samuraiprosecutor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
samuraiprosecutor) wrote2008-02-05 02:12 am
samuraiprosecutor) wrote2008-02-05 02:12 am
[RL 15: Exorcism - Edgeworth only][Backdated]
((OOC: Backdating this to 2-5-08 comm time, taking place after Maraich's trial. Edgeworth learns it's not a good idea to piss off an already angry ghost. Or rather, he doesn't learn, and so continues to piss the ghost off.
I SWEAR that this is the last batch of wangst I'm putting him through for a long, long time.Unless some insanely good plot pops up that I just can't NOT shove him into... This is also so TL;DR I'll be utterly amazed if anyone actually reads it. XD
PLEASE NOTE: All of the ghost's dialogue was written by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
attorney_at_lol. We RPed this out in script form then I turned it into prose. It was fun and I might be tempted to do it again in the future.))
He told the dog walker to take his time tonight, excusing it by saying Sigi hadn't been outdoors as much as he should be since Edgeworth had broken his arm. The promise of an extra few bills on his tip assured Sigi a long walk...and Miles a good stretch of time to do what needed to be done.
He was calm as he boiled the water, calm as he measured out the leaves, calm as he steeped them and watched the clock. If his suspicions were correct he was in no real danger. Aside from his self-assurance, the events of the trial that afternoon had left him with little energy to spare on nerves.
A small frown crossed his face as he carried the teacup into the living room. Until that afternoon he had debated on telling Wright what he'd planned, but after the abduction and subsequent escape Miles had no intention of adding to the man's stress unnecessarily.
The fact that Miles didn't relish the idea of fighting Wright on the matter only held a small bearing on his final decision, really.
The cushions of the armchair accepted him easily, and he resisted the urge to let himself sink into them. After a sip of his tea (the most recent batch of Earl Grey he'd purchased was exceptional) he was ready to begin.
"If we're going to do this we have very little time to do it in." Miles' voice reverberated strangely in the apartment. He waited, took another sip, waited a minute, two. Finally he continued, "You're going back soon. It would be a shame to come all this way and never do or say whatever it is you wished to."
There was no answer. He raised an eyebrow. "Sigi won't return for a half hour, and as I'm sure you're aware, I'm not expecting any company."
"What are you expecting, then?" The voice was cold, dulled, its source unidentifiable.
Edgeworth started slightly, though he had anticipated the response. Keeping his voice calm he replied, "You have a grievance." It was a statement of fact, emotionless.
"That's one way of putting it." A derisive snort accompanied the response. "And you hope to 'talk it out?'"
"I prefer a direct route whenever possible. This is far more effective than what you attempted the other night." He took another sip of tea, set the teacup on the ottoman. "At least now I'm aware of what I'm meant to pay for."
"I could never make you pay enough."
Behind him, close. The hair on the back of his neck stood and a twinge of fear hit his stomach. He struggled with it, though he gave no outward sign of any discomfort and didn't turn around. "Perhaps. You're in a position to try, if you wished to."
Cold wrapped around him, the bitter, sweet scent of almonds filled his nostrils. Something large pressed against the back of the chair and an icy, dry grip settled firmly about his throat, moved slowly and deliberately up his neck until it stopped above his windpipe.
'Intimidation tactic' Edgeworth told himself, even as his breathing quickened and his nerves sang at the chill contact. The voice rang out again, clearer, produced by nothing. "Do you know what it's like to suffocate?"
Edgeworth's voice was sardonic but subdued. "Aside from...the other night, no. I can't say that I do."
"What's worse is knowing only death awaits. You should be grateful; killing you in your sleep would have been merciful." Edgeworth swallowed, and the bob of his Adam's Apple betrayed him.
The invisible hand disappeared from his throat then; his breathing slowed in response, but his muscles remained tense as steel cord, and his voice was no longer perfectly even. "Perhaps, if you'd done it correctly. As it was, the experience was...less than pleasant."
"Was it?" The words were by his ear, barely above a whisper, and tainted with amusement. Air brushed against Miles' face and he recoiled involuntarily as the ghost moved, now a white mist hovering several feet before him, behind the ottoman.
"Why did you call me here?"
Pointedly ignoring the first question, Edgeworth straightened his back and replied, "You came back from the dead. It would hardly be polite to let you return without giving you a proper forum to...say whatever it is you came here to say."
