1 ~ I'll be your someone, not just anyone
Characters: Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright.
Location: Phoenix’s apartment.
Time: Around noon.
Style: Third person prose.
Status: Closed.
Miles Edgeworth moved swiftly through the city streets, entirely oblivious to everything and everyone around him. Since his arrival in Vatheon he’d had yet to so much as leave his apartment, but even as he made his pioneer venture into the bustle of the city, his eyes remained blind to the beautiful sheen of the pearly, underwater haven. He cared neither to linger over the unusual architecture - architecture that might have fascinated him, had the circumstances been different - nor for the society offered by the exotic array of city-dwellers as they mingled amongst one another, blissfully carrying out their daily tasks as if they weren’t living one giant, glaring contradiction. He hadn’t the leisure to think on the strange phenomenon he’d experienced only moments prior, when within the blink of an eye he’d found himself standing in a completely different part of the city. He’d lost some time, as far as he could figure, for it had most definitely been night until he had so abruptly found himself transported to sometime around midday, not to mention the fact that he was certain he would have noticed himself beginning to lose his voice. Refusing to dwell on these odd occurrences, however, he chalked up the lapse in time to some sort of residual side-effect from the drug he still so earnestly believed he’d been administered at the time of his “kidnapping,” his muteness surely brought about by some forgotten mishap that befell him during his blackout. No, Edgeworth’s mind was far too preoccupied to mull over such mysteries just now. Currently, he had a one-track mind focused solely on one single goal, a goal which he found himself repeating over and over again in his head, like some sort of crazed mantra:
I have to get to him.
He’d been alerted to Phoenix Wright’s unfortunate state only seconds after he'd experienced the sudden change in his locale, his discovery of the conspicuously-missing chunk of his memory occurring nearly simultaneously with the jarring sound of his SFC going off. Perhaps he’d been pulled out of his absent state by that very alert he’d set to notify him of any public postings made by his friend, but he couldn’t be certain. Unless he recovered any memory of the time he’d lost, he might never know what it was that ultimately drew him back to awareness, but as it was he simply didn’t have the time to fret over a bit of short-term amnesia; Wright was in trouble, and Wright needed him. He had to get to Wright now, because he’d be damned if he’d let his friend down again now that he’d been given a chance to make up for what he’d done.
Thankfully, Wright’s address was listed in a directory he'd found after only a few minutes of fiddling with his SFC; after all, he certainly couldn’t have asked Wright to remind him of the address. What with his being unable to speak a word and Wright’s apparent blindness, there really was no way to communicate with the other man aside from visiting him in person, and even then he knew the two of them faced unavoidable difficulties with no way to speak to one another. He’d face those difficulties without a moment’s hesitation, though, if only he might find a way to provide Wright with some sort of reassurance. From his haphazard network posting, it was clear that Wright was frightened, and all that mattered to Edgeworth right then was getting to his side.
He allowed himself only a moment’s pause when he reached the location to which the SFC had directed him. Wright had mentioned the building he lived in once, yet the building in front of him was very much not the one he’d been expecting. Hell, this building wasn’t even in the right district, but he supposed he’d do best not to question the appearance of yet another inconsistency. Did nothing in this damnable city ever make sense?
Apparently, there was no need to even bother answering that particular question.
Ignoring the threatening pangs in his head that promised the steady approach of a migraine should he dare examine any of Vatheon’s discrepancies too closely, Edgeworth raised his hand to the door that claimed to hide Phoenix Wright behind it, the urgency of his mission betrayed by his all-too-forceful knocks.
Location: Phoenix’s apartment.
Time: Around noon.
Style: Third person prose.
Status: Closed.
Miles Edgeworth moved swiftly through the city streets, entirely oblivious to everything and everyone around him. Since his arrival in Vatheon he’d had yet to so much as leave his apartment, but even as he made his pioneer venture into the bustle of the city, his eyes remained blind to the beautiful sheen of the pearly, underwater haven. He cared neither to linger over the unusual architecture - architecture that might have fascinated him, had the circumstances been different - nor for the society offered by the exotic array of city-dwellers as they mingled amongst one another, blissfully carrying out their daily tasks as if they weren’t living one giant, glaring contradiction. He hadn’t the leisure to think on the strange phenomenon he’d experienced only moments prior, when within the blink of an eye he’d found himself standing in a completely different part of the city. He’d lost some time, as far as he could figure, for it had most definitely been night until he had so abruptly found himself transported to sometime around midday, not to mention the fact that he was certain he would have noticed himself beginning to lose his voice. Refusing to dwell on these odd occurrences, however, he chalked up the lapse in time to some sort of residual side-effect from the drug he still so earnestly believed he’d been administered at the time of his “kidnapping,” his muteness surely brought about by some forgotten mishap that befell him during his blackout. No, Edgeworth’s mind was far too preoccupied to mull over such mysteries just now. Currently, he had a one-track mind focused solely on one single goal, a goal which he found himself repeating over and over again in his head, like some sort of crazed mantra:
I have to get to him.
He’d been alerted to Phoenix Wright’s unfortunate state only seconds after he'd experienced the sudden change in his locale, his discovery of the conspicuously-missing chunk of his memory occurring nearly simultaneously with the jarring sound of his SFC going off. Perhaps he’d been pulled out of his absent state by that very alert he’d set to notify him of any public postings made by his friend, but he couldn’t be certain. Unless he recovered any memory of the time he’d lost, he might never know what it was that ultimately drew him back to awareness, but as it was he simply didn’t have the time to fret over a bit of short-term amnesia; Wright was in trouble, and Wright needed him. He had to get to Wright now, because he’d be damned if he’d let his friend down again now that he’d been given a chance to make up for what he’d done.
Thankfully, Wright’s address was listed in a directory he'd found after only a few minutes of fiddling with his SFC; after all, he certainly couldn’t have asked Wright to remind him of the address. What with his being unable to speak a word and Wright’s apparent blindness, there really was no way to communicate with the other man aside from visiting him in person, and even then he knew the two of them faced unavoidable difficulties with no way to speak to one another. He’d face those difficulties without a moment’s hesitation, though, if only he might find a way to provide Wright with some sort of reassurance. From his haphazard network posting, it was clear that Wright was frightened, and all that mattered to Edgeworth right then was getting to his side.
He allowed himself only a moment’s pause when he reached the location to which the SFC had directed him. Wright had mentioned the building he lived in once, yet the building in front of him was very much not the one he’d been expecting. Hell, this building wasn’t even in the right district, but he supposed he’d do best not to question the appearance of yet another inconsistency. Did nothing in this damnable city ever make sense?
Apparently, there was no need to even bother answering that particular question.
Ignoring the threatening pangs in his head that promised the steady approach of a migraine should he dare examine any of Vatheon’s discrepancies too closely, Edgeworth raised his hand to the door that claimed to hide Phoenix Wright behind it, the urgency of his mission betrayed by his all-too-forceful knocks.