samuraiprosecutor | [RL 9: 'Tis the Season to be Jolly

Current Location: Apartment - Foyer, living room

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[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.

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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.

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.

Smile still in place, Phoenix closed the box, tucked it in his pocket, and took one last appreciative look at the sky before he turned to head back inside. It was about time he went home, he decided. It was Christmas morning and his parents would be expecting a phone call. Maybe he would leave a thank-you note for Edgeworth so the other man would know Phoenix received his gift and that it was appreciated.

He’d barely set foot in the apartment when he abruptly stopped in his tracks, nearly jumping at the sight of a figure standing in the living room. It was immediately recognizable, of course, but seemed far too lax. Phoenix cocked an eyebrow. “Edgeworth,” he called to let the prosecutor know he was there.

At the sound of Wright's voice Edgeworth turned toward the balcony. "What?" he replied, blinking blearily. The man was half-silhouetted by the early morning sunlight streaming in (painfully) through the sliding-glass door. For a moment he couldn't recall who it was or why they were in his apartment, but that fact didn't seem to disturb him as it probably should. He rubbed roughly at his eyes, until a scattering of moments from the night before popped helpfully into his fogged mind. Confused, he looked back up at the figure standing before his balcony. "Wright?"

For lack of anything better to do, Phoenix greeted Edgeworth with a pathetic half-wave. In the back of his mind, he recalled wondering what Edgeworth would be like in the morning and was slightly amused to find the situation, dare he say, somewhat endearing. It was rare sight to see the other man so unguarded. Rarer still was seeing him clad in anything other than an expensive suit and cravat, and although Phoenix had seen him in his robe on a prior visit to deliver chicken soup, it most certainly was not hanging open so casually. Briefly, he wondered if Edgeworth worked out.

He could feel his face grow warm when an image of those ridiculous pictures Zelos posted suddenly flashed in his mind and he quickly tore his gaze away, eyes searching for something else to focus on. After a moment, they finally settled on the blanket draped over the couch, and he winced apologetically. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, closing the sliding glass door behind him before making his way toward the mess.

As Wright moved away from the door the light, no longer blocked, redoubled its attack. Edgeworth turned his face away, rubbing at his eyes again with the heel of his hand, and winced at the beginnings of a headache. Memories of the night before were still resurfacing, but slowly, struggling valiantly against the haze of the morning. Vaguely he wondered if he wasn't somewhat hungover.

He watched detachedly as Wright approached the sofa. "You fell asleep. Last night." His slightly slurred voice made it sound like a strange cross between a declaration and a question, and he frowned at his own incoherence.

Phoenix bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling; he didn’t want to offend. “I guess I did,” he said, picking up the blanket at either end. “And now it’s morning and I’m awake.” He folded the blanket, probably not as neatly as it’d been before Edgeworth retrieved it for him (the thought forced a smile passed his wilting resistance), and set it on the couch. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

A half-hearted glare was Edgeworth's answer as Wright's amusement filtered through his confusion. How could the man be so damn chipper this early in the day? Critically eyeing the blanket ('It will have to be refolded later.') he managed a rough, "Tea?" A moment of thought, and he amended it with, "...Coffee?"

Phoenix’s brows knitted in confusion and he chanced a look in Edgeworth’s direction, certain to keep his eyes level with the other man’s. “…You want some?”

Miles' brows furrowed, and he stared blankly at Wright, longer than necessary, as he tried to process the question as an answer to his own and couldn't quite reconcile the two. "Yes. ...No, do you want some?"

“Oh.” Phoenix blinked. The idea was tempting and Edgeworth was offering, but the man was still obviously lost in his morning haze, and Phoenix didn’t want to wear out his welcome, not when they could end the morning on a high note. He told himself they’d be able to do this again sometime, a thought which cemented his decision. Scratching the back of his head, he made a show of checking his watch. “Nah, that’s all right. I should be getting out of here if I’m gonna catch the next bus. Thanks, though.” A smile graced his lips, hopefully conveying his appreciation for the offer.

Edgeworth nodded, a bit too forcefully, and crossed his arms. Suddenly another memory of the night before flashed through his mind. Hurriedly he glanced at the ottoman, verifying that Wright had found the box, and nodded to himself again, a self-satisfied smirk playing clumsily over his lips.

Phoenix stared. Seeing Edgeworth like that was really more entertaining than it should have been, but not an unwelcome sight in the least, he realized. The prosecutor was usually too wound up for his own good. If only there were a way to preserve the casual airiness of morning fog—minus the morning fog, of course.

