maskormenacelogs | Lunatic fringe I know you're out there

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Lunatic fringe I know you're out there

WHO: Yuri "Somewhat Unstable" Petrov and Miles "Just Generally A Grump" Edgeworth
WHERE: The Heropa prosecutors' offices
WHEN: August 13th, in the evening!
WHAT: Edgeworth was all, "Hey, Lunatic, let's talk in person." Lunatic was all, "What the heck, dude." But no one can resist the cravat.
WARNINGS: Too many CONFLICTING IDEAS OF JUSTICE, it'll get all legal up in this joint

[ He'd extended an invitation for a visit to Lunatic, but that first day the man had not come. Edgeworth had stayed up late, thinking that perhaps he would show in the small hours of the morning, hiding in darkness - but there had been nothing, and so finally at four he'd closed his eyes to get a few brief hours of sleep before he woke for work the next day.

Perhaps Lunatic had thought better of it. That would hardly be surprising; after all, someone who did not know Edgeworth's strict adherence to the legal code might suspect an ambush. (Indeed, an ambush would make things simpler, but to date Lunatic had not truly broken any laws. There was nothing to charge him with, no way to hold him; more, Edgeworth would need more time before arresting this man to set up some prison in isolation, because he would be damned before he put him into the general population with other criminals.)

So he certainly isn't expecting his intercom to buzz just a few minutes before the end of the workday the following day. He certainly isn't expecting the department's secretary to say, her voice shaking just a little, clearly rattled, that there's someone in a mask named Lunatic here to see him. Of all the places to come - to come to his workplace -

Edgeworth comes out of his office at once, not even bothering to put his coat on, to intercept the man. The worst thing that can be done at that moment would be for someone to call the police; Lunatic has to be taken into isolation before something sets him off. And so he makes his way down the hall from where he has his office to the front desk, and immediately he bows to the lean, terrifying figure standing in the waiting area - ]

Sir. This way, please.

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[Miles Edgeworth was, insofar as Yuri's experience dictated, a man who did not resort to underhandedness. Therefore, Lunatic surmised that a meeting with the prosecutor would likely not result in the employment of unscrupulous tactics. In theory, he would not find himself walking into a trap...

But even so, he was determined to see the meeting through on his own terms. One could never be too cautious, after all. Particularly in the company of someone as familiar with the law as himself.

He arrived, without appointment, late into the evening when the office would be nearing a state of emptiness, apart from the presence of Edgeworth himself, and a clearly rattled secretary. When the prosecutor came out to greet him, Lunatic offered a comically rag doll-like bow from the waist before following Edgeworth to his office.]

I wonder what terrible rumors will be circulating about us around the water cooler tomorrow morning?

[ Edgeworth is not a man who laughs often, but for just a moment he's seized with the mad impulse to do so. He chokes it back, of course, but - What an absurd situation. What an absurd man. Speaking as though this is some scandalous meeting, like this is some affair being carried on in the office, rather than an uneasy summit between a man bent on murder and the man bent on stopping him.

Is Edgeworth afraid of this man? Not precisely. He is anxious, and tense, because he knows if Lunatic steps out of this place unconvinced of the virtues of mercy it will not be long before criminals find themselves losing their lives. And for all that Edgeworth is a prosecutor, he's also not the sort of prosecutor he was in his youth; he has come to believe in the value of mercy, of gentleness, of forgiveness. He believes in helping and protecting even those who have done ill. He wants desperately to put a stop to this man's evil - and, indeed, to prevent him from bloodying his hands. It is mercy for him, too.

(So who is it under that mask? Petrov? Brooks? Goldsmith? Not Kaburagi; that's clear enough; the build is all wrong. From the images Edgeworth has seen of Goldsmith, that doesn't look likely either. Brooks...That's possible, particularly given what he knows of the man's history. He knows all too well how misery in one's past can drive one to vengeance, to cruelty -

(Or is it someone else entirely?) ]

I cannot say. To my gladness, I have no deep concern for my reputation.

[ He opens the door for the man and bows him inside. And he says, with unfailing politeness: ]

May I get you something to drink, sir? Tea, perhaps? A glass of water?

