Phoenix and the Beast (Part 2/2)
Title: Phoenix and the Beast (Part 2/2)
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Characters: Phoenix Wright/Miles Edgeworth, Mia Fey, Gumshoe/Maggey, Franziska, Dahlia, Sister Bikini, Pess, Pearl, Maya, Iris,
Summary: A retelling of Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" using characters from Ace Attorney
Notes: Written for the following request on the Kink Meme:
It must be done:
Beauty and the Beast
Phoenix Wright style.
Phoenix has got to be "Belle"
Other characters are up to author.
Gaston, Mrs. Pott, Lumiere, anon can even add original inanimate turned animate objects if need be.
----------
Phoenix had to admit that some part of him was awed by the sheer amount of information Gumshoe seemed to be able to produce about the precise methods of constructing each last corner of every last room, but while the volume might be of interest, the specifics of engineering were not particularly fascinating to a man whose studies had been in the liberal arts and law, and Phoenix had to struggle to appear interested while zoning out for most of the lecture.
“...and those stairs, pal, lead to the west wing.”
Phoenix almost missed the candle woman's surreptitious use of her flame to whip Gumshoe, but the words “west wing” had caught his attention. That was the one place I was told not to go... I wonder what he could be hiding...
Before he quite realized what he was doing, Phoenix had taken a step in the direction of the forbidden staircase, only to be halted by the pain of flame on his ankle. “Owwww! Hey!”
“You were forbidden from going there, foolish fool.”
“Ummm... hey pal, you like law books, right? How about we take a trip to the library?”
The library... I would like to know what kind of books that beast might have, and it might help me learn something about him. “Sure. Fine. That sounds great.”
Only when the pair of them went walking ahead of him, so confident that the suggestion had utterly won Phoenix over to their way of seeing things that they did not bother to look back and see that he was following them, did Phoenix recognize the opportunity. The library wasn't off-limits; he could ask them to bring him another time. But this might be his one chance to slip out from under their, er, Franziska's watchful eyes. I bet there are some valuable clues in that wing...
Once he was safely in the depths of the forbidden wing, well away from the threat of Franziska's whippings, he began to wonder if there really would be anything useful in here. Does anyone ever clean in here? Why is it so dusty?
Of course the dust did little to stop him, Phoenix being the curious defense-attorney-in-training that he was, and he poked and prodded at old boxes and furniture until he found something of interest. A painting? But why is it shredded like this? Gingerly, he took hold of several of the strips, easing them back into their places, and caught his breath at the rather melancholy face that now stared out of the canvas. E-edgeworth?
Before the meaning of the painting could truly sink in, a mysterious glow caught his eye, and he found himself inexplicably drawn to a glowing red rose further on in the room. Slowly he moved towards it, trying to remember if he had ever seen it before, ever seen anything like it before. Probably he should leave it alone; obviously it was supposed to be protected, otherwise it wouldn't be hidden under glass, right? But he couldn't resist its lure; there was a reason he had been drawn to the arts and a reason he had been drawn to Dahlia that had little to do with common sense and all to do with a love of aesthetics, as well as a touch too much curiosity at times.
Trying to calm the trembling of his fingertips, he touched the protective globe, began to lift it to get a better look at the fragile and lovely rose beneath...
Suddenly the glass was ripped from his fingertips, brought down fiercely and decisively back to its protective place, and he found himself staring into one of the most frightening faces he had ever seen in his entire life, and that included the faces of a handful of hardened criminals. “Why did you come here?” the Beast asked him, in a tone so low that Phoenix almost didn't catch it, the low tone with a hint of growl more terrifying than any roar.
“I-I didn't mean any harm,” Phoenix managed to stammer, and he meant to go on and tell the Beast how much he admired the rose - was it magenta? - and perhaps ask about the picture of the young man who looked vaguely like the Miles Edgeworth he had been seeking since he'd been taken away, but the Beast was already whispering again.
With each word the whisper grew louder. “Do you realize what you could have done?” The last word came as a howl, a beast's howl, filled with fear and anguish and pain.
“I-”
“Get out!”
The very force of the voice seemed to knock Phoenix stumbling backwards. “I-”
“GET OUT!”
When the Beast swung a paw at Phoenix, he decided now was probably not the best time to ask his questions after all, though by the time he had decided that in his head his body had already apparently made the decision for him and was scrambling down the front stairs and to the front door. And out the front door. He wasn't sure where he was going - getting out, yes, away from those teeth and those paws. Towards home and Mia, perhaps, or would the beast come hunting him? He was already in the saddle, galloping their horse (poor Mia hadn't even gotten to take the horse, how was she supposed to get around without it?) away from the Beast and everything to do with him.
Suddenly the horse reared and whinnied, a high whinny, full of primal fear, and Phoenix was suddenly on the ground, surrounded by the sound of snarling wolves. Quickly he scrambled to his feet, out from under the danger of sharp hooves, and snatched a branch from the ground. The horse was already fighting back against the encircling pack, sharp hooves connecting with the mangy sides of the beasts, head swinging back and forth like some kind of immense club. One of the wolves leapt at Phoenix's throat; he just managed to bring the branch up to knock the beast back, though the impact sent a painful jolt all down his arm. I don't want to die, Phoenix thought. Not here, alone, surrounded by wolves. Not before I know what that picture meant, what happened to Edgeworth...
And suddenly a roar more terrifying than any wolf could manage seemed to shake the clearing, and there was the Beast, leaping to the middle of the fray, swinging mighty paws that cuffed the adult wolves and sent them flying as though they were mere pups. The entire pack leapt on him as one; he bellowed in pain and rage and shook them off, beating them soundly each time they leapt back towards him, until finally the pack slunk off in defeat.
Phoenix opened his mouth to thank the Beast, perhaps to apologize for going in the forbidden wing, but the Beast suddenly slumped over onto the snow. “No,” Phoenix gasped, already bounding to the side of the - creature? man? - who had saved him. “D-don't die, not after saving me, not like this...”
His hands roamed over Beast's fur, seeking injuries, and he could feel the heaving of Beast's body with each deep breath; at least he wasn't dead yet. Most of the wounds seemed to be shallow, Beast's skin protected by his layers of thick winter fur, but the gash on his arm seemed particularly deep, and Phoenix undid Beast's cloak so he could tie it around the wound tightly.
That done, Phoenix took a moment to breathe and realize they were still relatively in the open, where the wolves could easily return if they happened to realize that the more fearsome of the group was badly injured and unable to fight. The stupid horse had gotten its reigns tangled, but that meant it hadn't been able to run off, and now Phoenix looked around for something he could use to bind Beast to the horse's back. There wasn't much, nor was there time to look for something useful, so Phoenix just struggled to lift the Beast into the saddle. It wasn't easy, especially as at first the horse was still spooked and shifted away every time Phoenix attempted to heft the Beast, and the Beast was much heavier than anything Phoenix had attempted to lift onto a horse before, but when the horse settled somewhat and the Beast half-roused, enough at least to twitch in helpful directions if not carry on a coherent conversation or lift himself, Phoenix finally managed.
The walk back home - was the castle home, now, already, to him? Part of Phoenix, the part that was coherent enough to think about such things and wasn't worried about wolves or the injured Master of the castle or the snow getting into his boots, was disconcerted to find such an abrupt change of perception, but of course he lack the luxury of mulling on such matters. Anyway, the walk back to the castle (whether or not it was home to Phoenix, though probably Beast considered it home) seemed one of the longest walks in his life. Occasionally the Beast would make a low, whimpering sound, and Phoenix would reach up and stroke the fur on his good shoulder, away from the gashes of wolves' teeth, and murmur soothing things at him. Who knew a Beast would need comforting?
By the time they reached the stable yard, the Beast was beginning to come to consciousness, and with Phoenix's shoulder as a brace managed to make it to his great chair before the fire.
“Bikini, please, some hot water for this?”
As the teapot obediently filled herself and waddled to a place by the fire, she said something about freezing waterfalls and blocks of ice.
“No, I need it to be warm. To get rid of bad things that might have gotten in the wound, so he doesn't take sick.” Not that it had ever helped Phoenix, but probably this Beast was made of something stronger, something that didn't give in to the common cold and cause weeks of sheer agony.
After soaking a clean cloth in the scalding water, Phoenix dabbed at the wound - or attempted to, anyway, as, at the first contact of cloth to wound, the Beast roared and yanked his arm away.
“Hold still,” Phoenix scolded, holding out his hand, staring at the injury. Honestly, how he can manage to fight like a demon against that wolf pack and then be afraid of a bit of hot water is beyond me...
“Objection! That hurts!”
Court games, huh? Phoenix knew how to play those (or, at least, he knew how to play them with Mia, and theoretically therefore knew how to play with other people who weren't his mentor and helping him along. But he wasn't a drama student for nothing, and figured that what he couldn't figure out on his own he could fake reasonably well.) “Objection! If you hadn't gotten yourself gashed...”
“Objection! I would not be injured if you hadn't run away!”
“Objection! I wouldn't have run if you hadn't scared me half to death back there!”
“Objection! I wouldn't have had to scare you if you hadn't been invading areas in which you were specifically instructed not to trespass!”
“Objection!” Okay, Wright, you yelled objection, now what? Is there anything else you can say? “Erm, actually, not so much objection as, um, thankyouforsavingmylife.”
His shy glance met startled gray eyes that blinked at him. Then, “Do not make a habit of running off into the woods and getting yourself nearly eaten by wolves.”
“I won't,” Phoenix assured him. “Especially as long as you don't make a habit of chasing me out of your castle into the maws of said wolves...”
At the Beast's warning growl, Phoenix decided the better part of wisdom at the moment might be to just shut up.
