Phoenix Wright, "Not So Anonymous," Apollo/Klavier, Phoenix/Miles, PG
Another kink meme< submission, this one in response to a misplaced comment. People will do that sometimes, post a response to a fic in the wrong place so that it looks like a request for a fic, and I've always wanted to fill one out. I don't think I did it very well, though, sadly. It went and ... sucked, I dunno.
I still don't have a DS and still haven't played more than just the preview of Apollo Justice, so if the story isn't canon or the characterization is off, you're welcome to get a spoon and eat my ass over it, really. It's fanfiction, yeah? My vacation from the Thesis Of Unfinished Hatred.
Anyway, here's the fic. Enjoy?
Not So Anonymous
by mistr3ss Quickly
Something is amiss, when Miles arrives at his lover's flat, Friday evening, bringing Phoenix's foster daughter home from a magic show while the other man spends the evening at work. Nothing obviously amiss, but something. Something just slightly out of place, out of the ordinary.
He puts a hand on Trucy's shoulder. Tells her to wait, to be quiet.
"I don't know," he says, when she asks him if something's wrong. "Wait here while I go make sure. You know what to do if something bad happens."
He hands her his cellphone. She takes it, ready to dial 911 at the first sign of danger.
Beyond the kitchen, everything appears to be in order. The remote sitting crooked atop the television, where Trucy left it after the newest episode of Steel Samurai ended, the night before. An empty bottle of grape juice sitting on the coffee table beside the wine glass he'd drunk from. Phoenix's socks rumpled up at the foot of the sofa.
The hallway, however, is an entirely different story. Here, even to Miles, a guest, it's obvious that something has happened.
One framed photo-of himself and Phoenix and Trucy sitting at a sundae shop, celebrating Trucy's eleventh birthday-in the hallway hangs slightly crooked, its lower left corner angled just a bit closer to the photo beside it-of him arguing with Apollo over something, which Phoenix took because he "thought it was funny"-than it should have been. Miles frowns at it and moves down the hall as quietly as he can.
There are more signs of disturbance, further down the hall. The laundry Trucy had promised to wash is kicked aside, one of Phoenix's undershirts stretched away from the other items, shaped as if it had hooked on someone's toe and been pulled. A smudge on the wall, dark like the sole of a shoe, but up almost as high as Miles' elbow.
Three steps further, Miles frowns. Apollo's door is open, just an inch or so. Someone has been inside, recently, and not Apollo himself. He always keeps his door closed, fusses mightily at Trucy when she goes into his room and leaves his door ajar.
Miles draws a deep breath and pushes on the door with the tips of his fingers, steeling himself for the worst as it swings open.
The sight that greets him is not, thankfully, what he had imagined or feared, but it's not nothing, either. It's Klavier Gavin, dressed still in his nice suit, a bit rumpled perhaps and bound, but otherwise apparently unharmed. A thick cloth gags him, but his eyes are uncovered, bright blue glaring at Miles as he steps into the room.
There's a note, tied to the ropes binding Klavier's arms. Miles bends close enough to read it, his brow furrowed.
An anonymous present for an anonymous defense attorney who seems to like anonymous sex. Use however you see fit. It'll cost less than calling 1-900 hotlines from the office phone, I promise, without compromising your anonymity any more than you already have.
Then, on the other side of the card:
Miles: If you're the one reading this, you should probably call Apollo and tell him to come home. Gavin's been like this since 4:30, he'd probably like to be untied.
Miles sighs. "Leave it to Wright to think something like this is funny," he says, leaning over the young prosecutor to argue with the knot tied in the gag. He unties it and pulls it away, frowning as Klavier coughs once and licks his lips. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," says Klavier. "I wonder if you'd do me a favor?"
Miles nods. "Of course," he says, reaching for the knots holding Klavier's arms bound.
"Ah, not that," says Klavier, wriggling away as best he can, bound. "Just ... leave the gag off, please, and call Herr Forehead. I've a few things to say to him about his anonymous habits, and it will be far easier to make myself clear if I'm not shouting at him through a strip of an old hand-towel."
"You want to remain tied while lecturing him?" Miles says.
Klavier smiles. "Oh yes," he said. "Guilt works wonders on men like Polly, didn't you know?"
Miles shakes his head. "No," he said. "I did not."
He stuffs the gag into the pocket of his suit and leaves the bound prosecutor just as he found him, leaves the door just barely ajar and the laundry strewn down the hallway. Returning to the kitchen, he quiets Trucy's questions by taking his phone from her and calling her brother, their conversation brief and vague enough that Miles has no doubt that Justice will finish up and head home without delay.
"I think perhaps we should go," he says, after he's finished his call, speaking loudly enough that he's fairly certain his words can be understood, even at the other end of the flat. "Come, Trucy."
"Where're we going?" says Trucy, all big eyes and child-like apprehension.
Miles gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile, patting her gently on the head. "I have something urgent to discuss with your father," he tells her. Then, raising his voice a bit: "Besides, your brother will be home soon, and it would be best to give him time alone to clean up the mess he's made in his room."
Trucy scrunches up her face, clearly confused, but her questions are silenced by a loud bark of laughter echoing through the small flat.