We have that in common.

[Doubtless, Lunatic has proven at length that the opinions of others regarding himself mean very little, if anything at all to him, as well they shouldn't. As a man claiming to be the executioner for justice, reputation is a trivial thing indeed. If he were to allow himself to be dissuaded by ridicule or hatred, his mission would be halted before it even had a chance to begin.]

That makes two things, then. Two things you have in common with someone you consider a cold-blooded killer. How does it feel?

[Long-legged strides carry Lunatic into Edgeworth's office, his cloak of peculiar shape riding the air behind him, its longest point just barely off the floor, inches above the hem of his flared trousers and pointed boots. For all their similarities, they could not possibly look more different from each other. For all Edgeworth's careful professionalism, Lunatic exudes (not just in name) a certain careless disregard.

One he does not care to hide as the prosecutor asks his question.]

...ah, ah!

[Sharply turning to face Edgeworth, Lunatic wags his finger near the other man's face, even goes so far as to click his tongue at him in disapproval.]

If you want to unmask me, you will have to try a lot harder than that!

[ He's even stranger in person. Flamboyant, truly, in a way that neither Brooks nor Petrov are in person. Both are so restrained, quiet, thoughtful - is it possible that this man could be either one of them? He looks at that finger, his expression simultaneously startled and a little put off, before simply lowering his head in apology (and to get it out of his face). ]

It was just an offer, sir, not a ploy. I would be more than willing to look away as you drink.

[ Though it cannot be denied that surveillance cameras would capture some of his features...Edgeworth half wishes it had been a ploy; it would have been a clever one indeed.

But it's clear that the man wants nothing; Edgeworth comes into his office and comes around to sit behind his desk. He speaks as he does. ]

And I don't consider you a cold-blooded killer, sir. You have not yet killed here, after all, have you?

[How easy it appears to be to make Edgeworth uncomfortable, Lunatic notices. Should it become necessary, that is a detail he can use to his advantage, much the way he did in Sternbild. Who would suspect a superlatively moral, law-abiding citizen and close ally to Heroes of being the vigilante NEXT responsible for targeting criminals wanted for murder? The more he carries on, the less suspicion he casts upon himself. It's really rather perfect, if one overlooks how utterly exhausting it can be at times.]

Let's skip formalities, shall we?

[When Edgeworth sits, Lunatic remains standing. An antihero opposite the prosecutor, he positions himself on the other side of the desk so that he might look down at Edgeworth. He touches nothing.]

What do you consider me, then? Since you are the only one who seems to share in your opinion.

Simply a man, like any other.

[ Of course it's unnerving being towered over in that manner. Edgeworth tries not to show it, but he is tense and uneasy - uneasy, too, just having the man here. God, he hopes that there aren't any suspects brought in for an interview - ]

And anyone who considers you cold-blooded is quite in the wrong. After all, your passion is clear. I disagree with it on a fundamental, irreconcilable level, but that does not take away from it in the least.

[ And then his discomfort becomes too much: ]

Won't you sit?

[Edgeworth is too kind. Not just for his own good, but the good of others, also. That much Lunatic is certain of. For one, no person in their right mind would have wanted to meet with him to discuss things, and for another, the prosecutor is too quick to forgive Lunatic's "transgressions" simply because they did not take place here.

Lunatic had considered playing by those rules when he arrived, but it had quickly become clear that to do so meant to share the city with individuals whose hands were even more stained than his own. It could not be allowed.]

I prefer to stand. Does that bother you?

[ Gentleness is necessary here, and good humor. Lunatic had been quick to offend, quick to disengage; now that he is here, Edgeworth must keep him here. He must not give the man a pretext to leave. Because the most important thing is to sway him from his path, his dangerous and violent path.

(And yet he can't help but spare a thought for Lunatic killing the likes of Lucifer. That cruel and evil man, that man who slew so many innocents and felt no remorse, whom jail can scarcely hold - But no. The courts assigned a punishment, and the courts will be respected. There is a law to the land, an order, that keeps people from falling upon one another, that keeps the innocent from being harmed; this man must be convinced of the rightness of that.)