*
The meeting place had to be somewhere they would be able to lurk in a corner, with enough else going on in the background that the quiet voices of two women plotting would fade into the general cover of babble and laughter, but a corner dark and solemn enough for their purposes, and to conceal the things which may exchange hand as well as words. At the moment, Morgan Fey and Dahlia Hawthorne faced each other over a table in just such a place, mother and daughter wearing eerily similar masks of innocence over their cold calculations.
“I believe I may have a plan to make things worth your while, Mother.”
“A plan, is it?”
“If you manage to haul my dear cousin Mia off to the asylum...”
“Dahlia, how could you think to suggest such a thing to happen to my poor dear niece?”
“Mother, you know how they all talk, and how many people would think it was for the best.”
“I would be winning no ground with her.”
“No, but you could have her... interrogated. And if that doesn't work...”
“When. She is as stubborn as her scheming mother.”
“...when that doesn't work, I'll offer to help get her out if only my Feenie will marry me. That gets me close to him and therefore her, and I'll be able to look for your precious Pearl.” Or not, but you'll never know, and it's the closest you'll be able to come to recovering your precious favorite child...
Morgan Fey gave the matter consideration, delicately sipping at her tea. “I am quite shocked at what a wicked young woman you've become,” she said at last, setting her tea on the saucer. “Still, I suppose Mia has been getting a bit out of hand, and I wouldn't want anything to happen to my darling niece when my dear sister is gone...”
“You are a very wise woman, Mother.” A few more not-quite-pleasantries and the two women departed, off to further their own plans.
*
Edgeworth stood by the window, looking out at the snowy courtyard, which any other year would have been a lonely sight that he could use as a metaphor for the isolation of the people in this castle, but which now featured one ridiculously childish Phoenix Wright romping with Pess, who even in the form of a footstool had managed to retain his particular canine charms. Something about Wright's face, about the flush and the easy laughter, about the way Wright scampered and tussled...
In his mind, a much younger Phoenix called, “Hey, Miles, come and play. It's just snow, it's not going to hurt you!” - and he remembered it had taken both Phoenix and Larry grabbing his arms, as well as a gentle nudge from Gregory Edgeworth, before Miles would admit to anything as undignified as a snowball fight.
But his father - he had joined in, pelting all three of the boys with snowballs, until the three of them gave up on pelting each other and ganged up on a laughing Gregory Edgeworth.
And then...
No, he wouldn't think of what came so soon after, about what had doomed him to become the Demon Prosecutor.
Wright...
“You are staring out that window like a foolish fool.” Franziska's voice snapped him out of reveries, and he looked to see that both she and Gumshoe had managed to climb onto the nearby table, and were now hopping over to the ledge of his window, to see what he had been staring at.
“I never...” Could he really admit his confused feelings, even to these two? Then again, he knew he had their loyalty, whether or not he was responsible for them being currently trapped as household objects, and he owed them something for that. “I never felt like... like this... about anyone.”
“Then stop being a foolishly foolish fool and do something about it!”
She'd never had much patience for him, especially when he was involved in anything resembling moping. Still, she never used her whip on him - not unless her father's orders were involved - and she looked out for him. “Like what? What do I - what can I do for him?”
“Oooh, I know, sir, you could make him a whole giant box of weenies like I did for my Maggey! I bet he'd love that, sir!”
Franziska's whipping was half-hearted, and Edgeworth doubted it had really stung, compared to those she could dole out in her more irritable moods. Still, he was sure she recognized the detective's attempt to be helpful, and was offering him some slight mercy in exchange.
“Not everyone is foolish enough to be won by food. Particularly foolish peasant food.” She seemed thoughtful a moment. “Might I suggest the library?”
Edgeworth sighed. Usually his sister was at least somewhat more helpful, rather than just suggesting he look something up on his own. She knew he would try that anyway, with so many year under von Karma's roof - research was an essential von Karma skill to be perfected. “Do you at least have any ideas of titles where I should begin?” Because while research was an essential skill, research into the ways of friendships and romance was not, or, at least, not for von Karma's foster son.
“Personally I'd let him pick, see which foolish sorts of choices he might make, but if you'd rather just give him something - word is that he was studying to become a foolish fool of a defense attorney, and before that he was even more foolishly engaged in theater and such...”
Oh. She was being helpful after all. And if she could read minds she would be calling me a fool right about now... “Hmm, perhaps I shall just let him choose...” Or give him the whole run of the library. Though why I would do that...
*
Part of Phoenix objected to letting Master Beast blindfold him and lead him around the castle to some unknown place for some unknown surprise. But you trust him now. He's saved your life. So he had consented, and now he found himself led through corridors with only the echoes of the Beast's deep rumbling breathing, his own shallower breaths, and their footsteps on the hard stone to give him clues as to their location. His first reaction when Beast had taken his arm was to flinch away, but he had done his best to master the impulse within himself. Steady, Phoenix, remember, you trust him. And he was surprised, in part, to find how reassuring the feel of muscle and fur and warmth was to him in this darkness. Maybe I really do trust him.
Beast halted, catching Phoenix with his free arm in case Phoenix might fall. What's the matter, don't you trust me to keep myself on my own two feet? Then the arm moved away, quickly followed by the sound of a door unlatching and sliding open. No creaking? For such an old, mysterious castle I would have expected just a little creaking. Then Beast led him through, onto what felt like carpet.
“Can I open my eyes yet?” Phoenix didn't want to sound whiny, but the blindfold was starting to itch and he wanted to see where he was, what Beast was doing, what was around them.
“Not yet. Wait here.” Beast removed Phoenix's arm from his, and Phoenix heard the whisper of him moving away, felt the cold air replace Beast's warmth at his side with something that was almost a pang of regret. He'd grown used to the warmth, grown to like it, grown to like even the peculiar smell of the Beast (which actually wasn't bad, surprisingly enough; rather than smelling like an animal he smelled like odd spices and tea). With the Beast's scent gone, though, Phoenix could pick up the scents of the room in which he stood - parchment, dust, furniture varnish, maybe a hint of ink...
There was another sound, a velvety sweeping sound, and the air on Phoenix's face grew marginally warmer. Perhaps sunlight? Had Beast opened a curtain?
“All right. You can look now.”
Phoenix ripped the blindfold from his face, blinked his eyes several times to accustom them to the sudden brightness, and drew in a long breath only to let it out again in a long whistle of appreciation. Even the university library hadn't had so many books, so many shelves crammed with knowledge and stories and wonderful things, rising high above his head, covers glowing invitingly in the light admitted through the large window.
“You like it?”
Phoenix wrenched himself away from the breathless splendor of the books to look again at Beast. He seems so shy all of a sudden... “Of course I like it. It's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen! I've never seen so many books all in one place...”
“Then... whatever you like from here... whatever you want to read and whenever you like... consider it as much your room as mine.”
Phoenix had to restrain himself from springing at Beast and tackling him in a hug, but he let himself grin until he thought his face might split and said, “Thank you, thank you so much.” And then, because that wasn't really enough, but he didn't want to risk offending his host with an unwanted hug, he grabbed one of Beast's paws in both his hands and held it tight.
Startled gray eyes looked at him, and for a moment Phoenix thought he could see somewhere deep and hidden, a vulnerability that reminded him very much of his childhood friend Miles Edgeworth. The next second the gray eyes had shifted away and he was unable to delve further into the mystery. Squeezing the paw, he whispered, “Thank you, you don't know how much this means...” and then he relinquished his hold, letting Beast use the paw to grab his own arm as he continued to look away.
“You... are welcome.”
Neither of them realized that outside, a large collection of Master Beast's servants and compatriots had gathered to stare. “It worked, sir,” Gumshoe whispered.
“Of course it worked, fool.”
“What worked?” Pearl asked, looking to Sister Bikini.
“I'll explain that when you are old enough to attempt the third level of freezing waterfall training.”
*
At dinner, Edgeworth had just begun to gobble his food when he remembered he had company. Oh. Wright had a spoon in his hand, ready to begin eating like a civilized person. Since when had Edgeworth started gulping down his food like an animal, anyway? I thought if I was going to look a beast, I might as well act a beast. Now, though, he regretted not using his previously perfect table manners. I am not going to let Wright get the better of me, he vowed to himself, delicately dabbing at his face with his napkin, and lifting his spoon with a grip that would have been perfect, if his clumsy beastial fingers and claws didn't get in the way. Damn it, Wright, stop grinning at me.
The grin on Wright's face meant trouble. That was something nine-year-old Miles Edgeworth had learned the hard way. And even though this time it wasn't accompanied by the Butz, who would by this time be doing something much louder and more troublesome than just grinning, that didn't make Edgeworth feel much better.
Wright put down his spoon, and picked up the bowl with both hands, raising it to his lips and deliberately drinking out of it, all the time looking into Edgeworth's eyes. He managed a much simpler and less messy version of drinking from the bowl, and suddenly Edgeworth knew the look was a challenge. Dare you to drop some of your manners, Miles, a younger voice taunted him.
Well, Miles Edgeworth could certainly managed to look more dignified than Wright while he drank from a bowl. Placing his spoon carefully on the table, Edgeworth lifted his own bowl and took a delicate sip of the porridge himself. Wright's grin broadened, and it was then that Edgeworth noticed that some of the porridge had clung to Wright's upper lip, in a very undignified, very... no, he told himself, swallowing the porridge past a sudden lump in his throat. Wright was not for him; he was pushing it even trying to be friendly with the man, if Wright knew half the truth he would be long gone by now...
