maskormenacelogs | oohhh it's only me and i walk aloonnneee

He ought to have left earlier. He'd dawdled too long making his excuses and explanations, tarried until the hour was late enough that there would be few people on the street. He hadn't thought there was any real risk in this. After all, he'd made his wishes to be left alone clear enough, and no one had the temerity to ignore his wishes when they were directly stated.

Or - he'd thought no one had the temerity. Apparently, he had underestimated this hooligan.

His step falters just a bit when the man pops into his line of sight; for a moment, he's simply surprised, and he hesitates. That only lasts a moment, though; then his expression darkens, his brow knits with anger, and he steps out into the street to walk around the man, the wheels of his suitcase rattling on the asphalt behind him.

Ah, he's being ignored. It's not surprising. After all, their last interaction had had Edgeworth hanging up on him. Well, that's fine. There is one advantage to not having everyone around him know exactly what being a priest entails — anyone from home would know that they're in a bad position, trying to get somewhere when a priest wants them to be somewhere else.

He turns to walk alongside Edgeworth, sticking to the sidewalk, hands pocketed in his jeans.

"No luck managing to control it, I'm guessing?"

Edgeworth doesn't respond to that. He just focuses on his sheer, unadulterated fury towards this man. That he would invade Edgeworth's privacy like this is outrageous. That he would presume to continue a conversation Edgeworth made clear he did not want to speak on any longer is outrageous. Most of all, that he is keeping pace and forcing Edgeworth to walk in the goddamned street is so utterly beyond outrageous that he has half a mind to turn and strike the man in the face.

(And all that's not bad. Anger is easy. The only alternative to anger at the moment is a cold terror that he's going to hurt this fool who's walking beside him; he prefers anger to fear.)

"I will call the police, Mr. Salib." He says that crisply. "Unless you want to end up in a holding cell overnight, you will turn and you will walk away."

So much for trying to ease him into it. It's pretty apparent to Ashraf that the man isn't interested in anything resembling a civil exchange. Which, true, he kind of only has himself to blame for. He sighs a little, and pulls one hand free to wave it lazily through the air. Again, he's glad that Edgeworth isn't familiar with priests of Rune-Midgard.

He waits for precisely the right moment when, according to his judgment, Edgeworth's left heel will hit the ground. An instant before that, a blue blossom of light swirls up from the ground: a portal. Should his timing be right, and Edgeworth step into it, the teleportation is almost instant. There's no time lost at all on the traveler's end; one second is empty street, and the next is empty and remote parking lot, parked car, and the Doctor.

And, indeed, Edgeworth doesn't even have time to react. He steps through even as he's realizing that something is wrong, that Salib is doing something; he tries to halt his step, but it's too late; inertia carries him through to the other side.

He stumbles as soon as he's through, his attempts at stopping interfering with his gait. He nearly falls, but catches himself; his suitcase goes clattering to the ground. And then he looks up; terror comes over him again. He knows the man before him - the man who calls himself the Doctor; there's no one else there, just those two...

He wants to keep being furious. But he looks at him, and looks behind him at the closing portal, and he feels terror. Cold, frigid, paralyzing terror. He should run, he should run - but he's afraid, and indecision tears at him -

The Doctor's excited, he's pleased as Ashraf disappears off to gather their wayward eloper. This opportunity is wonderful, the chance to show Miles that he'll be fine if he just lets them help, and he's grinning as the man appears, raising his hand in a wave as he pushes himself away from the body of the car to go and greet him--

And quite abruptly stops. Immediately, immediately the flaws in the plan open up and spread out in front of him, and just as quickly they diminish to background noise. His attention is fixed on Edgeworth's face. He knows that look, knows what it is that seizes up behind his eyes, and to cause it, to so directly cause it...

His pause lasts only a moment. The Doctor starts forward - stops abruptly again. No. It's proximity that's the problem, isn't it? He'll wait here.

"It's alright," his voice calm, coaxing, like he's talking to a spooked animal... and perhaps vaguely uncertain. His hand is still raised, left to hover, forgotten there. "Edgeworth," better to refer to him as he prefers to be called in a situation like this, he thinks, "it's alright. We're here to help."