The ghost's tone remained even. "If I simply wanted to talk, don't you think I would have said something by now?"
"I'm here, and we're unlikely to be interrupted again." Miles' eyes narrowed and he raised his chin slightly. "If that's all you want, you're taking your time about it."
"In a hurry, are we?"
The voice was setting off all his internal alarms, but he struggled to maintain an air of nonchalance as he leaned forward, picked up the cup from the ottoman, and took a sip of the cold tea. "Not particularly. Sigi will be returned soon, though. Whatever you're here for you're running out of time to do it in."
There was pregnant silence for a few moments, then a force whipped roughly against his hand, slapping the teacup from his grip. "You're a bastard, Miles Edgeworth!" The voice seethed with sudden fury, and Edgeworth instinctively cringed back against the cushions, staring at the mist that almost pulsed before him.
When the ghost made no other moved Edgeworth sat up a bit straighter. He glanced to the right where the cup was laying on the floor in the middle of a light stain. An answering anger stirred in his chest, and when he returned his attention to the ghost he was glaring. "And?"
"And?! Do you have any idea what you've done? How many others there are out there, just like me, who would have died again at the chance to see the life drain from your smug face?" His voice was controlled fury and with every word the mist shifted, coalesced little by little into a vague figure-shape, tall, large, and imposing.
Edgeworth continued to glare heatedly, giving the man no indication his words had any effect. "And where are they? If they're so eager, why are they not here?"
"How the hell should I know?!" the ghost growled. In one smooth, swift movement he leaned forward, tangling his fists in the lapels of Edgeworth's suit jacket and jerking him toward the ghost's own half-visible face. "Maybe they're visiting their loved ones, making sure they're managing all right without them! Making sure that they're not hurting without them!"
The man's grip was firm. Edgeworth clutched ineffectually at his partially visible arm with his left hand, finding corded muscles and a powerful resistance. He smirked, but the expression was grim, his lips tight. "But not you? Did you have no loved ones to visit, or did you feel this was more important? I suppose I should be flattered."
The comments earned Miles another rough jerk. He was dragged close enough to clearly see the rest of the living room through the ghost's darkening features, and the double-exposure effect combined with the rough handling to make him temporarily dizzy.
"I watched my wife get beaten by a man she doesn't love." The words were deceptively quiet, the underlying threat obvious, but Edgeworth's glare only deepened, took on a hint of distaste, as if he found the situation contemptible.
"I will take what blame is mine, but do not try to pawn your wife's poor choices off on me."
The man was quick; before Miles registered the movement his hand was clamped around Miles' throat. "You listen to me, you bastard. If it weren't for you, I'd still be here taking care of her. We would be happy."
Edgeworth's breathing quickened, became shallow, though his voice was still calm when he replied, "...Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" Tighter, and Miles' breaths were coming in long stretches, taking in only half the air. "Perhaps?! Is that all you have to say?"
Fear welled up in Miles' chest, fluttering, pressing his heart. Between noisy gasps he managed to choke out, "You wanted...more? Nothing I say will...change what happened to you. What...I did to you."
"You're a murderer."
He opened his mouth, shut it, squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again he fixed them firmly on the ghost's dark eyes, though his scowling face was starting to blur at the edges. "I'm not the man I was."
The man only stared down at him, gaze fixated on Edgeworth's face as his breathing became more ragged, more desperate, less and less productive. When Edgeworth's eyes began to water the ghost finally replied, "And I was never the man you painted me to be."
Just as simply as the words were spoken the pressure was gone. Air flooded back into his lungs with his first painfully deep gasps, chilling his insides and burning his raw throat. He let himself sink into the chair he'd been pressed into, ignoring the man as he struggled to bring his breathing under control. Eventually he was able to sit forward and straighten his back, though his hand rested shakily against his forehead and he didn't speak.
The ghost took a step back, glaring down at him impassively. "Do you regret what you've done, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth? Knowing you've sent so many innocents to their deaths?"
Edgeworth looked up, his face expressionless save for something unidentifiable and cold that filled his eyes. "Yes.
"Do you feel guilt?"
Mouth dry, he swallowed. "Yes."
"Then death would be too generous." The ghost's lips curled in the barest hint of a smile, and the malice of the look was only heightened by the slow fading of his form. "I wish you a long life, Mr. Edgeworth. I hope that your guilt will suffocate you for years to come, until you realize all that awaits is death."
