Franziska's Memoirs

 

Chapter Warnings:

No Sex

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The circus became her domain as she investigated and interrogated everything and everybody within. She ordered surprise searches of every room in the housing unit, but found nothing exciting in any of them.

The last search, though, got her in touch with a witness she thought would prove to be key. He was a wheelchair-bound acrobat going by the stage name of Acro. He was devilishly handsome, and Franziska was very disheartened to hear that he was paralyzed from the waist down.



Acro corroborated the foolish clown's foolishly foolish account, claiming to have seen the suspect fly past his second-story window. Come to think of it, what kind of sadistic ringleader places his crippled acrobat on the second floor of the housing unit? Even Franziska wouldn't be so cruel.



Still, this only made matters worse for her. How was she expected to believe, let alone prove that this murder could have occurred in such an impossible fashion?



As the sun was setting, she caught that fool Phoenix Wright questioning Acro - and receiving a blood-stained scarf.



Oh, this simply would not pass. She stomped over to the spiky-haired fool and demanded that he hand over the cloth. It was evidence, after all, and needed to be inspected. She took the scarf and stormed off, taking Acro with her for questioning - he was to be the witness for tomorrow. Why had he hidden this piece of cloth from her during her investigation?



She went without sleep that night and ordered Scruffy to do the same. His mission was to build a scale model detailing how, exactly, Max Galactica was able to, one, commit this murder without leaving footprints, and two, fly away from the scene of the crime.



The inspection of the scarf revealed useless results. The blood belonged to Acro's brother, who was currently in a coma. The only other thing they found were traces of pepper. No blood or fingerprints belonging to anyone actually involved in the current case. Worthless.



Not that any of their work mattered. The next day in court, that foolish slimeball lawyer Phoenix Wright threw everyone a curveball - by accusing Acro of the murder!



Franziska was speechless, which had quite honestly never happened before. This was a new low; the lengths these detestable lawyers will actually go to in order to defend their clients was disgusting even to her. She put the flying issue on the back burner for a while and spent most of the trial explaining why this position was a ludicrous one to take up. For starters, Acro couldn't physically have done such a thing, but even assuming he could, he was a loyal performer with no motive to kill his beloved ringleader. Franziska found no reason to mention that the victim had placed a paraplegic on the second floor.



But what was this? Phoenix Wright had a ridiculously convoluted theory; Acro dropped a bust of Max Galactica onto the ringleader, though he actually intended to kill Regina. The bust snagged the ringleader's cape upon itself and was then pulled back up to Acro's room by a rope, making it seem to the clown that Max Galactica had flown away from the scene of the crime.



This was a personal affront to the justice system. A mockery! A fraud! It simply would not go down like this.



Even assuming all of that miraculously happened, what motive would Acro possibly have to murder Regina?



Her eyes went wide as Phoenix Wright pulled out the scarf.



The scarf she had told Scruffy to dispose of.



She clenched her fists and her teeth. She could just kill him.



It turned out Regina had peppered the scarf as a prank, but it had caused a lion to bite Acro's brother and put him in a coma. Or something. She was only barely paying attention - she was too busy seething with anger.



When Phoenix Wright demanded a search of Acro's room, Franziska perked up. She took great pride in pointing out that a surprise search of Acro's room had already been conducted, and returned no such bust; for that matter, nothing resembling a murder weapon had been found anywhere within the circus grounds. She folded her arms. The ball was in Phoenix Wright's court now, and she was overjoyed to see him fail.



But imagine her surprise when that foolish king of fools returned the foolish ball with a spike. Phoenix Wright claimed the bust was in this very courtroom - beneath Acro's wheelchair.



Franziska nearly toppled over. This man would stop at nothing, he would go to disgusting lengths to pin the crime on another party. How could anyone, in the face of such overwhelming evidence, insist that an innocent man, in a wheelchair no less, could -



Wait. No. This wasn't happening.



There was just no way!



The bust was under his chair. Phoenix Wright had been correct. Franziska von Karma lost a case for the second time.



To the same man.



This would not stand. She had to bring that man to his knees. She had to uphold the von Karma name. There was no way some upstart lawyer could to this to the von Karma lineage. It was all on her!



That night she kicked in the door to the offices of Wright and Co., ready to make heads roll.