Franziska was working vigorously, far into her papers, by the time the building began to come to life. The door to her office opened. She didn't look up, knowing it was most likely the coffee boy, but instead continued her work. The fool's early, for once, she thought to herself. The mug was placed on a coaster with a tiny clunk.

"Here's your coffee, Ms. von Karma," spoke a voice that froze the blue-haired girl's hand mid-write. Franziska looked up to see, not the coffee boy, but a strange woman, poised straight, hands behind her back, only about her age, more or less. Franziska met the brunette's brown eyes, shielded by thick lenses in a metallic blue frame, the left eye blocked from view by a glare from the lights, with a stern gaze. She noted the girl had a dimple-like scar in the same place she had her mole.

"Scruffy," Franziska called, her eyes still locked with the other's. Detective Dick Gumshoe had passed Franziska's open door by the time she hailed him, and he started, warily standing at the doorway with a sulk. "Who is this girl?"

Gumshoe seemed to perk up as he responded, "Why, that's the new recruit, pal- Katherin Crae Dahl! She'll be your assistant, following your requests. And she'll do them as soon as you command." He scratched his head. "She might seem like a robot, but I think it's a condition. 'Compulsively nice,' I think she said."

Franziska's gaze hadn't wavered, and Miss Dahl even took the staring-contest challenge. Finally the prosecutor broke the silence: "I see. How old is she?"

"Uh, I dunno... She, uh... Oh, she just turned 17 today!" Gumshoe began to laugh at this. "Probably the only one on the force younger than yourself, pal."

At that, Franziska waved a gloved hand at Gumshoe. "That'll be all."

Gumshoe closed the door as he exited, leaving the two to continue their staring contest. Franziska spoke again: "So, Miss Katherin Crae Dahl-"

"You may just call me Kat, ma'am," Kat interjected with a soft voice. She was met with a sharp whip to her left shoulder, where she let out a squeak of pain, wincing with a start.

"You never interrupt me while I am speaking," Franziska scolded, pulling her whip taut.

Kat rubbed her damaged shoulder. She opened her right eye, as she was able, and let a tear run down her cheek to drip upon her arm. "Yes, ma'am. My sincerest apologies," she responded. Clearly, she was warned of Franziska's fury.

The prosecutor grasped her coffee mug, bringing it up to take a sip. She stopped short when she noticed the intern remaining in the middle of the room, poised. "What are you waiting for?"

"Orders for my next course of action, ma'am," she responded, her voice still soft.

Right, my assistant, Franziska thought to herself dryly. She picked up a messy pile of papers she hadn't gotten the chance to file as of yet. She held them to the new recruit. "Take these and organize them. Alphabetized and chronological. Can I trust you to do that?"

Kat bowed before accepting the mess of papers. She quickly seated herself onto the couch and went to work, as did the blue-haired prosecutor, organizing the papers on the cushion beside her. Despite the poor working conditions, Kat worked like clockwork, and within minutes, she handed Franziska the manilla folder with papers neatly placed inside. Franziska put her pen down. After taking the folder, she studied Kat's work. Franziska's eyebrows rose. Kat did exacly as told, exactly as she was told to do it. "Not bad," Franziska muttered. "For once, I don't have a blundering buffoon working for me."

Kat remained poised, seemingly unphased by the complement. Franziska picked up her pen and returned to her work. "You might want to... rest that shoulder of yours," she advised; her way of saying, "I'm sorry," without actually saying it. Kat bowed once more, and sat back down on the couch. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, as if going to sleep, or... turning off, like a robot, as Gumshoe had described. "By the way," Franziska added. Kat raised her head to look at her. "Happy Birthday." Kat gave a curved smile, one resembling a cat's.

Prosecutor's Building
Tuesday, March 24
8:00 AM


It was business as usual for Franziska, aside from the assistant. Kat was out running errands for her supervisor- retrieving papers, asking Gumshoe if he had the paperwork Franziska had asked him for, and sending him off to his doom if he did not. All was well, until Kat arrived at Franziska's office, brushing past a beaten Gumshoe, and shying halfway into the workroom.

"Um, Ms. von Karma?" she began timidly.

