paradisalogs | Statute of Limitations, Part II - The Faceless Man (Backdated 12/28)

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miles edgeworth

Statute of Limitations, Part II - The Faceless Man (Backdated 12/28)

Who: Miles Edgeworth and ...you?
What: Miles Edgeworth walks about the City Royale for a moment of introspection on the anniversary of the DL-6 incident, clad in rather...relevant garb.
When: December 28th (Anniversary of Gregory Edgeworth's passing)
Where: City Royale
Rating: G

The DL-6 incident occurred exactly 18 years ago today. It was the upshot to a number of monumental events, including his relocation to Germany, and effectuating his becoming the ruthless prodigal prosecutor under the care and tutelage of Manfred von Karma.

However, there were a few key details to the case that, due to the nature of his permanent loss, Edgeworth was blissfully ignorant of - one being that the victim of the case was none other than his father. Equipped with nothing but faulty memory of the incident, Edgworth knew it only to be the singlemost life-changing event in his 26 years of existence.

When he arrived in Paradisa, all memory of Gregory Edgeworth irrevocably and mercilessly extruded from his consciousness, he had his briefcase in tow. It was within this briefcase that he possessed his sole clue of his father's existence - a digital photograph of himself as a child with Gregory. By will of the Castle, however, the likeness of his father was blurred, leaving naught but something akin to a faceless apparition. It was enough, however, to fuel an unequivocal fascination with the featureless man he once called "father," perhaps to the grand design of the Castle and its lust for torment.

Surely, Edgeworth had yet to realize the correlation between his loss and the DL-6 incident, as with the loss came tampered memories - in place of memory of his father, he believed the victim of the case to be a nameless stranger (rather, a stranger with a name or face he couldn't quite place).

Therefore, it was by the sheerest of coincidences (and by indirect influence of his last encounter with his...adoptive father) that on this day, the anniversary of the death of Gregory Edgeworth, Miles thought to mimic the dress of the faceless man in the photograph.

He strode down the streets of the City Royale clad in a near-perfect recreation of his father's trademark garb - a tan trenchcoat, red tie, and black fedora (sans eyeglasses, since those were indistinguishable in the photograph, neither did Miles require them). It was merely a thought to simultaneously pay innocent homage to man he thought to be his father while combatting the cool of the evening.

His eyes caught his reflection in one of the shop's windows and he paused. He slipped his hands into the pockets of the trenchcoat, distantly wondering if he even remotely resembled Gregory Edgeworth...

[[OOC: In conjunction with this post.]]

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It was, in that moment, by the hand of Fate or Coincidence—deem it as you will—Manfred von Karma likewise was treading the path many previous residents had walked on that very significant day, down the quaint street of the historic town that unfolded unto the Mainstreet, the purpose of which was to meet his former student in the 48 hour timeframe to receive an answer he'd requested.

It was quite the change from the picturesque view he'd seen when glancing out the stained glass of Cair Paradisa itself. As he traversed the cobblestone path he came to note that the Tudor style resembled many of the towns and villages from his homeland in Germany. Interesting indeed, given their similar architecture and layout. It was as if he had simply been whisked into a dream-like version of one such village, where the sights and sounds reflected a more primitive, anachronistic time period.

With horse-drawn wagons and the bustle of the townspeople it was no wonder at all that Manfred himself did not appear out of place. Indeed, it was as if he simply belonged…As an aristocratic presence perhaps. Though none of this was his present concern.

And, as he had thus arranged to wait by the most prominent feature of the townsquare for Miles, agreed over the journals—by the fountain—Manfred would make his way to stand by it thusly. No doubt he expected the other to be on time, in exact minutes. Should he fail to appear, Miles' once-mentor would not be pleased.

Not only was Edgeworth "on time," he had been wandering the City Royale since morning, hours before the set time.

He was not at the fountain, however, but close enough to be within Manfred's immediate field of vision once he'd happen upon their designated meeting place. He was yet to spot the elder prosecutor, having his back turned to the fountain as he fiddled with the lapel of his coat. He'd like to think himself a spitting likeness of his father, which prompted to question how familiar he and Manfred may have been, if they were any at all.

