Serendipity [Narrative]
Character: Phoenix Wright
Content: Phoenix stops by the library to pick things up for himself... and some other people.
Location: New York Public Library
Time of day: Late Afternoon (The same day as his encounter with Dahlia.)
Warnings: Very subtle mocking of people with toasters on their faces. So no.
If he was lucky, so was Manhattan. Not a single thing had gone his way just in the past few hours - from his phenomenally stupid idea, to the crabs, to Dahlia, and damn it if his lips weren't still tingling (and not in a good way).
Phoenix sprinted (or at least walked very, very fast) half the way to the library, both hands so tight around his crowbar that his knuckles were white and his fingers were starting to ache. He was getting more accustomed to the mazelike nature of Manhattan's streets (and he'd seen Edgeworth's map more than once), so he was able to find his way reasonably well, if for a couple hiccups. His heart was pounding, but whether that was from the run, the crabs, or Dahlia's lips on his, he wasn't entirely sure... and he wasn't really in the mood to try and figure it out. At the moment all he was thinking about was doing something. He felt dirty - his skin was still crawling even that long after the fact - and he needed something to distract himself, even more than he had already.
Just the library itself, though, was more than enough to give him something else to think about - it was huge in every sense of the word. Sure, he didn't go to libraries all the time back home, but it wasn't like he never went. His library back home couldn't even compare to this, though - he had the distinct sensation that his would fit inside this one, just from looking at the outside of it.
(We could always eat books, I guess.)
If the outside was impressive, though, the inside was overwhelming. It kind of defeated the purpose of libraries, he thought, if there were so many books you couldn't choose. Not that it really mattered all that much - he was getting books plural, and he wasn't leaving until he had them. He wondered vaguely if it still mattered if he checked out - didn't someone say they lived here, too? - and winced. (They won't mind, right? They've got plenty.)
He decided it would be better to work fast anyway, and hope no one misconstrued his reasonable interest for snooping (as was usually the case, he noted with a grimace). Edgeworth's was the easiest to find - he snagged several copies of the Times from various dates before what Phoenix assumed was the initial attack, as well as a couple others, both big and small-time names. (Might as well cover all the bases. Sort of, anyway.)
It took him an eternity to get to the children's section for Maya. When he finally did find it, it was barely worth the trouble (just as massive, just as confusing, and he'd gotten lost to boot). He considered just stumbling back the way he came before he forgot the turns he'd taken - after all, Maya had already gone on her own little adventure behind his back; what more did she need from him?
Within twenty minutes he had a copy of a Teen Titans comic under his arm, and a children's book called Captain Carrot (about, naturally, eating your vegetables and staying healthy, though it did have some veggieburgers - getting rescued) tucked between Edgeworth's newspapers. She'd gotten enough on her own, he figured, but... a couple more couldn't hurt, could they?
He spent the next however-long-it-was wandering. If he was honest with himself, he really had no clue where he was or how to get back to the main entrance; his plan to get out was to walk until he found it, and hopefully find something for himself along the way. His original idea had been to find scientific journals and history books - things he could use to verify if this really was a Manhattan similar to the one back in his universe, or if he, like Edgeworth, had just jumped across dimensions.
But now, walking through the empty halls, he was gravitating much more towards the fiction sections than anything else. He told himself that it was because he just didn't know where the nonfiction section was, but still he didn't make any effort to find it. He just needed something to read.
He turned down an aisle and frowned. There was a book that had, apparently, gotten dislodged at some point in time - or, rather, it'd gotten relodged. It was shoved between books on a shelf that was obviously too full already, with the binding splayed and the pages folded in a way that would make a librarian cringe in physical pain. He crouched a little and dragged a finger down the spine - To Kill a Mockingbird - then carefully wedged his fingers between it and the books around it, trying to ease it out.
Whoever had stuck it there had not been in any sort of rush, apparently; it was stuck pretty firmly there in the shelf. (Good thing I'm not a librarian, I guess.) Phoenix grabbed the part of the spine poking out from the shelf and pulled - the book came out, but not without a fight. A few of the books around it toppled, too... and bounced off his knees before landing square on his feet. They weren't really all that heavy, so he left them there, focusing more on turning over the book in his hands.
He'd read it once. Or maybe he'd just heard of it. Either way he didn't really remember what it was about, but it looked interesting enough, and the art on the cover was nice.... It would work.
Phoenix looked down at the books at his feet, meaning to kick them off and get going on actually finding the exit, but speaking of cover art....
He leaned down and picked up the book leaning against his right toe. It was squat, with pages made out of the sort of paper used for photographs or big picture books. It had a wide, white cover, with "THE ULTIMATE BOOK OF OPTICAL ILLUSIONS" printed across it in fat, red letters, and under that a picture that looked like... legs? Some sort of eye-trick, at least.
The thing had obviously been misshelved, but, well, who could blame it? After everything that had happened, it was a wonder the building was still here; who really cared about a single misplaced book?
Phoenix flipped through it a little... then smiled, slow and careful.
