samuraiprosecutor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
samuraiprosecutor) wrote2007-12-24 01:05 am
samuraiprosecutor) wrote2007-12-24 01:05 am
Entry tags:
- christmas eve,
- event,
- ic,
- lol so gay,
- phoenix wright,
- rl,
- sigi,
- wemo
[RL 9: 'Tis the Season to be Jolly - Edgeworth, Phoenix]
((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.
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.
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Before Edgeworth had a chance to respond, Phoenix quickly added, “Look, I didn’t mean to make this… I- I just…” His tongue had, of course, chosen the most inopportune time to twist itself into knots, but he supposed two glasses of wine on top of three glasses of eggnog would do that to a person. He shook his head, letting out an audible groan of frustration, and looked at Edgeworth pleadingly. “If it… If you can’t accept it, I’ll take it back, just… Can we watch the movie?”
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He finally forced himself to meet Wright's eyes. They were almost always open, revealing everything that Wright was too guileless to hide, and this moment was no exception. Edgeworth found his own confusion and uncertainty mirrored back at him, along with a desperation that made his stomach twist. Keeping his own expression carefully neutral he dropped his gaze back to the box on his lap: a simple thing that seemed to mean so much more.
Without looking at Wright he set the box on the armchair, then picked up the remote and turned on the DVD.
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He shoved the thought aside with another sigh. Hadn’t they been talking about instincts and impulses only moments ago, and Phoenix’s favorable knack for both? Hadn’t he been thinking about the decisions he’d made and the lack of regrets he’d had over the years? This was just another bump in the road, he reminded himself. A painful bump, but no worse than some he had faced in the past, particularly certain others having to do with Edgeworth. The alcohol was probably amplifying the stress from the last week, making things seem much worse than they were.
It was a reasonable conclusion, he told himself, and a fresh surge of determination took hold.
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Despite himself, the corners of his mouth curled up in the barest hints of a smile, and waves of curiosity and nostalgia hit him at the same time. He licked his lips, contemplating for several moments.
“Do you… ever think about how it was?” he asked, tentatively, eyes never leaving the screen. Or is it just me?
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"No." As Edgeworth said it he knew it wasn't right, no matter how much he wanted it to be. And he owed Wright honesty, if nothing else. Owed him the truth. He raised his eyes to the screen, frowning. "I...I try not to."
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Still, part of him was distinctly aware that if he didn’t pursue the question now, they likely would never talk about it again, and he couldn’t let that happen. It was important to him, heaven knows why. It was so damn important.
“How come?”
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