"Yes, Miss Kat? What is it?" she replied, not looking up from her work; she decided to go ahead and call her assistant by the nickname offered, because of her curved smile.

"Uh, well, I'm afraid there's going to be a slight... change in the background music," she informed her, her quiet voice even quieter.

Franziska looked up from her papers. "What do you mean by-"

She was cut off: The classical music that played throughout the building had changed to rock music. Kat bowed her head, Franziska, at the same time, looking up at the speaker in her office. The blue-haired prosecutor whipped her head to face the younger, and before Kat knew it, Franziska swooped at her and grabbed her scarved blouse collar, pulling her off her feet and pinning her to the wall. They were nose-to-nose.

"You have something to do with this," she snapped, and added poisonously, as Kat fearfully turned her head to the side, "don't you?!"

"No!" she pleaded. "I-It wasn't me, I swear! I-I saw two men s-sneaking to the speaker audio control room with a-a music CD! Please, believe me!"

Franziska let Kat go, who promptly collapsed onto the floor, her dress-pantsed legs slung to her left. With fire building in her eyes, the prosecutor threw open her door, pulling out her whip and pulling the leather taut. She stormed the halls towards the control room.

Workers who had peeked curiously from their work spaces quickly recoiled in fear as she charged past. Her movements stirred loose leaves of paper, and untucked articles of clothing in her wake.

As soon as the door to the room came into view, Miles Edgeworth, the one she often refers to as her "younger brother," was seen calmly waiting for her.

Franziska threw open the door with a slam, and what was found wasn't a surprise: Larry Butz was reclined in a computer chair, pushing against a desk with his foot, and Phoenix Wright was sitting on a small filing cabinet.

"Hey, we just thought we could liven things up a bit for ya," Larry laughed, not yet knowing the fate he was about to meet.

Both goons were met with a barrage of whipping. "You fools!" Franziska roared. "I'll teach you to damn these halls with your foolish music!"

Miles was watching behind the doorframe, wincing at each strike.


----------


Kat, still collapsed onto the floor, sighed in relief: The classical music was back up. She pushed herself up, staggering from the aftershock, and straightened her wardrobe.

"C'mon, lighten up! It was for the best!" She was re-tying her blue scarf when she heard struggling in the hallway. She turned to see Franziska displaying the two men, with Miles standing behind her, his hands in his pockets. "Ooh, well hello there, beautiful."

"Are these the two men you saw, Miss Kat?" Franziska demanded, her teeth clenched at Larry's flirting.

"Yes, ma'am. These are the two I saw sneaking about," she concluded, simply choosing to ignore the rudeness. Franziska's scowl warped into an evil grin. "Do you wish for me to escort them out?"

"No, I'll dispose of them myself," Franziska told her evilly. She began to drag them off, and this time they tried to escape.

"Miss Kat! Please, help us!" Phoenix begged.

Kat and Miles looked at each other, and both moved to follow. They took a separate elevator from Franziska to the bottom floor, and stood right around the corner to the lobby to watch.

They were awestruck at Franziska's acts of torture. Kat swiped off her glasses and turned to bury her face into the right shoulder of Miles' burgundy suit. He wrapped his arm around her comfortingly, his mouth still agape.

Poor little kitten, he thought sympathetically.

To Be Continued...

Franziska was walking to the office building at which she worked, Miles, for reasons unknown, in tow- possibly the result of a desire of Franziska's to pull her younger brother out of bed and get him to accompany her to work on this fine Friday morning.

"Hey, what's that?" Miles asked: He heard shuffling behind them, and when he turned, saw a silhouette of a person, hunched over as the mysterious person dragged their feet.

Franziska pulled out her whip and held taut and ready. "Perhaps a stalker, asking for a world of pain?"

"Doesn't sound like it. Listen," he informed her.

Listening, they heard a familiar voice- Kat's voice. She was complaining, "Dammit, of all the times they decide to fumigate that roach hotel. They didn't even disengage the main power, and the fumes short-circuited the whole place. The crap doesn't even kill those pests."

Kat was hugging herself- the morning left a biting chill, and her every exhale left a visible fog. "I swear, those people are so... so... What's the word?"

