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

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oohhh it's only me and i walk aloonnneee

WHO: Miles Edgeworth, Ashraf Salib, and SOON VERY SOON the Doctor
WHERE: a street! then a secluded area where nefarious things would like to happen.
WHEN: not long after Edgeworth's post
WHAT: Two well-meaning kidnappers do their thing, Edgeworth does not appreciate.
WARNINGS: naw

He feels his heart sink when Edgeworth doesn't respond to knocks at his door, but all is not quite lost. He knows that he was to get a car, right? Have it dropped off somewhere and the key left with it? So... a car lot, maybe? There are a few of those around. Ashraf casts a quick spell for speed over himself, and blinks out of existence.

He reappears a second or two later out on the street, looks around, and — there! Down the sidewalk is a retreating back and a head of hair that looks an awful lot like Mr Edgeworth's. Bolstered with hope, Ashraf disappears again. This time his reappearance is instant (and lucky), as he reappears about five feet ahead Edgeworth, already smiling.

"Hey, hello!"

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His eyes dart off and aside to Ashraf as he steps into play, pulling him up slightly because this wasn't part of the plan as he had it written in his head what do you want— oh. He's angry. Only quietly so, but unhappy all the same. He's upset their moral man in the act of preaching not to. It hits like the hard heel of a hand and it's about to draw him up, draw him out, seeking for what it is that needs to be done to right the wrong (not the wrong of the action but the wrong of wronging him, wronging their compass, what's he done, how does he undo it...)

And then Edgeworth starts back in, starts back in ripping into things he doesn't understand, and the Doctor tumbles.

Eyes swing back around onto him, onto that retreating coward (not here, he's no coward here, but he's a coward elsewhere and elsewhere is enough that through the Doctor's head bellows the mantra I was going to save you) and he waits, watches him take his steps, listens to him mewl his out his words in a deceptively strong voice that doesn't tremble as it ought. He's scared. He's scared. Good. As he should be. Let him quake. He's brought this down on himself.

The Doctor is surprisingly larger than he seems and it shows now as he draws himself up, shoulders hunched and back arched just lightly forward in ways that distort his body just minutely but enough to set the whole image on edge, to show some signs of the monster that roils around underneath the unassuming flesh.

He is not a good man. He has not been a good man for a very long time. He's seen too much for that, too much to be talked back to by a human being who's seen nothing of anything, who knows nothing of anything.

"Death is preferable to nothing. Do you know death? Intimately? Have you felt it? I am thirteen hundred and twelve years old and I have outlived everything, and I am tired, and if I could I would outlive it all again a thousand times over." But this isn't the point, this isn't the point he was trying to make, this is the frantic rage that spills out of him in the face of demons and precious people who frighten him beyond belief and he pulls it back and stuffs it away, hunts for the tracks and finds them, connects.

"Listening to others' wishes. I suppose you mean just like you listened to every 'no, don't go' that swarmed at you when you made it clear you were going to disappear. Like you paid attention and decided to stay after all— ah, wait! That's not right, is it?" His face darkens further and he's snarling, snarling out barbs through near-grit teeth and holding himself back from chasing after and crowding in, a dog with its leash in its own hand and they've all got someone to thank that his grip is tight. "I hope you're proud to leave them aching. I hope you're proud to leave them grappling with the absence of you while you're running away like a frightened child."

And he's— there are no words, not here and not like this, that could slip through a thick skull clogged with terror. So he pulls off. With a will that has him letting out a haggard little hiss, he wrenches his eyes away from Miles, turns them on Ashraf, and the fire doesn't quite go out of them while he raises his arm to point his sonic at the phone again without looking, mending the circuit as he speaks.

"Send him back."

Edited (formattiiiiinnggg what is formatiiiinnngggg) 2014-07-16 12:58 (UTC)

He watches Edgeworth with a distinct sympathy. The fear is back again, apparent through the attempt to cover it with anger and contempt. That's the worst part of this entire thing, the fear. His insults hardly seem to reach him, he watches like Edgeworth could be talking about anyone, any stranger. His eyes find the Doctor again shortly after he starts speaking, and he watches him with the same glum calm.

The Doctor is, at least, half right.

He steps forward, shifting to stand abreast to the Doctor, several paces again. A few more steps and he could place himself between him and Edgeworth, if needed, but he doubts it will be. He waves one hand, crushes the necessary gem component at his side with the other, and a spinning blue portal springs open on the ground behind the Doctor.