Ashraf gives it just a few seconds before he steps into the portland behind Edgeworth. It seals silently behind him, and a second later, he's reappearing a step or two behind the man. He sees the Doctor and his manner first, which strikes him as odd, he's speaking like someone would to a startled animal -- until he realizes that that might not be far off. He has just sent a man undoubtedly unused to magic to an entirely new location.

Probably best to follow suit and handle this with care.

"It's alright! Look -- you're out of the city. No harm done to anyone." He moves away as he speaks, offering Edgeworth a wide berth as he steps around him and closer to the Doctor.

Edgeworth wonders for just a moment if their intention is to kill him. This has all the classic hallmarks of a hit, after all - abandoned area, transport for easy disposal, a team of clearly capable individuals. A disoriented target. It would be droll, wouldn't it? After all his protests, after all his effort to ensure that no one would follow him, it would be quite nearly amusing if that was used to murder him. No one would come looking, after all; he made sure of that.

But - No. No; their intentions are far worse than mere murder, it seems. Because at least murder would leave Edgeworth with an unstained conscience. Salib is beaming at him, and the Doctor is speaking of help; would that this were only an execution.

He backs up. He could run - Could he? They have a car. He's unarmed. And honestly, after this...He's not wholly convinced that they wouldn't do him actual physical harm in the name of helping him. God -

Confidence. Be confident. He draws himself up, squares his shoulders, puts on a mask of anger to conceal his miserable terror.

"My sincerest thanks," he spits. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go back into the city to get to the automobile I was renting. You've set me back at least an hour."

... Ah. In honesty, the dragging on of masks is something of a relief to the Doctor. Gives him the room to see straight again, to speak in something other than a cowed and tentative tongue as Ashraf circles back around to come to a halt on his side of Edgeworth. Good. Good, alright. For as long as he's being defiant, it'll be easier to be the same.

Under the new conditions, the Doctor shifts his expectations slightly.

"You can use this one." Here. Let's try this tactic first. "Give us ten minutes of your time and you can use this one. Go wherever you like."

Ashraf agrees without realizing it — he hadn't liked that fear on Edgeworth at all, and anger is much easier to handle. Of course, that doesn't mean the fear is gone, and he feels a distinct pang of guilt for that... but this at least is a tangible approach to take. And he reminds himself, firmly, that Edgeworth has hurt people. He's hurt people, and he can give no guarantee that he won't accidentally do it again, and so this is necessary.

So he refreshes his smile, even if it's a little muted now. "Hopefully by then you won't need to use it, but — well. That's your call, really."

"Yes, of course." Even at the worst of times, Edgeworth is capable of working himself up to a truly cutting sardonic drawl; in his voice, now, there's nothing but the bitterest contempt, the harshest condemnation. "All I need is to submit to your ministrations, and I receive as my prize a free car. How marvelous."

He shakes his head. He's gotten himself into the right state of mind; his movements are confident, now, rather than uncertain and nervous like they were before. He reaches down with confidence to grab the handle of his suitcase.

"I've half a mind to take it after all and return it at another lot so that your credit cards are charged some truly staggering fee. Which of you paid for this car?"

Another pang of guilt, lesser. He should have been clear with Ashraf, really. He never lied, but he should have been clearer in stating that the problem would almost definitely be bigger than a handful of minute job. He didn't clarify because doing so would likely have altered the man's stance on their plan and the Doctor had so desperately needed this opportunity - and that willful denial of information makes the white lie all the worse.

... Paid. Ha. Ahaha.

It's interesting, really, how quickly a person can go from the melancholy of guilt to wearing the most sheepish expression available in his arsenal. A shifty glance over at his partner in absolutely literal crime, and then back to Edgeworth.

"I acquired it."

Speaking of white lies...

Ohh. Right. That. Ashraf looks caught somewhere between amused and sheepish. He can feel the Arch Bishop back home shaking his head right now. He trades a glance with the Doctor, and glad he's able to avoid a chuckle at their unfortunate situation here.

"It's borrowed, actually. Which would mean getting it back to its owner a little tricky, but still doable."