He continued to fade. Miles buried his face in his hand and a shudder passed through his body. When he raised his head again the ghost was already half the opacity he had been moments before. Miles found his eyes, met them with an even gaze just before they dissolved into the white mist.
"No."
"No?" A moment of hesitation and curiosity. The mist hovered before him.
Edgeworth's voice was stern. "I am sorry to say that you hope in vain. I can't oblige." Chin tilted up slightly, gaze hard, he seemed to have regained some of his haughty demeanor, though his breathing was still uneven and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
The ghost's voice was tinted with amusement. "You wish to die?"
"No." A smirk, small but familiar. "Quite the opposite, actually."
Immediately the man rematerialized. His brows were furrowed, his arms crossed. "Then what?"
"While guilt is a necessary emotion, it isn't one I can allow myself to indulge in to such a degree. It would interfere with more pressing matters."
There was a pause, then a sharp reply, "And what matters would those be?"
"My work. My purpose. My life." There was no hint of a smirk this time, only a steely gaze and determined set to his chin. The ghost chuckled humorlessly.
"What makes you thinks you deserve such privileges?"
Miles opened his mouth, a name already perched on the tip of his tongue, then shut it with an almost audible snap. His eyes narrowed. "They are not privileges."
A bark of laughter that time. "You're saying you have a right to live? Funny."
Straightening in his seat Edgeworth raised his chin, glaring defiantly. "My life serves a purpose, as does my career. I cannot allow my personal guilt to interfere with the pursuit of justice."
The man's eyes blazed dangerously, and his lips curled back to reveal perfectly even teeth. "And you think my life served no purpose?"
Edgeworth turned away, his left hand traveling reflexively to his right arm and clutching at his jacket. "Your life is, unfortunately, over. Mine is not."
"That doesn't answer my question."
A smirk, more to himself than to the ghost. "No, it doesn't."
Voice deceptively emotionless the ghost continued, "My life had purpose once. Until you took it away."
Suddenly he was above Miles, hand clamped again around his throat, pressing him into the chair's thick cushions. "I hope you choke on your pride, Edgeworth."
Despite the fear settling over him Edgeworth continued to glare defiantly up at him. He gripped the man's arm but made no attempt to break his powerful hold. "What purpose was that, then? Tell me," a breath, shallow, "...what I robbed you of."
"Why should I give you the courtesy?" He squeezed, continued to squeeze, slowly increasing the pressure on Miles' throat as he talked. "You wouldn't care. You think you've changed so much, claiming you're not the same man, but all I see is the same smug bastard from five years ago."
Miles tried to pull free then, but the angle was wrong and one arm hung uselessly at his side. The man was above him, the chair below and there was nowhere to go, all he could do was stare, wide-eyed, into that dark gaze and gasp futilely.
"If your guilt doesn't suffocate you maybe your pride will, and you'll realize too late that you've put yourself on so high a pedestal that no one can reach. You'll die old and alone and you'll have no forgiveness waiting for you."
His eyes were watering again, tearing up, the moisture threatening to spill over his cheeks. His lungs screamed, panic beat at his chest. In the midst of it all he realized he'd miscalculated, his self-assurance had been grounded on a false assumption and Wright was going to hate him when he got the call-
"May you have a long and miserable life, Miles Edgeworth."
Then he was as invisible as before but his grip remained fast, not releasing Miles until the blackness was ready to catch him.
He was out for only a few moments. By the time he came to his breathing was already correcting itself, though it was still ragged and loud, and the cold air still burned his lungs. He pushed himself up, leaned forward over his knees and buried his face in his palm. Occasionally a shudder would wrack his body and some part of his mind would idly comment, calling it shock, nerves, the come-down off of an adrenalin high.
By the time the dog walker knocked on the door Edgeworth had composed himself. Sigi entered the apartment cautiously, sniffing everything in the living room while Edgeworth paid the boy a handsome tip and bid him goodnight. Edgeworth left Sigi to himself while he went to the kitchen, and returned with a rag and bottle. It took him several minutes to clean the tea from the carpet, and he wasn't able to fully remove the stain.