"Foolish?" Franziska offered. She replaced her whip once she confirmed the intruder was, in fact, her secretary assistant.

"Yeah, that's it," she shivered, rubbing her frigid arms.

Miles gestured for her to come closer, and once she did, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Having a little trouble at home?" he asked.

Kat nodded, "If no longer having a home qualifies as having troubles at home."

The biting wind was making Kat's eyes tear, which in turn transferred onto her lenses. It wouldn't have mattered much if she didn't totally despise dirty glasses. She pulled a silk cloth out of the wrist cuff of her left sleeve. The color matched Miles' suit. She began the ritual of cleaning her lenses.

Miles rubbed her shoulder. She didn't seem phased. "Aww, don't worry. You're in good hands. Right, Franny?"

Franziska sighed, "I suppose..."

Just then, Miles' cell began to ring. He looked at the caller ID and groaned at what it said, "The moochers."

"Those fools! They have the worst timing," Franziska grumbled, squeezing her sleeve.

"I know how to get rid of 'em," Kat chirped. Both prosecutors gave her looks, inquiring, 'Really?' Kat tucked her lense cloth back into her sleeve, took Miles' phone, and pressed send.

"Hello, would you like to buy some of our top-quality merchandise?" came a voice on the other end of the line.

Kat let out a loud, insulted scoff, causing the prosecutors to flinch in surprise. "I cannot believe this!" Kat scolded the receiver. "My home has just been destroyed, and you have the gall to demand money from me?!"

By now, Miles had an amused grin on his face, and even Franziska had pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at the development.

"You people are the greediest, bottom-feeding pestilence I have ever had the displeasure of speaking to! Never call this number again!" With that, she hung up.

Miles was laughing out loud, while Franziska tried to stifle her laughter. Miles got his phone back.

"Well, I certainly doubt I'll be getting any phone calls from there anytime soon," Miles chuckled.

Franziska cleared her throat. "Well, if we're through with all this foolishness," she turned on her heel and casually marched to the building in which they worked.

The two others rushed to catch up. "Well, since your home has been 'destroyed,' maybe you can live with one of us? Until you get back up on your feet."

They reached the doors to the building's lobby. Franziska began the process of unlocking.

"I'm sure the living quarters provided would be much better than the one you lost. Franziska-" Miles was given a cold glare by the blue-haired girl as she was in mid-unlock. "Er, I have a very clean home," he amended.

Kat shrugged, "No, I don't want to be a burden." She squeaked as Franziska dragged her inside the building.

"Quite frankly, I don't think you have much of a choice," she replied casually, continuing to drag Kat to the elevators.

There, she was able to regain her composure. "Well, do you allow pets?" Kat asked.

"Yes, I do. Is it a cat?" he automatically jumped to conclusions.

Kat gave her trademark curved smile. "A gecko," she replied, and an abnormally large greenish-blue lizard pulled itself from her blue scarf to perch onto her shoulder, obviously taking advantage of its camouflage abilities.

Miles and Franziska both recoiled.

"My, what an... interesting choice for a pet," Franziska cautiously commented. The lizard seemed to bark at her, and she pressed tighter against the elevator wall.

"Why do you have a gecko for a pet?!" Miles panicked.

"Well, I couldn't afford a water dragon-" Franziska stammered at the word 'water dragon,' "-and geckos love to eat cockroaches."

"Did you have any... normal pets at some point?!" Franziska was through watching her step.

Kat went quiet before she responded, "Does a scorpion count?"

"Ugh!" Franziska jumped out of the elevator as soon as they reached their destination. "I have work to do," she announced, hiding her disgust really well.

Kat and Miles held back for a while.

"Did you really have a pet scorpion once?" he asked, once the whip-wielding prosecutor was out of ear-shot.

"Nah, but I did have a guinea pig," she chirped.

After a moment of silence, they both broke out in laughter.

"Ow, ow, ow..." Kat breathed, trying her best not to shy away from Franziska's dabbing.

The assistant somehow acquired a cut across her face, and her boss- upon coming along to check up on her, using the spare room key she had for herself -happened upon her unconscious body, sprawled on the floor.