Borrowed from whom, he starts to ask - but then he takes a look at the Doctor's face, that embarrassed expression, and he scoffs, caught between disbelief and sheer anger. They stole it. They stole this car. God only knows from whom. And they were fully, cheerfully intent on tampering with his mind and then as his reward putting him behind the wheel of a stolen car.

God. It's almost comical. He could almost laugh.

"Five years prison time is the penalty for stealing a car in this state," Edgeworth bites out. "You're going to go and return the car, hat in hand, with full apologies to the owner, or I am going to ensure that one of my colleagues at the prosecutors' office sees you receive that maximum penalty."

"Yes! Yes, of course!"

Of course they're going to give it back, of course! Apologies if necessary, though honestly the Doctor rather suspects they won't be so long as they don't do any damage and the owner doesn't realise it's gone... but hey, yes, alright, if that's what Edgeworth wants then apologies they can definitely do.

"As soon as we're done here, we'll drop it right back. Won't we?"

A grin that kind of only half happens thanks to still being 100% caught in the act of hand-in-the-cookie-jar. Won't we Ashraf buddy help me he's frightening when he gets his lawyer on.

Ha, prison time, he couldn't look less worried about that. Who would put him in prison? He's a priest. He's great.

"Oh, yeah! No question. Actually, one of us could even take it back now, if you don't mind waiting. Really, it's done its job and enabled us to get you out of town without running into anyone, so it's not necessary anymore." He glances at the Doctor. "Right? We could swap it out for the car Mr Edgeworth was going to rent, if he still needs one."

And by "we" he really means the only one of them that can drive it back and pick up whatever car Edgeworth was going to use — hello, Doctor — and that would probably mean a long and awkward wait with a seething Edgeworth in the meantime. But he's faced down demons, so how bad could that be?

"I would sooner eat my own cravat, string by string, without anything to wash it down, than spend more time with either of you."

That was satisfying. That sounded proud, haughty, and unafraid. That was delivered with exquisite contempt. It made him feel so much better to say. And so, proudly, confidently, he pulls out his phone - his personal phone, not the government-issued device - fumbles his password in, and navigates to the camera so he can snap a photograph of the license plate. He speaks as he does - a little distractedly; these blasted phones really take all of one's concentration.

"I'll be running this plate from the road. If I discover that it has been reported missing, I will be giving your name and places of residence to the police."

And he drops the phone back into his pocket.

"Good day, gentlemen."

The prospect of shipping out is far from a bad one, and the Doctor's nodding away enthusiastically in assent as Ashraf clarifies and perfects the deal. That's not to say he's any real hope it'll be as easy as that - and Edgeworth proves him right immediately.

He nearly laughs at the cravat line because really, nice, but catches himself before he can do it. The situation isn't funny, be sensible. He's no different from his accomplice in a lack of any real concern over a prison sentence, so the threat (promise) slips past him in a breeze of the respect that comes bubbling up at Edgeworth's continued ability to make it at all.

'Good day, gentlemen.' Ah.

"... Are you going to walk?" And it's vaguely incredulous, because here the man is with his suit and his suitcase in a deserted car park on the outskirts of nowhere and he's saying good day like he's under no power but his own. But he isn't, is he? As awful as it may be to have put him in that position, he's under their power too, and the Doctor tilts his head, bewildered out of actually acting just yet. He's going to just walk away? Just like that? When it's obviously and completely futile?

He can't help it, he drops his eyes to Edgeworth's cravat with a touch of consideration. Sure, it's obviously not meant as a line to be taken seriously, but he still has to spend a second or two imagining the prospect. Huh. Unpleasant.

But he catches up with the conversation quickly, and — yeah, what? If Edgworth is planning on walking to Quebec, which Ashraf did happen to glance at a map for, then that's probably not going to work out very well. His brow knits. "We... can go and get that car of yours, that wouldn't be a problem."

"No. I'm getting it myself."

And that's the end of it. (He hopes desperately that's the end of it. But the fact is that Salib has the power to teleport, and God only knows what all the Doctor can do; if they smell any weakness on him, any weakness at all, they will no doubt take advantage of it. He has to be uncompromisingly rigid; he has to be utterly self-confident.) He turns on his heel and begins marching away.

