, soft and smooth. He liked it so much, in fact, that he brought the cloth up to stroke his cheek, closing his eyes and smiling as he did so. The perfume wasn't so bad, really. Actually, using this might not be too bad – it might even be relaxing.
When he glanced back at his friend, Phoenix was surprised to find Edgeworth almost as white as the handkerchief in his hand. "N-not that one," the man choked out, looking absolutely horrified.
Phoenix smiled. "Why, is it your favorite? It's definitely better than all that frilly stuff. Anyway, you said you didn't care so long as I picked one – and I did, so you can't complain."
Edgeworth shook his head jerkily. "No, Wright, you don't understand... That's... You can not use that one!"
Serves him Wright, Phoenix thought smugly, and tucked the hanky in his pocket, just as the bailiff announced the end of the recess.
Throughout the rest of the trial, whenever he felt nervous or cornered or totally stumped, Phoenix took to passing the handkerchief across his face. Smooth, soft, and smelling of roses, it not only took away his sweat but also relaxed him slightly, allowing Phoenix to regain his composure in record time and focus on the facts of the case, and the contradictions in the witnesses' testimonies.
The way Edgeworth slammed down onto his desk, looking absolutely tortured, every time Phoenix did so was only a bonus.
Immediately after the trial concluded, Phoenix was ambushed by a furious Edgeworth. He didn't even get time to finish congratulating his client (he'd won, of course).
"Give it back," Edgeworth snarled, face a dark rictus of rage.
Phoenix grinned down smugly at the prosecutor. "Oh, I don't know..." he said, slipping the hanky out of his pocket and wrapping it around his fingers. "I kinda like it."
"Give it back." This time the command came out from gritted teeth, and Edgeworth actually made a motion as though he wanted to physically snatch the white cloth away from Phoenix.
There was a pause. Then, turning away and clutching his arm in embarrasment, Edgeworth muttered, "...and wash your face."
Phoenix blinked. "Excuse me?"
Edgeworth flushed. "You... may... want to wash your face. Thoroughly."
"Why?" Phoenix held the handkerchief up to his nose and sniffed it. "It doesn't seem dirty. In fact, I've actually been using it to keep my face clean for the past three hours. I'll admit, I thought you were being ridiculous, but this handkerchief thing isn't so bad after all."
Edgeworth slumped, as though finally realizing he wasn't going to be able to avoid this moment no matter how he tried. "That isn't one."
"That... in your hand... is not a handkerchief."
Phoenix looked blankly at the cloth in his fingers. "What, is there some special term for different types? What is it, then?"
Edgeworth's next sentence could have come from Ron Delite, given how it tapered off quietly at the end. "It's actually a spankerchief..."
"Sorry, didn't catch that."
"It's my spankerchief..."
Edgeworth's head jerked up, his face a bright pink that almost matched his suit, and hissed, "Spankerchief."
"RRRGH!" Edgeworth slammed his fist against the wall. "Wright, are you trying to humiliate me?"
Phoenix shrugged, unperturbed and a little amused. It wasn't often one got to see the Demon Prosecutor this worked up. "No, I just really don't know what it means."
"...You wouldn't," Edgeworth sighed harshly. "You would probably be the type to use tissues, or just let it get everywhere and then wipe it up afterward without even a single thought to sanitation –"
"Okay, seriously," Phoenix interrupted. "Are you gonna tell me what this 'spankerchief' thing is for, or am I going to have to go ask the Judge?"
Edgeworth blanched. "Why on earth would you ask the Judge?"
"Well," Phoenix shrugged, "he's really old, and handkerchiefs are kind of old-fashioned. Heck, he's probably got one too–"
"OBJECTION!" Edgeworth shouted, looking as though he might be ill. "Alright. I'll tell you. Just... just never mention that ever again."
The prosecutor took several deep, composing breaths. "A handkerchief is used when one needs to sneeze, or sweat from the face. A spankerchief serves a similar purpose... for a different body part." He eyed Phoenix's blank expression for a long moment, then sighed, and added, "A certain private body part."
The blank pause continued.
"A certain male private body part."
Phoenix frowned, comprehension slowly dawning. "Oh... OH. OH GOD. EW."
Edgeworth shook his head. "I did try to stop you."
Phoenix flung the – the spankerchief, oh, ew, to the ground in horror. "Are you saying that – that for the past THREE HOURS I've been – AAGH!" Phoenix pointed an accusing finger. "What were you even doing carrying that around? That's sick! You're sick!"
Edgeworth's glare was venomous. "I assure you, Wright, that I thoroughly wash it after every use."
(He ignored Phoenix's scream of "NOOO! THE IMAGES!")
"It was sheer accident that the item in question ended up amongst my other handkerchiefs, and if you had simply listened to me when I first told you not to use it, then you never would have ended up wiping my sp– the item across your face for the past three hours! But of course, you couldn't be bothered to listen, you just kept rubbing it all over yourself–"
It was at about this point that Phoenix ran, screaming, to the nearest bathroom, where he proceeded to scrub his face raw in an attempt to remove the horrifying germs that might already have sunk deep, deep into his skin. Edgeworth, meanwhile, just shook his head in disgust and mortification, and left the courthouse.
Both men would have preferred to leave the incident, like the spankerchief lying forgotten on the hallway floor, firmly behind them, never to be mentioned again. And they would have – if it weren't for a certain old man who spotted the discarded fabric and picked it up, deeply inhaling the scent of roses, before cheerfully tucking the spankerchief into his pocket.
The Judge was baffled the next day when, upon wiping his mouth with his new handkerchief (stylized 'S' clearly visible to the courtroom at large) after taking a drink of water, both the prosecution and defense turned deathly white.
"NOOOO! THE IMAGES!" Wright screamed, audible even over the Judge's award-winning gavel-bangs.