Miles Edgeworth was a calm, cool, collected man. He was, as everyone else would agree, very refined and had infinite charming character traits. Of course there was one thing that he lacked, and that was tolerance. He lacked the tolerance of any kind; he especially couldn't tolerate the aimless, wandering, imbecilic mongrels that he so often had to deal with. And there just so happened to be one of the sorts wandering in his office.
Sitting behind his work desk, Miles watched as a certain blue-clad defense attorney observed the books stacked on the shelves that lined one side of his room. Drumming his fingers impatiently, Miles scrutinized at the oblivious person across the room. He tried to convey his apparent distaste for the intruder's presence. When that failed, he immediately riveted his attention back to the sorry stack of paperwork on his desk. It wasn't as if he was trying to ignore the other man, it was more to the point that he had nothing to discuss. He couldn't even comprehend the motive behind the presence of said defense attorney.
The room was thankfully quiet. Miles couldn't work with noise; he liked the peace and the only 'noise' he'd approve of while working was the Steel Samurai theme song, which he frequently played on his little stereo. He hid that stereo in one of his drawers though, and he locked his doors whenever he played the music. He was certain that he would never hear the end of it if someone had caught him in the act.
He tapped the end of his pen quietly on his desk as he eyed the other person in the room: hair in oddly angled spikes and queerly shaped eyebrows. Bright blue eyes and mouth set in the usual, lopsided grin. Miles groaned inwardly. He couldn't work with someone else in the room, specifically if the other person was doing particularly nothing.
Snapping his attention back to the paperwork, Miles gritted his teeth.
Well, I suppose he is being quiet. I better get on with this.
As he picked up his pen and began to professionally write down several statements, the silence of the room was immediately shattered as the other man in the room began to walk around. The soft clacking of the heels of suede shoes against the polished floorboards was astoundingly loud in the otherwise quiet room. It was awhile before the noise stopped and when Miles was just about to resume his next sentence, the clacking began again.
He's doing this on purpose.
Looking up, he shot invisible daggers at the other being.
"Wright," Miles began, his patience at its tethers.
Does this man have nothing better to do?
"Oh hey there, Edgeworth," Phoenix Wright replied mildly, as if it was the most natural thing on earth for him to be standing in Miles' office.
"Wright, what are you doing here?" exasperation began to bleed into Miles' voice as he watched Phoenix study the ladder that leaned against one of the shelves. Miles was quite positive that Phoenix wouldn't scale the wooden contraption; after all, the spiky haired man didn't run well with heights. But then again, neither did he.
"Hmm? Oh don't mind me, Edgeworth. Don't you have work to do?"
It almost seemed silly to hear that statement uttered from Phoenix's mouth because Phoenix was the least counterproductive person alive and for him to worry about work (be it other's or his own) was almost worrying in its self.
It was a good ten minutes of silence before Phoenix had sidled up to his desk and dropped into the seat opposite. Phoenix had been poking and prodding at all the stacks of papers on the desk, as if trying to gauge the minimum amount of force needed to send the whole stack toppling.
"What," Miles acknowledged Phoenix's presence with a monotonous, dry response without glancing up from his paperwork. Insofar, he had only managed a good three sentences before Phoenix had propped himself by the table. Phoenix's presence had been a direct intrusion on his personal space, thus putting a halt to his work. But of course he wouldn't give Phoenix the satisfaction of knowing that he had successfully disrupted his work, and he was thankful for the stacks that shielded him from those overly cheery azure eyes.
"Aww. Come on Edgeworth! Where are your manners? Always look at people when addressing them!" Phoenix whined, almost child like.
As Miles straightened up and pushed several stacks of papers out of the way, he opened his mouth to usher forth a retort that he knew would rile the defense attorney, even if it were only by a thin margin.
However all his words died on his lips as a strangled scream tore through his throat. Phoenix, who had been grinning at him cheekily had taken out a fountain pen from his pocket before aiming it at Miles and setting a spray of ink onto his magenta – not pink, damn it – coat. Miles was all but amused.
The moment went downhill from there as Phoenix erupted into paroxysms of laughter and was doubled over from the effort of keeping his voice low. Miles, on the other hand, was seething. No, he did not find this vulgar display of happiness funny. It wasn't funny at all.
Miles felt a prick of satisfaction when he saw Phoenix cringe at the sudden exclamation of his name. The satisfaction dissipated immediately though. Face hot with embarrassment and mind equally dismal, Miles felt irritated and couldn't contain the frothing rage that threatened to spill over.