*
Phoenix had grown to love the courtyard in the winter, playing with Pess the dog-footstool, tossing crumbs to the birds and watching them flutter around and fly away when they were done eating. Only a part of him envied the birds and their freedom to fly away whenever they liked; he dearly wished he could visit Mia and make sure she was all right, even if this castle seemed as much a home as Mia's cottage to him now.
No use wasting time wishing for things you won't get, he scolded himself. Besides, you at least have friends here in the castle now, and a whole library of books.
“Here, take that... no, you're not supposed to fly away, you silly bird.”
Phoenix jumped a bit at the growl, not expecting Beast to be there in the courtyard, then turned to smile at him. He saw Beast trying to feed the birds, but his jerky and abrupt movements were frightening the poor little things...
“Here.” He didn't even stop to think before he took hold of Beast's arm, holding him in place. “Be still. Let them come to you.”
Beast's gray eyes were bemused as they looked at Phoenix, but Beast did as advised and froze, still as a statue. Phoenix released him and watched, grinning, as the birds warmed up to him, hopping onto his hands, then onto his shoulders and head. See? He's not so bad after all.
But there was something in those gray eyes as they watched the birds - something too vulnerable, something that seemed as though it was just waiting for things to shatter, for something terrible to happen. Well, we can't have that. Phoenix reached down, scooping some snow into his hands, packing it into a tight ball - really, it was amazing how easily he'd become comfortable with Beast, he considered as he let the snowball fly from his hand straight at the bird-covered Beast, sending feathers flying and winning himself a shocked half-roar.
Beast spun to glare at him, then scooped up a huge amount of snow in both arms. Uh oh. I probably should've thought this through a little better. Phoenix ducked behind a tree, peeked out to see where his opponent might be, and got an eyeful of flying fur and snow.
Before he had really decided what to do he was at Beast's side, reaching down. “Here, let me help you up. Are you okay?”
Beast made a sort of grumbling sound.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get this covered in snow, I just...”
“Shut it, Wright.”
Well, that's a graceful way of accepting an apology. “Here, let me help you brush the snow off...”
When his hands first began running over Beast, brushing off the majority of the snow, Beast froze. Then, suddenly, he got a mischievous glint in his eyes and suddenly shook himself like a dog, sending snow flying in all directions, including all over Phoenix. “H-hey! Objection!”
“Served you right, Wright.” Suddenly something in Beast's expression changed. “Your cloak is inefficient for this weather, Wright, and you are shivering like a fool.”
“Well, if someone hadn't put snow all over me I wouldn't be!”
“Come on, Wright, let's get inside by the fire.”
*
Miles Edgeworth hadn't thought it was possible for foolishness to be so endearing. After all, fools just got in the way of perfection, or so Manfred von Karma had repeatedly insisted. But Phoenix Wright, shivering slightly because he had to wear his old worn-out cloak in the courtyard rather than asking Hannah for something more decently warm, did strange things to Miles' gut.
He remembered the sudden surprise of the snowball colliding with his face, and remembered further back to Wright as a child, refusing to let Miles sit aside and watch Wright and the Butz in their idiocy, but rather forcing him to join them. Then he thought of Wright's hands brushing the snow off his arm, how gentle he had been, the concern in Wright's eyes. Part of him had wanted to stand there and let Wright brush the snow off, but he'd been afraid...
“You know, I think I like the fire much better than that courtyard anyway.”
Trust Wright to ruin a perfectly good internal monologue. “If you weren't an idiot, you wouldn't have been covered with snow, and you would have asked Hannah for a more suitable outfit.”
“I like that cloak. Mia gave it to me. It reminds me of her.”
Miles refused to acknowledge the comment or the peculiar icy twist it created in his gut. Is there any possible way I could ever win Wright's affections away from that woman? Wright had been his first, his friend first - but he couldn't remind Wright of that, because he didn't want Wright knowing what had happened to him, wanted Wright to keep thinking well of the Miles Edgeworth he had known as a child.
“Hey, I know what might be fun to pass the time!” Wright picked up a book, one that Miles didn't remember having placed on that table... ah, but he'd given Wright access to the library, hadn't he? So Wright must have brought it out and neglected to return it - typical Wright, all over the place, but Miles found he really didn't mind.
“What exactly is that, Wright?”
“Poetry! I'm pretty good at reading poetry - I was a theatre major, too - and my old girlfriend used to want me to read her poetry all the time. She was a literature major.”
Miles wasn't sure what to make of the mention of an old girlfriend, or the thought of Phoenix reading poetry to someone else - however, he had to admit that Phoenix was rather good, if perhaps a tad overly dramatic in places, particularly with the poems involving sword fights. Still, Miles preferred those - and seeing Wright making himself out to be a fool as he bounded around the room - rather than the love poems, which made Miles' gut twist as he told himself over and over, He's not reading them for you, Edgeworth, get over it.
Reminding himself was harder, of course, when Wright insisted on constant glances towards Edgeworth during these particular readings, occasionally acting out bits and pieces that made Miles glad (for once) that his face was covered in blush-concealing fur. W-wright...
But he couldn't let Wright know what the poems were doing to him, how much he'd missed Wright and treasured the odd letter that managed to escape von Karma's censorship, how much he longed for them to be friends again, without any dark secrets between them...
Only when Wright began to flub words because he was yawning did Edgeworth suggest a halt for the night, which won a tired half-smile from Wright that made Edgeworth's insides squirm.
Tomorrow, part of him said, though he wasn't precisely sure to what it was referring. Tomorrow...
*
“...and that's why you must confess your love for Wright, little brother.”
Franziska von Karma was quite proud of the way she had presented her arguments: logical observations of her little brother's interactions with their guest, her own careful observation of the rose and its indication of their remaining time, carefully-phrased conversations with others in the castle regarding Wright and Edgeworth...
If left to his own devices, Edgeworth might wait until it was too late. That was his imperfection, that reluctance to believe in his capability, that hesitation, which had kept him from being able to keep pace with his big sister in the prosecutor's office. Of course she loved him despite his imperfections; he was her little brother, after all. But when those imperfections prevented herself and others from returning to their natural forms and looked as though they would doom the entire castle to an eternity as objects, well, it was her solemn duty as big sister to intervene.
“I... Ziska, I'm afraid...”
“Fool.” Although she used the words she considered to be among the most grave of insults, Franciska softened her tone, just for her little brother. “This is not the time to be afraid. Be bold and daring. Confess to him, before... before it is too late.”
Miles Edgeworth took in a deep breath, as though that would help him gain the perfection he so desperately needed. “I... all right, Ziska...”
“Go on, now, he's waiting for you.”
*
Edgeworth had to admire Hannah's skill at dressing Wright, and a distant part of him wondered if her skills had been wasted as a legal aide, and were not more suited to a career in the world of fashion. Somehow she had softened Wright's usually sharp edges, made him appear softer, less dangerous, more vulnerable. And when Phoenix caught Miles' eyes and smiled, it seemed to Miles almost as though he were meeting a lady love, crossing the ballroom in a dance as old as time, eyes never leaving the other's face, caught up in only each other so that nothing else mattered.
Before he really considered what he was doing, Miles had placed one hand on Phoenix's waist, used the other to capture one of Phoenix's hands, and begun to lead him around the ballroom in a gentle waltz to the hint of a tune that seemed to linger in the air. Phoenix stumbled at first, then adjusted, until Miles did not have to worry so much about their feet tangling or Phoenix falling and could just enjoy the way their bodies moved together, the way he was learning just the right amount of pressure to make Phoenix respond, the way Phoenix was learning to respond to each subtle change in the pressure and position of Miles' hands.
Somehow they found themselves waltzing onto the patio, where stars blazed brilliantly above a pristine snowfield. This is it, Edgeworth. This is your chance.
“So beautiful, isn't it?” Phoenix asked, leaning on railing, looking at the stars and snow.
Miles allowed his gaze to trace the curve of Phoenix's body towards the landscape, to linger on the soft wonderment filling Phoenix's face. “Yes, beautiful.”
“I'm glad to be here. I like being here.”
“Is there anything you lack? Anything that would make your stay here more pleasant?”
“No, I... Mia.”
“Mia?”
“I worry about her. She's like a mother to me, and was there for me when it looked like no one else would be. I want to know that she got home all right, that she's getting on all right.”
Is that all? I could show him that much... “Come with me, Pho- Wright.”
Phoenix opened his mouth as though he was going to speak, but Edgeworth did not give him the chance, hurrying from the room, making him rush to catch up. Through the corridors and to one of the rooms in the west wing, where Edgeworth kept his most treasured possession besides the remaining petals on the rose. “This mirror can show you whomever you ask to see,” he told a slightly breathless Phoenix, holding the mirror out to Phoenix.
“Show me Mia.”
Edgeworth wasn't sure what to expect, but it certainly hadn't been an expression of shock deepening to horror. “What...”
“They're - she's - they aren't taking good enough care of her! They'll kill her! M-mia!”
“W-wright...” Stay with me, I can hardly bear the thought of you leaving, but I can't bear seeing you in pain like this either - I know what it's like to lose a parent, too... “...go to her.”
“W-what?”
“I'm releasing you. Go to her.”
“A-are you serious?”
“Go!” He hadn't meant the last to come out as a roar, didn't want Wright's last memory to be of him being frightening - but apparently Wright took it for what it was meant, because he was hugging Edgeworth - I don't know how much of this I can take - before stammering, “Thank you for understanding how much she means to me...” and running off out of sight.
*
When Franziska von Karma asked her little brother how things had went, she had not expected his response to be anything even remotely resembling his half-hearted mumble, “I let him go.”
Of course, upon hearing that response, she could predict all too well the waves of discontentment rumbling through the castle. “He did what?” “Too little, too late.” “Why would he do something like that?”
