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

December 31st | Around Midnight | Skye Medical

[lucycoded]

[Kazuhiko is awake, but that's not something that is abnormal. He rarely sleeps, for, to do so would enable any one of the six that rested in his mind to take over. And so he is sitting in the deep sill of the window to his quarantine room. The glass is thick and nearly impossible for a person to break, so there's no threat of him being able to escape. His eyes dip slowly as he rests his forehead against the cold glass, his hands resting in his lap, glasses caught between his fingers.

He'd lost a lot of time. Days. Which meant that Shinji must have done something...]

[mentis_reae]

[But the fortifications in this place...They're weakened from the efforts of Kazuhiko's alter-ego. In that time that Kazuhiko had lost, the windows, thick and strong, had been cracked by repeated violence, allowing the corruption of darkness in.

And that corruption weakened the glass.

And that corruption allowed one blow from some unseen monster to shatter it inwards.]

[lucycoded]

[Perhaps it is something to be thankful for, this shattering of glass. This unexpected violence. He'd nearly slipped off to sleep. And though the dark waves of Shinji's mind are far more calm than what makes him comfortable, he doesn't want to risk it.

The force sends the man to the floor, the sound deafening his ears. The shards cut into his hands as he attempts to shield his face. His glasses are lost. Widen eyes peer out from that normally stoic face on the visage of the man before him. Everything is blurry without his glasses, making his heart race more.

Is someone finally bent on revenge?]

[mentis_reae]

[A foot, shod in a loafer that once had been fine, comes down. The heel crushes the fragile structure of glass and thin metal. The other foot draws back and slams forward into Kazuhiko's ribs - a fair punishment, a just punishment, for what the boy had allowed to happen. But it was the other him in which the ghost was interested, and if necessary, it would beat him out.]

December 31st | 2 AM | Sector 4

[girlyboywonder]

[There's probably a billion people out looking for Edgeworth's murderer, if the responses to that post were any evidence -- but that doesn't stop Robin from joining the ranks. She's currently perched on a roof's edge over the street, on a quick break from the swinging and leaping all over the city. It's the first night she'd ever passed over monsters in the darkness, preferring instead to keep looking and searching. Someone who would kill Edgeworth...? Rude and blunt, but so obviously well-intentioned? They've gotta find the killer that would do that.]

[mentis_reae]

[The ground below is, of course, swarming with the creatures of the darkness, fighting and snapping at each other. There is one, however, that keeps apart as it walks up the street over which she looks - one that walks upright, with an easy, almost casual stride. This is the one which pauses below where she perches - and it looks upwards.

The face is similar Edgeworth's. From a distance, it may even be indistinguishable from his.]

[girlyboywonder]

[She thinks, at first, that it's a man. But -- a man walking so fearlessly among the monsters? She has yet to meet anyone that can pull that off -- and the monsters themselves don't even look interested in him.

It's about then that she catches sight of the face. Not one she's ever met, but one she's familiar enough with. A face that, last time she checked, was supposed to be dead.

A grappling line swings her to a tin roof much closer to the ground, about ten feet away from him, and just close enough for her disbelieving--] Edge? [--to carry.]

[mentis_reae]

[The chin he lifts is neither confirmation nor denial. Nor, truly, is the finger that points her way, summoning the rear edge of that tin roof upwards and the front downwards, jolting her free of her foothold.]

night of the 31st, wherever... that temple is actually meant to be, i'm unsure

[heartdissonance]

[Miles Edgeworth is dead: this is what the she has been told. Shijima is not the type to feel that death is a waste; she relishes it. Therefore, there is a sadness, now that she knows of his loss - she's melancholy, she knows she'll miss him. That much can be admitted

[mentis_reae]

[What affection Miles Edgeworth had felt for this small murderess. Strange to think on. He'd been too forgiving by far, overlooking nastiness and a bad disposition, crimes such as theft and murder and destruction, merely because she'd shown him kindness and affection, defended him when he was low. Miles Edgeworth had been too forgiving by far.

Death was warranted in her case, but the problem there was twofold: she'd want death, and he could not deliver it. Therefore, what could be appropriately delivered to her? What would correct punishment be?

The ghost stands and watches her, pondering this complex question.]

[heartdissonance]

[Complex, maybe, but look at the way she leaps. Maybe it's fitting that her companion was a 'bird,' because she moves between branches as if it's her territory just as much as theirs. There's always a sense of freedom that comes with it, and its atmosphere tends to surround her when she's moving like this. The ability to move your limbs and push forward is, to her, a freedom perhaps second only to that of, well, dying.

Eventually it's all street and sidewalk. She scans the ground beneath her and then she drops to it. More trees later. For now, her bitty shoes tap at the concrete and she slouches horribly, surveying, stepping forward. She wishes winter hadn't taken so many leaves away. They always seemed like a safety to her.]