He glanced over his shoulder to catch, in the corner of his eye, a figure standing by the fountain. With some reluctance, he begins to slowly trudge towards Manfred, touching the brim of his hat in a way that obscured his steel-grey eyes, a habit reminiscent of that of his departed father...

It doesn't take him long before he spotted what appeared to be a most outrageous if not impossible sight. Before long he turned pale, shock replacing indifference.

Impeccable though Edgeworth's appearance may have been to that of his late father, this certain likeness...Manfred himself could scarcely believe to be reality. Was it a mirage? A mere hallucination or apparition brought on by this uncertain state of madness dancing before his eyes?

A cold chill ran through the air despite it being midday, a piercing agony like the day that bullet had marred his shoulder making his right side throb until he could scarcely move. He hissed, clenching it, a cold sweat forming on his brow the very instant he caught sight of that looming, tormenting figure.

The castle could have been making him delusional for all he was aware, but the very image of which haunted him.

It cannot be..!

And yet, for all intents and purposes, it looked...to be Gregory Edgeworth's ghost, come back from the grave to haunt him.

"You...!"

The suddenness of Manfred's peculiar reaction prompted Edgeworth to pause, maintaining certain distance in an attempt to observe and assess the situation. He thought to expect a reaction, though this significantly differed from any sort of reaction he had prepared for.

Quite obviously, seeing that the likeness of his father elicited such a strong response from his mentor, there was an extraordinary connection between his adoptive and biological fathers... this much he could deduce.

"Me...?" He nearly wanted to respond. Instead, he stood silently, watching Manfred from beneath the wide-brimmed hat.

A hitched breath stopped his tongue like the twist of a knife in von Karma's old wound, his composure increasingly failing. How dare this mockery be evoked on this day...! Surely the attorney could not be...alive. And yet, here he stood. He strained to make sense of what exactly he was seeing, curiosity quickly lending itself to a mixture of bewilderment and alarm that left him reeling. Agitation too increased upon his brow as his anger grew over his fear.

"Impossible."

Even after fifteen years the man's dread visage never truly faded from memory. But never had he contemplated the notion that he might be graced with his presence again...It is even more disconcerting to him to realize that he could not recollect even the moment nor the reason for him having murdered the man in cold blood. Was his mind truly failing?

He'd been the last to see him alive, and the first to see his lifeless body in the elevator...He had swept Gregory's blood and ashes from his hands all those years ago the moment that Yanni Yogi had been named as the culprit. How could he have imagined that he'd now be faced with this living apparition once again...?

He squared his jaw and stared with intensity, cold eyes fixed unflinchingly on the attorney as though he may very well have been an illusion. The shock that now carved itself into his granite features would have been visible from where the would-be Gregory was standing, the man's grim presence stirring a deep sense of resentment towards this mirage-turned-living-nightmare. He was awash with bitterness and shame, a cacophony that threatened to tear through him like the very bullet that had once pierced his flesh.

It shouldn't have been possible..!

And yet flashbacks to that fateful day began to overwhelm him, pulling him further into a state of wretchedness and base loathing. The inert body of the man he had killed strewn at his feet...and the resulting defeat, while his grip on sanity diminished over the course of fifteen years.

Clutched to himself in the middle of the cobblestone street with his hair beginning to fall out of place Manfred von Karma was, without a doubt, imperfect, as of that moment.

Edited 2012-12-31 22:55 (UTC)

It was cold--not that he expected any different at the end of December--and Phoenix was bundled warmly in a heavy coat of his own, though far less stylish or significant than Edgeworth's. He traversed the city streets in the hopes of scoping out some office for rent; his goal of opening up a new law practice had been put on hold by various castle-induced events, but his mind had been on it again as of late, and so he had set out to do some research.

When he spotted Edgeworth some way down the street, he didn't recognize him at first. Only upon nearing the prosecutor did he register his identity, and he stopped to quirk an eyebrow at the man standing there looking like a distant shadow.

"Miles."

