Chapter Text
If there’s one thing that Franziska has learned about the world, in all its glory and wonderment, it’s that one can never really escape stupid things.
One really must take the time, here, to distinguish between “stupid” and “foolish”. See, to be foolish is a choice; to be stupid is an inevitability. Everyone- perhaps even Franziska herself, theoretically, although it’s certainly never happened- has the potential to be a little bit stupid, if only because the world at large is rather stupid. It’s a bit sick, actually- that the universe would come together in an orderly and mathematically traceable fashion, that society would facilitate the creation of rules and laws and things that fit perfectly into place, and once they finished fine-tuning a perfectly good set of guidelines by which reality is supposed to operate, they looked up only to find that everyone on the planet had gone stupid while no one was looking. The same world which blessed humanity with language and reason also created Phoenix Wright and let him pass the bar. Twice.
The reality of life, the way she sees it, is that it is fickle and occasionally absurd, and no matter how flawlessly one might abide by the laws of common sense, they will inevitably find themselves in a situation so ridiculous that fighting against it with any semblance of logic becomes a losing battle. To attempt to maintain one’s sense of reason in an unreasonable world is counterproductive at best and sisyphean at worst.
If Franziska von Karma is a little bit stupid, it is because that has yet to stop her from trying.
—
Monday, Feb. 22, 3:20 PM. San Diego, Japanifornia- Root Cafe
The foolishness begins on an otherwise lovely spring afternoon. Franziska is sitting at a cafe in San Diego, having a conversation with her sister, when she feels her phone buzz.
“All I’m saying,” Stefanie is saying playfully as she stirs her iced tea, “is that you’ve got to put yourself out there.”
“Again, I have absolutely no desire to ‘settle down’. I am busy prosecuting and investigating for Interpol and I simply don’t have the time for romantic entanglements,” Franziska huffs, her phone buzzing in her purse again. There is a sense of rising discomfort Franziska feels whenever topics like these arise, but she perseveres.
“But,” Stefanie smirks, a glint growing in her eye. “That could change! And there may be someone out there who understands! You never know until you try. Like Klaus and I, for example- I was moving between the US and Berlin almost monthly giving lectures when we met, and he was more than fine with that. You know, one of his subordinates at the office is around the same age as you, and he recently broke up with his girlfriend…”
Ah, so that’s where this is coming from. “And I’m sure he is a fool. I am not interested, especially not in men.”
“That’s your problem, Ziska! Your standards are too high!” Stefanie pouts. She may be much softer around the edges than both of her siblings, but she is still a von Karma, and von Karmas do not back down. “You will find yourself awfully lonely if you see everyone on this earth as a fool.”
“My standards are fine , Schwester . I am just not interested in trying to fall in love- this entire line of conversation is foolish. You and Miles may be happy settling down, but I much prefer to invest my time in other, less foolish things. If I have learned anything from the two of you, it is that love will make me stupid, and I have no desire to be stupid.” It comes out with a tone of harsh, precise finality that would bring most people to their knees, but Stefanie only looks mildly nonplussed.
“Stupid, you say? An astute observation, and true at that, but… You know, Ziska, one of these days, you’re going to find out the hard way-” She’s interrupted by buzzing, this time from her phone, and picks up the call. “Hallo? Liebling? Ich bin gerade bei deiner Tante Franziska…”
Franziska takes the much-needed recess to check her own phone, and upon retrieving it from her purse, finds the following messages:
Miles Edgeworth: Franziska, if you are not currently busy, I may require your assistance with investigating a case I have just received.
Miles Edgeworth: While the case is local, it appears there may be some areas in which your expertise would be useful, and since you are relatively nearby, I thought I would ask.
The message sends a bit of a smile to her face, the way it always does when her brother finds himself in need of her help.
Franziska von Karma: I do in fact have the time, and would be glad to assist.
Franziska von Karma: I am currently in San Diego- Stefanie is giving a lecture series at UJSD and we are having lunch. I will take the train up to Los Angeles as soon as possible.
A quick search tells her there is an available AmTrak leaving in around an hour; that’s plenty of time for her to go back to her hotel room, check out, and gather her things.
Franziska von Karma: ETA will be around 6:45.
Miles Edgeworth: Thank you, Franziska. Please give Stefanie and her family my regards.
Miles Edgeworth: I should warn you, though- this case is, for lack of better words… a bit, well, strange.
Franziska von Karma: What do you mean by that, Little Brother?
An ellipsis pops up in the corner of the screen for a while and then vanishes; Franziska’s eyes dart to her sister, who is still jabbering away on the call.
Miles Edgeworth: We can go over the details of the case later.