Why indeed? If she had been herself - her normal, human self, able to stride into towns and terrify just about anyone with a glare - she would have gone after Phoenix Wright herself, dragged him back to Miles, and made him grovel at Miles' boots as she whipped him until he realized that he was nothing more than a dog to Miles' greatness, Miles' near perfection. “No one has the right to break my little brother's heart like that.”
As it was, she was forced to attempt to content herself with muttering variations of the word “Fool” and being extra liberal with the whippings she did dole out, until everyone in the castle was terrified enough of both of them to leave them alone.
*
No matter how cold she was, how sick she was, Mia knew that her rookie was her responsibility. “P-please, he's trapped in a castle with a beast...”
Of course, if she had been herself, she would have known how they would sneer at her, how they would look at her like she was some kind of insane person - but didn't even one of them have the kind of imagination and compassion it took to trust, even for the briefest moment, that there might be something more going on than their own limited experience? Diego... I miss you... you would have known...
But Diego wasn't here; Diego had been killed by that damn coffee he loved so much, when someone slipped some damn poison into it, and now she was all alone...
“You're not quite all there, are you?” The voice was thick with syrupy concern, but it twisted acidly in Mia's stomach. Dahlia!
“P-please! Someone listen, I'm not making these things up...”
And then Morgan Fey was there, taking Mia by the shoulder, steering her towards a cart. “My poor dear niece has been under too much pressure lately it seems. I'll just be taking her away where the only thing she'll need to worry about is how much of my jaw-droppingly huge strawberry dessert she wants to eat.”
Mia heard the unspoken second half, And where the only remaining daughter of the Master will not be seen again. She struggled, even when she knew she was too hazy and weak from fever to be able to do much good...
“Objection!”
And now she was hallucinating the rookie's voice. Damn it, why was guilt so messy like this? Why couldn't she just be able to handle things, to get things done, to just go ahead and save him like she hadn't been able to save Diego...
“There really is a beast, and I can show you evidence to prove it!”
Phoenix... Diego... Maya...
“Mirror, show me the beast!”
If this was a hallucination, it was remarkably realistic, as suddenly even the pressure of the hands wrestling her changed, and stopped moving her towards the cart...
“Such a horrible creature!” Dahlia gasped.
“N-no, he's not, it's not... he's gentle and good and kind...”
Phoenix, you really shouldn't be telling her these things, of all people...
“You love him, don't you?”
...and that tone is exactly why.
“I... I...”
“He's a dangerous beast, and he'll eat your children! We won't be safe until he's dead! Who's with me?”
The next thing she knew, she was in the cellar with Phoenix, locked away through Dahlia's justification that they were under the beast's spell and it was for their own good.
“Ch-chief? Are you...”
Mia sighed. “I'll be fine, Phoenix.” Even if my head is still spinning... but a lawyer must always wear a smile, even in the worst of times...
“Beast! They're going to... she'll....”
“Rookie.”
“Y-yes, Chief?”
“What did I tell you about crying?”
“Y-you told me...” Phoenix made a visible effort to pull himself together. “A lawyer never cries until it's all over.”
*
Pearl finally found her way out of the saddlebags. She was going to go to Mr. Nick, and demand an explanation of why he would leave his special someone, not to mention the rest of them. Only he wasn't in sight. She could dimly hear his voice, though, with a woman's voice - the woman who had first come to the castle - “Mr. Nick, you had better not be cheating on your special someone!” she yelled, as she hopped over to where she heard the voices coming from.
And froze. Someone had put a psyche-lock on the door. But who knew how to do that, around here, and why would someone who knew the Kurain technique be trapping Mr. Nick when he was the one who could save them all?
“P-Pearls?” came Mr. Nick's muffled voice.
“Mr. Nick, someone's trapped you in there with a Psyche-Lock!”
This announcement made them both answer at the same time, Mr. Nick asking, “What is a Psyche-Lock?” and the woman asking “How do you know about Psyche-Locks?”
Pearl wasn't sure which of them to answer. “Um...”
“Psyche-Locks are a part of the Kurain channeling technique. I told you my family were spirit mediums, right, rookie?”
“I never thought you were serious!”
“I was, and it's serious if they've locked us in here with one - unless someone out there can unlock it for us.”
“Pearls, do you think you can open the Psyche-Lock?”
“I-I think so, Mr. Nick!” For his sake, for the sake of getting him out so he could get back to his special someone and thereby rescue Mystic Maya, she would do just about anything. Now what was it Sister Bikini had told her about breaking open Psyche-Locks again?
*
Back at the castle, news of an imminent attack had everyone in a flurry. Franziska had taken charge, after her foolish fool of a little brother proved that he was good for little besides moping that Phoenix was gone and the rose was dying, signaling the end of the period allotted him to redeem them all.
“You foolish fool of a secretary, move faster, we have to blockade that door! You, scruffy, stop ogling the feather dusters and see how the kitchen staff is doing! You, nun, stop fretting about your little teacup and start worrying about the whole castle; we'll have time enough to look for her when the battle's over, unless we don't, in which case it won't matter, will it?”
By the time the mob broke through the makeshift barricade at the front door, Franziska had done her best, in the limited time offered her, at preparing the foolish fools for a surprise attack. And, of course, the element of surprise went off well (apparently none of the fools invading had been intelligent enough to realize that they were entering an enchanted castle and should thus be more than normally cautious), but she wished she had more time to prepare them for combat. Or had her old body back, with her familiar old whip. Then she would have shown these foolish invaders something to terrify them, something more frightening than even a beast of nightmares.
*
Miles Edgeworth had known that one of the invaders would find him, even up here on the roof where he came to be away from the twisting guilt at the yelling and shouting of the others who looked to him as leader. Part of him knew that he should be down there, taking care of them, fighting with everything he had - knew that Phoenix would probably be ashamed of him, moping up here all by himself, rather than down there. But Phoenix was gone, Phoenix had left him - and now that he had given Phoenix his freedom, there was nothing to draw Phoenix back here, away from his precious Mia.
“Go away,” he told the person who had joined him on the roof.
“You're a monster and deserve to die.” He did not argue. “And I am going to kill you.”
She used nothing more than a little dagger, almost a knife, and a shallow scratch that shouldn't have hurt, but made him roar with pain and spin at her, lunging towards her - towards where she had been - before he knew what he was doing.
“It's poison,” she told him, standing off to another side. “You'll die slowly and painfully, and from the the looks of it, alone. It's no more than you deserve.”
Miles knew she was right, that he had done plenty in his life to deserve this kind of death, but it could not stop the howl that tore from inside him, the mourning of those he loved, the howl filled with the pain of knowing he would never see Phoenix again...
“No!” That yell - yes, it was Phoenix. Gaping. Horror-struck. Reaching out, as though the mere stretch of his arm could bridge the distance between them.
He... he came back...
Sudden rage filled Miles, giving him new strength, strength to bat the woman away from him, to stumble towards Phoenix, whose face showed a glimmer of hope as Miles came towards him. Suddenly, the horror was back. “Behind you!”
Miles reacted before he could consider, lashing out, sending the woman toppling, down over the sheer cliff to a certain doom on the sharp rocks below. He hadn't wanted to kill her, hadn't wanted her blood on his conscience - but she hadn't left him alone; even when she had lost...
No... not lost... her poison was still in him, in his bloodstream, and the burst of adrenaline, having done its part in spreading the poison, was now wearing off. He was only dimly aware of Phoenix, calling him, as he faded...
*
Everything seemed to be swimming through molasses. Phoenix couldn't move fast enough; he watched as Master Beast slowly sank to the ground, heard the distant thud, wished there was a way to make his body fly as fast as his thoughts. He lurched to the ground beside Beast, feeling the stillness of his chest, but he was still warm, some part of him was still warm, he had been alive only a second ago...
“Don't leave me,” Phoenix heard himself whisper. “Don't leave me. I... I love you.”
*
In a quiet, dusty room, untouched by the chaos outside, a single rose petal drifts to the table below, joining the others. It was the last. The stem is bare.
*
Phoenix knows it is unmanly to cry. At least, some distant part of him must know that. However, most of him is absorbed in the pain of loss, of losing a new love, of remembering the others in his life whom he has lost. At first, he does not feel the gentle stir of muscles beneath him. When he does sense the movement, he draws back, staring, holding his breath - does he dare to hope?
Light blazes; Phoenix stumbles back as it blinds him. When he blinks his vision clear of light and tears, a man stands before him. “Wha... how... Beast...”
“It was me all the time, Wright. I was that beast.” Miles Edgeworth grabbed his arm with the opposite hands, looked away. “I suppose I'm back in my ordinary form now.”
And suddenly, before Phoenix could think through what he was doing, he was launching himself at Miles, locking lips with him. And Miles was kissing him back.
*
The two men had a wedding, of course - or a pledging of commitment or whatever one wants to call it. Franziska, despite being sick of the office, stayed long enough to give her “little brother” away in the ceremony, as Mia stayed to give Phoenix away. Both were issued invitations to live with Miles; Franziska had another life that called her away, and Mia had discovered that a certain prince slumbered in waiting for the princess who would wake him from his slumber. Maya Fey originally wanted to go with Mia, until she was convinced that someone from the family had to stay with Pearls, who would not go, and made the decision to apprentice herself to Hannah until she could become Mr. Nick's legal secretary. Sister Bikini reclaimed and severely chastised a terrified Iris, and returned to her original mountain retreat after performing the ceremony for the two men (after Phoenix had talked her out of her original vision of icy waterfalls symbolizing the trials of love).
However, all in all, things moved pretty steadily towards the “Happily ever after” one would find at the end of any fairy tale, even though as soon as one story ends, the next begins.