So Edgeworth's voice is a little wry when he responds. ]

Only my neck; I have to strain a bit to look up at you. I fear that my muscles are not as young as I wish they were.

How typical.

[Dramatically, Lunatic throws his hands up in the air before bringing them back down again with a long suffering sigh.]

You make a decision. You're not satisfied with that decision. You push the blame onto somebody else.

I never asked you to sit.

[Though the features of his mask are fixed in place, the way Lunatic leans over Edgeworth's desk and bows his head seems almost to curve those painted lips into a mocking smile.]

Are you certain this office is where you belong and not a retirement home? Your precious government would probably accommodate you in your old age.

[ Edgeworth has a temper, and a bad one. Over the years, he's learned to control it - or at least learned to control it better - and so that comment doesn't prompt a defensive lashing-out like it would have in his younger, angrier years. (Or, indeed, like it would have just a few weeks before, when he was struggling with his power and pushed nearly to the breaking point, when every insult was met with harshness.)

It does pull from him a slight darkening of his expression, a tiny frown that he endeavors to hide with a half-bow of acknowledgment. It causes a bubble of frustration and anger. But when he straightens again, his face is once more composed. ]

Of course, sir. You're quite right; I was not being considerate.

[ Right. ]

If you will not sit, and you will not drink, then there is nothing left but to speak. So. I suspect this will be prying, and you are under no obligation to answer. But may I ask the origins of your anger towards law-breakers?

[The origins of his anger?

What a loaded question.

He could tell Edgeworth that it began when he was a boy, when his idol fell from grace and became the very monster he had always tried to protect other people from. He could tell Edgeworth that it had began before his idol's fall, when he had spent years having his head filled to the brim with ideas of good and evil and never turning a blind eye...

He could admit that he kept his word, that on the day he'd found his mother being battered in their garage by his father's fist, he had not turned a blind eye. He had been terrified, yes, but he had not run. Perhaps that was the origin, the one true moment when everything had changed and there was no turning back.

Or was that simply the origin of his fear?

No matter...he can share none of it with Edgeworth. To do so would be to volunteer too much personal information.]

I possess no anger, only an obligation to see wicked individuals atone for their sins.

[In a manner of speaking, that is the truth. He prides himself on his lack of bias, for he does not allow himself to become too close to anyone these days. Their crimes mean nothing to him on a personal level. The people themselves mean nothing to him on a personal level. That is simply the way things must be. Justice takes no sides...]

I suppose now you'll want to know the origin of my obligation, yes? It begins, as it ends, with their sins. It exists purely because their crimes exist. Which I expect is an answer that does little to satisfy your curiosity...but I have no other truth that I can offer you.

[ A question that tells him nothing. That gives him not the slightest hint as to the man's identity, nor as to his intentions. Edgeworth leans back in his seat, picking up his pen and rolling it thoughtfully between his fingers. No...No. There was no truth in that answer. ]

And so you spend your life punishing them.

[ Maybe this is a more neutral question, some way to get at the same truth but in a more roundabout fashion. ]

You do not see it as a sacrifice? Giving up your life, your livelihood - indeed, even your innocence in pursuit of their punishment?

Sacrifice...suggests something that is lost in exchange for acquiring some other thing. I have not lost anything, Miles Edgeworth.

[That, of course, is a lie, but so old a lie that Yuri has long since convinced himself otherwise. Everything he could have lost vanished when he was fourteen. Each day that came thereafter was full of purpose, not sacrifice. He had saved his mother from a terrible demise. What did it matter that she hated him for it? All the gods hated Thanatos. Such was his lot in life, and such is Yuri's.

No, he did not give up his life; he found instead his reason for living.]

I do not lead a life of regret, if that is what you are wondering. Unlike many who wander through life questioning themselves and their reason for being...I know why I am here and what I must do.

Have you not?