… He’s dodging the question, though she supposes that it’s par for the course when it comes to her little brother. Miles Edgeworth has always been on the dodgy side, and he cares far too much. Perhaps such traits can be a blessing in court, but in conversation it is not so graceful; he struggles to be straightforward even when discussing the weather, unable to stop himself from obscuring every vague statement with layer after layer of unnecessary complexity. Franziska, immovable and precise, cannot help but pity him; he probably cannot help it. So she lets it go by her for now- she is more than sure she will get her answers out of him eventually. Now for the hard part.
Franziska von Karma: Understood.
Franziska von Karma: Little Brother, it pains me to ask, but I will say that it may be a bit late in the day to book a proper hotel for myself.
Franziska von Karma: Would I be troubling you or your family if I were to sleep on your couch tonight?
The request feels… vulnerable, somehow, and expressing such a thing to Miles , especially, feels wrong- not even to mention the indignity of couch-crashing mere months away from her thirties. Out of character. Franziska quickly pivots to save face.
Franziska von Karma: …Provided that it is available, of course. Your husband seems fond of picking up strays.
A masterful recovery; Franziska congratulates herself. Another ellipsis pops up, then disappears.
Miles Edgeworth: …True, although our couch is in fact empty tonight.
Miles Edgeworth: Regardless, you are family; our home is always open to you, Franziska.
She’s not sure exactly how to respond to that, so she doesn’t, and no dignity is lost.
Franziska von Karma: Then I will take you up on that. See you at the station, Little Brother.
Stefanie hangs up the phone and turns her eyes back to Franziska, who is putting her things away. “Sorry about that… Natalia called to ask about spring break- she says hello. Do you have to get going?”
“I do- tell Natalia I said hello. Miles is requesting my assistance in Los Angeles, so I’m off to check out of the hotel. He sends his regards.”
“Ah, I see. Well, tell him I said hello, and good luck on your case. Ziska. And think about it, all right? Giving dating a try? Or at least thinking about it? Even if it makes you a little stupid?”
“I will do what I think is best, and I am never stupid. Goodbye for now; I must check out of my hotel early.” Franziska gets up from the table and starts for the exit; she finishes her coffee and tosses it without breaking her stride or even sparing a glance. The cup sails from her hand in a graceful, effortless arc, and it lands in the recycling without even bouncing off the rim of the bin.
Perfect. Franziska catalogues her little victory as she begins her walk back to the hotel.
—
Feb. 22, 6:45 PM. Los Angeles, Japanifornia- Union Station
Compared to the half-day international flights that Franziska’s used to, the train ride is relatively short, and at precisely 5:45, Franziska steps out of the main doors to Union Station to greet her brother in his obnoxious red sports car.
“Hello.” Franziska walks over, pops the trunk, and hefts her suitcase in with ease. “Traffic must be terrible- I am glad you are on time.”
“Same to you,” is his reply, stiff but calm, as she closes the trunk, opens the passenger-seat door, and buckles herself in. “I’m surprised the train wasn’t delayed.”
“As a matter of fact, Brother, it was delayed. I simply accounted for the delay when I gave my estimate.”
“How impressive,” Miles hums, and drives out of the roundabout and onto Alameda.
In actuality, the train arrived at such a time that she would’ve been able to leave earlier, but she’d waited an extra two minutes by the exit so that her appearance would be perfectly aligned with the original proposed ETA. As she nears her thirties, Franziska is finding that when perfection does not come naturally, she must create it using the tools at her disposal, and Miles Edgeworth will be none the wiser for it.
As Union Station disappears from sight, Miles clears his throat. “Thank you again for lending your assistance to this case, Franziska.”
Franziska nods, hands folded in her lap. “I am happy to help, Brother.”
“In other news, Kay passed her driver’s license test today, so we’re celebrating. Phoenix and the girls are making dinner tonight. Apollo- and possibly more- may join us later, as well. If you haven’t eaten yet, you’re free to join us.”
Franziska smiles a bit. “That sounds lovely- I shall offer my congratulations as soon as I can. Thank you again for hosting me.”
“Anytime, Franziska.”
He’s interrupted by the sudden sound of his phone ringing. A quick glance at the dash display shows the text Call Incoming- Phoenix Wright, so Franziska taps accept for him.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe. Uh… Sorry for missing your call earlier- there was an incident with the flour. Are you still in the car?” As he talks, Franziska can faintly hear the sounds of commotion in the background- running water, the clanging of pans, and of course the muffled voices of her niece(s).
“I am,” Miles says, eyes on the road. “I just picked up Franziska. She’s in the car with me now; you’re on speakerphone.”