"That's for you, Doctor," he says mildly. "It will send you back to the Housing. I'll see Mr Edgeworth off in a moment."

He's not angry, not exactly. But in the face of fear, in the face of a stated preference of death over help, an anger like the Doctor's isn't going to help anything. And he's not done here.

Edgeworth wishes that he could claim to have hardened his heart. He wishes that the reminder of what he's done, the protests he's ignored, didn't wash over him in a sickening wave of guilt. But he can't meet the Doctor's eyes when the man hurls those accusations at him; he stares down at his feet, at his clenched hands, struggling against his grief. That tirade is like a pestle, bearing him down against the stone of his remorse. Because he was always trapped, caught between his responsibility and his desires; from the very first time this power activated, those months ago, he was always trapped. Always. And he lays now like Giles Corey; if he could form the words, he'd plead for more weight.

But he can't even speak a word in his defense, let alone summon the eloquence for a bleak joke. He just stares down, away from the man, his jaw clenched. What does he care? What does he care, the abuses he must take, so long as they let him go? His words had the desired effect. The Doctor and Ashraf are separating, and once the Doctor is gone Edgeworth will be able to march right past that supercilious priest and his hateful abilities, leave the portal behind. Leave everything behind, all of it.

Because after this, he never wants to come back. Ever. He doesn't want to be in the same city as either of these men who have humiliated, manipulated, abducted and insulted him. He wants to find a cabin, and hurl that now-operational phone in a river, and never be confronted with the hateful misery that is another human being ever again. If he exchanges words with another person again prior to his death, he decides, it will have happened too soon.

So he just stands, glaring at his feet, waiting for the Doctor to leave. Waiting to make his escape.

Oh. Oh, a portal for him. The Doctor blinks, a crease working its way onto his brow before disappearing again a moment later. Yes. Yes, it would definitely be best that he go, wouldn't it?

But he doesn't. He doesn't know either of these men well enough to know for certain that something won't crumble in his absence (as if his presence hasn't warped it all enough). So he twists himself away, not backwards towards the portal but forward, stalking off toward the car - he did say he'd return it after all. He's finished here, he's finished with this, and Edgeworth doesn't get another glance, but he won't leave yet. Not until it's over and everything's settled. He doesn't trust.

If he makes it to the car, he'll wrench open the door and sit himself inside and slam it, fiddling like a petulant child with something below dashboard level and absolutely resolutely not looking out of the window. He's finished, he is, you both feel free to do whatever it is you need to, but he's sentry. The one thing he can depend on here is his newfound ability to strike fear and resentment into the heart of Miles Edgeworth and if he needs to use it, if it's the only thing that will get things done as they ought to be, he's going to sit here with it as a gentle reminder that for the short time this is due to last he really better just behave.

Ashraf watches the Doctor go, a little calculating in it. He'd have vastly preferred that the man take his proffered portal, but this might work as well. He looks to Edgeworth again as the car door closes behind the Doctor, and for a few seconds he considers framing that question, is that alright? But... that would be a stupid question. Of course it's not alright, none of this is, and Edgeworth has made his stance on that very clear.

So it will have to do. For now, he has a few inconsistencies to pin down.

"Mr Edgeworth," he says, speaking slowly and with care, "I think you should tell me what your power is, and what, exactly, it does to people."

"I'm under no obligation to answer any of your questions."

He doesn't look up; he just keeps looking down at his feet. His voice is quiet, now, weary, dispirited. This morning, he hurt a man whom he considers a friend; this afternoon, he hurt a girl who looked up to him; this evening, he tried just to get some small word of caution out to those who depend on him and ended up being dragged into a bitter circle of fighting and cruelty and harsh words. He's been called a coward more times than he can count, insulted, belittled, now deprived of his liberty. And he's just worn down; he's having difficulty maintaining the outrage that sustained him. He's having difficulty even really maintaining the fear. He's just...tired.

"Just leave me be."

Behind him, the portal fizzles out quietly. Ashraf ignores it, his attention fully on Edgeworth now. One last obstacle from a weary man; he can hardly blame him.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, "But no."

