Much Obliged, Sir!
folder
+M through R › Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,871
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+M through R › Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,871
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Turtle Waltz
***
Later in the evening, Edgeworth was standing outside the door of his office. He took several very pronounced breaths, attempting to calm himself in advance. He’d made a point not to view the desk again for several hours, considering that he needed that time to properly brace himself. In truth, he’d have been quite willing to never see the thing again for the pain it caused him, but he was a busy man and his files were still inside. Pragmatism had to win in the final analysis.
Upon opening the door and gazing upon the glaring thing once more, he turned his eyes to the side with an exaggerated twist of the lip, though there was no audience to see it. Nevertheless, moving over toward the desk, he kept his poise as well as humanly possible from thereon out. He rested a finger against the surface of the desk, sliding his finger to the side. No bumps. At least Gumshoe had done a decent job of wrecking Miles’ treasured belonging. Sighing, Edgeworth moved over to his chair and set himself down into it as though it were made of eggshells. He reached for his pen—a Mont Blac he had purchased in Germany—and paused for a moment. He tapped the tip of the pen against the wood.
Edgeworth was quite reluctant to admit it to himself, but he didn’t precisely know why he cared about the desk in the first place. Thinking himself to be a fiscally prudent man, he couldn’t imagine why he’d ever bought it. From a practical perspective, he knew that it was no better than a desk a tenth its price. Hell, it could quite easily be worse. So why had he purchased it in the first place? Why had he bothered?
+It’s only natural that someone of my professional station be entitled to the best,+ Edgeworth thought, +But a part of me seriously doubts I had the true “best” in mind. Considering that, especially with Manfred in prison, I rarely have visitors, owning the desk for the sake of appearances would be rather ludicrous. Furthermore, it’s really not particularly superior to any other desk, and even if it were, the new polish has, if anything, improved its utility. Certainly the value has decreased, but when did I ever intend to sell it?+ He grimaced slightly in disapproval of his own disapproval—dourness worthy of the von Karma name for certain.
+I purchased this because it was expensive, and as it was expensive it was impressive. However, I have very few to amaze here in my own home, and the bulk of them are more astonished by my own prowess than the value of my commodities. If any of them were to conclude that I am undeserving of my position, given that my desk has an inappropriately glimmering sheen, then that is an indictment of them, not myself.+ He would have cast his pen away in frustration, but he hadn’t the heart to see something else expensive damaged, regardless of his revelations. +What that… idiot… did was ill-reasoned and certainly not in my best interests when all is said and done. However, the effects of it are really quite minor if I take a more detached vantage.+
He leaned back in his chair, admitting to himself, for that short moment, that he needed to think through the situation thoroughly before actually setting himself down to work. +That foolhardy Gumshoe believed this to be something intended to please me and, though I’ll not laud him for what he has done, it is unfair to bear a grudge in this event,+ he confessed to himself reluctantly. +He was, as he is so disastrously often, motivated by an earnest desire to do what will benefit those about him. To stifle that could only be destructive. Just imagine what he could do if he actually –meant- ill.+
Edgeworth straightened out the cuffs of his shirt for a moment with yet another, slightly less histrionic, sigh. There were worse things in life than the results of Gumshoe’s good intentions. Yes, his desk lacked that lovely antique patina, but Edgeworth found himself increasingly less mindful of it. Besides, truth be told, it was as well that he began to move away from the values von Karma had instilled in him about what was proper and elegant and what was not. Musty old furniture could certainly stand to be removed from his personal aesthetic tastes. (Sadly, Edgeworth deemed the pink suit still quite elegant despite severe evidence to the contrary.)
Finally, he got to work.
***
“Yeah, yeah, no, everythin’s going fine, Maya,” Gumshoe stressed. At the moment, he was a liar, and not a very good one. If nothing else, the fact that he was obviously whispering on the other side of the line didn’t speak well for his predicament.
Maya’s voice came though the phone with its characteristic volume. “Are you sure? Phoenix is smart—like, psychic smart! He wouldn’t have given me your number if he didn’t want me to check up on you!” she noted assertively. Actually, Phoenix hadn’t “given” her Gumshoe’s phone number; it was simply in his organizer. Ah, but since he’d left his organizer there when he left (well, because Maya had used it as a coaster for her teacup) she assumed that it was some sort of secret message to be heeded in full.
Gumshoe shook his head, though Maya obviously couldn’t see. “Well, I kinda… screwed up a bit today, but he seems to be taking it well. Patience of a saint, I’ve always said.” Maya had good reason to remember him saying it. People calling Edgeworth “patient” happened about as often as eruptions of Mount Tambora.
“… Are you a hostage?” she whispered over the line. “Sneeze twice for yes. Don’t worry; we can break you out! Phoenix knows jiu jitsu.”
