[RL 9: 'Tis the Season to be Jolly - Edgeworth, Phoenix]

[samuraiprosecutor]

((OOC: Taking place Christmas Eve night.))

The apartment was mercifully quiet that late at night. If he listened carefully he could hear Sigi's soft breathing from his place on the floor (stretched out between the ottoman and the armchair, below the bridge of Miles' legs). The air was warm and suffused with patchouli, comfortable without being thick, and Ten Little Indians lay open in his left hand. The tableau should have been a relaxed one, and indeed on any other night it might have been.

Being that it was Christmas Eve, however, the book was held loosely, carelessly, his eyes moving across the pages only every once in a while. The half-empty cup of tea sitting on the table beside him had long ago cooled, forgotten in favor of the wine beside it (filled twice and also half-empty), and the patchouli was mingling with the smokey scent of a neighbor's wood-burning fireplace (yet another memory - sweet, sharp, and raw).

Sigi raised his head and stared at the door. Edgeworth ignored the reaction (just neighbors in the hall, returning from a holiday party) until Sigi shot to his feet, suddenly enough to bump Edgeworth's legs nearly off the ottoman. "Sigi, nein!" The dog quailed, his tail dropping and ears swiveling back, but he turned his attention to the door after glancing only briefly at his master.

Miles hadn't made it to his feet before the knock sounded through the room, and he crossed the foyer quickly. A frown tugged at his lips: it was well past the hours in which errant party guests might be expected to come knocking at the wrong doors. His brows furrowed in confusion as he swung open the door.

Comments

[attorneyatlol]

It had taken one large glass of eggnog to consider the notion of taking a taxi to Edgeworth's apartment and another two to actually build up the nerve to do it. The crisp air against his face combined with the short jaunt from the sidewalk to the inner halls of the complex, however, left him feeling bizarrely sober, and his resolve crumbled with every nearing step.

Not unlike his first visit, Phoenix found himself staring at the door, the parcel cradled in his arm suddenly feeling like lead. He adjusted it into a more comfortable position while he considered what it was he had hoped to accomplish by being here when it was likely his presence wouldn't be welcome. But Phoenix, being the creature of impulse and instinct that he was, rarely thought things through to completion and this instance, he realized as no logical answer presented itself, was no different.

It was laughable. He shook his head, bemused by his own misgivings, and quickly knocked on the door before he could put anymore thought into it. Honestly, what was the worst that could happen? Edgeworth scowling at him? A snide remark? Having the door slammed in his face? While none of those were preferable outcomes, they certainly wouldn't be anything he hadn't been faced with before.

Besides, the head-on approach (or the 'stumbling blindly into things' approach, if you prefer... but now was not the time for semantics) seemed to be his specialty, and it tended to work out in most cases. With that thought, his expression settled into a reasonably comfortable smile.

When the door swung open, though, his mouth was suddenly incapable of working and he stared, rather stupidly, as if surprised to find Edgeworth in his own apartment. His smile faltered.

[samuraiprosecutor]

Phoenix Wright. Edgeworth suspected the man would never lose the ability to surprise him, to take the expected and the comfortable and fling it back in his face. He could upset Edgeworth's carefully constructed world with so little effort, had many times in the past, and why should tonight's interruption be any different?

He realized he was staring, Wright's uncertain gaze holding him, and his brows furrowed more deeply. "What are you doing here?"

[attorneyatlol]

That was a good question, Phoenix reflected, and one that he could only respond to with a sheepish look. He cleared his throat, making a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a whimper, and forced his smile to stay put while he chose his words carefully. "It's Christmas Eve," as though it explained everything. "I thought... I thought maybe you could use some company."

[samuraiprosecutor]

Coming from anyone else, Edgeworth would have seen only pity in the words (which would in turn prompt a lambasting followed by a swiftly slammed door). But he knew Wright to be a sentimental fool. The kind of person who would...

'Not now,' he chided himself.

"You thought wrong," he replied finally, his voice steady and gaze cool as he said it.

[attorneyatlol]

One of Phoenix’s eyebrows shot up in suspicion and he chanced a quick glance in Edgeworth’s direction. Not surprisingly, the other man’s whole demeanor dripped with his issued challenge, and Phoenix’s brows furrowed as pride and impulse dictated his acceptance.

His gaze fell back to Sigi.