He takes a breath and a moment to collect his thoughts, straightens his shoulders, and continues. "You painted yourself as a legitimate danger to everyone around you, and I believed you. I'm from a world where an out of control power could leave people disintegrated, Mr Edgeworth. I take these things very seriously. But that your reaction to being safely removed as a threat has been outrage, makes me think your power is a little... less threatening than implied." He cocks a brow pointedly. "Please, tell me."

That at least helps him stir up an echo of his previous anger. He doesn't look up, but his hands do clench, and his voice does tighten.

"My reaction to being bullied, harassed, and you acting like you have any right to determine what I do with myself has caused me outrage, Mr. Salib. Even if I could disintegrate people, it is not your right to decide what I do with myself. If you thought me a risk, you could have called the police. But you had no right - neither of you had any right - to act like I'm some naughty child, to be reprimanded at will. I don't know you, and even if I did know you I have the right to self-determination. If you think I'm a reckless danger, then you tell the government; they have the prerogative to deal with that. You don't."

"Your pride does not come before the safety of the people in this town, and I have no reason to think anyone sent out by the government would be any safer from you." His patience is fraying, but it only shows in the tightening in his voice. This is starting to feel ridiculous and overblown — and all he needs is proof that it is, that Edgeworth is safe to release.

He holds out one hand, like he's expecting a handshake.

"Tell me, or show me. Then I'll send you back."

Edgeworth shies away from that hand like it's poised for a slap. That reminds him of his fear; he takes three full steps backwards, away from Ashraf, shoving his clenched fists into his pockets. It's obvious that it's physical contact he's afraid of, which is certainly answer enough as to what the mechanism of the power is.

And yet he continues stubbornly. "This isn't my pride, Mr. Salib. And you both can go to hell for continuing to think it is. It isn't my pride any more than a man who refuses to surrender to his would-be murderer, who refuses to simply hand over his possessions to a robber, is being prideful."

He straightens his back.

"I refuse to cooperate with those who think that they can force others to bend to their will. I refuse to reward your behavior. I refuse to let you think that this is an acceptable way to do things."

He'd known that would be the effect — he'd heard from the Doctor just how the power was activated. So he lowers his hand, although he takes two steps forward to compensate for the distance lost. It's a concession, but not a surrender.

"This isn't about you. You're not being murdered or robbed. Others are being protected from you. Do you understand that?"

Edgeworth grinds out a single, miserable, furious, frustrated question.

"And why the hell do you think that I haven't taken the steps necessary to protect them?"

His tone stays the same, low and steady, and his eyes stay on Edgeworth. "You don't know me, like you've pointed out, and I don't know you. How could I trust a stranger in a matter as important as the safety of others? That's not something I'm going to take on faith."

Edgeworth stares at him. There is in that moment a hard, harsh sort of rage that boils in him. He hates this man. He hates the fact that he would think that's a reasonable line of thought. He hates that arrogance. He hates him. He hates him.

And so, furiously, he chokes out:

"Burn in hell. And leave me alone."

He smiles, but the result makes him look old, tired, and sad.

"Would you like me to call the police here, to verify how much of a threat you are? I'll happily do it, if that's the only way you'll be content. But I don't think that they'd allow you to leave as soon as you'd intended to go."

"Call them." The response is immediate and firm. He half wants to scoff, to remind Ashraf of just whom Edgeworth was trying to reach before - but if the man is considering this, if this is a possibility, he may be getting out of here. The police know everything; they know the details of his power, and they know where he's going and why. He told them in full, as was his professional responsibility. If they show up here, then Edgeworth will be freed and these miscreants will go to jail.

"Go on. Call them. I have the number saved, if you'd like to use my phone."

"That's alright," he says mildly, "I have the number saved too."

He pulls out his phone from a pocket, but his attention is more on Edgeworth than on the phone. He watches him thoughtfully, mainly his eyes, but he doesn't miss the stance and set of his shoulders, either. It's the look of a man in the right, who knows what he's doing. Ashraf doesn't doubt that should the police arrive, he would know exactly how to handle them... and the fact that Edgeworth, so obviously hateful of Ashraf right now, hasn't used his so-called destructive power on him, says a lot about his determination to do right. It likely wouldn't just be an abuse of his knowledge of the law, he does legitimately believe the authorities would find him without fault.

After a long, solemn pause, he slips the phone back into his pocket.

"But let's save you some time." He waves his hand, crushes another of those blue gemstones kept in his pocket with the other, and another portal springs open. This time it's set on the ground between them, a silent blossom of blue light.