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Characters: Phoenix Wright/Miles Edgeworth, Mia Fey, Gumshoe/Maggey, Franziska, Dahlia, Sister Bikini, Pess, Pearl, Maya, Iris,
Summary: A retelling of Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" using characters from Ace Attorney
Notes: Written for the following request on the Kink Meme:
It must be done:
Beauty and the Beast
Phoenix Wright style.
Phoenix has got to be "Belle"
Other characters are up to author.
Gaston, Mrs. Pott, Lumiere, anon can even add original inanimate turned animate objects if need be.
----------
Phoenix had to admit that some part of him was awed by the sheer amount of information Gumshoe seemed to be able to produce about the precise methods of constructing each last corner of every last room, but while the volume might be of interest, the specifics of engineering were not particularly fascinating to a man whose studies had been in the liberal arts and law, and Phoenix had to struggle to appear interested while zoning out for most of the lecture.
“...and those stairs, pal, lead to the west wing.”
Phoenix almost missed the candle woman's surreptitious use of her flame to whip Gumshoe, but the words “west wing” had caught his attention. That was the one place I was told not to go... I wonder what he could be hiding...
Before he quite realized what he was doing, Phoenix had taken a step in the direction of the forbidden staircase, only to be halted by the pain of flame on his ankle. “Owwww! Hey!”
“You were forbidden from going there, foolish fool.”
“Ummm... hey pal, you like law books, right? How about we take a trip to the library?”
The library... I would like to know what kind of books that beast might have, and it might help me learn something about him. “Sure. Fine. That sounds great.”
Only when the pair of them went walking ahead of him, so confident that the suggestion had utterly won Phoenix over to their way of seeing things that they did not bother to look back and see that he was following them, did Phoenix recognize the opportunity. The library wasn't off-limits; he could ask them to bring him another time. But this might be his one chance to slip out from under their, er, Franziska's watchful eyes. I bet there are some valuable clues in that wing...
Once he was safely in the depths of the forbidden wing, well away from the threat of Franziska's whippings, he began to wonder if there really would be anything useful in here. Does anyone ever clean in here? Why is it so dusty?
Of course the dust did little to stop him, Phoenix being the curious defense-attorney-in-training that he was, and he poked and prodded at old boxes and furniture until he found something of interest. A painting? But why is it shredded like this? Gingerly, he took hold of several of the strips, easing them back into their places, and caught his breath at the rather melancholy face that now stared out of the canvas. E-edgeworth?
Before the meaning of the painting could truly sink in, a mysterious glow caught his eye, and he found himself inexplicably drawn to a glowing red rose further on in the room. Slowly he moved towards it, trying to remember if he had ever seen it before, ever seen anything like it before. Probably he should leave it alone; obviously it was supposed to be protected, otherwise it wouldn't be hidden under glass, right? But he couldn't resist its lure; there was a reason he had been drawn to the arts and a reason he had been drawn to Dahlia that had little to do with common sense and all to do with a love of aesthetics, as well as a touch too much curiosity at times.
Trying to calm the trembling of his fingertips, he touched the protective globe, began to lift it to get a better look at the fragile and lovely rose beneath...
Suddenly the glass was ripped from his fingertips, brought down fiercely and decisively back to its protective place, and he found himself staring into one of the most frightening faces he had ever seen in his entire life, and that included the faces of a handful of hardened criminals. “Why did you come here?” the Beast asked him, in a tone so low that Phoenix almost didn't catch it, the low tone with a hint of growl more terrifying than any roar.
“I-I didn't mean any harm,” Phoenix managed to stammer, and he meant to go on and tell the Beast how much he admired the rose - was it magenta? - and perhaps ask about the picture of the young man who looked vaguely like the Miles Edgeworth he had been seeking since he'd been taken away, but the Beast was already whispering again.
With each word the whisper grew louder. “Do you realize what you could have done?” The last word came as a howl, a beast's howl, filled with fear and anguish and pain.
“I-”
“Get out!”
The very force of the voice seemed to knock Phoenix stumbling backwards. “I-”
“GET OUT!”
When the Beast swung a paw at Phoenix, he decided now was probably not the best time to ask his questions after all, though by the time he had decided that in his head his body had already apparently made the decision for him and was scrambling down the front stairs and to the front door. And out the front door. He wasn't sure where he was going - getting out, yes, away from those teeth and those paws. Towards home and Mia, perhaps, or would the beast come hunting him? He was already in the saddle, galloping their horse (poor Mia hadn't even gotten to take the horse, how was she supposed to get around without it?) away from the Beast and everything to do with him.
Suddenly the horse reared and whinnied, a high whinny, full of primal fear, and Phoenix was suddenly on the ground, surrounded by the sound of snarling wolves. Quickly he scrambled to his feet, out from under the danger of sharp hooves, and snatched a branch from the ground. The horse was already fighting back against the encircling pack, sharp hooves connecting with the mangy sides of the beasts, head swinging back and forth like some kind of immense club. One of the wolves leapt at Phoenix's throat; he just managed to bring the branch up to knock the beast back, though the impact sent a painful jolt all down his arm. I don't want to die, Phoenix thought. Not here, alone, surrounded by wolves. Not before I know what that picture meant, what happened to Edgeworth...
And suddenly a roar more terrifying than any wolf could manage seemed to shake the clearing, and there was the Beast, leaping to the middle of the fray, swinging mighty paws that cuffed the adult wolves and sent them flying as though they were mere pups. The entire pack leapt on him as one; he bellowed in pain and rage and shook them off, beating them soundly each time they leapt back towards him, until finally the pack slunk off in defeat.
Phoenix opened his mouth to thank the Beast, perhaps to apologize for going in the forbidden wing, but the Beast suddenly slumped over onto the snow. “No,” Phoenix gasped, already bounding to the side of the - creature? man? - who had saved him. “D-don't die, not after saving me, not like this...”
His hands roamed over Beast's fur, seeking injuries, and he could feel the heaving of Beast's body with each deep breath; at least he wasn't dead yet. Most of the wounds seemed to be shallow, Beast's skin protected by his layers of thick winter fur, but the gash on his arm seemed particularly deep, and Phoenix undid Beast's cloak so he could tie it around the wound tightly.
That done, Phoenix took a moment to breathe and realize they were still relatively in the open, where the wolves could easily return if they happened to realize that the more fearsome of the group was badly injured and unable to fight. The stupid horse had gotten its reigns tangled, but that meant it hadn't been able to run off, and now Phoenix looked around for something he could use to bind Beast to the horse's back. There wasn't much, nor was there time to look for something useful, so Phoenix just struggled to lift the Beast into the saddle. It wasn't easy, especially as at first the horse was still spooked and shifted away every time Phoenix attempted to heft the Beast, and the Beast was much heavier than anything Phoenix had attempted to lift onto a horse before, but when the horse settled somewhat and the Beast half-roused, enough at least to twitch in helpful directions if not carry on a coherent conversation or lift himself, Phoenix finally managed.
The walk back home - was the castle home, now, already, to him? Part of Phoenix, the part that was coherent enough to think about such things and wasn't worried about wolves or the injured Master of the castle or the snow getting into his boots, was disconcerted to find such an abrupt change of perception, but of course he lack the luxury of mulling on such matters. Anyway, the walk back to the castle (whether or not it was home to Phoenix, though probably Beast considered it home) seemed one of the longest walks in his life. Occasionally the Beast would make a low, whimpering sound, and Phoenix would reach up and stroke the fur on his good shoulder, away from the gashes of wolves' teeth, and murmur soothing things at him. Who knew a Beast would need comforting?
By the time they reached the stable yard, the Beast was beginning to come to consciousness, and with Phoenix's shoulder as a brace managed to make it to his great chair before the fire.
“Bikini, please, some hot water for this?”
As the teapot obediently filled herself and waddled to a place by the fire, she said something about freezing waterfalls and blocks of ice.
“No, I need it to be warm. To get rid of bad things that might have gotten in the wound, so he doesn't take sick.” Not that it had ever helped Phoenix, but probably this Beast was made of something stronger, something that didn't give in to the common cold and cause weeks of sheer agony.
After soaking a clean cloth in the scalding water, Phoenix dabbed at the wound - or attempted to, anyway, as, at the first contact of cloth to wound, the Beast roared and yanked his arm away.
“Hold still,” Phoenix scolded, holding out his hand, staring at the injury. Honestly, how he can manage to fight like a demon against that wolf pack and then be afraid of a bit of hot water is beyond me...
“Objection! That hurts!”
Court games, huh? Phoenix knew how to play those (or, at least, he knew how to play them with Mia, and theoretically therefore knew how to play with other people who weren't his mentor and helping him along. But he wasn't a drama student for nothing, and figured that what he couldn't figure out on his own he could fake reasonably well.) “Objection! If you hadn't gotten yourself gashed...”
“Objection! I would not be injured if you hadn't run away!”
“Objection! I wouldn't have run if you hadn't scared me half to death back there!”
“Objection! I wouldn't have had to scare you if you hadn't been invading areas in which you were specifically instructed not to trespass!”
“Objection!” Okay, Wright, you yelled objection, now what? Is there anything else you can say? “Erm, actually, not so much objection as, um, thankyouforsavingmylife.”
His shy glance met startled gray eyes that blinked at him. Then, “Do not make a habit of running off into the woods and getting yourself nearly eaten by wolves.”
“I won't,” Phoenix assured him. “Especially as long as you don't make a habit of chasing me out of your castle into the maws of said wolves...”
At the Beast's warning growl, Phoenix decided the better part of wisdom at the moment might be to just shut up.