"Wright, what were you thinking?" Miles' voice was threateningly quiet, his eyes narrowed and unwavering as he glared bullet holes into Phoenix's face. He wasn't sure whom he'd shoot first if he had a gun in his hands: the douche of a man called Phoenix for his idiocy, or his own self for all the traumatic embarrassment.
Testing the waters, Phoenix replied with a hesitant "Uhm, surprise?"
"Phoenix Wright, if this is some kind of joke to you, I swear, I'll-" Miles's voice slowly upped in pitch and loudness as he spoke. When his patience cracked, he tended to talk much louder than his usual demeanor (whereas many normal people would call it shouting, Miles was just too dignified for such a crass word like 'shouting').
"Prosecutor Edgeworth! Will you keep it down!" a shrill voice exploded from the doorway.
Both Miles and Phoenix snapped their attention to the doorway to see the oldest prosecutor in the building standing by the door with sheer disapproval on his face. Winston Payne stood there, arms crossed in absolute disgust, his nose crinkled in hate, the ceiling lights glinted off the thick lenses of the spectacles and the balding head that Payne never bothered to conceal. Taking in the soiled coat of his fellow prosecutor, Winston Payne smirked and gave Miles a scathing look.
"Out. Both of you. Out." Miles spat, wasting no time in trying to usher the two intruders in his office out. He wasn't up to hearing Payne's remarks about how "top notch prosecutors were all animals" and that "it's a good thing he wasn't promoted or he'll become an animal too".
Payne had left immediately; even he was smart enough to know when to stop smirking - at least for the time being. But Phoenix was a different matter.
"Relax Edgeworth!" Phoenix grinned, " No need to get so worked up!"
"Wright. Out. The door – it's there. Get out."
"It's just disa-"
"Wright! The next time you want to pull a lowly prank, pull it on someone who is as simple-minded and as imbecilic as you are."
"Hey, that's just-"
"You irate me, Wright! It's a complete, utter, disgrace to be acquainted with you! Now out!"
Phoenix narrowed his eyes and muttered quietly under his breath as he slipped out of Miles' office. Something fell out of Phoenix's pocket as he left, but Miles was too out of composure to call that jerk of a friend back.
"Ms. Fray, please, could you have a glance over at my coat." Miles sighed as he passed his magenta coat to his secretary. He rubbed his temples in disbelief as his secretary studied the coat. When Phoenix had left and was clearly out of sight, Miles had proceeded to toss his magenta coat aside in case some other prosecutor stumbled into his office. He also picked up the little material that Phoenix had dropped and after close inspection, it turned out to be the thrice-accursed fountain pen that had started the whole mess.
The fountain pen was, well, odd. It wasn't heavy at all. The craftsmanship, though intricate, was unrecognizable and almost sloppy. The nib was blunt and looked as if the piece of metal had been thoroughly beaten out of shape before being slotted into the appropriate place. Not to mention Miles' suspicion that Phoenix couldn't even afford to buy a single fountain pen in the first place, what with his unending list of non-paying clients.
"Sir, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with your coat." Ms. Fray piped up politely.
As I thought.
"No, I'm pretty sure I got ink all over that thing this afternoon," Miles muttered crossly.
"Well I can't see it," Ms. Fray replied lightly. She was one of the few who could handle a stormy Edgeworth. Years of working together made her acquaintance rather tolerable for Miles, and he'll admit to the fact that she seemed to have more brains than most prosecutors in the building.
"I can't see it either," Miles replied, stupidly.
"Well then, it must have never existed."
"No, no, no. It was there. I'm sure of it. This. This abhorrent piece of junk caused me the grief." He flicked the fountain pen with his index finger for emphasis.
"What colour was the ink? If you're going to say pink-"
"My coat is by no means pink."
"Of course, of course. So, what colour was it, sir?"
Miles furrowed his eyebrows in deep contemplation. On his coat… well he didn't even look at the splotch on his coat. He only saw the passageway in which the ink 'flew' onto his coat.
"Blue. Light blue, like watercolour blue. Very light. But still ink."
Ms. Fray's lips twitched slightly. She passed an amused glance over the magenta coat before sliding her gaze to the pen case on the table.
"May I see that pen?"
It didn't take long before Ms. Fray erupted into laughter. Miles shuddered; the laughter was so akin to the gagging noises Phoenix had been making earlier.
"W-What's so funny?" Miles stuttered, clearly flustered by her reaction.
"Disappearing ink, sir. Whoever gave it to you must have wanted you to lighten up."
"What, pray tell, is 'disappearing ink'?" He leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, crossed his arms and tapped his finger impatiently on his arm.
