HAPPY BIRTHDAY MILES EDGEWORTH
Okay, I probably fail at writing kids but SHE'S A VON KARMA AND U LOVE IT GO
Edgeworth didn't answer the knock on his office door, but this was not unusual in and of itself. Phoenix peeked in with a tentative, "Are you there?"
He was indeed there, but he didn't deign to acknowledge the defense attorney's presence or, indeed, his existence. Instead, he stared intently at a large, handmade card on his desk. It stood nearly two feet tall and looked as though it had been designed by a small child, covered with splotches of confetti and glitter. Chunks of glued ramen spelled out the words, "Happy Birthday, pal!"
(Poor Gumshoe. He must not have been able to afford macaroni), thought Phoenix grimly. "You didn't tell me it was your birthday," he said.
"It isn't," replied Edgeworth, pushing the card into his desk with nonchalance.
Phoenix opened his mouth to object, but a shrill cry of "MILES EDGEWORTH!" cut into his thoughts just as a whip cut into his back.
Though, whatever complaint he had with Franziska von Karma's entrance, at least she stepped over his body.
"Hello, Franziska," said Edgeworth.
Franziska's arms were brimming with flowers, boxes, bottles, cards, candies, fine cheeses, articles of clothing, and enough jewelry to choke Redd White. She spread it all on Edgeworth's desk with a fluorish. "There," she said. "What do you think of that?"
"It's nice," Edgeworth replied, not really looking.
Phoenix gaped. If this is what passed as 'nice' between rich people, he was seriously going to have to try winning the lottery or using Maya's magatama to cheat at poker.
"It's very nice," Franziska corrected with the patented von Karma finger-waggle. "I may be having the most perfect birthday ever. Did anyone give you anything?"
Edgeworth tapped his fingers on the desk. One could tell that from his perspective, the conversation had already ended, and at this point he was merely waiting for her exit. "Nothing."
Franziska's eyes narrowed. "I don't think you're even trying, Miles Edgeworth."
Edgeworth shrugged, and Phoenix considered whether sneaking out of the room would be worth the additional pain that moving would cause his back.
Suddenly, Franziska reached into the pile of gifts. She dug out a bottle of wine with a ribbon around the neck and shoved it into Edgeworth's arms. "I don't like this vintage. You can have it if you're going to be so pitiful about this! And as punishment for your loss, you can pay the costs to ship all of this back to Germany!"
With that she was off again, stepping past a scurrying Phoenix and cracking her whip for good measure.
"Wait a minute," said Phoenix. "How did she manage to whip me before, when her arms were full?"
"It's one of her many talents," replied Edgeworth, who was already clearing off a spot off his desk large enough to do paperwork off of.
"And... what just happened? Is it your birthday or hers?"
"Hers." Edgeworth turned the wine bottle over in his hands. "It's a long story..."
"It may be having the most perfect birthday ever," said a five-year-old Franziska von Karma. She did not direct this commentary to the children her own age, because the children her age were foolish, and in any event, most of them were already in tears. "Isn't it perfect, Miles Edgeworth?"
"If you say so," replied Miles Edgeworth, who had known better to think that sitting in a corner with a book would make him invisible, and yet had dared to hope.
Franziska squinted at him like an angry, rabid squirrel. "Why aren't you doing anything? Aren't you having fun?"
Miles did not point out that there were a number of things he would rather be doing, none of which involved small children. He did not point out that he was too old for a bouncy castle, even if it was ten stories tall, or his suspicions as to the legality of the genetically engineered dinosaurs. He said, "I'm fine."
"You're lying," she said. "You're jealous. You're jealous because your birthday party wasn't as perfect as this one."
"I didn't have a birthday party," he replied, a tiny drop of emo leaking from the Ziplock bag of his soul.
Franziska pondered this statement, and it occurred to her that she couldn't remember any birthday parties for her little brother, not even one. "Why not? Do you not have a birthday because you're adopted?"
He sighed. "Everyone has a birthday, Franziska."
"But you don't have parties. Why don't you ask Papa to throw you a party?"
