Miles Edgeworth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
takethestairs) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2014-11-20 06:06 pm
takethestairs) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-11-20 06:06 pm
Getting in the swing of things [OPEN]
WHO: Miles Edgeworth and you!
WHERE: All over Heropa! Specifically: the local library, a greasy spoon diner, and his own humble abode over in the Govt. Apartment Complex
WHEN: 11/17 to 11/21
WHAT: Edgeworth's finally settling into the city, and he does what he does best: research the situation
WARNINGS: Incoming existential crises
There's a table, near the very back, that's covered with teetering towers of books. There's a litany of law books, a hoard of history books, a barrage of biographies, all scattered and piled between miscellaneuos texts. No subject is too big or too small; politics and geography are the topic of the day, but there's also books on technology, literature, and even pop culture and fashion. Old newspapers and magazines fill up the negative space, and, if one were to look closely, one might notice an actual human being hidden between the stacks. He's a young man, with a soft face that places him in his late teens or early twenties, though his gray hair and serious demeanor add a touch of artificial maturity to his appearance. His fashion is surprisingly casual for those who might know him, his brocaded suit traded in for a pair of khakis and a pale pink oxford shirt, though it's a sensible enough choice for the Florida weather.
He stares down at an encyclopedia, scrutinizing the page before he flips to another, shifting his attention from the book to his stack of notes. The cycle repeats itself, flitting from book to notes and back again, broken only to check another reference or jot down a new line of text. The world outside of his table might as well be nonexistant to him, so focused is his attention, until the SNAP of graphite against paper breaks him out of his trance. Edgeworth glares at his now useless pencil before he reaches for his trusty satchel, tugging at it lightly... and forgetting the last pile of books that he placed so carelessly on the strap. It shakes, it quivers, and Edgeworth jerks forward, bracing the pile with both hands. It's...it's steady! Success!
The rush of victory is replaced by palpable embarassment, and he sits back down immediately, his face as pink as his shirt. He's just going to tidy up his table and pretend that never happened.
===
He's moved from the library to a local diner, and the piles of books have been replaced with piles of plates. There are stacks of pancakes, dripping with butter and golden syrup; sausage links, glistening with fat and still sizzling from the pan; hashbrowns covered with cheese, toast points slathered in jelly, and bowls of mixed fruit that seem to exist only to assuage feelings of guilt. A more current newspaper is folded and forgotten, next to an abandoned, half empty mug of tea, the only edible substance on the table that's been ignored. With a fork in one hand and his notebook in the other, he absentmindedly stabs at one of his sausage links, until the waitress comes by to refill his water. He clears his throat and gives a quiet, stiff, and apologetic thank you.
All eyes are on him now, or so it seems like. He doesn't normally eat this kind of food, and even if he did, he wouldn't eat this much of it... but it's hardly his fault! Extraordinary powers come at an extraordinary price, specifically in the form of infinite restaurant tabs and grotesque grocery bills. He simply cannot be blamed for this indulgence. And, to drive the point home, he gives a quick glance around the diner, ready to greet anyone who stares too long with a sharp glare. If not... well, then he'll set his notebook aside and pick up the paper, and return to his pancakes.
===
Edgeworth trudges to his door, a brown bag of groceries in one arm and a pile of books in the other. Shouldn't hyper metabolism mean hyper energy? So much for his file... he mutters to himself and shakes his head, with no other desire than to get inside and melt into his couch. He fumbles for his keys, doing his best to get them one handed- oh hell, the books are slipping out - okay, okay, he's got those, he's good...
And then, at the exact moment he slips his key into the lock, the bottom falls out of his grocery bag. The food crashes on the cement, starting with a bag of apples, but quickly followed by his pears, his celery, his meat and his eggs and his bread. And all he does is stop. He stops, and breathes, and closes his eyes, and pointedly ignores the yolk and whites and the entire disgusting mess that's pooling at his feet. He's calm, he's calm, he is perfectly calm and composed...
===
OOC: Don't like the options, but you still want CR with Edgeworth? Feel free to make up your own scenario, either in Heropa or in another city! I'll be glad to tag it back.