“Oh! Hey, Franziska!”
She speaks on cue. “Hello, Phoenix.” His first name on its own still feels a bit weird in her mouth, but to call her own brother-in-law by his surname feels even more transgressive, somehow. “I hear you are making dinner.”
”That would be correct! Kay bought some fancy pasta-making stuff from the Italian market, and- oh. Sorry, one moment. Truce…! Kay! Hey, you guys gotta make sure the dog stays out of the kitchen, ok? If we aren’t careful, someone’s going to trip over her eventually… All right, thank you. Keep up the good work with the garlic! Mince it like it owes you money!.. oh, c’mere, Pess...” A bit of a pause; Franziska hears the sounds of commotion. “…Um. Sorry about that, Franziska. How long do you guys think the case brief will be?”
“We’ll get to the apartment in forty-five minutes at the most- the, um, expert isn’t arriving until late tonight, so there isn’t too much investigation to be done today. Our ETA is around 7:30, as a rough estimate.” Miles hesitates over the word expert; Franziska logs this for later.
“Haha, yeah, forgot about that for a moment! The table’s gonna be pretty full tonight. But yeah, 7:30 sounds good- that's more than enough time for us to finish cooking.”
The words and tone are a bit cryptic- there is most certainly something he and her brother know that she does not- but it isn’t urgent or distinctly negative, since Wright seems more cheerful than usual. Franziska reminds herself to be patient, although she’ll put him on edge just a bit; she can’t help herself. “That will not be an issue. I am looking forward to dinner tonight. I despise overcooked pasta- so do not disappoint me, Phoenix Wright.” She’d crack her whip if they weren’t in a vehicle, and she hopes that he knows this.
He does; there’s an audible gulp from the other end of the phone line. “...Sure thing, Franziska. I’m, uh, gonna get going, Miles- I think I have to go check on the pasta…”
“Sounds good. We’ll see you tonight.” Miles ends the call and turns his attention back to driving with an unusually smarmy expression on his face.
“What’s with the face, Little Brother?” Franziska raises an eyebrow. “It’s quite unlike you.”
“Nothing, really,” he replies, not taking his eyes off the road as he turns the car into Downtown. “I’m just glad to have you here, Franziska.”
—
Feb. 22, 6:55 PM- Los Angeles District Prosecutor’s Office, Japanifornia
There are far too many imperfections in this world, and Franziska strives to straighten all of them out. Her role as an Interpol investigator and prosecutor allows her to pursue that end much farther than she ever would have at the LA District Attorney’s Offices.
There is a time that she might have regarded the place with a resentful eye- but it has been over a decade since her first loss at the hands of Phoenix Wright, and now that she is approaching her thirties her gaze has softened to some kind of nostalgia. She had always considered Berlin to be “home”, but part of her is willing to admit that she had found herself in Los Angeles, even though it had been painful at the time.
Regardless, she feels nothing but pride as she walks in for the first time in at least ten months, hand firmly on her whip where it is coiled around her belt, and follows her brother down the halls and up the elevator through the orderly maze of dark wood and carpet until they reach his office on the fourteenth floor.
Franziska takes a seat at the opposite end of the desk as Miles roots around in a filing cabinet. “So, Brother, perhaps you’ll tell me a bit more about this case?”
“Yes,” he replies as he produces the correct document and slides it across the desk to her. “Here’s the case overview.”
Code SL-35
1 dead- Su-Young “Sue” Do, 38 years old
Occupation: Head of Operations, Stargram Enterprises
Cause of death: blunt force trauma, blood loss.
Time of Death ~12:48PM, Feb 22, 2028
12:00: Precinct receives a call at roughly 12:00 PM from an anonymous caller with a female voice, who claims a murder is about to take place at Stargram Enterprises HQ and asks LAPD to prevent it. The call is regarded as false; all subsequent calls are ignored.
12:42: Victim’s colleague Ovar Payed finds her lying unconscious and bleeding in her sixteenth-story office at Stargram HQ. Payed calls the police and says Do is still breathing.
12:47: First responders arrive.
12:48: Su-young Do dies from blunt-force trauma/blood loss before first responders are able to take her to an ambulance.
1:00: LAPD officers arrive at the crime scene. A Mr. Paul Itari is accused of the crime. Itari is detained by LAPD with only minor injury, though no arrest is officially made.
“Minor injury?”
Miles grits his teeth. “I have devoted the rest of my life to make justice in this state a tool of truth and peace. I have done everything within my power to eradicate corruption within the legal system. And yet our lovely counterparts at the precinct can’t do a damned thing without causing collateral.”
Franziska frowns, but does not respond.