"Allow me to demonstrate."
Ms. Fray walked up to the curtains, which covered the glass window that bounded one stretch of the room, and then she sprayed his magenta curtains with a whole lot of ink from that foul – oh it was nasty – pen. Miles could only do so much from yelling. His heart practically withered in his chest as he watched that evil writing equipment soil his beautiful –and costly – curtains.
And then magic happened. Because slowly but surely, the ink began to disappear, the splatters slowly vanished from the outline inwards. Miles frowned at the disappearing ink.
"Well, how utterly childish." Miles stated, coldly.
He'll be honest that he didn't know what to do. He stared at his cellphone for quite a while the minute he got home, weighting down his options.
Perhaps I should apologise to Wright for the overly harsh words?
But then again, it was Phoenix who brought that stupid mechanic into his office. It wasn't as if he had particularly asked the defense attorney to bring in something to lighten up his day. Sure he was stoic and emotionless for the most part of his life, but that didn't mean he didn't know fun, he was pretty much 'lightened up' as it was. It was probably the fact that his definition of fun differed from the average person's definition of the three-lettered word. So, it wasn't his fault… Right?
Miles frowned as the pathetic surname once again managed to wriggle it's way into his conscience. Sometimes it was fundamentally difficult to take Phoenix seriously with his ridiculous surname.
Shaking his head, Miles tossed all trivial thoughts out of his mind. He'll get back to Phoenix when he had less troubling matters to deal with. The disruption in his office had docked some of his precious working hours and he ended up bringing quite a portion of his paperwork back home to work on late into the night. He was used to working overtime outside the office, and it wasn't as if the prosecutor's office never paid him well enough. Heck, he knew a good load of people who almost always went unpaid or underpaid. In fact, he knew someone who couldn't even buy peanut butter.
He tossed his cell phone onto the sofa as if to firmly reinforce the fact that he had more important things to do as compared to spending more valuable time mulling over the afternoon events of the day. Indeed, he felt bad about the things he had said to the usually happy attorney. But being a foolish man with a foolish pride (as his endearing sister, Franziska von Karma would have put it all so succinctly – actually, she would have added the word 'foolish' into the sentence several more times because she had the weird ability to stuff that word anywhere and make the sentence still sound somewhat coherent), Miles was not about to admit that he had gone over the top with the insults. Well, not yet at least.
After his secretary had explained the secret behind the miraculous disappearing ink splotch, Miles had more or less felt stupefied. Secretly, he still considered bringing the coat to the dry cleaners, because, you know, one can never be too sure. He inspected it once more, giving it a good glance over, before hanging it up neatly on a coat hanger. It looked the same as always: creaseless and crisp.
Perhaps he should have given Phoenix more credit; after all, Phoenix wasn't such an airhead to the point where he'd outright ruin someone's coat – right in front of the person's face at that.
There I go, thinking about that impossible man again.
Miles clicked his tongue in an irritable fashion. Mentally frequenting the ridiculous mishap in his office didn't do him any good; he still had a ton of workload to toil through before the night gets any later than it already was. For all he knew, he could be over thinking things and Phoenix would have not felt a single sting from the careless words that had left his mouth.
As he set the kettle to boil some water for tea, Miles flicked through his cabinet of fine tea selection. He ran his pointer finger along the metal encasement jars that were lined up neatly along one of his shelves before settling for the classic Darjeeling tea.
As the tea was brewing in the kitchen, he unloaded his briefcase and began to settle all his paperwork onto his desk. He rooted around the bottom of his brief case in case he had missed any small bits of folded scraps of papers that his underling, Detective Gumshoe, had so often gave him. Usually, those inconspicuous papers were stashed between thick folders, and Miles couldn't understand for the world why Gumshoe wouldn't have just placed them on top of the folders to prevent overlooking.
It was only then when his fingers brushed against a cool, oblong shaped material. He didn't need to see what it was to identify it immediately.
I should have left this atrocity back at the office.
He withdrew the fountain pen from his briefcase and settled in on his desk as the water began to boil in the kitchen.
The following day was most probably one of the hottest days in American history. The weather was blistering and oppressive, and Miles hated it. The AC in his bedroom had faltered some time during the night, in which he surmised was due to lack of use. The broken AC had deprived him of all chances of sleeping because who on earth could sleep with clothes plastered uncomfortably to your skin and a room that seemed to try to bake you alive?
He had decided to skip out on his morning cup of tea; the heat tormented him to the point where he discarded his daily routines to speed up his departure for the prosecutor's office.