===
OOC: I started with prose, but I'm okay with brackets and action tags as well! Just tag me in your preferred format and I'll change to match
WHERE: All over Heropa! Specifically: the local library, a greasy spoon diner, and his own humble abode over in the Govt. Apartment Complex
WHEN: 11/17 to 11/21
WHAT: Edgeworth's finally settling into the city, and he does what he does best: research the situation
WARNINGS: Incoming existential crises
There's a table, near the very back, that's covered with teetering towers of books. There's a litany of law books, a hoard of history books, a barrage of biographies, all scattered and piled between miscellaneuos texts. No subject is too big or too small; politics and geography are the topic of the day, but there's also books on technology, literature, and even pop culture and fashion. Old newspapers and magazines fill up the negative space, and, if one were to look closely, one might notice an actual human being hidden between the stacks. He's a young man, with a soft face that places him in his late teens or early twenties, though his gray hair and serious demeanor add a touch of artificial maturity to his appearance. His fashion is surprisingly casual for those who might know him, his brocaded suit traded in for a pair of khakis and a pale pink oxford shirt, though it's a sensible enough choice for the Florida weather.
He stares down at an encyclopedia, scrutinizing the page before he flips to another, shifting his attention from the book to his stack of notes. The cycle repeats itself, flitting from book to notes and back again, broken only to check another reference or jot down a new line of text. The world outside of his table might as well be nonexistant to him, so focused is his attention, until the SNAP of graphite against paper breaks him out of his trance. Edgeworth glares at his now useless pencil before he reaches for his trusty satchel, tugging at it lightly... and forgetting the last pile of books that he placed so carelessly on the strap. It shakes, it quivers, and Edgeworth jerks forward, bracing the pile with both hands. It's...it's steady! Success!
The rush of victory is replaced by palpable embarassment, and he sits back down immediately, his face as pink as his shirt. He's just going to tidy up his table and pretend that never happened.
===
He's moved from the library to a local diner, and the piles of books have been replaced with piles of plates. There are stacks of pancakes, dripping with butter and golden syrup; sausage links, glistening with fat and still sizzling from the pan; hashbrowns covered with cheese, toast points slathered in jelly, and bowls of mixed fruit that seem to exist only to assuage feelings of guilt. A more current newspaper is folded and forgotten, next to an abandoned, half empty mug of tea, the only edible substance on the table that's been ignored. With a fork in one hand and his notebook in the other, he absentmindedly stabs at one of his sausage links, until the waitress comes by to refill his water. He clears his throat and gives a quiet, stiff, and apologetic thank you.
All eyes are on him now, or so it seems like. He doesn't normally eat this kind of food, and even if he did, he wouldn't eat this much of it... but it's hardly his fault! Extraordinary powers come at an extraordinary price, specifically in the form of infinite restaurant tabs and grotesque grocery bills. He simply cannot be blamed for this indulgence. And, to drive the point home, he gives a quick glance around the diner, ready to greet anyone who stares too long with a sharp glare. If not... well, then he'll set his notebook aside and pick up the paper, and return to his pancakes.
===
Edgeworth trudges to his door, a brown bag of groceries in one arm and a pile of books in the other. Shouldn't hyper metabolism mean hyper energy? So much for his file... he mutters to himself and shakes his head, with no other desire than to get inside and melt into his couch. He fumbles for his keys, doing his best to get them one handed- oh hell, the books are slipping out - okay, okay, he's got those, he's good...
And then, at the exact moment he slips his key into the lock, the bottom falls out of his grocery bag. The food crashes on the cement, starting with a bag of apples, but quickly followed by his pears, his celery, his meat and his eggs and his bread. And all he does is stop. He stops, and breathes, and closes his eyes, and pointedly ignores the yolk and whites and the entire disgusting mess that's pooling at his feet. He's calm, he's calm, he is perfectly calm and composed...
===
OOC: Don't like the options, but you still want CR with Edgeworth? Feel free to make up your own scenario, either in Heropa or in another city! I'll be glad to tag it back.