[mentis_reae]

[It's stalking in the way she'd always stalked him, with some differences. It's observation, like she'd always done. It's thought. It's judgment.

It's also waiting for an opportunity to strike.

He continues to follow, and continues to watch.]

January 1st, just after sirens, sector 2

[lawyerific]

[Oh, this was a mistake. He hadn't meant to end up outside after sirens, especially with Maya at his side. It was dangerous - for both of them - and the thing he wanted most right now was to get back inside anywhere. He'd had his head down, concentrating on the scent that reminded him of Edgeworth and it had drawn them on toward Sector Two. It was an investigation...of sorts. But his sniffing after clues had gotten them in trouble again, there was no doubt about it.

The sound of the sirens made him fall very, very still, and he shot a glance over his shoulder toward her.]

We should get to the office, Maya. It's not safe out here.

[OOC: Ah, and posting order is Phoenix/Maya/Edgeworth. Let us know if it needs changing, bb.]

[acemedium]

[Maya had been behind him the whole time - quiet for the most part. There were no quirky comments, no picking evidence off the ground, no bugging him to buy things for her. Instead, she'd trailed behind him like a shadow - determined to do something, anything about this situation.]

Already? Ah... Yes, let's.

[And she moved up- closer to his side.]

[mentis_reae]

[The ghost knew them both intimately. Even without his power, he'd remembered all that there was to remember about the two of them. He knew, from Miles Edgeworth's memory, all of their lives. He remembered that friendship that had once baffled Miles when he'd stood across from the two of them in that courtroom, which had stood to him as a complete mystery; he remembered the moment when he had, at last, come to understand the friendship, long after they'd brought him into it with laughter and good intentions. He remembered moments of Wright's childhood, remembered the small, bright-eyed toddler in the arms of Misty Fey, those years ago when Miles' father had been summoned. He remembered the laughter they shared

[lawyerific]

[Phoenix cast one wistful look in the direction the scent was coming from, but he knew better than to stay out after dark. There was too much going on; so much wrong in the world, and the Darkness was as dangerous as anything else. If he couldn't protect Edgeworth, then it fell to him to go back to protecting her--precisely the way she always told him not to.]

It's only two blocks, come on. I can make hot chocolate when we get there.

[I'm sorry, Edgeworth. I know I was close, but I have to think of Maya now.]

January 1st, 2 AM, Edges of Sector 4

[cowboy_newsie]

[It's restlessness, more than anything, that keeps him out of bed and wandering the streets tonight. It's certainly not grief; Jack felt that or something similar to it when he heard of Edgeworth's death, but that's long since been compartmentalized and put away. It's not anger, either, because there's nothing to do; Grimmjow isn't easily tracked, and he's already tried all he can to help bring Edgeworth back, it's done.

So: restlessness, then, is fueling Jack, as he paces down the street quickly, his shoulders hunched as he stares at the ground. Restlessness and nothing more. And if he feels something else occasionally-- if his eyes burn sometimes, or he savagely kicks a trash can with a yell every so often-- well, those are just slip-ups, that's all. They'll be gone by morning, and he'll be fine with all of this. Perfectly fine.]

[mentis_reae]

[This is an easy one; the stench of blood and medicine all but clings to Jack Kelly. Mr. Kelly's crimes are indeed numerous, almost comical in their sheer number; theft, assault, defiance of labor laws. Breaking out of prison. But those all predated his passage to a new world - indeed, it was in the new place, this asylum, this Edelweiss, that Jack Kelly, orderly promoted to nurse, became the worthless blight on the face of humanity he now was.

What cowardice he'd shown. How he'd hidden. Obedient always to the word of his lords and masters, these criminals and rapists who'd victimized him and then turned their attention to his friends; he'd had to do nothing more than clean up their bodies. Kelly was the man who made their injustices easy. He was the one who enabled them.

And striving to enter medicine here, clearly to compound his sins. How altogether perfect.

The ghosts watches him walk, and then the ghost laughs.]

[cowboy_newsie]

[Jack, for all he is wrapped into himself, isn't stupid; he's not been altogether unwary. His head snaps up and his hand goes for his knife before he remembers he's left it at home. No matter, though; he can't be hurt, and he can fight, so he'll be all right. Besides, monsters don't laugh, which means this is a human, which means-- for all everyone has powers-- he's a good deal safer. Humans can be reasoned with, most times.

Tilting his head back, Jack turns, glaring around the street, trying to find the source of that laugh.]

All right, stop fuckin' around. Come on. You want money or what?

[mentis_reae]

[As ever, he thinks that others in the world are as low as he is. To a thief, every man is a thief. To a murderer, every man is a murderer. He is the one and is tantamount to the other.

This man was to be removed from the world. And he would be. But, as ever, the dilemma - how to do it?

The ghost walks out before the coward Jack Kelly, and smiles at the puzzle before it.]