But what killed him the most was the need to look presentable. He blanched at the thought of wearing his cravat, vest and coat. It was probably safe to assume that his choice of clothes wear would increase the heat wave tenfold by trapping all the heat into the insulated layers. And then there were the four switchback flights of stairs he had to endure before even reaching his car. Miles grimaced as he fixed his cravat in place and buttoned down his vest. His coat could wait.
Setting off earlier than usual, Miles had been able to avoid the morning traffic. Not that he would have minded a traffic jam for once; he wanted to prolong the time he had for enjoying the cool air from the car's AC.
The minute he got out of the car, his whole day immediately went downhill from there. Miles had silently belched when he spotted the balding head at the office reception. It was rare for a fellow prosecutor to arrive at the building earlier than Miles, even on a normal, daily basis. He tried to slip past the snide old man unnoticed; keeping to the walls and moving as silent as he could manage, Miles sneaked his way to the emergency stairs to begin his ascend to the twelfth floor. He was only several centimeters away from his destination – the staircase was right there – when he heard a shrill voice permeate through the quiet area of the office reception.
"Prosecutor Edgeworth! Is that a new coat you're wearing today? You really mucked up your clothes yesterday, didn't you?"
Argh! So close!
Miles turned around slowly to address the disgustingly nasal voice. Putting on his best front and his award-winning smile, Miles replied, "Ah, Prosecutor Payne. I'm quite sure I'm wearing the same coat as I did yesterday. Allow me to reassure you that my coat is perfectly fine. Your concern is highly appreciated."
There was an underlying tone of concrete sarcasm and irritation in Miles' voice. He knew that Payne to be a particularly grouchy man who held high grudges against anyone who had a greater rank than he did. Payne, who had been working as a prosecutor for over 40 years, had held his best record of a 'winning streak' of 3 cases in a row. Since then, he had been on quite a losing streak. The state hadn't appointed him as frequently as they once did (which wasn't much often in its self), when Payne had been unable to obtain the guilty verdict for one of the cases where the perpetrator was clearly guilty. No one had been quite sure how it happened, but when asked, Payne would brush it off as a shortcoming of the local police precinct.
"Is that so," Payne sniffed, clearly unimpressed.
Not that I was trying to impress him or anything…
"Yes, quite. Now if you'd excuse me, I really must get going," Miles muttered as he tried to remove himself from the scene before Payne decided to dredge up other topics clearly not worth talking about.
"Oh, don't go yet! Why don't you share with me what happened in your office yesterday?"
Truth be told, Miles had nearly forgotten all of it until Payne had decided to bring it up. The memory smacked him in the face as if a pie had been flung right into his face during a food fight at a school canteen. And really, did he have to yell out yesterday's incident half way across the room? Yes, there was barely anyone in the room since not everyone was a workaholic but still. Plus, if ever, Payne was the last person on earth Miles would ever approach.
"There is absolutely nothing to tell, Mr. Payne. Now if you please. I'm a very busy man."
With that, Miles made his escape. He practically leapt up the flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time, lest a crazy, balding prosecutor decided to give chase and tried scrambling after him on the stairs. It was a frightening thought that managed to spur Miles on in his haste to escape the 'eccentric' prosecutor.
Perspiring heavily, Miles had never been so glad to see his office doorway down the corridor after tackling those twelve stories. The door sported a golden metal plaque that had his name embossed on it in thick, bold, capital letters. "M. EDGEWORTH" it read. He always felt a small surge of pride to see his name on the door. It satisfied him to see how far he had come despite all the turmoil.
He withdrew the bulky key ring from his pocket and using one hand, deftly flicked through the various keys to a particular bronze key. He inserted the key and turned it to the left. Frowning when he didn't hear the familiar 'click' sound of the catch coming undone, Miles' frown deepened when he pushed down the handle and the doorway gave way.
The sight that greeted him distorted his face into a disapproving glare. His lips were pressed into a firm line of irritation as he observed a group of electrical technicians clad in navy blue jumpsuits massing in his office. One of them had scaled the ladder and had been inspecting the AC in his room.
"W-What is happening here?" Miles demanded flatly. He wanted the answer swiftly, and his piercing gaze surveyed the room, daring someone to speak up first.
"Sir, I believe you have been pre-warned that there would be a scheduled check on all the air conditioners on this floor? It's up for the monthly maintenance today and won't be able to work until some time after 3pm, sir," one of the technicians replied, raising his eyes from the clipboard he had been looking at.
Today! Of all days! Really, now.
"… I see. Carry on."