First responders believe that the victim was beaten over the head multiple times with a flat, heavy object with a square shape. No item matching this description was found on the scene.
1:30: Detective Dick Gumshoe & official investigative team arrive at the scene. The building is cleared and the body is taken to Criminal Affairs for processing.
Sometime in the investigation, a connection is made to the 12:00 call, which correctly predicted the place and time of death, and mentions “Su-young’s laptop”, which is noticeably missing from her office. Attempts to trace the anonymous caller have been unsuccessful- the caller’s identity appears to be intentionally obscured. All CCTV footage of the sixteenth floor is found to be erased/nonfunctioning within two hours of the murder. Warrant requested to search for the laptop in the victim's car and apartment. Forensics concludes office investigation.
1:44: Witnesses are all given brief interviews*. Most interviews seem to corroborate Itari as suspect, with some notable exceptions.
2:00- Investigation put on hold until autopsy is completed and warrant for apartment search is approved. Request put in for prosecutor and expert for analysis.
“Incompetence aside,” Franziska frowns, “this case is quite strange.”
Miles nods. “Such high-profile cases like this always are- things will likely get more and more so as things go on- I have a feeling that the WAA may take the case, depending on how things pan out.”
Franziska decides that now is the time to have her questions answered. “And where is this expert that I am to work with? Do I know who they are?”
“...Yes, you do. They’re arriving tonight,” her brother mumbles, looking away.
“Little Brother, is that fear I’m hearing from you?”
It is. Miles continues to avoid her gaze. “Perhaps I was hoping to surprise you.”
Franziska palms the handle of her whip. “You know how I feel about surprises.”
“You have never been fond of them, that is true…” He trails off. “Well, I promise you it is nothing to worry about- this expert is a friend of ours. You’ve worked together before, in a sense, but not on a case.”
Worked together? “And I’m not hearing a name because…?”
If Miles is that worried about my reaction… Realization dawns on her, and before she can suppress it her face contorts in horror. That means it could only be… no. No. Absolutely not.
“Brother,”
“Y…yes?”
“With all due respect, if you tell me I am to work with Larry Butz, I am dropping this case and going back to San Diego right now.”
“Ziska, please, it- excuse me?!”
“I will not repeat myself, Bruder. I will not investigate a case with Lar-“
“No, no, I heard you the first time. Did you say Larry Butz?” Miles finally looks up at her, face blank and incredulous.
“Yes, Larry Butz. Your expert. I have nothing personal against that foolish fool of a man, but I would rather die than have to work with him on an investigation. Who else would you be so hesitant to tell me about?”
“No, no, Ziska. Larry Butz is not involved in this case, thank the heavens, let alone as an expert.”
What? Franziska furrows her brow. “Then why did you expect me to be angry?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to be angry - quite the opposite, in fact. I was concerned you might get… too excited. The expert in question is Maya Fey.”
Maya Fey. There is a brief flicker of something in her chest at the very sound of that name- something complicated and foreign and indeed a little exciting- but it is almost immediately overpowered by the indignation of having to concede a point to Miles Edgeworth, and the moment is over.
“Too excited?” Franziska snaps the whip with a satisfying crack! and relishes in the mild flinch it elicits from her brother. She is in power now. “Miles Edgeworth, I am offended that you would think me to be cowed so easily. My excitement- should it arise- is not dictated by any person other than myself, let alone Maya Fey.”
“I beg to differ. When it comes to Maya, your judgement gets… compromised. My wedding, if you may remember… was interesting.”
Franziska does remember her and Maya’s maid-of-honor escapades getting mildly out of hand during the planning stages of the wedding- but she’s not going to acknowledge that, instead allowing the room to settle into pointed silence.
Miles sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Whatever. All I ask is that you… stay measured.”
Franziska huffs. She is a paragon of self-control. “We shall see, little brother. When does Miss Fey arrive?”
“Tonight, if everything goes to plan. She has a meeting with the Fey Clan today that she thinks will take a long time, and Phoenix said there was some kind of night-market even in Pasadena that’s closing off a lot of the major roads between Kurain Village and here. We will debrief in full in the morning, and then I will let you two loose to go investigate.”
“Why Miss Fey, If I may ask? Why me, for that matter?”
“Frankly put, there’s not a lot of physical evidence left at the crime scene. While obviously not admissible in court directly, speaking to the victim may provide some leads, which is where Maya gets involved. As for you- Stargram is a multinational corporation with a borderline monopoly in some parts of the world, and their head of operations was just murdered in cold blood. There’s a significant possibility this could link to something much larger, and you’re certainly the most qualified to take this forward should you need to.”