Sigi followed him eagerly to the bedroom, though he looked around suspiciously and gave Edgeworth a confused look as he shut the door of Sigi's cage for the first time in several nights. Miles crossed to the bed and sat on it, heavily. He was still wearing his suit; he thought he should change, should shower, and should fall deeply asleep.
He picked up the phone from the nightstand, ignoring Sigi's whine of protest, and started to dial.
((OOC again: Continued here.))
I SWEAR that this is the last batch of wangst I'm putting him through for a long, long time.
PLEASE NOTE: All of the ghost's dialogue was written by
attorney_at_lol. We RPed this out in script form then I turned it into prose. It was fun and I might be tempted to do it again in the future.))He told the dog walker to take his time tonight, excusing it by saying Sigi hadn't been outdoors as much as he should be since Edgeworth had broken his arm. The promise of an extra few bills on his tip assured Sigi a long walk...and Miles a good stretch of time to do what needed to be done.
He was calm as he boiled the water, calm as he measured out the leaves, calm as he steeped them and watched the clock. If his suspicions were correct he was in no real danger. Aside from his self-assurance, the events of the trial that afternoon had left him with little energy to spare on nerves.
A small frown crossed his face as he carried the teacup into the living room. Until that afternoon he had debated on telling Wright what he'd planned, but after the abduction and subsequent escape Miles had no intention of adding to the man's stress unnecessarily.
The fact that Miles didn't relish the idea of fighting Wright on the matter only held a small bearing on his final decision, really.
The cushions of the armchair accepted him easily, and he resisted the urge to let himself sink into them. After a sip of his tea (the most recent batch of Earl Grey he'd purchased was exceptional) he was ready to begin.
"If we're going to do this we have very little time to do it in." Miles' voice reverberated strangely in the apartment. He waited, took another sip, waited a minute, two. Finally he continued, "You're going back soon. It would be a shame to come all this way and never do or say whatever it is you wished to."
There was no answer. He raised an eyebrow. "Sigi won't return for a half hour, and as I'm sure you're aware, I'm not expecting any company."
"What are you expecting, then?" The voice was cold, dulled, its source unidentifiable.
Edgeworth started slightly, though he had anticipated the response. Keeping his voice calm he replied, "You have a grievance." It was a statement of fact, emotionless.
"That's one way of putting it." A derisive snort accompanied the response. "And you hope to 'talk it out?'"
"I prefer a direct route whenever possible. This is far more effective than what you attempted the other night." He took another sip of tea, set the teacup on the ottoman. "At least now I'm aware of what I'm meant to pay for."
"I could never make you pay enough."
Behind him, close. The hair on the back of his neck stood and a twinge of fear hit his stomach. He struggled with it, though he gave no outward sign of any discomfort and didn't turn around. "Perhaps. You're in a position to try, if you wished to."
Cold wrapped around him, the bitter, sweet scent of almonds filled his nostrils. Something large pressed against the back of the chair and an icy, dry grip settled firmly about his throat, moved slowly and deliberately up his neck until it stopped above his windpipe.
'Intimidation tactic' Edgeworth told himself, even as his breathing quickened and his nerves sang at the chill contact. The voice rang out again, clearer, produced by nothing. "Do you know what it's like to suffocate?"
Edgeworth's voice was sardonic but subdued. "Aside from...the other night, no. I can't say that I do."
"What's worse is knowing only death awaits. You should be grateful; killing you in your sleep would have been merciful." Edgeworth swallowed, and the bob of his Adam's Apple betrayed him.
The invisible hand disappeared from his throat then; his breathing slowed in response, but his muscles remained tense as steel cord, and his voice was no longer perfectly even. "Perhaps, if you'd done it correctly. As it was, the experience was...less than pleasant."
"Was it?" The words were by his ear, barely above a whisper, and tainted with amusement. Air brushed against Miles' face and he recoiled involuntarily as the ghost moved, now a white mist hovering several feet before him, behind the ottoman.
"Why did you call me here?"
Pointedly ignoring the first question, Edgeworth straightened his back and replied, "You came back from the dead. It would hardly be polite to let you return without giving you a proper forum to...say whatever it is you came here to say."
The ghost's tone remained even. "If I simply wanted to talk, don't you think I would have said something by now?"
"I'm here, and we're unlikely to be interrupted again." Miles' eyes narrowed and he raised his chin slightly. "If that's all you want, you're taking your time about it."
"In a hurry, are we?"
