(no subject)
“What would you do if I sang out of tune?
Would you stand up and walk out on me?”
- The Beatles, “With a Little Help from My Friends
…And so it was that, after the fateful trial of Vera Misham, Klavier Gavin dissolved The Gavinners, the platinum-selling group that he helped to form. His reported reason for doing so was “It’s rare that there’s a trial that rocks as hard as one of our concerts. That’s why it’s over!”
While the public accepted this explanation (albeit with some grumbling and despondency), there were a few that had misgivings about the situation and, in particular, Gavin’s behavior. “The man loved his music,” said Phoenix Wright, pianist and acquaintance of Gavin. “Something was definitely off.” What exactly was off, however…
Rock & Roll Hall of Fame
“Klavier Gavin: Guilty Love” Exhibit
Excerpt from an informative plaque labeled “A Conflict of Interests: After the Misham Trial”
October 12 5:05 PM
Sunshine Stadium
Prosecutor Gavin’s Office
“I look forward to our next jam session together.” Klavier punctuated his statement with a flick of the wrist. A Gavinners poster fluttered off the wall, slumping rather ungracefully into a hand calloused from years on the fret board.
Apollo blinked, trying to wrap his mind around what Klavier just told him. “Wait, I…what?”
“If that’s not simple enough for you, Herr Forehead, in English I believe the saying is ‘I look forward to seeing you in -’”
“No! No, not that. The, um, other statement. The one before that.”
“The one about the grocery stores running out of -”
“No, before that! The one about you and the Gavinners -”
“We’ve broken up.” Immediately Klavier’s voice flattened, his smile vanishing like smoke. “Gone. Kaput. Done. Finished.”
“But…but why?”
“I already told you, Herr Forehead,” Klavier said patiently, crumpling another poster and pitching it into the trash can, watching the paper ball arch elegantly in the air. “In comparison to that trial, our concerts are the equivalent of a book club. There’s no way the Gavinner’s can compare to you on the attorney’s bench.”
Apollo’s eyes narrowed and he bit his lip, but decided to let it slide for now. This situation was like a cross-examination - push the witness too hard and you could end up screwing yourself over. There was another line of query he could take, though….
“But…why are you throwing away your CDs and memorabilia? Don’t you want to keep those, at least?”
Klavier hesitated for a second, hands clasped on either side of a pile of discs. “I don’t need all this junk,” he said lightly, flashing a brilliant smile in Apollo’s direction. “Most of it I don’t even really need.”
Th-thump.
Apollo felt his bracelet pulse for a split second before the world fell into clarity so sharp it hurt and the world slowed to a crawl.
Apollo did not have to look hard to find what he’d been looking for.
“Klavier, you’re lying.”
“That is a patently absurd accusation,” Klavier retorted cheerfully.
“Your fingers twitched on the CDs before you dropped them - like you didn’t want to drop them in the trash,” Apollo continued, looking up and into Klavier’s eyes. “They clenched. Just a little, but…you don’t really want to throw them away, do you, Klavier?”
“What evidence do you have to support that claim?”
Crap. Good point.
Apollo’s eyes scanned the room, landing at last on a frame on Klavier’s desk, where he paused for a moment, just looking. On the desk was a picture of The Gavinners. All of them, including Daryan and…
And Klavier, grinning like a madman, an arm slung casually over a laughing Kristoph’s shoulder.
“There.” He snatched the picture off the desk and extended it to the other man. “It’s because of the memories you have, right? Memories that you don’t want to let go of.”
“…..”
“Furthermore, this is the only piece of Gavinners memorabilia that you haven’t thrown out yet…or packaged up. It has to mean something to you.”
Apollo swallowed as those blue eyes narrowed, but he did not flinch or look away.
And then Klavier reached out and snatched the frame out of Apollo’s grasp.
“Thank you for reminding me, Herr Justice.”
Klavier walked over to the far wall, pressed the button on the intercom and smiled. “Oh, Hannah?”
“Yes, Mr. Gavin?”
“Would you be so kind as to inform security to help -”
“No need,” Apollo grumbled quickly, brow furrowing. “I can show myself out, Prosecutor Gavin.”
“Never mind, Hannah, thank you.” His smile slipped away the instant he let go of the intercom button, icy demeanor snapping back into place. “See to it that you do, Herr Justice.”
The chill in Klavier’s voice was so uncharacteristic that he remained rooted where he was for a few minutes more, mouth slightly open in surprise.
“Herr Forehead.”