***
(To be continued)
Author's Note: I'm really, really sorry this is updated so slowly. I'm trying to improve on that. My bad!
Later in the evening, Edgeworth was standing outside the door of his office. He took several very pronounced breaths, attempting to calm himself in advance. He’d made a point not to view the desk again for several hours, considering that he needed that time to properly brace himself. In truth, he’d have been quite willing to never see the thing again for the pain it caused him, but he was a busy man and his files were still inside. Pragmatism had to win in the final analysis.
Upon opening the door and gazing upon the glaring thing once more, he turned his eyes to the side with an exaggerated twist of the lip, though there was no audience to see it. Nevertheless, moving over toward the desk, he kept his poise as well as humanly possible from thereon out. He rested a finger against the surface of the desk, sliding his finger to the side. No bumps. At least Gumshoe had done a decent job of wrecking Miles’ treasured belonging. Sighing, Edgeworth moved over to his chair and set himself down into it as though it were made of eggshells. He reached for his pen—a Mont Blac he had purchased in Germany—and paused for a moment. He tapped the tip of the pen against the wood.
Edgeworth was quite reluctant to admit it to himself, but he didn’t precisely know why he cared about the desk in the first place. Thinking himself to be a fiscally prudent man, he couldn’t imagine why he’d ever bought it. From a practical perspective, he knew that it was no better than a desk a tenth its price. Hell, it could quite easily be worse. So why had he purchased it in the first place? Why had he bothered?
+It’s only natural that someone of my professional station be entitled to the best,+ Edgeworth thought, +But a part of me seriously doubts I had the true “best” in mind. Considering that, especially with Manfred in prison, I rarely have visitors, owning the desk for the sake of appearances would be rather ludicrous. Furthermore, it’s really not particularly superior to any other desk, and even if it were, the new polish has, if anything, improved its utility. Certainly the value has decreased, but when did I ever intend to sell it?+ He grimaced slightly in disapproval of his own disapproval—dourness worthy of the von Karma name for certain.
+I purchased this because it was expensive, and as it was expensive it was impressive. However, I have very few to amaze here in my own home, and the bulk of them are more astonished by my own prowess than the value of my commodities. If any of them were to conclude that I am undeserving of my position, given that my desk has an inappropriately glimmering sheen, then that is an indictment of them, not myself.+ He would have cast his pen away in frustration, but he hadn’t the heart to see something else expensive damaged, regardless of his revelations. +What that… idiot… did was ill-reasoned and certainly not in my best interests when all is said and done. However, the effects of it are really quite minor if I take a more detached vantage.+
He leaned back in his chair, admitting to himself, for that short moment, that he needed to think through the situation thoroughly before actually setting himself down to work. +That foolhardy Gumshoe believed this to be something intended to please me and, though I’ll not laud him for what he has done, it is unfair to bear a grudge in this event,+ he confessed to himself reluctantly. +He was, as he is so disastrously often, motivated by an earnest desire to do what will benefit those about him. To stifle that could only be destructive. Just imagine what he could do if he actually –meant- ill.+
Edgeworth straightened out the cuffs of his shirt for a moment with yet another, slightly less histrionic, sigh. There were worse things in life than the results of Gumshoe’s good intentions. Yes, his desk lacked that lovely antique patina, but Edgeworth found himself increasingly less mindful of it. Besides, truth be told, it was as well that he began to move away from the values von Karma had instilled in him about what was proper and elegant and what was not. Musty old furniture could certainly stand to be removed from his personal aesthetic tastes. (Sadly, Edgeworth deemed the pink suit still quite elegant despite severe evidence to the contrary.)
Finally, he got to work.
***
“Yeah, yeah, no, everythin’s going fine, Maya,” Gumshoe stressed. At the moment, he was a liar, and not a very good one. If nothing else, the fact that he was obviously whispering on the other side of the line didn’t speak well for his predicament.
Maya’s voice came though the phone with its characteristic volume. “Are you sure? Phoenix is smart—like, psychic smart! He wouldn’t have given me your number if he didn’t want me to check up on you!” she noted assertively. Actually, Phoenix hadn’t “given” her Gumshoe’s phone number; it was simply in his organizer. Ah, but since he’d left his organizer there when he left (well, because Maya had used it as a coaster for her teacup) she assumed that it was some sort of secret message to be heeded in full.
Gumshoe shook his head, though Maya obviously couldn’t see. “Well, I kinda… screwed up a bit today, but he seems to be taking it well. Patience of a saint, I’ve always said.” Maya had good reason to remember him saying it. People calling Edgeworth “patient” happened about as often as eruptions of Mount Tambora.
“… Are you a hostage?” she whispered over the line. “Sneeze twice for yes. Don’t worry; we can break you out! Phoenix knows jiu jitsu.”
***
(To be continued)
Author's Note: I'm really, really sorry this is updated so slowly. I'm trying to improve on that. My bad!