“I see. Sounds amenable.” She purses her lips and nods, though she does not like it at all. There is something that is bothering her about this, but she chooses to ignore it for the time being- there is work to be done. “In the meantime, might I have a copy of the case file and evidence found thus far, that I might review it tonight?”
“Of course- I thought you might ask. I already have a copy of what’s available prepared for you to peruse at your lesiure.” Miles says, producing a cream manila folder marked SL-35-v.Karma. Franziska takes the folder from her brother’s outstretched hands, places it into her alligator-skin briefcase, and snaps it shut with a little click. “You’re always so sharp, Ziska- I knew you’d be the best prosecutor for this case.”
Now, she would never preen in public, but the compliment is always welcome. “I am glad to hear it, Bruder. Now, about that pasta…?”
—
Feb.22, 7:40 PM. Los Angeles, Japanifornia. Wright-Edgeworth Residence, Dining Room
“How is it, Aunt Franziska?” Trucy leans across the table in anticipation. “Do you like it?”
I am very impressed,” she responds honestly, and Trucy beams. Franziska has of course had better, but she would never say such a thing while her niece(s?) look at her from across the table, eyes wide with hope. For first-time homemade pasta, it’s good- the length and width is even, the texture is al dente, and the water has been salted properly. The vodka sauce and sausage, while premade, do wonders for the dish at large. “This pasta is cooked very, very well.” Out of the corner of her eye, Franziska can see her brother-in-law give a sigh of relief.
“Oh! Did you know- Kay drove me and Daddy to the market to get it! All by herself!”
Franziska sets her eye on the other girl, who puffs up with pride. “Oh, is that so?”
“Uh-huh!” Kay gives a thumbs-up. “No one honked at me or anything.”
“That’s not… nevermind. We’re very proud of you, Kay.” Miles takes another bite of linguine with a smile on his face. “And the pasta is delicious.”
“Now I don’t have to freakin’ drive you around everywhere anymore,” Apollo mumbles, mouth half-full. “Though I gotta say, this pasta is good.”
Kay grins. “You bet it is! Oh- Aunt Ziska, you’re sleeping over tonight, right?"
“That I am. I am helping your father with a case, although I will only be sleeping here tonight.” Franziska is about to say more when there’s a knock at the door. Loud, rhythmic, playful- shave and a haircut, two bits. She is sure she knows that sound.
Apollo scoots back to get up and answer the door, but Franziska beats him to it, rising to her feet. “I’ll get it, Apollo. You can keep eating.” There’s a pang in her chest- or is it her shoulder? Whatever it is, recognition is sinking in her gut, a stone skipping across the surface of her psyche and plunging into depths unseen.
“Uh, okay…?” Apollo sits back down, confused, and Franziska ventures into the Wright-Edgeworths’ foyer, pointedly ignoring the look her brother is giving her. “Who is it?” she calls into the door, although she’s almost certain of the answer already.
“It’s Maya!”
I knew it. Franziska opens the door, tamping down the bizarre reaction her body seems to be having to it all- allergies, maybe?- and looks forward into the eyes of Maya Fey, wide and dark and crinkled into a smile.
“Franzi!” She grins, wide and earnest. “I heard that we’re gonna work together!”
“That we are,” Franziska replies, not quite sure exactly what kind of face she’s making at the nickname. “I am looking forward to it.”
“Aunt Maya!” Trucy leaps out of her seat in the other room and comes running at the sound of Maya’s voice. “Me and Kay and Daddy made pasta for dinner!”
“Hell yeah!” Maya pumps her fist in the air and lets Trudy lead her into the dining room, where the Edgeworth-Wights have made room for one more table setting. Franziska closes the door and follows behind, resuming her seat while pasta alla vodka is heaped onto Maya’s eager plate.
“This looks amazing,” she gasps, eyes wide and sparkling as she stares down her plate. Franziska does her best to rationally observe. “Kay, Truce, you guys made this yourself?!”
“Mostly- Daddy helped a lot,” Trucy giggles. “We bought the sauce and the sausage from the market, but we made the pasta totally from scratch, and we added other stuff to the sauce, like garlic.”
“And,” Kay smirks, thoroughly self-satisfied, a near mirror copy of her father, “guess who drove to the market to buy the ingredients?”
Maya gasps, fully committed to the bit. “No way- Kay Faraday? On the road at last?!”
A sunbeam smile. “You bet! And it only took me… an extra two years to get my license!”
“Amazing! Y’know, I got my license at twenty, and Nick still hasn’t gotten his yet, so seventeen years old is pretty good in my book.” Maya smiles mischievously and Phoenix shoots her a glare. Franziska feels the corners of her mouth lift without her consent at such an artful jab. “Anyway, lemme dig into this pasta… mmhm… wait, this is insanely good! You guys are great at cooking!”