“Ah. Um, right.” His legs finally decided to obey him and move, sweeping him past Klavier. “I’ll…see you later, then.”
“…..”
Apollo made sure to close the door behind him, wincing at the sound of ripping paper.
October 12, 9:30 PM
Borscht Bowl Club
Dining Area
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
“You know, the borscht here is actually kind of subpar. If you want something a little better-tasting, I can yell at the cook to -”
Sluuuuuuuuuurp.
Apollo watched as Mr. Wright rubbed his temples, sighed, and washed down his irritation with a swig of grape juice. “Okay, Apollo, what’s wrong?”
“Why would you think something’s wrong what are you talking about.”
Phoenix rolled his eyes, leaning forward so his chin rested on the back of the chair. “You don’t need to be a Gramarye to see that something’s bothering you, Apollo.”
Apollo’s innards suddenly felt as though someone had pricked him with a pin and he deflated, shoulders slumping.
“That’s what I thought. Now, out with it.”
“I…I went to visit Prosecutor Gavin’s office today, Mr. Wright. I thought he’d want to…you know, talk.”
“That was noble of you.”
“I…walked in on him cleaning out his office.”
Phoenix crooked an eyebrow at him. “Apollo, this may come as a shock to you, but people often clean their offices out. ….Well, okay, so Trucy and I just throw some cushions on the couches, shove everything else into a closet and hope no one notices -”
“No. Not like that. I…Mr. Wright, he was throwing out all of his Gavinners memorabilia! Posters, CDs…he tore up a picture of himself, his band mates and his brother!”
Phoenix raised both of his eyebrows at that revelation and had the dignity to at least look surprised. “That’s…not like him.”
“It gets worse. He told me that they all broke up!...well, what was left of them, anyway - um, Mr. Wright?”
But Phoenix no longer looked at Apollo; his gaze wandered off to the side, expression grim. “It’s just the same,” he murmured to himself. “JP-1* hurt him. But…I didn’t think…he hid it so well….”
“Mr. Wright?”
“Vera Misham’s trial,” Mr. Wright clarified, looking up. “It’s…it hurt him, Apollo. He may not show it easily, but that trial left its mark on him. That…and Machi’s trial. Both showed the ugly sides of people he trusted. Both proved them guilty.” Phoenix took another sip from his bottle. “I would hardly be surprised if both warped his ability to trust people. Or himself.”
Apollo nodded, face calm despite the unease knotting in his stomach. “Then…what can we do?”
“First of all…‘we?’ We’re only getting to know each other now. This is your job. Second…I don’t know if you can do anything. Just…be there for him.” Mr. Wright’s head drooped, and he couldn’t see the blue eyes hiding under the rim of the other’s beanie. “…this sounds familiar, and if it starts going down the path I think it’s going, he’ll need all the support and friendship he can get.”
…Well. That was certainly…Phoenix-esque advice. Vague, succinct and to a point as yet unseen by Apollo.
But before he could inquire further, the door to the kitchen opened and someone yelled out very angry-sounding, garbled English at the pianist.
“Yeah, yeah, I know what you pay me for,” the other man yelled over his shoulder, and turned his lazy smile back on Apollo. “Looks like I’ve been found out, so it’s back to the piano for me. Good luck, Apollo.”
And before the defense attorney could sputter out an indignant protest, Phoenix pushed himself up off the table and out of his chair, took his place at the piano bench, and once again began plinking out notes to a song that sounded vaguely familiar.
Apollo sat for a moment more, trying to place the notes Phoenix was pecking out with his fingers, then gave up and tossed a twenty on the table as payment and tip for his barely-touched borscht. Mr. Wright was correct in that respect - the borscht here was mediocre at best and didn’t settle the uneasy pit in the bottom of his stomach.
Then he shouldered his coat and walked into the autumnal air, brisk winds ruffling his hair.
Apollo decided in that moment, as he walked down the pavement to the place he called home, that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if Klavier wanted to shove him away; he’d just grab the arm that pushed him and pull the prosecutor down with him, wring the truth out of the guitarist’s reluctant mouth.
Perhaps Phoenix was right. Perhaps all he could do was be there for Klavier.
But damn him to hell if he didn’t try to understand anyway.
Author’s Endnotes: And this is the part where I go back to outlining how subsequent chapters will look. Thanks for reading!
It goes without saying that comments = yes and concrit = YES YES FUCK YES. This is my first time writing for this pairing.
I chose "JP-1" as the name for the Vera Misham project. The answer should be kind of obvious as to why, but cookies if you get it anyway! :D