*
The meeting place had to be somewhere they would be able to lurk in a corner, with enough else going on in the background that the quiet voices of two women plotting would fade into the general cover of babble and laughter, but a corner dark and solemn enough for their purposes, and to conceal the things which may exchange hand as well as words. At the moment, Morgan Fey and Dahlia Hawthorne faced each other over a table in just such a place, mother and daughter wearing eerily similar masks of innocence over their cold calculations.
“I believe I may have a plan to make things worth your while, Mother.”
“A plan, is it?”
“If you manage to haul my dear cousin Mia off to the asylum...”
“Dahlia, how could you think to suggest such a thing to happen to my poor dear niece?”
“Mother, you know how they all talk, and how many people would think it was for the best.”
“I would be winning no ground with her.”
“No, but you could have her... interrogated. And if that doesn't work...”
“When. She is as stubborn as her scheming mother.”
“...when that doesn't work, I'll offer to help get her out if only my Feenie will marry me. That gets me close to him and therefore her, and I'll be able to look for your precious Pearl.” Or not, but you'll never know, and it's the closest you'll be able to come to recovering your precious favorite child...
Morgan Fey gave the matter consideration, delicately sipping at her tea. “I am quite shocked at what a wicked young woman you've become,” she said at last, setting her tea on the saucer. “Still, I suppose Mia has been getting a bit out of hand, and I wouldn't want anything to happen to my darling niece when my dear sister is gone...”
“You are a very wise woman, Mother.” A few more not-quite-pleasantries and the two women departed, off to further their own plans.
*
Edgeworth stood by the window, looking out at the snowy courtyard, which any other year would have been a lonely sight that he could use as a metaphor for the isolation of the people in this castle, but which now featured one ridiculously childish Phoenix Wright romping with Pess, who even in the form of a footstool had managed to retain his particular canine charms. Something about Wright's face, about the flush and the easy laughter, about the way Wright scampered and tussled...
In his mind, a much younger Phoenix called, “Hey, Miles, come and play. It's just snow, it's not going to hurt you!” - and he remembered it had taken both Phoenix and Larry grabbing his arms, as well as a gentle nudge from Gregory Edgeworth, before Miles would admit to anything as undignified as a snowball fight.
But his father - he had joined in, pelting all three of the boys with snowballs, until the three of them gave up on pelting each other and ganged up on a laughing Gregory Edgeworth.
And then...
No, he wouldn't think of what came so soon after, about what had doomed him to become the Demon Prosecutor.
Wright...
“You are staring out that window like a foolish fool.” Franziska's voice snapped him out of reveries, and he looked to see that both she and Gumshoe had managed to climb onto the nearby table, and were now hopping over to the ledge of his window, to see what he had been staring at.
“I never...” Could he really admit his confused feelings, even to these two? Then again, he knew he had their loyalty, whether or not he was responsible for them being currently trapped as household objects, and he owed them something for that. “I never felt like... like this... about anyone.”
“Then stop being a foolishly foolish fool and do something about it!”
She'd never had much patience for him, especially when he was involved in anything resembling moping. Still, she never used her whip on him - not unless her father's orders were involved - and she looked out for him. “Like what? What do I - what can I do for him?”
“Oooh, I know, sir, you could make him a whole giant box of weenies like I did for my Maggey! I bet he'd love that, sir!”
Franziska's whipping was half-hearted, and Edgeworth doubted it had really stung, compared to those she could dole out in her more irritable moods. Still, he was sure she recognized the detective's attempt to be helpful, and was offering him some slight mercy in exchange.
“Not everyone is foolish enough to be won by food. Particularly foolish peasant food.” She seemed thoughtful a moment. “Might I suggest the library?”
Edgeworth sighed. Usually his sister was at least somewhat more helpful, rather than just suggesting he look something up on his own. She knew he would try that anyway, with so many year under von Karma's roof - research was an essential von Karma skill to be perfected. “Do you at least have any ideas of titles where I should begin?” Because while research was an essential skill, research into the ways of friendships and romance was not, or, at least, not for von Karma's foster son.
“Personally I'd let him pick, see which foolish sorts of choices he might make, but if you'd rather just give him something - word is that he was studying to become a foolish fool of a defense attorney, and before that he was even more foolishly engaged in theater and such...”
Oh. She was being helpful after all. And if she could read minds she would be calling me a fool right about now... “Hmm, perhaps I shall just let him choose...” Or give him the whole run of the library. Though why I would do that...
*
Part of Phoenix objected to letting Master Beast blindfold him and lead him around the castle to some unknown place for some unknown surprise. But you trust him now. He's saved your life. So he had consented, and now he found himself led through corridors with only the echoes of the Beast's deep rumbling breathing, his own shallower breaths, and their footsteps on the hard stone to give him clues as to their location. His first reaction when Beast had taken his arm was to flinch away, but he had done his best to master the impulse within himself. Steady, Phoenix, remember, you trust him. And he was surprised, in part, to find how reassuring the feel of muscle and fur and warmth was to him in this darkness. Maybe I really do trust him.
Beast halted, catching Phoenix with his free arm in case Phoenix might fall. What's the matter, don't you trust me to keep myself on my own two feet? Then the arm moved away, quickly followed by the sound of a door unlatching and sliding open. No creaking? For such an old, mysterious castle I would have expected just a little creaking. Then Beast led him through, onto what felt like carpet.
“Can I open my eyes yet?” Phoenix didn't want to sound whiny, but the blindfold was starting to itch and he wanted to see where he was, what Beast was doing, what was around them.
“Not yet. Wait here.” Beast removed Phoenix's arm from his, and Phoenix heard the whisper of him moving away, felt the cold air replace Beast's warmth at his side with something that was almost a pang of regret. He'd grown used to the warmth, grown to like it, grown to like even the peculiar smell of the Beast (which actually wasn't bad, surprisingly enough; rather than smelling like an animal he smelled like odd spices and tea). With the Beast's scent gone, though, Phoenix could pick up the scents of the room in which he stood - parchment, dust, furniture varnish, maybe a hint of ink...
There was another sound, a velvety sweeping sound, and the air on Phoenix's face grew marginally warmer. Perhaps sunlight? Had Beast opened a curtain?
“All right. You can look now.”
Phoenix ripped the blindfold from his face, blinked his eyes several times to accustom them to the sudden brightness, and drew in a long breath only to let it out again in a long whistle of appreciation. Even the university library hadn't had so many books, so many shelves crammed with knowledge and stories and wonderful things, rising high above his head, covers glowing invitingly in the light admitted through the large window.
“You like it?”
Phoenix wrenched himself away from the breathless splendor of the books to look again at Beast. He seems so shy all of a sudden... “Of course I like it. It's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen! I've never seen so many books all in one place...”
“Then... whatever you like from here... whatever you want to read and whenever you like... consider it as much your room as mine.”
Phoenix had to restrain himself from springing at Beast and tackling him in a hug, but he let himself grin until he thought his face might split and said, “Thank you, thank you so much.” And then, because that wasn't really enough, but he didn't want to risk offending his host with an unwanted hug, he grabbed one of Beast's paws in both his hands and held it tight.
Startled gray eyes looked at him, and for a moment Phoenix thought he could see somewhere deep and hidden, a vulnerability that reminded him very much of his childhood friend Miles Edgeworth. The next second the gray eyes had shifted away and he was unable to delve further into the mystery. Squeezing the paw, he whispered, “Thank you, you don't know how much this means...” and then he relinquished his hold, letting Beast use the paw to grab his own arm as he continued to look away.
“You... are welcome.”
Neither of them realized that outside, a large collection of Master Beast's servants and compatriots had gathered to stare. “It worked, sir,” Gumshoe whispered.
“Of course it worked, fool.”
“What worked?” Pearl asked, looking to Sister Bikini.
“I'll explain that when you are old enough to attempt the third level of freezing waterfall training.”
*
At dinner, Edgeworth had just begun to gobble his food when he remembered he had company. Oh. Wright had a spoon in his hand, ready to begin eating like a civilized person. Since when had Edgeworth started gulping down his food like an animal, anyway? I thought if I was going to look a beast, I might as well act a beast. Now, though, he regretted not using his previously perfect table manners. I am not going to let Wright get the better of me, he vowed to himself, delicately dabbing at his face with his napkin, and lifting his spoon with a grip that would have been perfect, if his clumsy beastial fingers and claws didn't get in the way. Damn it, Wright, stop grinning at me.
The grin on Wright's face meant trouble. That was something nine-year-old Miles Edgeworth had learned the hard way. And even though this time it wasn't accompanied by the Butz, who would by this time be doing something much louder and more troublesome than just grinning, that didn't make Edgeworth feel much better.
Wright put down his spoon, and picked up the bowl with both hands, raising it to his lips and deliberately drinking out of it, all the time looking into Edgeworth's eyes. He managed a much simpler and less messy version of drinking from the bowl, and suddenly Edgeworth knew the look was a challenge. Dare you to drop some of your manners, Miles, a younger voice taunted him.
Well, Miles Edgeworth could certainly managed to look more dignified than Wright while he drank from a bowl. Placing his spoon carefully on the table, Edgeworth lifted his own bowl and took a delicate sip of the porridge himself. Wright's grin broadened, and it was then that Edgeworth noticed that some of the porridge had clung to Wright's upper lip, in a very undignified, very... no, he told himself, swallowing the porridge past a sudden lump in his throat. Wright was not for him; he was pushing it even trying to be friendly with the man, if Wright knew half the truth he would be long gone by now...