Franziska watches, enraptured, as Maya continues to shovel food into her mouth almost as fast as she can chew, the utter lack of propriety or grace somehow invoking endearment alongside the rational level of disgust. Maya eats with so much relish- her bites are way too big and she gets sauce all over her mouth. She hopes it isn’t obvious that she’s staring, but she can’t tear her eyes away, her body in all its foolishness refusing to obey, completely silent as conversation at the table warps around her ears. She’d like to interject- maybe with how are you, or how was the drive, or give my regards to Pearl, or something, anything- but every time she comes up with a question someone else at the table beats her to it and Franziska is back to scratch. She would rather wait until she has a perfect hold on what she wishes to say before she goes and says it like a fool. Franziska won Karma is not a fool.
“So, Maya,” Miles is saying as Maya polishes off the last of her pasta, “Where are you staying this week?”
Maya stops, fork halfway to her mouth. “Oh, right- uh. That’s a great question. So here’s the thing…”
Phoenix’s brow furrows. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh, well. I figured you guys would have a full house, so I asked Larry to let me stay at his while the case is on, but. uh. He texted me earlier and I think he just got a new girlfriend. So now, I, uh, have no idea.”
Phoenix scratches his head. “Uh, you can take the couch at the office if you want, though there isn’t really a shower or anything. I can give you the keys.”
“Thanks, Nick, that should-”
“Hold it!” The words fly out of Franziska’s mouth, whip-fast; she’s standing before she even knows it, a sudden fit of spontaneity she has no choice but to double down on. “I can share. The couch, that is. It’s an obscenely large sofa. You should stay here.”
A beat. Everyone looks at her.
Miles clears his throat, making an expression that is not disapproving but still greatly bothersome, and gets to his feet as well. “Franziska, are you inviting someone else into my home?”
Yes. Yes, she is. Perhaps it is a bit presumptuous to invite someone to a house that is not hers, but Franziska is unperturbed- she’s sure that it will be agreeable to everyone, and if no one else is going to say it, she will. “I am, Little Brother. It is the best and most efficient solution.”
He raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused, and crosses his arms. Franziska does not like it when he does this. “Oh? How so?” His tone is too lighthearted to be serious- it’s an open invitation to challenge his logic. Nine times out of ten, Franziska does not mind playing his ridiculous little games, but she does not like the air of- of whatever insipid tone that is- in his voice today, like he knows something she doesn’t and is enjoying watching her not know about it.
“See, Miss Fey and I are investigating together tomorrow. Sharing quarters would mean efficient transportation, and there would be time to debrief tonight as opposed to tomorrow morning, which means investigation will be much faster, and it will provide Miss Fey with access to a working shower and more comfortable means of sleep.”
“You forget- the debriefing must take place tomorrow regardless of where Maya stays, since most of the evidence- including the autopsy- will not be available until then.”
Franziska is undeterred. “I have not forgotten, Brother- I am not a fool who forgets things. I simply think it would be best for myself and Miss Fey to be on the same page when we receive more information tomorrow morning. It is always good to have a planned course of action ahead of time.” She narrows her eyes at her opponent, daring him to move forward.
“True, but surely such a last minute invitation lacks a sense of propriety and preparation. What If I am not ready to receive another guest?” Miles counters, crossing his arms. From next to him, Phoenix asks someone to pass the pasta; Apollo wordlessly obliges him. Trucy is showing Kay and Maya a Stargram Reel.
Perhaps there is something to be gleaned from how little these antics have fazed their impromptu audience, but Franziska has decided, correctly, not to care. “Foolish brother! While I agree my suggestion on your behalf may be untoward, such a thing might have been a factor were you not already expecting an overnight guest- and there are no plans to eat together, so the burden is minimized. The person who would be most inconvenienced by this decision would be the person sharing the couch with Miss Fey- myself. And I have clearly demonstrated I have no issue with such an arrangement.”
“I see, I see,” Miles shrugs, sitting back down and poking his fork into his pasta. “I have no choice but to agree with such sound logic.”
Franziska would usually call it then and there, but the ease of his concession tells her it’s not over yet. “…But…?”
She’s right. The smirk is back, full-force. “Surely you know, Ziska, that it’s not me you’ve got to convince, is it? Your proposal is entirely dependent on an agreement from Maya to share the couch with you.”
Maya looks up from Trucy’s phone at the sound of her name. Franziska goes totally still- she hadn’t considered this. “Huh? Uh… I was not paying full attention. We’re still talking about the couch, right?”