Miles did not point out Franziska was the only one who got away with asking Manfred von Karma for anything, let alone anything so childish as a birthday party. He didn't point out that there was no one in Germany for him to invite, or that it wouldn't be the same without his father around. He said, "I'm not interested in parties."
There was a long moment as Franziska considered this, head cocked to one side. Then she hit him. "Stupid fool! You're going to have a birthday whether you like it or not!" She grabbed him by the arm and yanked. Franziska wasn't really old enough to understand that she wasn't actually strong enough to pull around people much larger than herself, and it didn't help that nearly everyone humored her.
But Miles Edgeworth did not budge. "Franziska..."
"This is enough party for ten birthdays!"
"It's enough for a hundred."
"It's enough for two!" she insisted, adding prudently, "As long as my half is bigger."
For the first time since she'd started speaking to him, Miles Edgeworth marked his place in the book and actually looked at her. There was that stubborn, determined expression that she had on her face... well, nearly all of the time. "Franziska..."
She hit him again. Franziska hit deceptively hard for a five-year-old, but Miles was deceptively tough for someone who had already taken to wearing magenta. He sighed, mentally resigning himself to a fate of entertaining a creature less than half his age for the rest of the evening. "All right, Franziska. If you insist."
Franziska, delighted to see that her superhuman dragging-people strength had returned, gleefully began pulling him to and fro. "We'll play a game!" she said. "I'll win the game. And you can have the gifts that I don't want, and you can play with my friends, too! Just pick the ones that are sickly and straggly, okay?"
"This isn't actually a regift," said Miles Edgeworth as his flashback came to its conclusion. "I could charge her with buying alcohol in this country."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Phoenix. "Are you really telling me..."
"Yes, Wright, we celebrate our birthdays on the same day."
"Are you really telling me that von Karma had genetically engineered dinosaurs at her fifth birthday party?"
There was a long, awkward silence, in which Edgeworth put on his coat and started for the door.
"Hey!" protested Phoenix. "She... she doesn't still have them... does she?"
"I'll tell you about it later, Wright. I'm going to take Franziska out for dinner."
Phoenix tried to identify the look on his face. Was it sentimental? Wistful? Constipated?
"Yes," continued Miles Edgeworth. "Best to go before she has my tires slashed again."
Edgeworth didn't answer the knock on his office door, but this was not unusual in and of itself. Phoenix peeked in with a tentative, "Are you there?"
He was indeed there, but he didn't deign to acknowledge the defense attorney's presence or, indeed, his existence. Instead, he stared intently at a large, handmade card on his desk. It stood nearly two feet tall and looked as though it had been designed by a small child, covered with splotches of confetti and glitter. Chunks of glued ramen spelled out the words, "Happy Birthday, pal!"
(Poor Gumshoe. He must not have been able to afford macaroni), thought Phoenix grimly. "You didn't tell me it was your birthday," he said.
"It isn't," replied Edgeworth, pushing the card into his desk with nonchalance.
Phoenix opened his mouth to object, but a shrill cry of "MILES EDGEWORTH!" cut into his thoughts just as a whip cut into his back.
Though, whatever complaint he had with Franziska von Karma's entrance, at least she stepped over his body.
"Hello, Franziska," said Edgeworth.
Franziska's arms were brimming with flowers, boxes, bottles, cards, candies, fine cheeses, articles of clothing, and enough jewelry to choke Redd White. She spread it all on Edgeworth's desk with a fluorish. "There," she said. "What do you think of that?"
"It's nice," Edgeworth replied, not really looking.
Phoenix gaped. If this is what passed as 'nice' between rich people, he was seriously going to have to try winning the lottery or using Maya's magatama to cheat at poker.
"It's very nice," Franziska corrected with the patented von Karma finger-waggle. "I may be having the most perfect birthday ever. Did anyone give you anything?"
Edgeworth tapped his fingers on the desk. One could tell that from his perspective, the conversation had already ended, and at this point he was merely waiting for her exit. "Nothing."
Franziska's eyes narrowed. "I don't think you're even trying, Miles Edgeworth."
Edgeworth shrugged, and Phoenix considered whether sneaking out of the room would be worth the additional pain that moving would cause his back.