[ He sets down the pen and stretches out his hand. He's taken to wearing gloves, ever since his power began its malfunctioning; they're white and button at the wrists. There's not a spot on them. They no doubt come across as an affectation to those around him, but it's of no great consequence; what matters is that they're away to protect the people around him. After all, no man is without some crime, small or large; no man would be unaffected by his terrible power.

Edgeworth tries to be a man of mercy. This is his mercy: this is how he protects others from their guilt. But for now, that pure-white palm can be a symbol of hands unstained - never mind that his hands are no less dirtied than this man's. ]

You've stained yourself. By your admission, you have blood on your hands. That is a considerable loss.

[Lifting his hands and holding them before his mask, Lunatic considers them for a moment. The number of sentences they have passed is many, the number of lives they have claimed is more, and the number of lives they have yet to take...

Limitless.]

Why should I consider that a loss at all?

[Suddenly dropping his hands, Lunatic holds them out between himself and Edgeworth. Their shadow, like inky veins, bleeds across the desk in the prosecutor's direction. From above Edgeworth's own hands, Lunatic's eclipse the light falling from the ceiling, those white gloves now terribly marred by grey.]

The fact that I do this means no one else should have to. That is the way you people prefer it, or else you would not harbor such weak ideas of justice.

[ Weak ideas of justice. There that is again. Edgeworth could speak to this man about the lives he himself has taken. He could speak to him about those times he's sat in the execution chamber, watched the life go out of the criminals he has convicted. Their faces haunt him still. Those he's certain were guilty - and few, very few, that he's less certain, now...

Kotetsu Kaburagi, this Lunatic's countryman, had questioned Edgeworth as to why he was so hard on himself. Why he held himself to such an inflexible standard. Why he never let himself trust himself. It's because of those men who were sent to their deaths who might not have been guilty at all. It's because in his naivete, in his zeal, he did that to them.

He would that the justice of his home - that his justice - were weak. ]

But again, you speak of us. Us, correcting our ways, preventing us from having to do anything...I ask what you have sacrificed, and you answer that you do it for us.

I know that you do so, Lunatic. But that's not the issue under question. The issue under question is this: where are you in all of this? [ He sits back again, drawing his gloves once more into the light, closing his hands. ] You've made yourself like nothing in pursuit of this. You're not even able to say anything of your own motivations, your own needs. You're just a codename and a mad-eyed mask.

[When Edgeworth retracts his hands, Lunatic's own lower and disappear beneath the strangely cut edges of his cloak. He takes a step back from Edgeworth's desk, a step that much closer to the door.]

My motivations and needs as a man no longer exist, for I am not a man like you, and what you and I require are not the same things. All that matters to me is the eradication of evil.

[As a man who pledged himself to his work back in Sternbild, a man who went so far as to bleed for his ideals, the truth can be no closer to the surface. All true sense of self faded long ago, replaced with the insatiable need to pursue evil and undo its existence. Of the man that once was, all that remains is a mother...a tether that does not exist in this world. It is as though every last chain that bound him before has finally vanished. There is nothing left to stand in his way, nothing left he owes himself to beyond his duty.]

Understand this, Miles Edgeworth, I truly am nothing more than what you see before you: a code name and a mask, as you put it. I am the sword in the hand of justice, the scythe that reaps for death. A tool, no more. Tools need nothing more than a purpose for which to exist and hone themselves, and someone to wield them.

[Turning, he presents the other man with his back and starts toward the door.]

In my case, that someone is Thanatos, the only voice I shall ever obey.

[ He's leaving. A sheer, bitter sense of failure lances through Edgeworth then. He'd gotten Lunatic here, but hadn't managed to convince him of anything. Everything - everyone - is still in as much danger as they would have been even if he hadn't taken this risk. And here he has had a chance to stop this man - this pathetic, lost man - before he does anything that will condemn him, that will leave him hunted and hated - and yet he hasn't succeeded. Whatever words he needed didn't come - ]

Wait. Please.

[ There's a note of desperation in his voice. He finds himself on his feet, finds himself coming around the desk to seize an edge of the man's cloak. He'll not grab anything more substantial; in the state Edgeworth is in, frustrated and agitated, a touch on the wrist or the arm might activate his power. And simple though it would be to quite literally guilt this man into submission, Edgeworth isn't going to use his accursed ability like that. ]

You're not a tool, sir.