It's admirable. Really, it's entirely admirable, the composure Miles manages. Would that the Doctor had managed the same in a few of his poorer moments. But they can't, can they, they can't just let him walk off. Perhaps it would be better if they could, but even if it's just to keep him still long enough to really go and get his vehicle they can't let him wander away.

"He's not going to make this easy," says the Doctor to Ashraf, an entirely obvious thing he doesn't altogether need to say, but it's just as much I'm sorry, I didn't think this through at all as it is he's being difficult.

And then the Doctor starts forward, marching quickly across the space between the two of them and Miles Edgeworth, because he knows how easy it will be to bring the man to a halt and right now they don't really have any option but to abuse that advantage.

"Miles." (Miles now, because the Doctor does have the upper hand, like it or not, and he's all out of time to stop using it.)

Ashraf's good humor fades out when Edgeworth begins to walk. Any reaction at all is permissible, except that one. That's the one that could entail danger to others.

It's easy to guess how averse Edgeworth will be to actual physical contact, so Ashraf isn't worried when he follows a step behind the Doctor, taking the opposite route to stand between Edgeworth and the town left behind.

"That, we can't allow," he says, tone gentle. It seems safe enough to make that 'we' and not 'I', by this point. He doesn't know the Doctor that well, but well enough to know their motivations overlap. "By your own admission, you could hurt people back there."

He wants to laugh scornfully. He wants to shoulder past them brutally and leave them gasping and collapsed in his wake. He wants to be determined and brutal; he wants to have the resolve to do what needs to be done. He wants to be willing to have them pay the price for their arrogance, for their interference. The guilt from this theft will hit them hard, and their little baffled smiles will fade; their righteousness will fade as they realize the weight of what they've done by kidnapping him. With a single touch, he could turn their happy effrontery to bitter ashes. With a single touch. He wouldn't even have to make an effort.

But his step falters. Something sour rises in the back of his throat. He falters as they take themselves hostage to prolong his...

His what? His captivity? God, it should be funny. The two of them, scooting around to keep him herded into one spot. But the terror of the trapped animal rises up in him again. It threatens to make his proud anger crumble. It threatens to overwhelm him.

"My name is Edgeworth," he snaps at the Doctor - more acid in his tone now, more anger, less coldness. And, to Ashraf: "By keeping me here, you are abducting an officer of the law. That is a federal offense. We're not speaking of a five-year penalty for something like that; we're speaking of twenty years or more. Stand aside."

And, to demonstrate his seriousness, he pulls out his phone again. This time, he uses both hands to unlock it and dials the number for emergency services, holding it up for them to see.

It's not hard, really, to block out the singular selfishness of his own intentions (it is not the guilt he inflicts that has the Doctor pacing around Edgeworth like a hunting hound, it's not the fear for those he might hurt - guilt is a terrible burden to bear, yes, but guilt inflicted isn't the same as guilt carried and he knows too well the difference, knows too intimately which one is worse and lasts longest) and wipe away any last trace of kindness with the simple act of stepping forward.

He moves quickly, pacing relentlessly, closing up space. His eyes flash over to Ashraf as he goes, a silent request for co-operation. There are two opportunities for outcome here, he surmises during the motion. Either Edgeworth will flinch back and the power balance will flip, or the Doctor will come to a halt with his hand hovering inches away from touching to the one holding out that phone and he will have control regardless, even if the prosecutor holds his nerve.

There's a third, of course. The third entails nothing going to plan at all and damage being done that he cannot hope to undo, but he hasn't got space for outlying possibilities. Taking what he knows of those here present, he does what he has to.

Is it strange to have a body count in the billions and still yearn desperately to save? Possibly. It hasn't stopped him before and it shan't stop him today.

He watches the Doctor at his pacing, wary, but keeps still at his own post. That silent request is recognized for what it is, and he gives a tiny nod in return. They're on the same page, at least for now.

His attention moves back to Edgeworth, watching closely for his reaction to that nearing proximity. "I can't speak for the Doctor, but I'm Registered with the government, and actively doing what they've asked of me — protecting its people. From you, if need be."

He keeps it short — then goes silent to wait to see Edgeworth's move.

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