It vaguely occurred to Miles that he must have thrown out the notification some time ago and it had also occurred to him that he was going to have to tolerate the heat even in this office. If he had known this was going to happen, he would have never ran up those twelve flights of stairs.
No, scratch that. He'd stay in his car and never turn up for work.
The light haired man had long since discarded his coat when Detective Gumshoe had entered the office. He had come very close to discarding his cravat as well, but he wouldn't risk his personal image for the world.
The heat attack was merciless and the thought of smashing open his window with the fire extinguisher just outside his room had crossed his mind several times. His mood had been dark when he had left his home; it had soured under his encounter with Payne and had turned positively foul as he sat at his office, fervently working his way through papers.
Due to the maintenance, Miles had to no choice but to leave the door to his office open: He couldn't tolerate the constant opening and closing of the single door to accommodate the influx and out flux of the technicians who seemed to do countless rounds of inspections. Furthermore, the temperature was such a killer and the poor air circulation of the room drove him to desperation.
When the few technicians had departed for lunch at 12pm, Miles had never been so relieved to watch people walk out the open doorway. So when the jaunty detective walked into the office with a spring in his step and a cheery smile stretched across his stubbly face, Miles had been less than willing to greet the detective.
The detective was clad in his usual attire; olive green trench coat and all. Gumshoe held in his hands another stack of papers filed into beige folders with paperclips. He had that smarting grin on his face and every time he took an exaggerated breath; his whole body heaved.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" Gumshoe chimed with a ridiculous amount of vigor and energy. "Boy, is it hot in here."
Just looking at him in his stuffy trench coat makes the room feel a million times hotter than it already is…
"Good afternoon, detective," Miles droned the obligatory reply. His mind reeling with silent sarcastic comments already. He gave Gumshoe a cursory look and flinched involuntarily when he saw the detective radiating with glorious brilliance.
"Sir! Did that defense lawyer drop by yesterday?" Gumshoe boomed suddenly. Quite like a loudspeaker put on full blast by accident. But the question had taken him by surprise.
Acting nonplussed, Miles replied airily, " Why? Was he scheduled to be here?"
"You mean he didn't come, sir?"
"On the contrary detective, he did. Why does it interest you so?"
"Heh heh. Well…"
"In fact, he did something rather… how should I put it quaintly? He did something rather intriguing."
At this point Gumshoe had successfully dumped the whole set of files onto Miles' desk. Miles' gaze flickered upward and stared unrelentingly at the wardrobe-built detective. He was searching for a crack, a nervous breakdown or something. What he didn't expect was the hearty laughter that erupted from the other man's lips. And the laughter only served to grate on his nerves; each puncturing "ho" in the laughter was like a punch in the gut. Miles narrowed his eyes, threateningly.
"I knew I could trust that pal!"
"You mean, trust him with this?" Miles placed the damned fountain pen on the table for Gumshoe to see.
"Oh. Oh ho ho ho. That's it, sir!"
"Why, pray tell, would you send Wright to do something so…"
"Intriguing?" Gumshoed offered. "Well, Mr. Edgeworth, sir, forgive me for saying this but you've been overly stressed these past few days. I remember the little girl in the weird purple bathrobes playing pranks on people with that pen over there! Everyone gave a good laugh when they found out it was disappearing ink!"
"Purple bathrobes?" Miles arched an eyebrow, inquisitively.
"Yeah. The pal's sidekick."
Ah. He must be referring to Ms. Maya Fey.
"So, you got Wright to do it on me because people laughed when they found out it was disappearing ink?"
"Personally I would have come down to do it myself, sir! But I was too busy yesterday and I thought it'd be best if you received immediate remedy for your stress."
… Immediate remedy, huh.
Miles was certainly not amused. In fact, he felt even worse for the things he had snapped at the blue clad defense lawyer. It aggravated his temper. If anything, he would have snapped right there and then but then a knowing smile made its way to his lips. He'd fix whatever mess he had made with Phoenix some other time.
Turning to look at Gumshoe, Miles drummed his fingers on the table. The devious smirk remained transfixed on his face as he watched the oblivious detective sort through the mass of files on the table, ranking them according to importance.
"A remedy you say?" Miles intoned nonchalantly and Gumshoe, preoccupied, failed to notice anything out of the norm.
"Yes, sir!" Gumshoe replied with gusto.
"I think something else needs remedying."
"And what's that, Mr. Edgeworth?"
"How about a pay cut, detective? You know, for thanks."
A/N: Uhmmm. This is my first AA fanfic :) Sorry if Edgeworth is OOC ^^; I try. Do leave a review if you can :)
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