i have always wanted an excuse for this icon
WHO: Sanji and Edgeworth
WHERE: Anywhere there's fine wine
WHEN: Backdate it to yesterday, as my computer fan blew out again last night.
WARNINGS: ?
SUMMARY: Edgeworth seriously owes Sanji a run on the town's supply of the best drinks. It's about time the poor guy gets to collect.
FORMAT: Short beginning in case it pops off again, then whatever
He still couldn't use his arm to its fullest, but he could at least drive, and drive he would; the midlife-crisismobile (as it had been so lovingly named by one of his colleagues, a gesture for which he was sorely tempted to freeze the man's boxers in place) sped smoothly along the road, the radio playing something he suspected was an 'oldies' song of some kind or other--hell if he knows what it is, but it's not too bad, all things considered. In this City, with the tastes of the modern youth, he's certainly heard much worse. Being unable to find a decent bit of classical music just then was all right, at least for the moment.
Good thing Remus was late at the bookstore tonight. It would remind him not to go overboard; nobody else at Moonybase could drive, as far as he knew (perhaps Bruno could, but he hadn't thought to ask) and so he would have to remain sober enough to get himself back home.
...Of course, the hour at which he would do so was also slightly debatable, but then, after the murder trial he'd prosecuted the last three days, he was fairly certain his sleep would be poorer than usual. If it were down to nightmares or insomnia, he'd choose the latter.
Edgeworth glanced at the neat scrap of paper on the dashboard before returning his eyes to the street, double-checking the address. Should be any moment...
WHERE: Anywhere there's fine wine
WHEN: Backdate it to yesterday, as my computer fan blew out again last night.
WARNINGS: ?
SUMMARY: Edgeworth seriously owes Sanji a run on the town's supply of the best drinks. It's about time the poor guy gets to collect.
FORMAT: Short beginning in case it pops off again, then whatever
He still couldn't use his arm to its fullest, but he could at least drive, and drive he would; the midlife-crisismobile (as it had been so lovingly named by one of his colleagues, a gesture for which he was sorely tempted to freeze the man's boxers in place) sped smoothly along the road, the radio playing something he suspected was an 'oldies' song of some kind or other--hell if he knows what it is, but it's not too bad, all things considered. In this City, with the tastes of the modern youth, he's certainly heard much worse. Being unable to find a decent bit of classical music just then was all right, at least for the moment.
Good thing Remus was late at the bookstore tonight. It would remind him not to go overboard; nobody else at Moonybase could drive, as far as he knew (perhaps Bruno could, but he hadn't thought to ask) and so he would have to remain sober enough to get himself back home.
...Of course, the hour at which he would do so was also slightly debatable, but then, after the murder trial he'd prosecuted the last three days, he was fairly certain his sleep would be poorer than usual. If it were down to nightmares or insomnia, he'd choose the latter.
Edgeworth glanced at the neat scrap of paper on the dashboard before returning his eyes to the street, double-checking the address. Should be any moment...