"This will take you back to the housing, I'm sorry I can't get you closer to your destination—" He waves his hand again, this time toward Edgeworth, and he should feel a light breeze. Any movements after that will be at double speed. "—And this will make up for a little of your lost time."

It's over, then. The man's giving up. God forbid there be an apology - the only sorry he hears is a tag of politeness, the remorse of a goddamned taxi driver who can't go down a one-way street, no admission of wrongdoing - but he's giving up. And that's all that Edgeworth needs. At long last, he half relaxes. At long last, it's over.

Unless that portal leads somewhere else, of course. Somewhere worse. It would be just like the man to set a transport that will put him into a locked room, or at the bottom of a well, and all the while be assured of his own righteousness. Wouldn't it. But God - if that's what this is, he doesn't care; he's tired; he just doesn't care.

Or at least he doesn't care until he feels some wind, and sees that his hand is moving faster. That brings his fury to the fore once more. He points at the man, and snarls -

"Don't you dare cast a spell on me without my permission. I don't care if you think it's a blessing, or if you think it helps me. That's not for you to decide. Take this off."

He can't help it — for a second, he looks startled and absolutely incredulous. His spells are coveted at home, people love to have holy magic used on them. Sometimes they even beg for it. And here's this man, demanding it be taken off. He shakes his head in mute astonishment, and has to fight back the urge to refuse. Really, he's done enough to the guy for one meeting, the very least he can do is oblige a ridiculous request.

So he waves his hand again, and there's another quick, gentle gust. Edgeworth's movements will be normalized.

"There, back to normal." He offers another small smile. "Sorry about that. And for... well, all of this, too." He waves toward the portal, a clear invitation. "You'd better hurry, it won't last forever."

Fine. Good. Fine, then. He jerks his head in acknowledgment of the change, and jerks his head in acknowledgment of that apology (hateful though it is, since he'd wanted to continue to have grounds to despise the man and an apology undermines those grounds). So he just bends down to pick up his suitcase once more. And he spares no more words until he's up against the portal. Only then does he speak.

"It doesn't matter who you were at home, Salib. Here, you don't get to decide others' fates for them."

And then he steps through the portal. He's quick about it; he wants the last word.

Ashraf is content to let Edgeworth keep the last word, and he only watches him disappear silently. But there is a crease in his brow for it. That's a little needlessly dramatic. But then... this entire situation had come from needless dramatics, didn't it?

His shoulders slump down once Edgeworth is gone, but in a moment he steps around the portal and heads for the Doctor in the car. He pulls open the passenger side door, slumps in, and sighs heavily.

"That went well."

Edited (belated edits like a creeper) 2014-07-17 23:59 (UTC)

The Doctor's had a little time to cool off. Not a lot, granted, but enough that he's started pulling those gaseous innards that had so traitorously crawled out in the face of a reminder of his wretched fallibility back in, and by the time Ashraf slumps back into the car he's busy aimlessly fiddling with the light of his sonic. Staring at it mainly for an excuse to not have to look anywhere else. "Mm."

He'd made a mess. And Ashraf is probably fully aware by now that it was the Doctor, was absolutely the Doctor who let it all happen. Or maybe he isn't. Maybe not. But the Doctor is fully aware, and so it's no more than a pause later that he follows his agreement with a quiet, if directionless, "Sorry."

He stares out the windshield, looking about as dispirited as he feels. Edgeworth had seemed like a good man — it's a shame to have made an enemy of him.

"Me too," he says honestly. Then, a short moment later, "Do you know what his power actually is? I'd love some reassurance that I didn't send him back to go accidentally kill someone."

He doesn't really want to say. For a moment, he seriously considers just not divulging. But he does know. He knows, and for all he was preaching that Edgeworth give the best man of the three of them something, he really ought to concede his own point.

"Guilt. He makes people feel guilty." And in the light of that, the Doctor's rage likely seems entirely disproportional - and it was, it had been, would have been. Only Edgeworth's power was never the forefront of his argument.

He glances over for the answer, and — pauses. Seriously? Guilt? He'd been expecting something far more... destructive. Ashraf lets out a slow breath, nods, and turns his eyes forward again.

"Well, at least no one's in any actual danger." And he can't help but add, a touch grumpily, "Despite what Mr Edgeworth thinks."

oohhh it's only me and i walk aloonnneee

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