Hmph. While this Rude was the proverbial "man of few words," von Karma found more potential use from him than a number of the other patients he had met put together. He would still ask Franziska about the man... as well as the other people he had learned that she had been spending time around. Many of them were utter fools, especially that
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One particular series of notes caught her eye; the cover story of a video game was as clumsy as the Institute's was not, but the notes had been left to stand. It seemed a flimsy alibi stood without inspection; only what must be obscenities and a few logistical details had been pruned from any of the discussions. Though that didn't take into account any which had been removed in toto. She was just about to close the book on that conversation when her forward progress ran aground on handwriting that matched the hair she'd spotted in the cafeteria. Handwriting that she received almost as often as memos from the prosecutors she supervised; notes substituted for conversation when she came home too late or too silent.
She stood there, reading and re-reading the handful of sentences, looking for some tell-tale mark that would transform it into someone else's handwriting. Looking for an excuse to insist she was alone in this prison.
[closed to Ema Skye]
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And it was with still-wet hair that Ema arrived in the Sun Room a little while into the morning shift. One quick glance-over the room located Lana rather quickly; she was staring at the bulletin board, examining some series of notes very carefully. How very like Lana, to be already investigating the area. Ema had expected no less.
What Ema wanted to do was charge her sister and cling to her for awhile. What Ema actually did was approach slowly, uncertain as to how her sister might react. She didn't say anything until she was close.
"Lana?"
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Lana swiveled on her heel, her back ramrod straight. The gesture lost something when done in slippers and sweatpants, but she was still taller than her sister, and she knew how to use every inch of height.
All sixty-six of them were screaming composure, in a language she knew Ema knew how to read. And that she would see the nervousness underneath; neither Lana's hands nor her voice would shake as she replied, but that in itself was telltale enough.
"Ema. So they got you, too." It wasn't a question. "Are you alright?"
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The question gave Ema pause. Scientifically speaking, the answer was a solid no, but she didn't want Lana to panic about already-healing wounds. On the other hand, however, she didn't want Lana to somehow find out later and be angry that Ema had withheld information... so really there was no good response. Ema could sidestep the question by responding about her mental health, but she had a feeling that wasn't what Lana meant; after everything that had happened to her even before arriving here, the answer to that question was far too obvious for Lana to even ask.
"I was attacked last night." That sentence was too horribly familiar, and Ema did her best not to dwell on its implications. She was only somewhat successful. "By a giant rat thing. My roommate and I fought it off, but..." Ema crouched down and pulled up her right pant leg to show Lana the bandages. "It's really, really well healed today, and the bite wound is totally gone. This place is... it's scary, Lana."
It occurred to Ema that everything she just told her sister would sound nuts if Lana had just woken up that morning. As such, she braced herself for a questioning of her sanity, just in case.
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"I saw the rat. You should thank your roommate if you haven't already; it had been thoroughly incapacitated." Thoroughly killed, she would have said, but this was Ema, and the thought of anyone killing anything on her behalf wasn't a thought to pursue. In last night's darkness, it had taken all of Lana's resolve to shove aside thoughts of that night. She couldn't imagine Ema not freaking out, and the quaver in her voice wasn't helping matters.
There was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and pull Ema into her arms. That worked so well the last time, Former Detective Skye. She couldn't. Not when she didn't know who was pulling the strings behind this unorthodox abduction, or what resources she could muster to keep Ema safe while she found out.
"But you should know better than to go wandering around a strange place, even if you had company, hmm?"
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Somehow, Ema managed to stand up and shrink back at the same time. The scolding was multilayered; there was the face-value 'don't be stupid' message, and the deeper, much more painful 'you remember what happened last time you were alone in the dark'. Lana didn't have to say it, she didn't even have to imply it. The message was there.
Why did everything have to come back to Joe Darke all of a sudden. It was two years ago.
"We... we were trying to get our things and get out of here," Ema answered, her voice quieter than she would have liked. Taking a deep breath for courage, she added, "I wanted to get back to help Mr. Wright with your trial--I... Lana, if you're found guilty I don't know what I'll do." Ema knew perfectly well that she was walking into more harshness from her sister--she had explicitly gone against Lana's wishes by bringing in Phoenix Wright to defend her in the first place, after all--but that didn't stop her from bringing the topic up. It was the only reason she had for putting herself in that kind of danger. Her sister had needed her.
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"Ema, don't be absurd. I'm not on trial." And neither are you. "That would imply I'd done something wrong, when clearly we are the ones who have been wronged." A flick of her wrist indicated that the entire Institute was potentially at fault -- patients, staff, walls, monsters -- all of it except Ema. What had they convinced Ema of, and why only her?
She was tempted to march Ema back to her room and prove that this couldn't be a simple mental facility, even by day. Brandishing a scalpel wasn't the best citation for sanity, but it was a clear indication that last night hadn't been a dream. A dream that had landed Ema with bandages. Oh. They didn't need proof, did they?