===
OOC: I started with prose, but I'm okay with brackets and action tags as well! Just tag me in your preferred format and I'll change to match
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"Shouldn't they be the same as before?" he asks. If there was another version of him, shouldn't he have the same abilities? Or perhaps not. Who knows how that blasted Porter works.
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She pouts, a little disappointed that she was unable to get the answer to that question from the last version of Edgeworth. "I didn't know what yours - I mean, his - were. I never saw him using them."
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His first instinct is to brush the matter aside and keep his powers hidden once more, but he has a better idea.
"They aren't exactly flashy," he says. "However, I think a demonstration may work better than an explanation."
He eyes her broach, his gaze lingering, before he gestures to it.
"May I borrow that? It will only take a moment."
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Kay's eyes light up with interest and anticipation as she quickly unfastens the pin from her scarf and hands it to Edgeworth. This could be good, even if he claims that his powers weren't flashy. Her other power apart from controlling crows was vocal replication, and it didn't sound flashy at all until she used it on people by mimicking their voices exactly, down to the last pitch. In her opinion, all powers were interesting.
Her full attention is still on him, waiting for something to happen. Was he going to make her Yatagarasu badge disappear? If he does do that, he should be prepared to bring it back.
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He pauses to grab a handkerchief from his satchel, and once he has the cloth, he undoes the clasp so the pointed end is out. Alright. Everything is prepared.
"Now, watch carefully, Miss Faraday..."
And, without another word, he stabs the tip of his finger. It's not a deep wound, only enough to draw blood and nothing more, but he hisses and winces at the prick nonetheless.
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Her expression changes, however, when Edgeworth pricks himself with her pin. Her hand flies to her mouth, muffling a sharp intake of breath. It looked like just a prick, the same as what she would get whenever she wasn't paying attention while fastening her pin, but she flinches nonetheless.
He is bleeding, even. So where did his power come in?
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"It's only a minor example of what my body can do," he explains, "But I think you can imagine why I wouldn't want to show off too much."
After all, super healing didn't come with super pain relief. At least, not for him.
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She claps silently. "Wow, that's so cool - and really handy! What else can you do?" Kay, having been around for several months and being an example herself, knew all too well that the Porter sometimes granted multiple, unrelated powers. Talking to crows certainly had nothing to do with being able to replicate any sound that reaches her ears live.
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He shrugs, and continues,"There's more to it than that, but I think you get the gist."
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"Yeah, I get it...you're almost invincible!" she whispers eagerly. And in a world like this, that would be so invaluable. "I promise I'll keep your powers a secret," she adds quickly, remembering that this was something best not demonstrated for everyone to see.
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If nothing else, he appreciates her keeping his secret. However, that's enough about powers. It's time to ask the question that's been on his mind since his conversation. He stuff his handkerchief back in his bag and clears his throat, the Yatagarasu pin still in his hand.
"However, as interesting as these new abilities are, I have one more thing to ask you - not about Heropa or our powers, but about our home."
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She twiddles her thumbs again. At least she had her father's journal with her, still in her bag, to prove that Byrne had indeed been working as the Yatagarasu. Maybe he won't remember a lick of all this when he returns home. Causing major rips in the space-time continuum was probably not what the Porter had in mind when this dire need for heroes began. Kay is so absorbed in rationalizing and justifying telling Edgeworth the entire story from his future that she suddenly perks up when she returns to earth.
"Um...o-okay," she blurts out, bracing herself. He had believed her when she told him who she was, and believed in his powers enough to test them out. Would he believe her story, which, looking back, would certainly sound far-fetched to anyone not privy to the details?
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There's no point in beating around the bush. Edgeworth steels himself and holds up her pin for her to see properly.
"Where did you get this?"
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There was no stopping now. "I thought that he was the real Yatagarasu, and Miss Yew was just a fake, dragging the name of a noble thief into the mud. So, I decided to succeed as the second real Yatagarasu, and steal the truth, and be a hero of justice, like Daddy was. After that...that was when I tried to find you, so we could catch her."