He wasn’t particularly enamored with the idea of losing a hand tonight, but surely Edgeworth wouldn’t have invited him into his home only to have him be mauled by his dog. This anxiety was ridiculous, of course, and, with a sigh, he forced himself into a determined stride. No less cautious, though, he closed the distance between himself and Sigi and reached out to pet him.

[samuraiprosecutor]

Leaning against the back of the armchair, right elbow cradled in his left hand and other hand holding Wright's glass, Edgeworth watched for any signs of aggression on Sigi's part. The dog was always a perfect gentleman when it came to meeting new people, but animals were still unpredictable. While Sigi seemed tense, he made no move towards Wright and gave no warning signs that would be cause for concern.

Absentmindedly Edgeworth swirled the wine around in Wright's glass, and wondered if Wright would even have known to aerate it. The man had always given the impression that most forms of higher culture were alien to him.

[attorneyatlol]

Two short pats on the head and Phoenix, unaware that he’d even been holding his breath, exhaled and pulled away, simultaneously taking a few steps backwards.

The dog stared at him.

Phoenix stared back, transfixed. “Uh,” he finally uttered, “Good boy,” and quickly rounded on his heel to make a beeline toward Edgeworth. He smiled slightly, putting forth a valiant effort to present an air of calm, and gestured at the glass in Edgeworth’s hand. “Is that mine?”

[samuraiprosecutor]

Edgeworth didn't reply, simply held the glass out and continued to smirk. Sigi had followed Wright; he slipped into place beside his master, sitting down on his other side and continuing to stare at the apparently unwanted guest. With his free hand Edgeworth petted the dog, running his fingers through his thick fur. "Braver hund, Sigi," he said quietly, glancing fondly down at him.

[attorneyatlol]

Phoenix stirred from his reverie and swished the remnants of wine in his mouth, thoughtful. His favorite painters? He must have had some back then. In fact, he was sure he had: men and women whose art he’d admired, his first exposure to them via textbook example; styles he’d wanted—and failed—to emulate. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember any of their names, if he’d ever known them to begin with.

Funny how that point of his life sometimes seemed so far away, despite the happiness and warmth many of the memories elicited, and yet, certain scenarios could be called forth as if they had happened yesterday.

But, he supposed, in light of recent events, it wasn’t very surprising and probably not funny at all. He swallowed. “I don’t remember,” he finally admitted, looking back at Edgeworth with a sheepish smile.

[samuraiprosecutor]

'What kind of art major can't remember a single artist who inspired him?' Edgeworth's brows furrowed deeply at the thought, as he regarded Wright with an openly confused stare. Something was hiding behind the man's grin and he was suddenly unsure how to proceed.

[attorneyatlol]

Phoenix’s face burned under Edgeworth’s scrutiny and he quickly trained his eyes on his glass once more, the contents of which had dwindled to nearly nothing. He hadn’t meant to drink so much in such a short period of time and it probably wasn’t wise on top of the eggnog he’d had earlier, but he felt surprisingly lucid.

A short chuckle suddenly escaped him. “I majored in art because I didn’t know what else to do,” he explained. “I always liked art in high school, so I thought… I thought it was something I might be good at, you know?” He shook his head, awarding Edgeworth another sidelong glance before looking away again. “I wasn’t great, but I had fun and the classes turned out to be a lot more interesting that I would’ve thought. I don’t regret starting out there. But…”

In his pause, he fixed the other man with a pointed stare, and though his smile remained, there was an unmistakable weight of seriousness carried in his words. “I wouldn’t change anything.”

[samuraiprosecutor]

Wright's eyes held his, conveying a weight that settled heavily in Edgeworth's chest. He wondered (not for the first time) if Wright knew; if he'd lied about not seeing the conversation with Hawthorne, or had gone back and read it after; if what she'd implied was...

He tore his gaze away, resting his hand on the bottle. "More wine?"

[attorneyatlol]

“Oh, a safety mechanism. That’s funny,” Phoenix picked up his glass and a took a small sip, the grin never leaving his face. “I always took you for the type of man to rise above your instincts, Edgeworth.”

[samuraiprosecutor]

A shrug, and Edgeworth continued to watch Wright keenly. "Not when the instincts are there for the purpose of self-preservation. I always took you for a man who knew when to listen to his instincts... Or are you relying on something else entirely when you're in court?"