The voice was setting off all his internal alarms, but he struggled to maintain an air of nonchalance as he leaned forward, picked up the cup from the ottoman, and took a sip of the cold tea. "Not particularly. Sigi will be returned soon, though. Whatever you're here for you're running out of time to do it in."
There was pregnant silence for a few moments, then a force whipped roughly against his hand, slapping the teacup from his grip. "You're a bastard, Miles Edgeworth!" The voice seethed with sudden fury, and Edgeworth instinctively cringed back against the cushions, staring at the mist that almost pulsed before him.
When the ghost made no other moved Edgeworth sat up a bit straighter. He glanced to the right where the cup was laying on the floor in the middle of a light stain. An answering anger stirred in his chest, and when he returned his attention to the ghost he was glaring. "And?"
"And?! Do you have any idea what you've done? How many others there are out there, just like me, who would have died again at the chance to see the life drain from your smug face?" His voice was controlled fury and with every word the mist shifted, coalesced little by little into a vague figure-shape, tall, large, and imposing.
Edgeworth continued to glare heatedly, giving the man no indication his words had any effect. "And where are they? If they're so eager, why are they not here?"
"How the hell should I know?!" the ghost growled. In one smooth, swift movement he leaned forward, tangling his fists in the lapels of Edgeworth's suit jacket and jerking him toward the ghost's own half-visible face. "Maybe they're visiting their loved ones, making sure they're managing all right without them! Making sure that they're not hurting without them!"
The man's grip was firm. Edgeworth clutched ineffectually at his partially visible arm with his left hand, finding corded muscles and a powerful resistance. He smirked, but the expression was grim, his lips tight. "But not you? Did you have no loved ones to visit, or did you feel this was more important? I suppose I should be flattered."
The comments earned Miles another rough jerk. He was dragged close enough to clearly see the rest of the living room through the ghost's darkening features, and the double-exposure effect combined with the rough handling to make him temporarily dizzy.
"I watched my wife get beaten by a man she doesn't love." The words were deceptively quiet, the underlying threat obvious, but Edgeworth's glare only deepened, took on a hint of distaste, as if he found the situation contemptible.
"I will take what blame is mine, but do not try to pawn your wife's poor choices off on me."
The man was quick; before Miles registered the movement his hand was clamped around Miles' throat. "You listen to me, you bastard. If it weren't for you, I'd still be here taking care of her. We would be happy."
Edgeworth's breathing quickened, became shallow, though his voice was still calm when he replied, "...Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" Tighter, and Miles' breaths were coming in long stretches, taking in only half the air. "Perhaps?! Is that all you have to say?"
Fear welled up in Miles' chest, fluttering, pressing his heart. Between noisy gasps he managed to choke out, "You wanted...more? Nothing I say will...change what happened to you. What...I did to you."
"You're a murderer."
He opened his mouth, shut it, squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again he fixed them firmly on the ghost's dark eyes, though his scowling face was starting to blur at the edges. "I'm not the man I was."
The man only stared down at him, gaze fixated on Edgeworth's face as his breathing became more ragged, more desperate, less and less productive. When Edgeworth's eyes began to water the ghost finally replied, "And I was never the man you painted me to be."
Just as simply as the words were spoken the pressure was gone. Air flooded back into his lungs with his first painfully deep gasps, chilling his insides and burning his raw throat. He let himself sink into the chair he'd been pressed into, ignoring the man as he struggled to bring his breathing under control. Eventually he was able to sit forward and straighten his back, though his hand rested shakily against his forehead and he didn't speak.
The ghost took a step back, glaring down at him impassively. "Do you regret what you've done, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth? Knowing you've sent so many innocents to their deaths?"
Edgeworth looked up, his face expressionless save for something unidentifiable and cold that filled his eyes. "Yes.
"Do you feel guilt?"
Mouth dry, he swallowed. "Yes."
"Then death would be too generous." The ghost's lips curled in the barest hint of a smile, and the malice of the look was only heightened by the slow fading of his form. "I wish you a long life, Mr. Edgeworth. I hope that your guilt will suffocate you for years to come, until you realize all that awaits is death."
He continued to fade. Miles buried his face in his hand and a shudder passed through his body. When he raised his head again the ghost was already half the opacity he had been moments before. Miles found his eyes, met them with an even gaze just before they dissolved into the white mist.
