The Demon Prosecutor

By the time his visitors had left, Edgeworth had abandoned all hope of getting anything productive done that night. He wandered into the kitchen shortly after they were gone, filled the kettle and set it on the stove with practiced, unthinking movements. He stood in front of the oven as it heated, his eyes on the red glow of the burner and his focus clearly elsewhere. Most of what had been said on the site itself was temporarily forgotten, pushed out of his thoughts by Wright's words, his evidence, the evening's impossible events, which kept turning themselves over in Edgeworth's mind.

This was going to take some...adjustment.



((OOC: Aaaand directly following this post, keeping vague on the contents of that one as it's still ongoing. XD))