Frightened, she latches onto Miles' arm and doesn't ask another question, dragging her Papa's friend out of the flat and down the stairs, loosening her grip only once they've reached the street, far away from the insanely loud anonymous laughter and Miles' strange behavior.
Here's the kink meme post, for the lulz: lol
I still don't have a DS and still haven't played more than just the preview of Apollo Justice, so if the story isn't canon or the characterization is off, you're welcome to get a spoon and eat my ass over it, really. It's fanfiction, yeah? My vacation from the Thesis Of Unfinished Hatred.
Anyway, here's the fic. Enjoy?
Not So Anonymous
by mistr3ss Quickly
Something is amiss, when Miles arrives at his lover's flat, Friday evening, bringing Phoenix's foster daughter home from a magic show while the other man spends the evening at work. Nothing obviously amiss, but something. Something just slightly out of place, out of the ordinary.
He puts a hand on Trucy's shoulder. Tells her to wait, to be quiet.
"I don't know," he says, when she asks him if something's wrong. "Wait here while I go make sure. You know what to do if something bad happens."
He hands her his cellphone. She takes it, ready to dial 911 at the first sign of danger.
Beyond the kitchen, everything appears to be in order. The remote sitting crooked atop the television, where Trucy left it after the newest episode of Steel Samurai ended, the night before. An empty bottle of grape juice sitting on the coffee table beside the wine glass he'd drunk from. Phoenix's socks rumpled up at the foot of the sofa.
The hallway, however, is an entirely different story. Here, even to Miles, a guest, it's obvious that something has happened.
One framed photo-of himself and Phoenix and Trucy sitting at a sundae shop, celebrating Trucy's eleventh birthday-in the hallway hangs slightly crooked, its lower left corner angled just a bit closer to the photo beside it-of him arguing with Apollo over something, which Phoenix took because he "thought it was funny"-than it should have been. Miles frowns at it and moves down the hall as quietly as he can.
There are more signs of disturbance, further down the hall. The laundry Trucy had promised to wash is kicked aside, one of Phoenix's undershirts stretched away from the other items, shaped as if it had hooked on someone's toe and been pulled. A smudge on the wall, dark like the sole of a shoe, but up almost as high as Miles' elbow.
Three steps further, Miles frowns. Apollo's door is open, just an inch or so. Someone has been inside, recently, and not Apollo himself. He always keeps his door closed, fusses mightily at Trucy when she goes into his room and leaves his door ajar.
Miles draws a deep breath and pushes on the door with the tips of his fingers, steeling himself for the worst as it swings open.
The sight that greets him is not, thankfully, what he had imagined or feared, but it's not nothing, either. It's Klavier Gavin, dressed still in his nice suit, a bit rumpled perhaps and bound, but otherwise apparently unharmed. A thick cloth gags him, but his eyes are uncovered, bright blue glaring at Miles as he steps into the room.
There's a note, tied to the ropes binding Klavier's arms. Miles bends close enough to read it, his brow furrowed.
An anonymous present for an anonymous defense attorney who seems to like anonymous sex. Use however you see fit. It'll cost less than calling 1-900 hotlines from the office phone, I promise, without compromising your anonymity any more than you already have.
Then, on the other side of the card:
Miles: If you're the one reading this, you should probably call Apollo and tell him to come home. Gavin's been like this since 4:30, he'd probably like to be untied.
Miles sighs. "Leave it to Wright to think something like this is funny," he says, leaning over the young prosecutor to argue with the knot tied in the gag. He unties it and pulls it away, frowning as Klavier coughs once and licks his lips. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," says Klavier. "I wonder if you'd do me a favor?"
Miles nods. "Of course," he says, reaching for the knots holding Klavier's arms bound.
"Ah, not that," says Klavier, wriggling away as best he can, bound. "Just ... leave the gag off, please, and call Herr Forehead. I've a few things to say to him about his anonymous habits, and it will be far easier to make myself clear if I'm not shouting at him through a strip of an old hand-towel."
"You want to remain tied while lecturing him?" Miles says.
Klavier smiles. "Oh yes," he said. "Guilt works wonders on men like Polly, didn't you know?"
Miles shakes his head. "No," he said. "I did not."
He stuffs the gag into the pocket of his suit and leaves the bound prosecutor just as he found him, leaves the door just barely ajar and the laundry strewn down the hallway. Returning to the kitchen, he quiets Trucy's questions by taking his phone from her and calling her brother, their conversation brief and vague enough that Miles has no doubt that Justice will finish up and head home without delay.
"I think perhaps we should go," he says, after he's finished his call, speaking loudly enough that he's fairly certain his words can be understood, even at the other end of the flat. "Come, Trucy."
"Where're we going?" says Trucy, all big eyes and child-like apprehension.
Miles gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile, patting her gently on the head. "I have something urgent to discuss with your father," he tells her. Then, raising his voice a bit: "Besides, your brother will be home soon, and it would be best to give him time alone to clean up the mess he's made in his room."
Trucy scrunches up her face, clearly confused, but her questions are silenced by a loud bark of laughter echoing through the small flat.
Frightened, she latches onto Miles' arm and doesn't ask another question, dragging her Papa's friend out of the flat and down the stairs, loosening her grip only once they've reached the street, far away from the insanely loud anonymous laughter and Miles' strange behavior.
Here's the kink meme post, for the lulz: lol