"Quit fussing. Honestly, how in the world did you happen to get such an injury?" Franziska scolded mildly whilst continuing to apply a medical cream to the laceration.

"I told you: I can't remember. One minute I'm going about my business, and the next-" you're cleaning my face with a wet cloth. She felt uncomfortable about saying that, so she kept it to herself.

Franziska brushed a strand of hair from Kat's face, looking intently at the injury. The younger shifted uncomfortably.

"It doesn't look as though it'll scar. Which is a relief," the prosecutor added blatantly. "We can't have anything ruining that cute little face of yours."

Kat bowed her head. Cute... Does she have to be so- Ugh, I wish I could remember what happened. Not only was I injured, but- "Em is gone."

Franziska was just about to bandage the cut when she said that. She paused for a second, then continued to dress the wound. "Who, dear?" she asked somewhat haltingly.

"Em. **Emerald. My gecko," her voice dropped to below a whisper, and she sadly cast her eyes downward.

Franziska pondered as she finished wrapping the bandage. She knitted her brows sympathetically when she finally remembered the creepy little blueish-green lizard from the elevator. Now it was... She rested her hand on Kat's leg reassuringly.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "for your loss."

Kat breathed sharply, obviously in pain, physically and emotionally. "It's not your fault," she rasped, shaking her head. "It was just," her voice was starting to break, "her time to go..."

Kat tried her hardest to force back the tears that burned her eyes. Franziska saw her struggle. She didn't know what to do.

How do people usually handle these kinds of situations? My hand on her leg is obviously not enough. Isn't it... Franziska's grip tightened on Kat's leg, then loosened. She removed her gloved hand from her leg, and began to slowly and hesitantly wrap her arms around her distraught assistant. ... a hug? she finished her last sentence while her arms enveloped her 'patient.'

Kat responded as if by instinct, or rather impulse, by returning Franziska's hug. Tears were streaming down her cheeks by now, burning as they brimmed her eyes, and pattering softly as they struck her sleeves.

Franziska, unsure of what to do, settled on stroking her back, muttering words of reassurance as softly as she could.

Kat obviously trusted Franziska- found comfort in her boss, her now-closest friend. She whimpered softly as she hid her face in the crook of the blue-haired woman's neck.

Franziska's brows furled at this puppy-esque action of the 17-year-old. She shifted ever so slightly to accept her further into her warmth. You really are affectionate, aren't you?



Franziska had silently resigned herself, book in hand, to the soft chair placed across from Kat's bed. She had insisted upon watching over the injured girl, who needed to sleep off the dizziness caused by blood loss from her laceration.

"I'm staying here so I can keep a watchful eye on you," she had announced.

"Oh, no! I'm fine! Really!" Kat had insisted, waving her hands dismissively.

Franziska wasn't having any of it. "You can't remember what happened to you. It might as well have been an intruder of sorts. And the assailant could come back. I am staying," she ended decisively, putting a gloved finger to Kat's lips as she was about to argue.

Franziska looked up from her reading material, to the bed in which Kat lay. She noticed the girl was silent- didn't even snore. Her tonsils and adenoids were removed before. That's probably why... Her arms were more or less wrapped around her pillow, she noted as well. She just couldn't help but realize her assistant, as she sub-consciously buried her face deeper into her pillow, was...

Cute...

Franziska was out. She was preparing for her flight to Germany, having left Miles with strict instructions: Keep an eye on her assistant, in case her health faltered from her laceration.

Kat was gazing down from the window, squinting through her transitioned lenses. "Who is that? Is that Winston?"

Miles came to her side. "Where?"

"Down there."

"I don't see him. ... Ah, yes, it is," he concluded after snagging Kat's thick-lensed glasses to magnify his perspective. He returned her glasses.

"He looks anxious," she pointed out, putting her glasses back on.

"He usually does," Miles shrugged.

"Well, even more so than usual."

Miles put her glasses over his eyes again. "He's talking on his cell phone."

"Do you think he's being told off?"

"Possibly."

"A-hem," interjected a voice.

The two turned to Franziska, Miles still wearing Kat's glasses.