And anyway, hadn't Armando asked him for something, too?
Content: Phoenix stops by the library to pick things up for himself... and some other people.
Location: New York Public Library
Time of day: Late Afternoon (The same day as his encounter with Dahlia.)
Warnings: Very subtle mocking of people with toasters on their faces. So no.
If he was lucky, so was Manhattan. Not a single thing had gone his way just in the past few hours - from his phenomenally stupid idea, to the crabs, to Dahlia, and damn it if his lips weren't still tingling (and not in a good way).
Phoenix sprinted (or at least walked very, very fast) half the way to the library, both hands so tight around his crowbar that his knuckles were white and his fingers were starting to ache. He was getting more accustomed to the mazelike nature of Manhattan's streets (and he'd seen Edgeworth's map more than once), so he was able to find his way reasonably well, if for a couple hiccups. His heart was pounding, but whether that was from the run, the crabs, or Dahlia's lips on his, he wasn't entirely sure... and he wasn't really in the mood to try and figure it out. At the moment all he was thinking about was doing something. He felt dirty - his skin was still crawling even that long after the fact - and he needed something to distract himself, even more than he had already.
Just the library itself, though, was more than enough to give him something else to think about - it was huge in every sense of the word. Sure, he didn't go to libraries all the time back home, but it wasn't like he never went. His library back home couldn't even compare to this, though - he had the distinct sensation that his would fit inside this one, just from looking at the outside of it.
(We could always eat books, I guess.)
If the outside was impressive, though, the inside was overwhelming. It kind of defeated the purpose of libraries, he thought, if there were so many books you couldn't choose. Not that it really mattered all that much - he was getting books plural, and he wasn't leaving until he had them. He wondered vaguely if it still mattered if he checked out - didn't someone say they lived here, too? - and winced. (They won't mind, right? They've got plenty.)
He decided it would be better to work fast anyway, and hope no one misconstrued his reasonable interest for snooping (as was usually the case, he noted with a grimace). Edgeworth's was the easiest to find - he snagged several copies of the Times from various dates before what Phoenix assumed was the initial attack, as well as a couple others, both big and small-time names. (Might as well cover all the bases. Sort of, anyway.)
It took him an eternity to get to the children's section for Maya. When he finally did find it, it was barely worth the trouble (just as massive, just as confusing, and he'd gotten lost to boot). He considered just stumbling back the way he came before he forgot the turns he'd taken - after all, Maya had already gone on her own little adventure behind his back; what more did she need from him?
Within twenty minutes he had a copy of a Teen Titans comic under his arm, and a children's book called Captain Carrot (about, naturally, eating your vegetables and staying healthy, though it did have some veggieburgers - getting rescued) tucked between Edgeworth's newspapers. She'd gotten enough on her own, he figured, but... a couple more couldn't hurt, could they?
He spent the next however-long-it-was wandering. If he was honest with himself, he really had no clue where he was or how to get back to the main entrance; his plan to get out was to walk until he found it, and hopefully find something for himself along the way. His original idea had been to find scientific journals and history books - things he could use to verify if this really was a Manhattan similar to the one back in his universe, or if he, like Edgeworth, had just jumped across dimensions.
But now, walking through the empty halls, he was gravitating much more towards the fiction sections than anything else. He told himself that it was because he just didn't know where the nonfiction section was, but still he didn't make any effort to find it. He just needed something to read.
He turned down an aisle and frowned. There was a book that had, apparently, gotten dislodged at some point in time - or, rather, it'd gotten relodged. It was shoved between books on a shelf that was obviously too full already, with the binding splayed and the pages folded in a way that would make a librarian cringe in physical pain. He crouched a little and dragged a finger down the spine - To Kill a Mockingbird - then carefully wedged his fingers between it and the books around it, trying to ease it out.
Whoever had stuck it there had not been in any sort of rush, apparently; it was stuck pretty firmly there in the shelf. (Good thing I'm not a librarian, I guess.) Phoenix grabbed the part of the spine poking out from the shelf and pulled - the book came out, but not without a fight. A few of the books around it toppled, too... and bounced off his knees before landing square on his feet. They weren't really all that heavy, so he left them there, focusing more on turning over the book in his hands.
He'd read it once. Or maybe he'd just heard of it. Either way he didn't really remember what it was about, but it looked interesting enough, and the art on the cover was nice.... It would work.
Phoenix looked down at the books at his feet, meaning to kick them off and get going on actually finding the exit, but speaking of cover art....
He leaned down and picked up the book leaning against his right toe. It was squat, with pages made out of the sort of paper used for photographs or big picture books. It had a wide, white cover, with "THE ULTIMATE BOOK OF OPTICAL ILLUSIONS" printed across it in fat, red letters, and under that a picture that looked like... legs? Some sort of eye-trick, at least.
The thing had obviously been misshelved, but, well, who could blame it? After everything that had happened, it was a wonder the building was still here; who really cared about a single misplaced book?
Phoenix flipped through it a little... then smiled, slow and careful.
And anyway, hadn't Armando asked him for something, too?