[attorneyatlol]

“Hey, instincts play a part in it, but I did study to be a defense attorney, you know. Unless you’re implying I’m just naturally talented.” Another sip of wine. “I won’t object to that.”

[samuraiprosecutor]

Despite the familiar teasing tone, Edgeworth's mind latched onto the least comfortable subject in Wright's response, dredging up the man's college studies and all the associated confusion and uncertainty he'd been trying to ignore. The effort of wresting himself back from the subject cost too much time, and he covered with another slow sip of wine. "Of all the descriptions I might apply to your talent, 'natural' is not one of them."

Only after the fact did he think to soften the potentially harsh words with another smirk.

[attorneyatlol]

Phoenix glared at the dog’s retreating form, then readjusted himself into a more comfortable position (and the couch was comfortable, he realized as a contented sigh escaped him). If he’d known Edgeworth was getting up anyway, he would have asked for something to snack on, but he supposed it was too late for that now… though, he could always call to him in the kitchen…

He shook his head. Considering the array of snags they’d hit in the span of an hour and the fact that he hadn’t been invited in the first place, Phoenix thought Edgeworth was being quite the gracious host; there was no need to further inconvenience him. Besides, this moment alone gave Phoenix a chance to think. He reached into his coat and withdrew a flat, rectangular box that was wrapped in simple, red paper and topped with a magenta bow (Phoenix grinned—he hadn’t been able to resist). Turning it over in his hands, he worried his bottom lip as he studied it intently, wondering if now was the time or if there would never be a time at all.

He sighed, slipped it back in his coat, and waited.

[samuraiprosecutor]

When Edgeworth returned he was carrying two glasses of water (bottled, of course) light on the ice. He stopped in front of Wright and held one out to him.

[attorneyatlol]

Phoenix blinked, surprised, but accepted the proffered beverage gratefully. “Thanks.”

[attorneyatlol]

It took a moment to fully realize the weight bearing down on Edgeworth, but Phoenix thought he understood—and as that realization hit him, so, too, did the realization that he was the biggest asshole in existence. Thinking about it was painful for Edgeworth; Phoenix should have known that.

In the recesses of his alcohol-heavy mind, Phoenix suddenly wondered if his presence was painful, too. He told himself he was being irrational, but it made too much sense. This whole night… He shouldn’t have come at all, good instincts be damned. No wonder Edgeworth thought Phoenix made his life difficult.

Before he had too much time to think about it, Phoenix reached across the space between them (which suddenly seemed so much larger, although it couldn’t have been more than a foot) and rested his hand against Edgeworth’s arm. He anticipated the flinch before his hand even met the soft knit of the other man’s sweater, but he didn’t withdraw. Not at first, at least, and not before a gentle, hopefully reassuring squeeze. “Thanks,” he said, and his hand, heavy with exhaustion, dropped to the couch.

[samuraiprosecutor]

The movement startled him into stillness, allowing Wright to take hold of his arm before he could avoid it. Even as he flinched at the contact, though, the warmth sent a slight tingling through his skin. It did nothing to ease the heaviness in his chest but...Wright was obviously trying. He wondered if the man would ever stop trying; if he actually wanted him to. He stared stupidly at the fingers wrapped around his arm, his brain reacting sluggishly, and by the time he would have pulled out of Wright's grip the touch was gone, leaving behind an unfamiliar sensation and a word. Confused, Miles looked back up at Wright. "For what?"

[attorneyatlol]

“For humoring me.” With the briefest flash of a smile, Phoenix turned back toward the TV and let his mind wander.

[ THE MORNING AFTER ]

[attorneyatlol]

The first thing Phoenix noticed that morning was the stabbing pain behind his eyes as sunlight filtered in through a nearby window. He shielded himself by throwing the blanket over his head with a muttered curse.

The second thing he noticed was the gentle, heavy texture of the material covering his face and the soft cushions under him that hugged his body in all the right places. It was comfortable, to say the least. Too comfortable. His eyes flew open with a start.

This wasn’t his blanket. This wasn’t his couch. This wasn’t his apartment. He carefully sat up as memories of last night fluttered to the surface, bringing with them half-remembered feelings of tension and uncertainty. But was it his imagination, he wondered, or had they shared a moment of camaraderie toward the end of the night? He tried to remember, but was distracted by the third thing he noticed.

The third thing was the sour taste in his mouth, the stale remnants of wine dried to the roof of his mouth and tongue. His throat was parched, and without thought, he leaned forward to grab his glass and gulp down the remains of water, wincing at the warmth it had accrued overnight.