Franziska furled a brow. "Do I even want to know?" Miles returned Kat's glasses, who proceeded to clean them. "Come, come, Miss Dahl. It's time we left."

Being Franziska's assistant meant helping her in both America and Germany. Good thing she took German classes, as well as French. As she proceeded to clean her glasses, she followed Franziska. "I'm co- OW!" she walked into the wall-- her eyesight was totally useless without corrective lenses.

"Put your damn glasses on," Franziska groaned through gritted teeth.

Kat did so, giggling sheepishly, and followed her boss.



Having a young girl as a shadow isn't too bad, Franziska admitted. She makes a decent chauffeur.

Kat, with her traits seemingly second only to her boss', agreed to drive them both to the airport. She drove smoothly, and her transitional lenses(as well as catching Franziska by surprise) provided a sufficient amount of protection against the blinding rays of the early-morning sunlight.

Needless to say, it wasn't as peaceful as they had hoped. Going only 5 over the speed limit, Kat was often passed by drivers going 15, maybe even more, over the speed limit.

"Hey, get in the extra-slow lane, Grandma," one man retorted as he passed, going 20 over the limit.

"Asshole," Kat murmured in her usual calm.

Franziska shook her head, waving a gloved hand dismissively. "Don't yield to their foolish ways. They'll get pulled over eventually, I'm sure."

Just then, a police car pulled out behind the man, the sirens blaring.

"See?" Franziska smirked.

Kat giggled. She turned her blinker on, and shifted to the other lane, checking her blind spot as she did so. She switched the blinker back off, and they continued to the airport, grinning at the shocked look on the man's face.



Being plus kilometers over the Earth's surface isn't as fun as one may think. It's rather boring when you do it enough- That is, except for the occasional turbulence.

Franziska was re-reading one of her many books she owned relating to her career, and Kat was re-reading her English-German language book.

Franziska was calm during the flight. Kat, however, was dealing with a double-hitch knot with a half-Melvin in her stomach.

The take-off felt unsettling, and the regular turbulence caused her to cringe inwardly. She hid it as much as possible, and Franziska, sitting next to her in the window seat, never seemed to notice.

At least it prevented air-sickness.

"Attention passengers: If you'll notice, the seat-belt light is currently on. If anyone knows how to turn it off, please make your way to the cockpit and tell us. Thank you."

Kat closed her book. "Where are the parachutes? I'm getting off this death-trap!"

"Calm down," Franziska warned, resting her hand on her assistant's. She pushed the service button. "Please, tell the pilot this: The joke wasn't very funny the first time, and it still isn't even now," she told the stewardess once she responded. "And that Franziska sends her regards, I suppose," she added, exasperatedly.

Kat was impressed. Her boss has been here, and done that. One to be deeply respected- Never to be taken lightly. Franziska von Karma... the prosecutor deity, on the job since the barely-legal age of 13.

And Kat was working under her as a loyal assistant. How's that for an impressive living?

It's cold this time of year in Germany. The air was frigid enough, but the winds and constant drizzle made it a friggin' nightmare!

Franziska adorned a long trench coat that reached about mid-calf, a red scarf that was often tugged by the wind's cold grasp, and gloves hugged her hands as she hid them in her pockets. She had trekked through the occasional mud puddle(silently thanking her assistant for forcing her to wear goulashes) on her way to the crime scene.

Finally making it to the designated area, the prosecutor saw the full extent of the murder. It was one of those rare situations that made her grimace in disgust.

"What do you make of it?" The question was addressed to an investigator.

"We're thinking it's a repeated offense from a cult that has been causing trouble," came the professional reply. "The man we apprehended bears the insignia of the group." Franziska didn't like this information.

"Since when did Germany have a cult? Do you have any intelligence to offer on the group?"

"Er, well, I would, but I don't have a laptop."