[ And there's a lance of sorrow, of grief, that this man thinks of himself like that. It's not hard to see some reflection of himself in this man - this man who walks the path that Edgeworth was saved from. When Edgeworth was young, he saw himself as a tool, a scythe; he never broke the law, never went outside the letter of what was ethical, but he was a bad man and just got worse. Every day, up until Phoenix Wright had come back into his life, he'd gotten worse...That conception of himself as a tool had come from a place of guilt and self-loathing. This Lunatic - He would not be saying those things if he were not much like Edgeworth once had been. ]

You're far more than that. You're a person, and you have the power to choose.

[Lunatic feels the gentle tug on his cloak and it takes him back to when he was small, to when his hand—but that of a child's—had reached out on several occasions for the trim of a gold cape: his father's. In that moment, he hates and empathizes with Edgeworth in equal measure; he understands the other man's predisposition, but hates that he has been made to acknowledge within himself that those same feelings ever existed.

Wrenching his cloak free of the other man's fingers, the whites of his eyes glow with warning. The garment goes up in flames, burning all around him and off his shoulders, but seeming not to affect its surroundings.]

You see what you want to see.

[A person with the power to choose...

Such a naive thought, powered by irrational sentimentality and nothing more. The power to choose has only ever been a superficial element in his life, and resisting that has only ever brought him suffering. Once he accepted what he was, what he had to do, everything became much clearer. Once he accepted those things, he found the hesitation within him vanish; he was able to live day-to-day without difficulty, to tend to his own mother without feeling regret, to look at his own face in the mirror without fear, and to put on this costume and do what others simply could or would not do themselves.]

Did you think that you could vomit some pretty words and have me change my mind so easily?

[Lunatic turns sharply, and with but one long-legged stride, he erases the space between himself and Edgeworth. Were it not for that mask, the prosecutor would likely feel the vigilante breathing down upon him.]

Did you request my presence to feed your ego?

[ He doesn't flinch when Lunatic steps into his personal space. He ought to, of course; he ought to shrink away from the man so that there's no chance of accidental contact between them. But - and this is an ugly quality, he knows - after the number of times that Lunatic has accused him of being weak, of soft, his pride cannot accept it if he appears cringing and cowardly. For that aforementioned ego, he stands his ground, tilting his chin up to stare the man directly in the unsettling eyes of that insane mask, setting his shoulders and puffing out his chest.

(Fire is his ability, then? It seems likely; that wasn't simply showmanship, Edgeworth thinks. Brooks had said that his power was like Kaburagi's; that doesn't mean that he doesn't have more than one, of course, but it certainly makes it seem less likely still that this is Brooks. So could it possibly truly be Judge Petrov? The man had seemed so civilized, so polite; he'd seemed to have real regard for doing things right. Is it possible that this same cruel man could be Edgeworth's well-spoken acquaintance? Could this vigilante be the judge?)

First, though, no matter his ego, he is morally obligated to give this warning. ]

Don't move any closer, sir. Believe me: you do not wish to touch me.

[ He says that levelly. He hopes it sounds like a warning rather than a threat. Then he answers those questions. ]

I requested your presence from a genuine desire to talk you out of this course of action. Not just for the sake of the accused. Not just for the sake of mercy, nor for the sake of preserving those innocents who need due process to clear their names. But for your sake as well.

You've done no wrong in this world, Lunatic. This place is a chance for a new beginning. The path of vigilantism - the path of murder - is one that's both evil and short. If you kill criminals, you will become a criminal yourself; the police will hunt you, and eliminate you, and nothing will change. Once you're gone, you will be forgotten. The only way to truly change what justice is in this place is to work to shape the laws, to engage peacefully with all of us to help us shape this system. Do that. Because all you are driving towards now is your own self-destruction and oblivion, with no changes made save a few more corpses left behind.