From his expression, it’s clear Miles has caught her stumble, and he is exploiting it like the shrewd little snake that he is. “We are. I do believe Franziska has a query for you.”
“Oh, uh, okay?” Maya turns to look at her expectantly. “Go ahead!”
So *that* was your angle. Franziska is fuming, but she puts everything she’s got into keeping her composure, forcing herself to make eye contact despite the heat rising to her face. Shame has never been her forté, since there has never really been a need for it- and despite Miles Edgeworth’s most valiant efforts, she does not plan to start now. An underhanded gamble, Little Brother, but ultimately fruitless- this battle ends now.
“Well then. Maya Fey, would you be opposed to sharing the Wright-Edgeworth couch with me tonight?”
It comes out a bit too formal, what with her still standing and extending her hand out like some kind of fairytale prince, but it is as close to perfect as it gets, because Maya just breaks out into a grin and takes it.
“That sounds great!”
I win, she thinks, and the fire of triumph courses through her whole body, hand-first.
—
Feb. 22, 10:45 PM. Wright-Edgeworth Residence, Living Room
“You know,” Maya says as they’re gathering spare blankets and pillows from a cabinet, “This will be my first real sleepover ever.”
Her words catch Franziska off-guard, like they always seem to. “What do you mean?”
“Well, growing up in the village, I never really got to do the teenage sleepover thing, y’know? So now’s the chance!”
Franziska raises an eyebrow. “...Maya Fey, the two of us are nearly thirty.”
“Still! This is probably the closest I’ve gotten. Where you hang out with your gal-pals in your friend’s living room and do stuff together in your pajamas- except we’re going over murder case details instead of watching movies or doing manicures. Ooh, maybe we should pester Edgeworth for some face masks...”
Gal-pals? Manicures? “That is admittedly quite a… funny image, Maya Fey-” The word foolish comes to mind, but doesn’t make it out- “-but you will be glad to hear that won’t be necessary- I have a few face masks of my own in my luggage.”
“See! We should totally do a sleepover! Though there’s no nail polish to do manicures with.” Maya starts padding down the hall, carrying the pillows; her hair is even longer when it’s down from its usual style, falling down her back in a long, straight cascade. It’s a bit strange to see her out of her traditional garb, too- instead she’s clad in a fuzzy purple pajama set that Franziska cannot deny suits her.
“Well, I suppose I am curious- I can’t say I’ve ever experienced such a thing either.” At that age, she simply did not have the time for it- and even if she did, such a thing would have been utterly beneath her. Why she’s open to it now, despite the increased indignity of such childish behavior at her age, is a mystery that Franziska has no desire to investigate further.
Maya turns and smiles, dazzling and wide, direct eye contact, utterly oblivious to it all as per usual. “That just means we’ll get to have both of our first times together, right, Franzi?”
Franziska’s ears are not red, and even if they were, it’s probably too dim to tell, and even if it isn’t , Maya Fey is a fool who should choose her phrasing better and Franziska is not to blame for anything at all. “I- I suppose. How would you like to arrange things on the couch?” She gestures to the massive cloth L-sectional sofa as a means of recovery.
Maya Fey, foolish fool that she is, takes the bait hook, line and sinker, and the subject changes. “Oh, right! I was going to mention this- but I know you had me stay so we can carpool to the crime scene in the morning, which is pretty smart of you- but… correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem like the kind of girl that prefers having her own space. Uh, no offense. I sleep on futons all the time at Fey Manor, so I don’t need to use the sofa. I can lay the comforters on the floor and sleep there if that would make you more comfortable.”
Franziska hefts her portion of the comforters onto the ottoman and crosses her arms. “Maya Fey, I am not the kind of girl that would go back on my promises. I am content to share the couch as long as you are.” Actually, she’s never shared her living quarters with someone else, so she has absolutely no idea if she will prefer more space, but Maya doesn’t need to know that. Franziska does not need to be pampered.
“All right then!” Maya throws the pillows down onto the intersection of the couch so they are lying perpendicular to one another. “How’s this? Too close? I think it’s best this way since, like, I move a lot in my sleep, and I really don’t want to kick you or something. Plus, it’s easier to talk.”
“Perfectly acceptable.” Franziska moves the comforters over to their corresponding places and retrieves her briefcase before she takes a seat on her portion of the couch. “Now then, shall we go over the case files?”
“Get the face masks out, and let’s do it,” Maya grins again, setting herself onto the couch. Her smile is ridiculously wide.
—
Feb. 23, 02:11AM, Wright-Edgeworth Residence, Living Room
As it turns out, Franziska is the kind of girl that needs her own space.