Not one to miss details, Phoenix followed Edgeworth’s quick glance to the ottoman and his hand went to his pocket instinctively, immediately aware of what Edgeworth was looking for. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. Thanks were in order, but he wasn’t sure if now was the right time; he didn’t want to be the source of any further awkwardness.

He cleared his throat. “So… Guess I should be going then.” For a moment, he stood and watched Edgeworth, inexplicably dumbstruck.

Edgeworth stepped back, turned (a little more carefully than necessary), and gestured casually at the door. "If you must." His smirk sharpened, amusement clear in his eyes. Coherence was starting to return to him, but he still wasn't awake enough to feel the awkwardness he probably should be feeling after the night prior.

“Yeah.” He took a cursory look around to make sure he hadn’t left anything, though his gaze ultimately came back to settle on Edgeworth. He was sure he looked as unreasonably lost as he felt, but something had definitely changed overnight, and while it might not have been anything significant (thinking of the tie-tack, he couldn’t bring himself to think it was anything but), it seemed like something should be said. Unfortunately, Phoenix was coming up short.

At last, he shook his head, smiled apologetically, and muttered a hurried, “Well, bye,” as he crossed the foyer toward the door.

Edgeworth watched Wright go, making no move to walk him to the door. On the way his eyes fell on the bottle of wine still sitting on his liquor cabinet, unopened from the night before. "We never opened the wine," he mused aloud, voice tinted with confusion. "Perhaps...some other time?"

As soon as the question was out he wondered why he said it.

Phoenix’s hand froze on the doorknob. He turned to face Edgeworth, hoping he didn’t look too surprised, and broke into a lopsided smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Once again, his hand drifted to his pocket, his fingers grazing over the soft material of the box, and before he could think twice about it, he leveled his gaze with Edgeworth’s and said, “Thanks, by the way. For the… gift.”

Wright's gaze was open, unassuming, and Miles found himself averting his eyes. "You never wear one, which is a grievous sin. It had to be remedied. Since you are, shall we say, 'fashionably challenged' I saw I would have to take steps if it was ever going to be corrected."

He finally met Wright's eyes. "One can only hope it will lend your wardrobe some of the class it so desperately needs." A smile touched his lips - small, but genuine - and was gone almost immediately.

Phoenix could only stare, caught between wanting to argue and wanting to laugh. He decided to compromise and instead rolled his eyes, returning the smile that had since left Edgeworth’s lips. “How did I ever manage without you?” he asked dryly.

This was familiar, more comfortable; back in the territory they were used to, though in the course of a night the territory had become different somehow. Edgeworth gave the attorney a practiced smirk. "You didn't, if your wardrobe is any indication."

Phoenix cocked an eyebrow. “So the clothes make the man now?”

"The clothes don't make the man, they merely make people listen more readily to what he chooses to say." At this he eyed Wright's wrinkled, obviously slept-in suit pointedly, but his gaze softened as he looked back up to Wright's face. "Though you always seem able to make them listen, eventually."

Whatever response Phoenix had ready died in his throat. There was something in Edgeworth’s voice that suggested the words carried greater significance than face value alone, and after a moment’s consideration, Phoenix thought he knew what it was. The realization caused his pride to soar and his heart to ache simultaneously, memories of a seemingly hopeless trial and its painfully satisfying outcome rising to the surface.

He smiled. It was small, but it was sincere and he hoped it conveyed the appreciation he was unable to put into words. Finally, he turned to open the door and, as he was walking out, he looked over his shoulder and offered a slight wave, wearing an expression far more hopeful than he’d ever be willing to admit. “Some other time?”

The effect Edgeworth's words had was plainly visible on Wright's too-expressive face. Openly hopeful and warm, it made something in Edgeworth's chest clench, brought a hint of fear to his still-unguarded eyes. It didn't stop him from nodding stiffly in response, but it made sure any answering smile (or even smirk) died before reaching his lips.

Phoenix was too far away to catch the look, and if he had noticed a change in mood at all, he made no indication. He simply exited the apartment, closing the door gently behind him.

In the hallway, he paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled the remaining tension. From beginning to end, the whole affair had been awkward, laden with apprehension, and more frightening than either of them would own up to, but overall (his hand had somehow drifted to his pocket again, and he thought of the genuine smile Edgeworth gave him, the first Phoenix had seen in a very, very long time) it had been worth it.

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samuraiprosecutor - 2008-01-10 06:34 (UTC) - Expand

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