It was spoken as a greeting, but there were too many questions hidden just behind that one word. What are you doing out here? and Where did you get a coat just like your dad's?, and of course, I thought you couldn't even remember your dad--though Phoenix had no intention of bombarding Edgeworth with any of that.

At least, not yet.

Edgeworth turned his head to the source of the greeting, nodding in solemn acknowledgement, his expression betraying the slight pleasant surprise at unexpectedly encountering the defense attorney here of all places. He turned his focus back to the reflection of the window, a subtle smirk gracing his stony visage.

"Hmph. By now I am thoroughly convinced you've placed a tracking device on me."

"Please. I'm not Franziska."

He grinned, shoving his hands into his coat pockets despite already wearing thick mittens. Cold was not his element.

A questioning sort of silence fell between the two of them momentarily before Phoenix spoke up again.

"Nice coat--did you wish it up?"

He, too, gazed into the shop window Edgeworth had halted in front of. His eyes scanned the items inside as he vaguely considered them, but his focus was tuned toward Edgeworth; his eyes and ears were both sharp and ready, hoping to catch a hint (however subtle) of what might be going on.

He removed the hat from his head, placing it to chest.

"The coat, yes. The hat, tie and trousers, I purchased."

"Any particular reason?"

He watched Edgeworth out the corner of his eye as he asked the question. All the while, he cast about mentally for some purpose for this specific and peculiar manner of dress, having not yet landed upon the importance of the date.

"Is it not obvious?"

This was said in no way to denote annoyance. Rather, there was a slight twinge of disappointment in his tone, as if to say that the effort was lost on Wright. Perhaps Gregory did not assume this attire in front of him as a child, or perhaps, to Edgeworth's chagrin, he was simply mistaken about the man in the photograph. But how could he be?

He looked over the trench coat quickly once more.

"You look like your dad."

To be sure, Phoenix's memory of Gregory Edgeworth wasn't anything to speak of, but he had met the man on more than one occasion when he and Miles had been children together, and he'd seen pictures since. From his fedora to his eyes, Edgeworth did look very like his father.

"I was just wondering what prompted it."

He was careful not to make mention of anything he shouldn't, being that he hadn't yet figured out the extent of Edgewirth's memory loss.

Edgeworth's expression softened to that of complacence.

"...Do I, really?" He quietly uttered.

Phoenix nodded, brow creasing in concern. Edgeworth wa quieter than even his usual, and Phoenix couldn't quite figure it out.

"You do. It's a nice look for you."

But why?

To be sure, the trench coat looked nice and warm on such a cold December day. It was only in considering this that the date floated into Phoenix's mind: December 28.

"Oh," he said, quietly, as it began to dawn on him. "Oh. Today... was DL-6, wasn't it?"

"Now that you mention it, yes." Edgeworth shot a steely, yet questioning gaze towards Phoenix.

"How is that relevant?"

"You don't think there's anything significant about dressing like your dad on the 28th?"

Although he understood losses by now, Phoenix still had a hard time believing them in extreme cases like this one. He couldn't help but feel a bit sorrowful when he thought about it.

Edgeworth was not one to hide from truth. However, he found himself attempting to rationalize the responses to his state of dress, all seeming to point to a single reality he was not prepared to deal with.

But there were still too many holes in his memory, which he unconsciously chose to fill with possibilities to the contrary. If there was some relevance between his father and the DL-6 incident, perhaps his father was the presiding detective on the trial. The defense attorney, perhaps. There were still many possibilities to consider. However, the subtle alarm in his expression betrayed the fact that he had been considering alternate possibilities, and he paused before speaking, fixating weary eyes upon the man beside him...

"I am not...aware...of the significance, no."

And Phoenix picked up on the subtle concern etched on Edgeworth's face. He winced to catch it there, knowing the prosecutor was capable of figuring it out.

"I was just curious," he shrugged lamely. How he wanted to explain--it seemed wrong for Edgeworth not to know--yet he didn't want to be the one to tell him at all.

Edgeworth's lips stretched taut as he studied the faint reflection in the glass. His response was curt, but his voice was soft, and full of resignation.