"No."
"No?" A moment of hesitation and curiosity. The mist hovered before him.
Edgeworth's voice was stern. "I am sorry to say that you hope in vain. I can't oblige." Chin tilted up slightly, gaze hard, he seemed to have regained some of his haughty demeanor, though his breathing was still uneven and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
The ghost's voice was tinted with amusement. "You wish to die?"
"No." A smirk, small but familiar. "Quite the opposite, actually."
Immediately the man rematerialized. His brows were furrowed, his arms crossed. "Then what?"
"While guilt is a necessary emotion, it isn't one I can allow myself to indulge in to such a degree. It would interfere with more pressing matters."
There was a pause, then a sharp reply, "And what matters would those be?"
"My work. My purpose. My life." There was no hint of a smirk this time, only a steely gaze and determined set to his chin. The ghost chuckled humorlessly.
"What makes you thinks you deserve such privileges?"
Miles opened his mouth, a name already perched on the tip of his tongue, then shut it with an almost audible snap. His eyes narrowed. "They are not privileges."
A bark of laughter that time. "You're saying you have a right to live? Funny."
Straightening in his seat Edgeworth raised his chin, glaring defiantly. "My life serves a purpose, as does my career. I cannot allow my personal guilt to interfere with the pursuit of justice."
The man's eyes blazed dangerously, and his lips curled back to reveal perfectly even teeth. "And you think my life served no purpose?"
Edgeworth turned away, his left hand traveling reflexively to his right arm and clutching at his jacket. "Your life is, unfortunately, over. Mine is not."
"That doesn't answer my question."
A smirk, more to himself than to the ghost. "No, it doesn't."
Voice deceptively emotionless the ghost continued, "My life had purpose once. Until you took it away."
Suddenly he was above Miles, hand clamped again around his throat, pressing him into the chair's thick cushions. "I hope you choke on your pride, Edgeworth."
Despite the fear settling over him Edgeworth continued to glare defiantly up at him. He gripped the man's arm but made no attempt to break his powerful hold. "What purpose was that, then? Tell me," a breath, shallow, "...what I robbed you of."
"Why should I give you the courtesy?" He squeezed, continued to squeeze, slowly increasing the pressure on Miles' throat as he talked. "You wouldn't care. You think you've changed so much, claiming you're not the same man, but all I see is the same smug bastard from five years ago."
Miles tried to pull free then, but the angle was wrong and one arm hung uselessly at his side. The man was above him, the chair below and there was nowhere to go, all he could do was stare, wide-eyed, into that dark gaze and gasp futilely.
"If your guilt doesn't suffocate you maybe your pride will, and you'll realize too late that you've put yourself on so high a pedestal that no one can reach. You'll die old and alone and you'll have no forgiveness waiting for you."
His eyes were watering again, tearing up, the moisture threatening to spill over his cheeks. His lungs screamed, panic beat at his chest. In the midst of it all he realized he'd miscalculated, his self-assurance had been grounded on a false assumption and Wright was going to hate him when he got the call-
"May you have a long and miserable life, Miles Edgeworth."
Then he was as invisible as before but his grip remained fast, not releasing Miles until the blackness was ready to catch him.
He was out for only a few moments. By the time he came to his breathing was already correcting itself, though it was still ragged and loud, and the cold air still burned his lungs. He pushed himself up, leaned forward over his knees and buried his face in his palm. Occasionally a shudder would wrack his body and some part of his mind would idly comment, calling it shock, nerves, the come-down off of an adrenalin high.
By the time the dog walker knocked on the door Edgeworth had composed himself. Sigi entered the apartment cautiously, sniffing everything in the living room while Edgeworth paid the boy a handsome tip and bid him goodnight. Edgeworth left Sigi to himself while he went to the kitchen, and returned with a rag and bottle. It took him several minutes to clean the tea from the carpet, and he wasn't able to fully remove the stain.
Sigi followed him eagerly to the bedroom, though he looked around suspiciously and gave Edgeworth a confused look as he shut the door of Sigi's cage for the first time in several nights. Miles crossed to the bed and sat on it, heavily. He was still wearing his suit; he thought he should change, should shower, and should fall deeply asleep.
He picked up the phone from the nightstand, ignoring Sigi's whine of protest, and started to dial.
((OOC again: Continued here.))