It wasn’t until he set the glass down that he noticed the black box on the ottoman, topped with a folded piece of paper that simply read ‘Wright’ in neat, recognizable cursive. Curious, he took the paper in hand and unfolded it, not the least bit surprise to find nothing else written. He set it aside and picked up the box. It was light, obviously a jewelry box of some sort, and Phoenix couldn’t begin to imagine what was inside it. Why would Edgeworth be giving him jewelry? Maybe the other man’s latent sense of humor was finally emerging, Phoenix thought dryly. With a shrug, he carefully opened the box and blinked, brows knitted together.

It was a tie-tack.

A set of scales decorated the black lacquered face, while the chain and tack itself were gold; an attractive piece, and obviously not cheap. For a moment, Phoenix wondered if Edgeworth felt guilty about the gift Phoenix had given him last night and, in an attempt to alleviate that guilt, pawned off something of his own to Phoenix.

Phoenix tried to imagine it on Edgeworth, but realized he couldn’t. Edgeworth didn’t wear a tie.

He closed the box and set it aside. It was warm in the room; the sun was beating in from the wall-length window across the way, he had apparently slept in his coat, and the heavy blanket draped over him only served to make matters worse. Running a hand over his face, he rubbed the excess sleep from his eyes and kicked the blanket aside. He stood into a stretch, reaching back until he heard several satisfying pops and then settled into a comfortable stance, taking in his surroundings.

It was the first time he had seen Edgeworth’s apartment in broad daylight, he realized, and he was surprised to find that the large glass he had assumed to be a window this whole time was actually a sliding door that lead out to a balcony. Impressive. Before he realized he was moving, he paused mid-step to pocket the box and then continued his tentative trek toward the sliding doors as a nagging thought in the back of his mind reprimanded him for his nosiness and sharply advised him to go home. The voice was promptly ignored, however, when Phoenix pushed the curtains further apart and came face to face with the view outside. Wow…

It was only natural, then, to slide the doors open and step outside. While the sun warmed the apartment inside, the morning air was actually quite crisp and he was thankful that he still wore his coat, though the cool breeze did feel good against his face. He leaned against the banister and let the moment consume him.

[attorneyatlol]

The Los Angeles sky, polluted as it was, made for brilliant sunrises. While it had certainly been a while since the sun peaked over the horizon, it was still making its climb through the clouds, bathing the sky in orange and purple. It was stunning and he had to admonish himself for not taking the time to appreciate it more often.

After several moments of letting his thoughts wander, his hand (almost of its own volition) reached into his pocket and pulled out the box. Tearing his gaze away from the sky, he opened the box just as carefully as he had before and examined its contents with stupefied awe. It was obviously meant for a legal official—a tie-tack adorned with the scales of justice wasn’t something you randomly purchased for anyone, after all. Which meant that Edgeworth had purchased it for him, with him in mind. The thought weighed heavily and brought with it a familiar feeling of hope that swelled in his chest. He traced the emblem with his finger and a smile, wide and entirely unbidden, came to his lips.

Maybe it was a sign: a friendship damaged by time and circumstance on its way to repair.

[samuraiprosecutor]

To say that Miles Edgeworth was not a morning person would be an understatement. A gross understatement, in fact. By the time he arrived at the office, courthouse, or started any personal errands, he was always collected, immaculately dressed, and completely in control. But under the best of circumstances he spent his early mornings groggy and irritable, and he was forced to rely on a carefully constructed routine to accomplish anything before leaving his apartment.

Under circumstances involving a large intake of wine, intense emotional stress, and a late night, Miles wasn't exactly on top of everything. He had gone past the point of irritable into a state of walking half-sleep. His body moved almost of its own accord, following the morning routine without awareness. Slippers, robe, (open over his pajama pants, his hands too clumsy at this hour to bother tying it) padding slowly towards the kitchen with nothing but the morning's first cup of tea in mind.

In the foyer he was brought up short, overcome with a feeling that something was off, out of place. His eyes drifted lazily over the foyer and living room, his focus drifting in and out, and finally landed on the blanket lying in a rumpled heap on the sofa. Curious, he crossed to the sofa, staring confusedly at the blanket for a long time, wondering if he'd been so far gone the night before that he'd forgotten to put it back before he'd gone to bed.