It’s been a few hours since Maya fell asleep, and she is lying awake on her section of the couch, trying her very best to ignore the soft sounds of breathing coming from Maya Fey as she sleeps, face inches away.
The proximity is terrible. Franziska is turned away, face to the couch cushions; she’s sure if she turned around she’d be able to count the spaces between Maya’s long, dark eyelashes, even though the qualities of said eyelashes are mere conjecture on Franziska’s part because she, very pointedly, has not looked. It’s a reasonable assumption- Maya’s hair is long and dark, so surely– no! Absolutely not! This kind of thing is not worth spending your energy on, Franziska von Karma! Tonight has been blunder after blunder- perhaps the worst it’s been in a decade- and she cannot afford to stumble again. Get yourself together! You are not stupid!
… Wait.
Franziska von Karma is not a fool, and nothing escapes her eye. She knows a pattern when she sees one. Her eagerness to get to the door, her outburst at dinner, this sleepover…
Am I… being *stupid*?
The thought hits her, devastating, because she knows it is true. There is no other way to describe tonight’s missteps. Franziska von Karma is being, perhaps for one of the first times in her life, stupid- and Maya Fey is the one to blame. The concept is ludicrous, but there is precedent, and that means there’s a case to be made- no, worse. Upon further reflection, Franziska is compelled to confidently declare that it could only have been Maya Fey.
Despite what some might say, Franziska is not delusional; although it brings her no pleasure to admit it, she knows at some level that whenever Maya Fey is involved, she loses all control over the perfect rationality she has so fiercely championed. Every damned time that girl shows up, Franziska breaks character- moving before she even knows it, reacting faster than she can think, throwing herself into things blindly without even considering the consequences. And in the end it results in another stain on her perfect record and another memory she would really rather forget. This is a proven fact- if the bullet scar in her shoulder doesn’t prove it, then tonight certainly does.
All this time, she’s accredited her reactions to the girl to their differences, which run on a nearly existential level. Maya Fey is everything Franziska stands against- perhaps even more so than her spiky-haired associate. She is as conceptually ridiculous as a person gets, constantly bending the well-placed tenets of logic with her kimono-wearing, talisman-wielding deus-ex-machina magic powers to a degree which remains beyond comprehension and explanation both, and then getting away with it. She is decisive evidence in the case for a world gone utterly stupid, a semantic error in the strict codes of reality, and Franziska simply does not know what to do about it. She can’t even get angry about it, even though she knows she should; Maya, despite it all, despite her constant foolishness, remains likable- lovable, even. Her antics, which would usually infuriate Franziska or draw her ire, seem somehow harmless and silly instead, perhaps annoying at times but always tolerable, if not mildly endearing. And in another flagrant disruption of reason- perhaps the most upsetting one yet- Franziska cannot help but be actively drawn to her, despite all logic and reason insisting otherwise. Unprompted, she begins to replay the events of the day- her sister’s teasing, her brother’s apprehension-
You know, Ziska, one of these days, you’re going to find out the hard way…
When it comes to Maya, your judgement gets… compromised.
Her siblings’ words float around in her mind, loose but strangely heavy, before they dredge up some words of her own:
If I have learned anything from the two of you, it is that love will make me-
No.
Ludicrous. Foolish. Insane. Impossible. She cuts the train of thought off as soon as she sees where it’s headed. She curses the world for giving her such pernicious siblings , charlatans spewing poison into her ears over iced coffee and case files so that it can seep into her mind all night and subdue her investigative abilities in the morning. It’s almost too much to bear, but Franziska is strong in spirit, and she will not fail; she tosses herself onto her back and looks up at the ceiling, refusing to dwell on this weakness- whatever it may be- any longer than she already has.
Well… maybe her unwillingness to dwell on it is a weakness in itself. One must know thine enemy- and while Maya may not be her enemy, the strange power she seems to hold over Franziska most certainly is. Maybe she would do well to try and understand it more- even if it is risky and strange. Perhaps she could even learn to overcome it, the way she has overcome any and all imperfections thus far- through meticulous study and practice. She has ample opportunity for both in the coming week, when she will be alongside Maya Fey on the regular- as long as she does not let it interfere with her investigative abilities- which are never dull- there should be no issue.
Yes, she can feel her confidence increase by the moment. This investigation will be the solution to this problem- she will see to it. All she needs to do is study her own behavior, find the root of it, and correct it- and this problem will be gone forever.
Franziska turns onto her back and stares into the ceiling. While she does not glance over at the other side of the couch, she assures herself it is because there is simply just no need to do so before she shuts her eyes and wills herself to sleep.