Death is not a hunter unbeknownst to its prey; one is always aware that it lies in wait.

[mentis_reae]

Who: The Ghost of Christmas Grouching and YOU.
When: The nights of December 31st and January 1st, 2010 and 2011.
Where: All over the city.
Summary: Edgeworth, having been killed, has been mutated into a creature of the darkness and is now operating along the lines of his old instinct, seeking out evildoers and punishing them for their misdeeds.

Comments

January 1st, early early morning - Sector 4

[atrumcanis]

[There's no way Sirius is going to stay indoors. Maybe later, much later; maybe-- He should, he knows, because it's pointless--because it's done with, it's over. But there's a whole load of impotent rage, now--someone killed the bastard, Grimmjow, someone that wasn't him, and Jack's right; he knows that Jack is right, he's not supposed to kill people, and now he doesn't have to

[mentis_reae]

[The ghost is attracted to guilty minds. It's attracted to malice. And it's attracted, most of all, to the people whom Edgeworth had known, whom Edgeworth had loved, whom Edgeworth had forgiven of peccadilloes and weaknesses. So though it cannot feel happiness, per se, it is nevertheless satisfied when it finds Sirius engaged in his ferocious and pointless violence.

It's smiling, therefore, as it waits for Sirius. Its cracked lips are parted in a smirk familiar to those who'd faced Edgeworth in court, but perhaps unknown to those who'd known him in his everyday life - merry, mocking, and snide, condescending and cruel, the smile of the man he'd pretended to be rather than the man he was.]

[atrumcanis]

[There's a hundred shadows to focus on in the Darkness; there's always something moving, something rotty and ugly, something to kill--so stillness is something to be noted. Stillness catches his eye, and Sirius looks over sharply--and his arm falters, falls a little. There's a moment of rushing silence, a cold disbelief that he's never felt so strongly--and then it's filled suddenly with relief, and he opens his mouth to call out to Edgeworth. Because it is Edgeworth, it has to be, it's him; there's a familiarity there that can't be ignored--

(And if he wasn't so caught up in that emotion, if he wasn't so distracted, he might have realised--as he will realise later--that there's something wrong, like a dog on a tainted scent--)

And everyone was right, they were right, he's come back. There's nothing like that feeling, and a laugh stutters out of him, half-choked, and he starts for Edgeworth in a rush, fully ignoring that smile, dismissing it, forgiving it because it doesn't matter, he doesn't understand it and so it doesn't matter--

[mentis_reae]

[What crimes has Sirius committed over the years? Little ones, small infractions. Destruction of property, robbing his school and his family of resources. Assault, harm done to others. Cruelty and bullying. Ingratitude. He's no pillar of evil quite yet - that much is clear. He's not taken any lives, nor ever truly harmed from true malice. But it is only a matter of time before it happens.

Sirius Black will grow up a blight on the face of this earth.

When the ghost speaks, its voice is almost mild. It's almost flippant, that smirk still in place.]

I should leave you out here so that they can rip you apart.

[atrumcanis]

[Like something out of the corner of his eye, like a gnat on his cheek, a bit of hair in a bite of food, a ringing in his ear--something is wrong. Sirius feels it, slowly. If he were Padfoot right now, his hackles might be raised--as is, he lifts his shoulders slightly, staring at Edgeworth.

Or the person who has to be Edgeworth--but Edgeworth never wore an expression like that, and Edgeworth never--]

What? Edgeworth--

[There's that wrongness again, tugging at him, as persistent as someone pulling at the sleeve of his jacket. Get out of it, Black-- look at him, really look at him--]

What the hell-- [But it has to be Edgeworth--] What the hell are you.

[mentis_reae]

[The laugh in response is low and nasty. It's charged through with contempt, cruelty, and genuine hatred.]

I'm a prosecutor.

[He takes a few steps forward, the smile growing.]

Become, perhaps, a judge.

[atrumcanis]

[He stands his ground, though instinct tells him to falter back a step. He tightens his fingers around his wand, arm tensing--but his face twists in response to that laugh. The note of hatred is painful, and he's quick to push it away as best as he can.]

A judge. This is fucking stupid. I know what you are, all right, now get away from me.

[It's more that he knows what this thing is not. A monster never looked like this, after all; a monster never spoke so clearly. And there's a tug of grief again, even in the face of this--it isn't fair--but he pushes that away, too, sneering instead.]

[mentis_reae]

[A broader smile.]

Then name me.

[atrumcanis]

[He sets his jaw, gritting his teeth. If this were a monster--a normal monster--he would kill it now, he would just be rid of it. And he wants that. But a monster wouldn't have left him questioning this at all. A monster was faceless and ugly and evil, and this-- was Edgeworth--

Sirius turns sharply away and stalks off instead, ignoring the tightness in his chest, his fingers still clamped tightly around his wand.]

[mentis_reae]

[The ghost doesn't even need to gesture. It just glances, and the collar tightens about Sirius' throat, constricting his airway.]

[atrumcanis]

[What the hell-- Panicked, Sirius grabs for his throat, choking. The tightening is sharp enough to blank out his mind for a second, but then he reacts-- if it's the monster, if it's the thing behind him, then if he breaks his concentration--

(Its concentration--)

He gestures with his wand, flicking it back toward the thing behind him, choking out the spell:] Deprimo--

[It's barely more than a croak, but it's enough. A surge of wind kicks up, blasting toward Edgeworth-- the monster-- whatever it is.]

[mentis_reae]

[And the monster does indeed stagger back, struggling to keep its feet, its concentration indeed broken. But it's not enough; the power has eliminated the space between the threads of Sirius' collar, and even if the monster wanted to, it could not loosen that collar. So when it straightens once more, it does nothing, merely watching, its lips quirked in amusement.]

[atrumcanis]

[He growls, low, involuntary, not wanting to waste the breath but unable to help it--frustration, and anger, and pain, too, and fear-- Fuck. Fuck, fucking hell, fucking this, fucking monsters or whatever this is, and death, and all of it-- His free hand scrabbles at his collar, trying to pull at it, loosen it, but it's constricted so tightly, there's nothing to be done.

He throws a stunning spell at the monster, desperate now, but his aim is probably off, and can you stun a monster anyways; do they have enough consciousness to be knocked unconscious? The thoughts can barely shove their way past the panic of being unable to breathe. He stumbles, falling to one knee, as his vision starts to blur.]

Fuck-- [Mostly a gasp, and he would follow it with you, or something, but he can't, and he pulls at his throat with both hands now, though he keeps hold of his wand.]

[mentis_reae]

[The stunning spell hits at an angle, and the ghost stumbles backwards, its eyes going unfocused. It's angered by the attack, and so as soon as it regains its balance it surges forward once again, scowling, bending down to the ground to draw a blade of thin stone from the ground, one that strengthens and lengthens under its grip. As it approaches, it draws its arm back for a strike.]

[atrumcanis]

[Sirius doesn't notice at first, he's too engaged in the struggle with his collar--but it's nearly impossible to focus or concentrate now-- A last-ditch effort, and he turns his wand against himself, blindly, frantically, choking out the spell--]

Diffindo--

[It's a gasp more than anything else, but it works; the fibers of the collar split and the collar tears enough for him to get in a breath of air. He falls forward on his hands, breathing hard--and looks up at the last second, in time to see that blade, in time to throw himself to one side.]

Get away--

[mentis_reae]

[Its movements now are animalistic, aggressive. It doesn't walk or act or bear itself like Edgeworth. It moves jerkily, brutally.

It strikes out again, aiming for Sirius' throat.]