Suddenly, Franziska reached into the pile of gifts. She dug out a bottle of wine with a ribbon around the neck and shoved it into Edgeworth's arms. "I don't like this vintage. You can have it if you're going to be so pitiful about this! And as punishment for your loss, you can pay the costs to ship all of this back to Germany!"
With that she was off again, stepping past a scurrying Phoenix and cracking her whip for good measure.
"Wait a minute," said Phoenix. "How did she manage to whip me before, when her arms were full?"
"It's one of her many talents," replied Edgeworth, who was already clearing off a spot off his desk large enough to do paperwork off of.
"And... what just happened? Is it your birthday or hers?"
"Hers." Edgeworth turned the wine bottle over in his hands. "It's a long story..."
"It may be having the most perfect birthday ever," said a five-year-old Franziska von Karma. She did not direct this commentary to the children her own age, because the children her age were foolish, and in any event, most of them were already in tears. "Isn't it perfect, Miles Edgeworth?"
"If you say so," replied Miles Edgeworth, who had known better to think that sitting in a corner with a book would make him invisible, and yet had dared to hope.
Franziska squinted at him like an angry, rabid squirrel. "Why aren't you doing anything? Aren't you having fun?"
Miles did not point out that there were a number of things he would rather be doing, none of which involved small children. He did not point out that he was too old for a bouncy castle, even if it was ten stories tall, or his suspicions as to the legality of the genetically engineered dinosaurs. He said, "I'm fine."
"You're lying," she said. "You're jealous. You're jealous because your birthday party wasn't as perfect as this one."
"I didn't have a birthday party," he replied, a tiny drop of emo leaking from the Ziplock bag of his soul.
Franziska pondered this statement, and it occurred to her that she couldn't remember any birthday parties for her little brother, not even one. "Why not? Do you not have a birthday because you're adopted?"
He sighed. "Everyone has a birthday, Franziska."
"But you don't have parties. Why don't you ask Papa to throw you a party?"
Miles did not point out Franziska was the only one who got away with asking Manfred von Karma for anything, let alone anything so childish as a birthday party. He didn't point out that there was no one in Germany for him to invite, or that it wouldn't be the same without his father around. He said, "I'm not interested in parties."
There was a long moment as Franziska considered this, head cocked to one side. Then she hit him. "Stupid fool! You're going to have a birthday whether you like it or not!" She grabbed him by the arm and yanked. Franziska wasn't really old enough to understand that she wasn't actually strong enough to pull around people much larger than herself, and it didn't help that nearly everyone humored her.
But Miles Edgeworth did not budge. "Franziska..."
"This is enough party for ten birthdays!"
"It's enough for a hundred."
"It's enough for two!" she insisted, adding prudently, "As long as my half is bigger."
For the first time since she'd started speaking to him, Miles Edgeworth marked his place in the book and actually looked at her. There was that stubborn, determined expression that she had on her face... well, nearly all of the time. "Franziska..."
She hit him again. Franziska hit deceptively hard for a five-year-old, but Miles was deceptively tough for someone who had already taken to wearing magenta. He sighed, mentally resigning himself to a fate of entertaining a creature less than half his age for the rest of the evening. "All right, Franziska. If you insist."
Franziska, delighted to see that her superhuman dragging-people strength had returned, gleefully began pulling him to and fro. "We'll play a game!" she said. "I'll win the game. And you can have the gifts that I don't want, and you can play with my friends, too! Just pick the ones that are sickly and straggly, okay?"
"This isn't actually a regift," said Miles Edgeworth as his flashback came to its conclusion. "I could charge her with buying alcohol in this country."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Phoenix. "Are you really telling me..."
"Yes, Wright, we celebrate our birthdays on the same day."
"Are you really telling me that von Karma had genetically engineered dinosaurs at her fifth birthday party?"
There was a long, awkward silence, in which Edgeworth put on his coat and started for the door.
"Hey!" protested Phoenix. "She... she doesn't still have them... does she?"
"I'll tell you about it later, Wright. I'm going to take Franziska out for dinner."
Phoenix tried to identify the look on his face. Was it sentimental? Wistful? Constipated?
"Yes," continued Miles Edgeworth. "Best to go before she has my tires slashed again."