*
Phoenix had grown to love the courtyard in the winter, playing with Pess the dog-footstool, tossing crumbs to the birds and watching them flutter around and fly away when they were done eating. Only a part of him envied the birds and their freedom to fly away whenever they liked; he dearly wished he could visit Mia and make sure she was all right, even if this castle seemed as much a home as Mia's cottage to him now.
No use wasting time wishing for things you won't get, he scolded himself. Besides, you at least have friends here in the castle now, and a whole library of books.
“Here, take that... no, you're not supposed to fly away, you silly bird.”
Phoenix jumped a bit at the growl, not expecting Beast to be there in the courtyard, then turned to smile at him. He saw Beast trying to feed the birds, but his jerky and abrupt movements were frightening the poor little things...
“Here.” He didn't even stop to think before he took hold of Beast's arm, holding him in place. “Be still. Let them come to you.”
Beast's gray eyes were bemused as they looked at Phoenix, but Beast did as advised and froze, still as a statue. Phoenix released him and watched, grinning, as the birds warmed up to him, hopping onto his hands, then onto his shoulders and head. See? He's not so bad after all.
But there was something in those gray eyes as they watched the birds - something too vulnerable, something that seemed as though it was just waiting for things to shatter, for something terrible to happen. Well, we can't have that. Phoenix reached down, scooping some snow into his hands, packing it into a tight ball - really, it was amazing how easily he'd become comfortable with Beast, he considered as he let the snowball fly from his hand straight at the bird-covered Beast, sending feathers flying and winning himself a shocked half-roar.
Beast spun to glare at him, then scooped up a huge amount of snow in both arms. Uh oh. I probably should've thought this through a little better. Phoenix ducked behind a tree, peeked out to see where his opponent might be, and got an eyeful of flying fur and snow.
Before he had really decided what to do he was at Beast's side, reaching down. “Here, let me help you up. Are you okay?”
Beast made a sort of grumbling sound.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get this covered in snow, I just...”
“Shut it, Wright.”
Well, that's a graceful way of accepting an apology. “Here, let me help you brush the snow off...”
When his hands first began running over Beast, brushing off the majority of the snow, Beast froze. Then, suddenly, he got a mischievous glint in his eyes and suddenly shook himself like a dog, sending snow flying in all directions, including all over Phoenix. “H-hey! Objection!”
“Served you right, Wright.” Suddenly something in Beast's expression changed. “Your cloak is inefficient for this weather, Wright, and you are shivering like a fool.”
“Well, if someone hadn't put snow all over me I wouldn't be!”
“Come on, Wright, let's get inside by the fire.”
*
Miles Edgeworth hadn't thought it was possible for foolishness to be so endearing. After all, fools just got in the way of perfection, or so Manfred von Karma had repeatedly insisted. But Phoenix Wright, shivering slightly because he had to wear his old worn-out cloak in the courtyard rather than asking Hannah for something more decently warm, did strange things to Miles' gut.
He remembered the sudden surprise of the snowball colliding with his face, and remembered further back to Wright as a child, refusing to let Miles sit aside and watch Wright and the Butz in their idiocy, but rather forcing him to join them. Then he thought of Wright's hands brushing the snow off his arm, how gentle he had been, the concern in Wright's eyes. Part of him had wanted to stand there and let Wright brush the snow off, but he'd been afraid...
“You know, I think I like the fire much better than that courtyard anyway.”
Trust Wright to ruin a perfectly good internal monologue. “If you weren't an idiot, you wouldn't have been covered with snow, and you would have asked Hannah for a more suitable outfit.”
“I like that cloak. Mia gave it to me. It reminds me of her.”
Miles refused to acknowledge the comment or the peculiar icy twist it created in his gut. Is there any possible way I could ever win Wright's affections away from that woman? Wright had been his first, his friend first - but he couldn't remind Wright of that, because he didn't want Wright knowing what had happened to him, wanted Wright to keep thinking well of the Miles Edgeworth he had known as a child.
“Hey, I know what might be fun to pass the time!” Wright picked up a book, one that Miles didn't remember having placed on that table... ah, but he'd given Wright access to the library, hadn't he? So Wright must have brought it out and neglected to return it - typical Wright, all over the place, but Miles found he really didn't mind.
“What exactly is that, Wright?”
“Poetry! I'm pretty good at reading poetry - I was a theatre major, too - and my old girlfriend used to want me to read her poetry all the time. She was a literature major.”
Miles wasn't sure what to make of the mention of an old girlfriend, or the thought of Phoenix reading poetry to someone else - however, he had to admit that Phoenix was rather good, if perhaps a tad overly dramatic in places, particularly with the poems involving sword fights. Still, Miles preferred those - and seeing Wright making himself out to be a fool as he bounded around the room - rather than the love poems, which made Miles' gut twist as he told himself over and over, He's not reading them for you, Edgeworth, get over it.
Reminding himself was harder, of course, when Wright insisted on constant glances towards Edgeworth during these particular readings, occasionally acting out bits and pieces that made Miles glad (for once) that his face was covered in blush-concealing fur. W-wright...
But he couldn't let Wright know what the poems were doing to him, how much he'd missed Wright and treasured the odd letter that managed to escape von Karma's censorship, how much he longed for them to be friends again, without any dark secrets between them...
Only when Wright began to flub words because he was yawning did Edgeworth suggest a halt for the night, which won a tired half-smile from Wright that made Edgeworth's insides squirm.
Tomorrow, part of him said, though he wasn't precisely sure to what it was referring. Tomorrow...
*
“...and that's why you must confess your love for Wright, little brother.”
Franziska von Karma was quite proud of the way she had presented her arguments: logical observations of her little brother's interactions with their guest, her own careful observation of the rose and its indication of their remaining time, carefully-phrased conversations with others in the castle regarding Wright and Edgeworth...
If left to his own devices, Edgeworth might wait until it was too late. That was his imperfection, that reluctance to believe in his capability, that hesitation, which had kept him from being able to keep pace with his big sister in the prosecutor's office. Of course she loved him despite his imperfections; he was her little brother, after all. But when those imperfections prevented herself and others from returning to their natural forms and looked as though they would doom the entire castle to an eternity as objects, well, it was her solemn duty as big sister to intervene.
“I... Ziska, I'm afraid...”
“Fool.” Although she used the words she considered to be among the most grave of insults, Franciska softened her tone, just for her little brother. “This is not the time to be afraid. Be bold and daring. Confess to him, before... before it is too late.”
Miles Edgeworth took in a deep breath, as though that would help him gain the perfection he so desperately needed. “I... all right, Ziska...”
“Go on, now, he's waiting for you.”
*
Edgeworth had to admire Hannah's skill at dressing Wright, and a distant part of him wondered if her skills had been wasted as a legal aide, and were not more suited to a career in the world of fashion. Somehow she had softened Wright's usually sharp edges, made him appear softer, less dangerous, more vulnerable. And when Phoenix caught Miles' eyes and smiled, it seemed to Miles almost as though he were meeting a lady love, crossing the ballroom in a dance as old as time, eyes never leaving the other's face, caught up in only each other so that nothing else mattered.
Before he really considered what he was doing, Miles had placed one hand on Phoenix's waist, used the other to capture one of Phoenix's hands, and begun to lead him around the ballroom in a gentle waltz to the hint of a tune that seemed to linger in the air. Phoenix stumbled at first, then adjusted, until Miles did not have to worry so much about their feet tangling or Phoenix falling and could just enjoy the way their bodies moved together, the way he was learning just the right amount of pressure to make Phoenix respond, the way Phoenix was learning to respond to each subtle change in the pressure and position of Miles' hands.
Somehow they found themselves waltzing onto the patio, where stars blazed brilliantly above a pristine snowfield. This is it, Edgeworth. This is your chance.
“So beautiful, isn't it?” Phoenix asked, leaning on railing, looking at the stars and snow.
Miles allowed his gaze to trace the curve of Phoenix's body towards the landscape, to linger on the soft wonderment filling Phoenix's face. “Yes, beautiful.”
“I'm glad to be here. I like being here.”
“Is there anything you lack? Anything that would make your stay here more pleasant?”
“No, I... Mia.”
“Mia?”
“I worry about her. She's like a mother to me, and was there for me when it looked like no one else would be. I want to know that she got home all right, that she's getting on all right.”
Is that all? I could show him that much... “Come with me, Pho- Wright.”
Phoenix opened his mouth as though he was going to speak, but Edgeworth did not give him the chance, hurrying from the room, making him rush to catch up. Through the corridors and to one of the rooms in the west wing, where Edgeworth kept his most treasured possession besides the remaining petals on the rose. “This mirror can show you whomever you ask to see,” he told a slightly breathless Phoenix, holding the mirror out to Phoenix.
“Show me Mia.”
Edgeworth wasn't sure what to expect, but it certainly hadn't been an expression of shock deepening to horror. “What...”
“They're - she's - they aren't taking good enough care of her! They'll kill her! M-mia!”
“W-wright...” Stay with me, I can hardly bear the thought of you leaving, but I can't bear seeing you in pain like this either - I know what it's like to lose a parent, too... “...go to her.”
“W-what?”
“I'm releasing you. Go to her.”
“A-are you serious?”
“Go!” He hadn't meant the last to come out as a roar, didn't want Wright's last memory to be of him being frightening - but apparently Wright took it for what it was meant, because he was hugging Edgeworth - I don't know how much of this I can take - before stammering, “Thank you for understanding how much she means to me...” and running off out of sight.
*
When Franziska von Karma asked her little brother how things had went, she had not expected his response to be anything even remotely resembling his half-hearted mumble, “I let him go.”
Of course, upon hearing that response, she could predict all too well the waves of discontentment rumbling through the castle. “He did what?” “Too little, too late.” “Why would he do something like that?”