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That's all he can say. That's all the response he can muster. Just a single, very flat, what. Nothing Kay said makes any sense! Yes, there were those accusations, but they were a trick! He couldn't be the real Yatagarasu.
"That's...that's preposterous! Absurd! Completely--"
His voice is beginning to rise, not yelling, but definitely loud enough to earn an indignant SH from a few tables over. Edgeworth stops, clamping his mouth shut, and quickly lurks away.
"Completely ridiculous," he whispers, his voice as quiet as it is petulant.
no subject
"I know it sounds ridiculous," she says calmly, remembering to keep her voice down. "But why else would Daddy write it in his journal? Plus, he had a device...he called it Little Thief, and I found it, too. He used it to plan heists. It could make holograms of places, people, and things."
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"This doesn't make any sense," he says, as stubborn as ever. "Your father was a prosecutor, someone who's supposed to work within the law, not outside of it. Why on earth would he run around as some kind of...kind of... masked hooligan?"
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She stares at the pin briefly. He could hand it back to her any time now...
"There are three reasons why the Yatagarasu can never be caught. First, it always knows the location of the target. Second, it knows how to disarm any security system. And third, it never leaves any evidence behind. In the future, you figured out the true identity of the Yatagarasu."
It took him seven years, but then again, the Yatagarasu had not made an appearance during those past seven years. Calisto Yew was probably more busy evading arrest and planning her next move, while Badd had been more focused on pursuing her with dogged determination.
"...Can you figure it out now?"
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Edgeworth holds his tongue, though, and remains silent as Kay continues to speak. He's heard the reasons behind the Yatagarasu's success, yes, but doesn't see why Kay needs to repeat the information. It's strange, though... Edgeworth furrows his brow, his frown deepening as he considers her words. If Faraday was the Yatagarasu, then evidence would be no problem for him; his connections with law enforcement could get rid of it easily enough. But everything else? It was simply too much for one man...
One man...
He fiddles with the pin in his hand, barely noticing it, until the sharp edge threatens to prick his skin again. Edgeworth glances down at it, his gaze moving from the tip of its wings to its three legs. Three legs... three distinct skills, practically impossible for one man to master on his own... Unless...
Eureka! His eyes go wide, and he nearly drops the damn thing, but he holds it tight and snaps his head back towards Kay. He had been so narrowminded, bound by the constraints of conventional logic, but now! Now he understands!
"The Yatagarusu didn't work alone," he says, speaking quickly, but quietly. "Did they?"
no subject
Kay sees Edgeworth examining the pin; he's on the right track. That makes her smile. He may be younger now, and a little different, but his mind was always the same sharp mind that had solved cases and never allowed the truth to be lost.
Her smile becomes wider when he speaks up. "Yup." Three legs, three people. Kay can't believe she had missed that. Then again, that is what people like Edgeworth are for.
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His face pales, his voice growing weak as he sees Faraday's murder in a whole new light. He clears his throat and tries his best to compose himself.
"...and Yew was the second, then who was the third?"
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"Can't you tell who's the third? There are three reasons why the Yatagarasu can't be caught. There are three people making up the Yatagarasu."
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"...and we've established that the two of them were working together," he continues. "So whoever the third was would have to be someone connected to them, someone with the same goals and in...ter..."
His voice trails off and his jaw drops as he finally puts the pieces together. Damn, it's so obvious! Why didn't he realize it sooner?
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"Who do you have in mind?" she asks brightly, despite having a hunch who Edgeworth pegged as the final member of the Yatagarasu. If it wasn't who she thought he thought it was, she would be very disappointed. Okay, not really.
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"Badd," he says, muttering through gritted teeth. "It was Detective Badd."
It was him. Of course it was him. Because their first encounter wasn't irritating enough, oh no. He has to be a vigilante thief on top of everything else. No wonder he didn't want Franziska and him snooping around the murder scene...and god! He was the detective in charge of the Yatagarasu case, too! Nngh, he can feel a headache coming on already...
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