Franziska reached under her trench coat, causing the man to flee(for obvious reasons). Pulling out her cellphone-- with a muttered "fool" --she called someone up.
~~~
Ms. von Karma? came the reply.
~
"Ms. Dahl, I need you to look up cults in Germany," she instructed her assistant. Kat had stayed behind, in light of her... 'problems' with these sorts of things.
~
What's the behavior?
~
"Genitalia burning," the prosecutor sneered. She received a hesitant pause from the other line, instead of the usual tapping of words into a search engine.
~
Uh, I'm just going to throw caution to the- When you say "burning", you don't mean literally, do you? You mean metaphorically speaking? Or verbally-
~
"Crae!!" Franziska sharply yelled into the receiver, receiving surprised looks from the people working on the scene.
~
Aïe! Ma pauvre tête! When it came to Kat's occasional French outbursts, Franziska only knew how to sort out the cognates. That said, she didn't know exactly what a "tête" was, only that it was one letter away from being vulgar slang-wise, and it most likely had to do with the area around her head-and-microphone-set. Right, literal it is. Furious tapping could be heard over the line. Ah! Spot on. Looks as though you do have a cult infestation. Damn!
~
"You can say that again," Franziska sighed.
~
Oh, damn!
~
"I didn't mean literally!"
~
"No, I mean, these guys do some pretty nasty stuff! Not only do they burn genitalia, they kill their victims by lobbing their craniums off with machetes, mutilate them, and then extract their internal organs. The burning is usually when there's a personal dislike for their victim." Franziska thought she heard gagging on the other end.
~
"Looks like we're dealing with some sick bastards out here."
~
"Indeed. You can't un-think these images. Oh, do be careful, Boss."
~
Franziska couldn't help but smile at the evident worry in the girl's voice. Of course, she had every right to worry. "I'll watch my step," she assured her. It was, at least, more truthful than 'I'll be fine.' or 'Nothing will happen.'
~
"I shall be impatiently awaiting your return. A tout à l'heure."
~
"See you later." Franziska hung up her phone.
~~~
The officer who had previously fled warily sulked back, seeing the prosecutor's frustration from how she rubbed her temples. "Is everything alright?" He was met with the lashing he tried to avoid earlier.

"How could you not remember such vulgar details?!" She snapped, more infuriated at how foolish the man was than anything, which was actually a ruse in itself to hide the anxiety she was feeling.

"Erm, I'm sorry. This isn't the hospital..."

Franziska walked in, surprised to see her assistant, sweating bullets, running her fingers through her long locks, and pacing through the suite like her wife was in labor or something.

Said prosecutor almost jumped when Crae did. "No-- No, don't panic. Check to see if he's breathing. Is he-- No, is he breathing?"

Pause.

"Okay, put me on speaker."

Pause.

"Got it? Yes? Okay, first, turn him flat on his back. Check his mouth to see if it's clear of anything."

Pause. Crae's noticed her boss by now. She presents an index finger to her, asking for patience.

"Not-- No, now press your fist against his chest, and push it in with your other hand about twenty times. No- twenty, not five."

Pause.

"Of course not, it's not a miracle rain dance. Now, hold his mouth open with one hand, close his nose with the other, and blow directly into his mouth."

Pause.

"No, it's not 'Like, co-ed?' It's-- Just, do it, and repeat the process over and over until he can breathe on his own."

Pause. Crae rubs her forehead.

"And while you're at it, call the hospital, not my number."

A fit of coughing is heard from the other end.

"Now. Call the hospital now. Okay? Bye-bye."

Crae hung up. She planted her palms on the side table, sweat dripping from her nose onto a coaster. Fitfully, she writhed out of her shirt, leaving herself in a black tank-top, practically drenched in sweat. "Hah. This is one of the reasons I'm not a doctor. Too stressful."

Franziska shook her head. "You handled that better than other people I know," she said, pulling her jacket off and hanging it up.

"Lucky me," the bespectacled woman drug out, her tongue obviously displayed in distaste. "How did your gruesome encounter go? I bet you shone like a star."

"Naturally," Franziska glowed, looking as though she were presenting herself to legions of fans.

Only she wasn't. She was presenting herself to her assistant, who, by now, was blocking her out with an MP3. Franziska got her attention by slapping the back of her head. "Annoying..."

"I'm sorry. Adolescent moment."

"Just... clean yourself up. Your top is drenched with sweat," Franziska said, turning her about face and pushing her towards the bathroom.

"You just wish it were white," Crae teased, earning herself a lash from the whip of a very flustered prosecutor.