When she spoke again, her voice was subdued. "I need to know what happened, Ema." They were words she hadn't said in two years.
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"You're the one who insisted that you're guilty, even though I know you're not. Which is why Mr. Wright and I are defending you." Maybe there would be some sort of recognition, some realization that of course Ema meant something outside of the Institute. More likely, if the knot in her stomach was any indication, Lana would be further confused and frustrated by the answer.
"But... but I got upset and I ran off and... I woke up here, in these clothes, being lead around by nurses who are convinced that my name is Marie Franklin when it's light and being chased by monsters when it's dark and... and..." Ema was trembling by now. She wanted to run, either into her sister's arms or far, far away so she can hide and wait for this to go away.
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If she let the hypothesis play out, what then? If she allowed that Ema could be right, that she was talking about something that hadn't happened yet, everything else socketed back into place like a joint she had forgotten was hurting. Connections Ema didn't -- couldn't -- know anything about, twisted around her hypothetical hands, and there was only one reason she would plead guilty to a murder she hadn't committed.
She couldn't tell her everything was going to be all right. It would have been a lie, even if she were speaking only of this "Institute", but now she couldn't even get the words to start past the lump in her throat. She swallowed, and tried again.
"It's not surprising you couldn't find Mia Fey." Her voice came out without a tremor. "She passed away several months ago. Mister Wright was able to clear her sister of all charges." There were so many things she couldn't say; a nod of approval at Ema's choice to overrule her sister's wishes was all she could offer. That and the fact she stayed; running away was something they both had done enough of for one day.
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The best Ema could do was respond to what Lana actually said, and hope that it would somehow follow through. "Mia Fey's dead? Why didn't you say anything?" More importantly, why hadn't Mr. Wright said as much? 'I'm sorry, but Ms. Mia Fey no longer works here' hadn't exactly gotten the point across. "If it weren't for Mr. Wright being in her office, I wouldn't have found anyone to defend you at all! And then you would have been found guilty by default--it's like you don't want me to help you!" The outburst was out before Ema could remind herself, once again, that Lana had no idea what the case was even about.
Ema forced herself to reign it in. Screaming out her deep-seeded anger wasn't going to help either of them now. "I-I'm sorry... it's really weird that you don't remember." Out of habit (and a need for the familiar), Ema pulled out her notebook and scribbled: Lana's here but doesn't remember being on trial for murder..... Hm. A date of reference for Lana would probably be good information to have, considering the circumstances; Lana couldn't remember ahead, but Ema could certainly remember back.
"What day is it for you?" The question seemed insane even as she asked it. "It's February 24th, 2017 for me--the second day of your trial."
[And reposted because I caught a few mistakes after hitting the "Post Comment" button. Sorry about this! ^^() ]
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Besides, I didn't say anything because she was dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. Aside from putting Miles Edgeworth on the case, and look how that had turned out. Mia had done her one better there; Mr. Wright's methods had been unorthodox, but Lana couldn't argue their effect.
"It's either the thirteenth or the fourteenth of December, 2016, since I'm not sure how long I was unconscious. The last thing I remember was going to bed on the night of the twelfth, before waking up last night."
That was over two months difference -- and a couple days after the annual evidence transferral. That clinched it; she didn't know what had happened, but for once why and who were painfully clear. At least for her own part in the fiasco.
"And I'm sorry. I can't give you any more information on a murder I haven't yet committed." She flipped her own notebook to a blank page, pen ready to take down the facts of the case, if Ema insisted on walking through the entire sordid mess.
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Not that that seemed to change much; Lana still seemed content to plow on full-speed ahead with her icy collectiveness. Ema might as well have been one of the office assistants in her employment for the amount of sisterly warmth Lana was willing to give her. Honestly, if Lana had to arrive at this place from a point earlier than Ema had, why not two years earlier when things weren't so terse between the them?
And then Lana really went and ruined it. I can't give you any more information on a murder I haven't yet committed... "You didn't commit it, aren't you even listening?! Mr. Wright and I have been working so hard to help you, and you don't even care! You're so preoccupied with going to jail forever or worse that you haven't even given anyone else a moment's thought, have you?!" Tears stung behind her eyes, but Ema paid them little heed. "All you've managed to do is maybe strike a plea deal and then dump Joe Darke in everyone's lap! You know everything and you won't even tell me..." Ema's voice lowered as she drew into herself, pulling the journal to her chest. "And here you can't tell me, can you?
"Well, fine. I'm going to find a way out of here, and find a way to save you, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!" With that, Ema turned on her heel and made a move to storm off. The reunion was over, and Ema wanted to take her leave before Lana turned her back and dismissed her.
That part was always the worst.
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Can't you see I'm doing this for you? But to admit that would be tantamount to a confession, and just as unacceptable. It was better she didn't know.
Lana closed her eyes. By the time she opened them, Ema had vanished. Good.
She turned back to the bulletin board, and resumed her methodical survey. The one person who would have noticed that every time she tilted her head to see a new note, every tendon stood out, had already gone.
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