"Don't give me that nonsense."

In turn, Phoenix sighed, rubbing at his hair with a mittened hand.

"If you know it's nonsense, you've probably figured everything out already."

He knew Edgeworth was intelligent enough, yes, but partly too, he was stalling for time. He had to think, had to consider the right way to go about this delicate matter.

"I have several hypotheses, neither of which are preferable."

"Then maybe it's not something we need to talk about."

He was desperate to move away from the topic, desperate not to say something that would inevitably hurt Edgeworth. Still, the matter of knowing the truth was one he couldn't ignore. He gave the other man a sorry expression, looking nearly ashamed.

Edgeworth looked back at the other man, trying to decipher as much as he could from the sort of expression he displayed. Following several seconds of silence, he once again broke eye-contact, and returned to looking at the window.

"...How much of my father do you recall?"

Phoenix took his time in collecting his thoughts before drawing in a slow breath and responding.

"I remember meeting him a few times when we were kids. Past that, there's not much. ...you don't remember anything at all, do you?"

"If I did, it would be nary a loss, now would it?"

"Just checking."

He smiled distantly.

"I remember you were crazy about him and wanted to be just like him."

Edgeworth quirked his brow, flashing Phoenix an indefinable look; an amused one, mixed with a tad of incredulity given the utter irony of the matter...that as he looked at his reflection in the window, mimicking his father's dress, he realized that the statement seemed to hold true, even now.

...And at this, he began to chuckle.

Phoenix, on the other hand, sported a sad smile, catching on to Edgeworth's train of thought. He wanted to offer a comforting hand on the prosecutor's shoulder, but without being sure of Edgeworth's current state of mind, he thought better of it; personal space was always something of an issue between them, at any rate.

"Do you want me to tell you more?"

The question, despite Phoenix's attempts to keep it innocent, was loaded and heavy. There was much to tell, even though he hadn't known Gregory Edgeworth very well at all.

Edgeworth, on the other hand, exhibited no outward sign of despondency. He had a knack for concealing his truer feelings at will, and he spare no effort in doing so now.

"...Do you ever tire of me asking about my father?"

"Not really."

He shrugged.

"I understand--and I definitely don't blame you for it. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

And he paused, before adding, "And nothing you don't want to know."

Edgeworth idly fiddled with a lock of silver-grey hair between his thumb and index finger.

"Did he also possess similarly unusual features?"

Edited 2013-01-03 08:53 (UTC)

Phoenix smiled.

"I think his hair was only a little bit gray. You must've gotten that from your mom. ...but your face is really similar."

"Which, perhaps, is to say he that was not the most cheerful fellow..."

"Serious, I think."

He considered what more to say, for a moment.

"And a great lawyer."

"He..."

Edgeworth paused and blinked with mild surprise.

"...A lawyer, you say?"

Phoenix nodded in return. He knew he had to tread carefully into this territory, but anticipated the next question regardless.

"Yeah. ...defense, as a matter of fact."

He paused thoughtfully. He considered the possibility of his father being a defense attorney, attributing that relevance to the theory that he might have been the defense attorney for the DL-6 case, but that was still only a theory...alongside the theory that his father may have just been the victim, one that he preferred to not think on at the moment...

Phoenix fell into silence, finding the lack of response from Edgeworth worrisome. Had he already put the pieces together? It wouldn't be beyond Edgeworth to connect that logic, really. Given the direction the conversation had turned, Phoenix felt it best to just remain companionably quiet until Edgeworth saw fit to ask anything further--or change the subject, if he so chose.

Phoenix's worry was nearly palpable given his silence. Edgeworth decided to attempt to lighten the mood.

"Such would perhaps explain my penchant for defense attorneys."

That earned a laugh, and a smile as well.

"Sure, I'll buy that."

He glanced down the street.

"Do you... want to walk?"

After all, that one shop window was getting dull--at least, to him.

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Statute of Limitations, Part II - The Faceless Man (Backdated 12/28)

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This is an icon of Miles cosplaying Gregory. Sure.

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