Lightning streaks across the sky, to strike an indiscernible spot on the Earth, before thunder rolls across the horizon.

The sky weeps for a child lost, indiscriminately drenching all in the path of its tears of mourning.

"How the hell did I get myself mixed into this shit," a voice rumbled, gravelly and weak. "I swear, I..." Another strike of lightning, accompanied by a deafening crack, cuts off the speaker, a blonde, short-haired figure, bundled in winter clothes, and standing over the corpse of the lost life. "I didn't do it."



Mia Fey paced the lobby, nervously wringing her hands. "Okay, Mia, you can do this! I know you can!"

She was startled out of her self-assurance by a loud clearing of someone's throat. "Mia, m'dear. Are you quite alright?"

"Of course I am," she squeaked, whipping around to face him. Her muffler catches on a potted plant, and tips it over.

"Maybe I should take this case? You're in shambles," he offered, looking concernedly at her over his lenses.

"I'm fine! How could you say that," she practically shrieked, shaking him by the collar of his jacket. "I will win this case."

"Ngh! So you insisted over the phone last night. I almost dropped the receiver. Now, if you'd let go of my lapels, you might better see your client."

Mia turned around to see a rather depressed-looking figure. Blond hair was a mess, blue eyes were dull, and... well, that's all Mia could see. A scarf was covering the nose down.

"H-Hey! You must be Mr..."

He shook his head, then reached his hand out. "Wolfe. Wyvern Wolfe," he croaked, then covered his mouth to let out a wet cough with his free hand. "If you don't mind me saying, you're a bit tense," he forced out, wincing as Mia cut off all circulation to his fingers. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll get you the not guilty verdict! I swear," she spazzes out on him, grabbing the collar of his light-blue sweater-- with a rather stylish depiction of two dragons woven and arching into a heart --and screaming into his face.

"Jesus, Lady. Your eyes are bugging," he says, grabbing her wrists and trying to pry himself free.

Mia released him when she heard the wavering in his voice. That's right. He's the one on trial, not me. I have to be strong. For both of us.

Before she could say anything further, the bailiff cut in. "It's time to start the trial," he says, and they make their way in.



"Let the trial begin," the Judge boomed loud and clear after the room got quiet. He scanned the room with aged eyes, taking in the prosecutor, defendant, and attorney. "Are both sides ready?"

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor," Winston Payne shrieks out.

Oh, sweet mother of mercy, that voice! Not doing well for my headache, a rather ill Wyvern agonized, clutching his short locks of hair.

"Th-The defense is ready, Your Honor," Mia stammered. "Brr, is it cold in here?"

Nice save... Or not. I don't really care at this point, Wyvern was moping at the defendant's stand, practically wrapping his arms around his head.

"Then tell me," Mr. Payne said, cockily. "What was the cause of death?"

"I see you wincing," Wyvern whispered to Mia. "You hate his voice, too."

Ms. Fey tried not to giggle as she looked at the case file. "It was death by electrocution."

"Ms. Fey, do you find this matter amusing?" Judge asked, glaring down at the defense attorney.

Mia cleared her throat. "No, sir," she said, crumpling a piece of paper under her stand. She threw it at Mr. Wolfe, hitting him in the head, when the judge was discussing the murder weapon with Winston.

"As you can see, the murder weapon was this low-hanging wire."

"I see. Mr. Payne, you may call your first witness," the judge announced.

"I call: Mr. Wolfe to the stand," the prosecutor said smugly.

If my client is indeed innocent, then there should be no problems, Mia thought. "The defense has no objections, Your Honor," she said, smirking confidently.

"Very well. Mr. Wolfe, please proceed to the witness stand."

"As you say, Your Honor," he rasped, and proceeded to the witness stand, stifling his coughs.

"Mr. Wolfe. Are you ill?" The judge sounded more accusing than sympathetic.

"I am, Your Honor. I am covering my mouth and nose with this scarf, however. The germs will die when they hit the material," he informed him, rather intellectually.

"I-- Yes, I see. Proceed with your testimony."

"I will not lie to you, Your Honor. I did, in fact, meet up with Mr. Doug Swallow."

