(Untitled)

[dancing_pierrot]

Who: Franziska von Karma and Miles Edgeworth
When: Sunday 24th of October, in the early afternoon!
Where: Edgeworth's apartment.
Summary: Franziska's decided that little brother needs some cheering up, partially because he still seems somewhat down about everything, but also partially in an attempt to make up for her own behaviour.
Warnings: She'

Comments

[mentis_reae]

He'd gone into work in the morning, but had stayed only for about five hours - no more. In the wake of his oath to Franziska that he would avoid overworking himself, he had put in a conscious effort to cut back on his hours - with limited success, admittedly, but with some degree of success nevertheless. It was difficult, after all, tearing himself away from his job; he found himself seized by anxiety for such a time as he wasn't there, found himself restless, but...Well. He had promised.

So he'd been home for perhaps half an hour before he heard the knock on the door. He'd not spent that time altogether idle, cleaning up, wiping down the counters and floors. Hopefully, he reflected as he opened the door for Franziska and stepped aside, that would not count as overwork.

[dancing_pierrot]

"Good afternoon!" she greeted, rather more pleasantly, and not to mention with significantly less lashes of her whip, than usual. (Although, she concluded, with her hands as full as they were, maneuvering the whip would be a difficult endeavour indeed.) However, she was doing her utmost to present herself in a rather pleasant mood, despite how frustrated she had been most of the week, stewing over the events of that utterly foolish party -- but best not to dwell over that too much now; talking about that with Miles was hardly going to make him any happier. She didn't want to do anything that was bound to worry him, and he seemed altogether predisposed towards being overly-concerned about her well-being.

She bent down, picked up the bottle she had set at her feet before walking in. "Now," she said, offering the bottle up to Miles, "I know you said it wasn't your preference, but I happened to have a bottle of wine anyway. If you don't want any, I'm not going to force it upon you." That, of course, was simply because she had conceded

[mentis_reae]

Edgeworth was not prepared for this. He'd anticipated a certain level of irritability from Franziska, merely because she'd been so impatient with him at that party at Club 24. Nevertheless, she seemed positively cheerful now. It should not have surprised him in the least, for it was a fallacy of the first order to assume that she'd be the same person this time as she'd been the last time he saw her; this was, however, a lesson he'd not been able to learn over all the years he'd known her, not even in the past two years when she'd begun to blossom and grow intellectually like she never had before. Perhaps he'd learn it in time.

"Ah..." He shouldn't have tried to speak before he had fully adjusted to her energy and enthusiasm, because he just ended up searching for the proper thing to say, ahing all the while. Poor rhetorical technique, Miles. "Afternoon," he said, somewhat weakly, blinking at her, but he was fairly certain that had been the right thing to do; a proper greeting was at the top of the triage list of topics

[dancing_pierrot]

He didn't have wineglasses? Franziska most definitely rose an eyebrow at that realisation - what sort of man ran a household with out any proper vessels for the consumption of wine? The answer to that was obvious, of course: that man was Miles Edgeworth. Thus, it was not a question worth asking aloud. "Of course I have wineglasses," she snapped in response, before remembering she was doing her best to be polite, then continued after a pause in which she tried to school her features into a pleasant expression once more. "But not with me, and I'm hardly going to return home to retrieve them." If she hadn't been in such a self-conscious mood after the events of the party, then she may have made some remark as to how he was trying to get rid of her already. However, with a vaguely unsettling sense of realisation, she felt that this was a completely ridiculous conclusion to be jumping to

[mentis_reae]

Good God. What had gotten into her? He hadn't seen her this happy in quite some time, laughing spontaneously, speaking almost garrulously. Was it even genuine? After all, there'd been that brief moment of irritation over the wineglasses, quickly banished - yet why would she ever, under any circumstances, fake good humor? Franziska was the most honest person he knew, with all that was good that entailed, as well as much that was ill. Surely she would not fake a good mood