[It is, perhaps, a failing of the other man that he is so transparent, but not one that Lunatic is ungrateful for presently. In Edgeworth's honesty Lunatic can trust. From the white gloves concealing his hands to the warning that he ushers, the prosecutor's aversion to being touched is unmistakable, and by no means a bluff.

Probably, that aversion has something to do with whatever ability Edgeworth possesses. Lunatic is naturally very curious about it, but to try his hand now against a power he knows nothing of would be very stupid indeed.]

You forget, I am not a hero. I never was. This is the path I walk, and no amount of begging from you will alter my course.

If you wish to stop me, you are going to require a lot more than words.

[An invitation, maybe?]

I won't use violence against you. There's a better way than violence. And you're more than capable of following that way.

[ Mandrake had questioned Edgeworth's faith in people, just a few weeks ago. Truthfully - to be completely truthful - Edgeworth has little of it. Every day in his job, he sees how people have faltered, how they have failed, how they have allowed themselves to give into their baser instincts. Tomorrow, he'll see more of the same, and the day after, and the day after.

But sometimes faith, declarations of belief and of confidence, inspire someone to act better. Sometimes, it will make them think twice. Sometimes it will steer them towards the better path. Faith is worth having; trust is worth expressing; he doesn't need to be showy about it, or sweet, or kind, or gentle, but he can simply express it and hope that it will maybe sway them. ]

You say you're not a hero; I'm not a hero either. I'm just a simple lawyer, who will never engage in any heroism or villainy. I'll just keep doing my job, and hopefully working to make the world a bit better. And you can join me in this. You can set aside your anger, and your hatred, and help me to make it so that there are fewer crimes committed. So that innocent people don't suffer. So that those who would kill, those who would hurt people who can't defend themselves don't just end up burning after the damage is already done - but rather, so that the damage is never done at all.

This isn't the only way.

[ And: ]

And the fact that you think you can't be a hero doesn't make you automatically into a villain, Lunatic.

[Yet another thing the two men have in common.

Lunatic also has very little faith in other people, not that they ever supply him with a reason to be faithful in the first place. If they did, there would be no need for him to wear his mask, no need for him to wield his fire and dispense his idea of justice. If they were not so weak-willed, if people could be trusted to do what was necessary to rid the world of its evildoers, he might be allowed to be just a man like Edgeworth...to be simply Yuri Petrov.

Just a judge to the other man's lawyer.

In an ideal world, perhaps that would be the case, but not only is Lunatic's own world not ideal, this new one in which both he and Edgeworth find themselves is also not.]

This is the only way for me. However...

[He takes a step back and, bending at the waist, offers a flourish of his hands and a bow of his head.]

...I can at least offer you my word that no harm by my hand shall befall the truly innocent.

[ It's something. It's not what Edgeworth wants - not by a long shot - but it is something. For a moment, he hesitates - because if he agrees, will he be sanctioning the rest of what Lunatic does? Will he be giving some tacit approval to cruelty, to violence against wrongdoers? Would he do better to take a hard-line stance, to fight, to continue haranguing him?

Damn it all. ]

I'm glad of that, sir. And I will remind you of that promise.

[ A concession is a concession, after all. And this keeps the likes of Yagami safe, and the police. That is...important. ]

But remember that there is another way. You only need to seek it.

[Standing once more to his full height, Lunatic regards the prosecutor. This man, had his life taken a different turn, he might have wound up like him. Full of good intentions and no ability to see them to fruition.

He wonders at how quickly Edgeworth is to accept his promise. Is the other man so desperate to be believed that he hasn't any thought at all to question the meaning behind 'truly innocent'? It does not absolve anyone, but instead promises the same handling of affairs he has been spouting this entire time. Those who stand in his way will still be punished for doing so. They will no longer be truly innocent in his eyes if they obstruct justice, after all.]

I feel it fair to warn you...

[He starts again for the door, but this time has no intention of being stopped. In fact, he only looks back long enough to say one final thing before he disappears out into the reception area of Edgeworth's office, the secretary audibly scrambling to get away from the area quickly.]

I do not believe you are strong enough of heart to be my conscience. You are too burdened and feeling responsible for me will only crush you.

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Lunatic fringe I know you're out there

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