"Hold it! Why were you meeting him?" Mia did her part.

"He asked me to come. Said it was important. I took his word for it."

"Yes, as would I," the judge nodded. "Please, continue."

"We met up and discussed certain matters."

"Hold it! What matters were you discussing?"

"He told me some... questionable information about my girlfriend."

"Ah, you see? Motive, opportunity. It's all textbook. Might as well call the guilty verdict now."

"Objection! He isn't done with his testimony."

"Indeed. I'll hold off any verdicts, for now."

"Do you mind refraining from speaking, Mr. Payne?"

"Very well. I'll keep my words to a minimum."

"No, I mean, stop speaking altogether. I don't know why, but every time you speak, my headache gets worse." That got small chuckles from the crowd. Winston glared at Mia, who shrugged innocently.

"I don't usually lose my temper, but in that case, I... I suppose my fever got to me. I shoved him."

"Hold it!" Mia looks nervous. "How hard did you shove him?"

"Enough to make him stumble backwards. Not enough to fell him."

"I stormed off. I heard a loud noise, like a loud crack."

"Hold it! What was the cause of this loud noise?"

"You have the crime scene photo. He has-- had --an umbrella. I admit, at first I thought it was lightning, but it was too defined."

"I see. He must've stepped on this umbrella," Mia surmised.

"Bingo. Damn thing." Pause. "I say that, but I wished I had mine. It blew inside out during the pre-storm winds."

"After leaving, I eventually went back."

"Hold it! Why did you go back?"

"Like I said, I don't normally lose my temper like that. I realized my folly, and went back to apologize to him."

"Sure. Convincing story," came Payne's smugly doubtful remark. "The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime."

Wyvern sighed. "Annoying..."

"When I returned, he was lying there, dead. I know it looks bad, but I know he was alive when I left."

"Hold it! How do you know he was alive?"

"Are you daft? I know because he was calling my family name when I was storming off."

"A fabrication, I'm sure," came Mr. Payne's snide remark.



"Ms. Fey," the judge glowered at the attorney.

"Er, yes, Your Honor?" Mia looked at him nervously, as if she had done something wrong.

"What is this 'family name' Mr. Wolfe speaks of."

"Uh, well, Your Honor," Mia began, looking visibly relieved. "It is his last name, Wolfe."

"Hm, I see. I had no idea it was called anything else."

"That's not the point," Winston said. By now, Wyvern was holding his head, trying to stave off his growing headache. "The point is that this testimony undoubtedly points to him as the murderer."

"I told you! I didn't push him hard enough to make him fall, let alone stumble back a few feet," Mr. Wolfe snapped, his fever wearing on his patience.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," the prosecutor practically beamed. "The autopsy showed bruising on his left ankle, consistent with the hook on his umbrella."

Wyvern squinted at him. "Meaning the umbrella tripped him."

"Precisely."

"But like I said, I didn't push him hard! He couldn't have landed far," he argued. "And even if he did, I saw no hanging wires!"

"You're sick. Sick people tend to have a... hazy perspective, shall we say?"

"Even so, I'm not an idiot!"

"That has yet to be seen," Payne remarked smartly.

Wolfe narrowed his vision at the prosecutor. "Ah, dumb jokes, eh? At least my voice doesn't sound like nails on a chalkboard, or a thousand violins played by a howler monkey."

"Order! Order, dammit! I will not have lewd verbal exchanges in my courtroom!"

"I apologize, Your Honor," Wolfe said, calming down.

"Yes, but he's not as sorry as me, Your Honor," Winston said smugly.

"How would you know? You're not me."

"Objection! Don't we have a trial to do?" Mia called, a bit more hushed than usual. Unlike everyone else, she was conscientious of her client's headache.

"Indeed. Please, continue with your testimony," judge said.

"I finished my testimony twenty-one lines ago, Your Honor," Wyvern sweatdropped.

"Oh, of course you did," the judge hastily amended. "What I meant to say is, 'Prosecution, bring in the next witness.'"

"But-- But-- Oh, very well," Payne groaned as Wyvern returned to the defendant's stand. He was smirking under his scarf.