Why indeed? If she had been herself - her normal, human self, able to stride into towns and terrify just about anyone with a glare - she would have gone after Phoenix Wright herself, dragged him back to Miles, and made him grovel at Miles' boots as she whipped him until he realized that he was nothing more than a dog to Miles' greatness, Miles' near perfection. “No one has the right to break my little brother's heart like that.”
As it was, she was forced to attempt to content herself with muttering variations of the word “Fool” and being extra liberal with the whippings she did dole out, until everyone in the castle was terrified enough of both of them to leave them alone.
*
No matter how cold she was, how sick she was, Mia knew that her rookie was her responsibility. “P-please, he's trapped in a castle with a beast...”
Of course, if she had been herself, she would have known how they would sneer at her, how they would look at her like she was some kind of insane person - but didn't even one of them have the kind of imagination and compassion it took to trust, even for the briefest moment, that there might be something more going on than their own limited experience? Diego... I miss you... you would have known...
But Diego wasn't here; Diego had been killed by that damn coffee he loved so much, when someone slipped some damn poison into it, and now she was all alone...
“You're not quite all there, are you?” The voice was thick with syrupy concern, but it twisted acidly in Mia's stomach. Dahlia!
“P-please! Someone listen, I'm not making these things up...”
And then Morgan Fey was there, taking Mia by the shoulder, steering her towards a cart. “My poor dear niece has been under too much pressure lately it seems. I'll just be taking her away where the only thing she'll need to worry about is how much of my jaw-droppingly huge strawberry dessert she wants to eat.”
Mia heard the unspoken second half, And where the only remaining daughter of the Master will not be seen again. She struggled, even when she knew she was too hazy and weak from fever to be able to do much good...
“Objection!”
And now she was hallucinating the rookie's voice. Damn it, why was guilt so messy like this? Why couldn't she just be able to handle things, to get things done, to just go ahead and save him like she hadn't been able to save Diego...
“There really is a beast, and I can show you evidence to prove it!”
Phoenix... Diego... Maya...
“Mirror, show me the beast!”
If this was a hallucination, it was remarkably realistic, as suddenly even the pressure of the hands wrestling her changed, and stopped moving her towards the cart...
“Such a horrible creature!” Dahlia gasped.
“N-no, he's not, it's not... he's gentle and good and kind...”
Phoenix, you really shouldn't be telling her these things, of all people...
“You love him, don't you?”
...and that tone is exactly why.
“I... I...”
“He's a dangerous beast, and he'll eat your children! We won't be safe until he's dead! Who's with me?”
The next thing she knew, she was in the cellar with Phoenix, locked away through Dahlia's justification that they were under the beast's spell and it was for their own good.
“Ch-chief? Are you...”
Mia sighed. “I'll be fine, Phoenix.” Even if my head is still spinning... but a lawyer must always wear a smile, even in the worst of times...
“Beast! They're going to... she'll....”
“Rookie.”
“Y-yes, Chief?”
“What did I tell you about crying?”
“Y-you told me...” Phoenix made a visible effort to pull himself together. “A lawyer never cries until it's all over.”
*
Pearl finally found her way out of the saddlebags. She was going to go to Mr. Nick, and demand an explanation of why he would leave his special someone, not to mention the rest of them. Only he wasn't in sight. She could dimly hear his voice, though, with a woman's voice - the woman who had first come to the castle - “Mr. Nick, you had better not be cheating on your special someone!” she yelled, as she hopped over to where she heard the voices coming from.
And froze. Someone had put a psyche-lock on the door. But who knew how to do that, around here, and why would someone who knew the Kurain technique be trapping Mr. Nick when he was the one who could save them all?
“P-Pearls?” came Mr. Nick's muffled voice.
“Mr. Nick, someone's trapped you in there with a Psyche-Lock!”
This announcement made them both answer at the same time, Mr. Nick asking, “What is a Psyche-Lock?” and the woman asking “How do you know about Psyche-Locks?”
Pearl wasn't sure which of them to answer. “Um...”
“Psyche-Locks are a part of the Kurain channeling technique. I told you my family were spirit mediums, right, rookie?”
“I never thought you were serious!”
“I was, and it's serious if they've locked us in here with one - unless someone out there can unlock it for us.”
“Pearls, do you think you can open the Psyche-Lock?”
“I-I think so, Mr. Nick!” For his sake, for the sake of getting him out so he could get back to his special someone and thereby rescue Mystic Maya, she would do just about anything. Now what was it Sister Bikini had told her about breaking open Psyche-Locks again?
*
Back at the castle, news of an imminent attack had everyone in a flurry. Franziska had taken charge, after her foolish fool of a little brother proved that he was good for little besides moping that Phoenix was gone and the rose was dying, signaling the end of the period allotted him to redeem them all.
“You foolish fool of a secretary, move faster, we have to blockade that door! You, scruffy, stop ogling the feather dusters and see how the kitchen staff is doing! You, nun, stop fretting about your little teacup and start worrying about the whole castle; we'll have time enough to look for her when the battle's over, unless we don't, in which case it won't matter, will it?”
By the time the mob broke through the makeshift barricade at the front door, Franziska had done her best, in the limited time offered her, at preparing the foolish fools for a surprise attack. And, of course, the element of surprise went off well (apparently none of the fools invading had been intelligent enough to realize that they were entering an enchanted castle and should thus be more than normally cautious), but she wished she had more time to prepare them for combat. Or had her old body back, with her familiar old whip. Then she would have shown these foolish invaders something to terrify them, something more frightening than even a beast of nightmares.
*
Miles Edgeworth had known that one of the invaders would find him, even up here on the roof where he came to be away from the twisting guilt at the yelling and shouting of the others who looked to him as leader. Part of him knew that he should be down there, taking care of them, fighting with everything he had - knew that Phoenix would probably be ashamed of him, moping up here all by himself, rather than down there. But Phoenix was gone, Phoenix had left him - and now that he had given Phoenix his freedom, there was nothing to draw Phoenix back here, away from his precious Mia.
“Go away,” he told the person who had joined him on the roof.
“You're a monster and deserve to die.” He did not argue. “And I am going to kill you.”
She used nothing more than a little dagger, almost a knife, and a shallow scratch that shouldn't have hurt, but made him roar with pain and spin at her, lunging towards her - towards where she had been - before he knew what he was doing.
“It's poison,” she told him, standing off to another side. “You'll die slowly and painfully, and from the the looks of it, alone. It's no more than you deserve.”
Miles knew she was right, that he had done plenty in his life to deserve this kind of death, but it could not stop the howl that tore from inside him, the mourning of those he loved, the howl filled with the pain of knowing he would never see Phoenix again...
“No!” That yell - yes, it was Phoenix. Gaping. Horror-struck. Reaching out, as though the mere stretch of his arm could bridge the distance between them.
He... he came back...
Sudden rage filled Miles, giving him new strength, strength to bat the woman away from him, to stumble towards Phoenix, whose face showed a glimmer of hope as Miles came towards him. Suddenly, the horror was back. “Behind you!”
Miles reacted before he could consider, lashing out, sending the woman toppling, down over the sheer cliff to a certain doom on the sharp rocks below. He hadn't wanted to kill her, hadn't wanted her blood on his conscience - but she hadn't left him alone; even when she had lost...
No... not lost... her poison was still in him, in his bloodstream, and the burst of adrenaline, having done its part in spreading the poison, was now wearing off. He was only dimly aware of Phoenix, calling him, as he faded...
*
Everything seemed to be swimming through molasses. Phoenix couldn't move fast enough; he watched as Master Beast slowly sank to the ground, heard the distant thud, wished there was a way to make his body fly as fast as his thoughts. He lurched to the ground beside Beast, feeling the stillness of his chest, but he was still warm, some part of him was still warm, he had been alive only a second ago...
“Don't leave me,” Phoenix heard himself whisper. “Don't leave me. I... I love you.”
*
In a quiet, dusty room, untouched by the chaos outside, a single rose petal drifts to the table below, joining the others. It was the last. The stem is bare.
*
Phoenix knows it is unmanly to cry. At least, some distant part of him must know that. However, most of him is absorbed in the pain of loss, of losing a new love, of remembering the others in his life whom he has lost. At first, he does not feel the gentle stir of muscles beneath him. When he does sense the movement, he draws back, staring, holding his breath - does he dare to hope?
Light blazes; Phoenix stumbles back as it blinds him. When he blinks his vision clear of light and tears, a man stands before him. “Wha... how... Beast...”
“It was me all the time, Wright. I was that beast.” Miles Edgeworth grabbed his arm with the opposite hands, looked away. “I suppose I'm back in my ordinary form now.”
And suddenly, before Phoenix could think through what he was doing, he was launching himself at Miles, locking lips with him. And Miles was kissing him back.
*
The two men had a wedding, of course - or a pledging of commitment or whatever one wants to call it. Franziska, despite being sick of the office, stayed long enough to give her “little brother” away in the ceremony, as Mia stayed to give Phoenix away. Both were issued invitations to live with Miles; Franziska had another life that called her away, and Mia had discovered that a certain prince slumbered in waiting for the princess who would wake him from his slumber. Maya Fey originally wanted to go with Mia, until she was convinced that someone from the family had to stay with Pearls, who would not go, and made the decision to apprentice herself to Hannah until she could become Mr. Nick's legal secretary. Sister Bikini reclaimed and severely chastised a terrified Iris, and returned to her original mountain retreat after performing the ceremony for the two men (after Phoenix had talked her out of her original vision of icy waterfalls symbolizing the trials of love).
However, all in all, things moved pretty steadily towards the “Happily ever after” one would find at the end of any fairy tale, even though as soon as one story ends, the next begins.