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
WOW i'm so sorry for the hideous late orz
Sooo, Colorado. D'you, uh, wanna grab a drink or anything first?
[Because it's pretty hideous. Kotetsu's not even sure whether to tell him that his previous self was caught up in it.]
no subject
[Spoken calmly and coolly as he strides into the living room. He takes a seat across from him and leans back, crossing one leg over the other. Kotetsu's nerves don't escape his notice, and it makes him want answers even more. Whatever happened, it must have been huge]
Just start from the beginning.
no subject
[What he doesn't say is: he went pretty much because he expected something to go wrong. He just never expected it to go as wrong as it did.]
We got through the whole week without a hitch, the kids had a great time, and we were on our way back when our buses got attacked. It's kinda fuzzy 'cause they used knockout gas on us, but I vaguely remember some guys in armor and gas masks crowding around 'fore I passed out.
They took us to this place underground, and for the next two days straight, we kept getting dropped into these arenas, to fight for our lives against all sorts of different things, particularly mutated animals and various robots. The ones that stick out're the bears and the hippo with the nullifier tech, but there were so many I don't remember 'em all.
I'm guessing whoever was behind it figured we needed a little extra motivation to fight, so they shoved all those civilian kids with no powers in the arenas with us, and then had all those things actively go after them.
Here's the weird part, though--I don't think they were just after hurting or killing us. I'm pretty sure they didn't want to kill the imPorts at all, 'cause like. Every several hours this gong'd go off and we'd wake up in these little motel sorta rooms where there was food and a bathroom with hot water for showers and a bed and blankets and stuff.
I think it was some sort of...test, or performance or something. There were these TVs, in the rooms, and they played footage of the people in those arenas. I'm pretty sure that wasn't just to mess with us. I think someone else was watching those feeds. 'Specially since some people who were investigating there later found a business card of some hotshot geneticist there.
no subject
That's...
[His eyes narrow and his hand clenches into a fist]
That's completely barbaric!
[His outburst is shortlived, though, and once he realizes how loud he was, Edgeworth crosses his arms and glances to the side. There's no point in a private conversation if the neighbors can hear him scream his head off, is there? So he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, in a vain attempt to reign in his temper]
Not to mention, it's also rather elaborate if their goal was to simply kill the children.
[His tone is tense and brittle, failing to achieve the artificial calm he's going for. But it's an improvement. He opens his eyes, arms still crossed, and stares right at Kotetsu.]
But you mentioned a geneticist. What was his name?
[Just. Going to try and focus on the facts, now.]
no subject
Kotetsu, for his part, just looks rather grim.]
The civilian kids were probably just collateral. Insurance to make sure we fought, 'cause they know we care too much not to protect 'em.
[It's an unfortunate reality that Kotetsu's found himself confronting more and more in this place. Everyone who wants to cause trouble's got their number, as it were. They know beyond an absolute shadow of a doubt that most imPorts don't have the stomach for callousness. Threaten the lives of people and they'll come running in droves. They'll come out to events as added protection in the case something happens. They'll ignore all signs telling them getting involved is a bad idea and fight anyway because they just can't not. It's a way to control them, and even Kotetsu knows it.]
I can't remember it offhand, but it was on the network. [He rubs at his neck.] David-something? Darryl? Daniel? Pretty sure it was something along those lines...
no subject
No matter - I'll look it up later. Has he or his company shown up in the public eye since then, or have they been lying low?
sorry i apparently can't read orz
From what I heard, he's some kinda recluse.
Denied having anything to do with it. And the government's not much help on that front--they covered the whole thing up, probably 'cause it makes 'em look bad. So they're not about to put out any search warrants or anything.
no subject
[He wants to make sure that he has all the facts before he makes a judgment.]
no subject
[He says that name with such visible distaste, as if it physically pains him to suggest that anything to do with that tabloid isn't complete trash.]
no subject
And what did the government do after that? Did they come clean, or...?
[He's expecting a "no", to be honest, but he might as well ask]
no subject
[He'd considered unregistering in protest. He decided against that, but it was definitely the point at which unemployment was preferable to spending another day at his assigned PR job which he'd hated from day one.]
no subject
Wait, that's it?
[The government not wanting to admit to its coverup? That he can understand. But he'd also think that the government would put more effort into the coverup, some attempt to discredit those who spoke up, or...or something. Or perhaps they thought that the association with Tattlecrime would be enough? Who knows. Either way, he has a feeling that he's not getting the whole picture here, and he might have to talk to somebody besides Kotetsu about this]
no subject
[He shrugs a shoulder, uncomfortably.]
You'd think they'd be more invested in this, considering some of their own died, but nothing. Just...nothing.
no subject
[That they're using his research, he's about to say, but he doesn't have anything to back that claim up, just his own knowledge of history from his own version of Earth. He quickly shakes his head, holding up his hand]
...nevermind. Whatever it is, I doubt that they're just ignoring it. Like you said, they could simply be keeping quiet about it, whatever their plans are. Although...
[A thought]
Is this man connected to the government at all? Projects - legitimate projects, I mean - or grants or... well, anything I suppose.
no subject
[He sort of trails off as Edgeworth switches subjects, because it sounds like whatever he was about to say, the other man doesn't intend to continue that line of thought.
Kotetsu rubs his neck at that question, uncertain.]
I don't...think so? Pretty sure he was more commercial. There was, uh, something about him making foxes? Tiny foxes??
[Tiny purse foxes popular with celebrities, to be precise, if Edgeworth digs into the network and finds Freddie's post on it.]
But that doesn't mean he couldn't be connected to the government, off the radar. They've got a bad habit of not telling us more'n what they think we need to know at any given time.
no subject
no subject
[That kind of research is more his partner's department than his own, but he'll still try to help out where he can.]
There anything else you wanna know about?
no subject
Not at the moment. Do you mind keeping in touch, though? In case anything else comes up regarding the Colorado incident.
[He's not an especially friendly guy, no, but he does value information. While he has no intention of getting buddy buddy with Kotetsu, he could be a valuable contact.]
goddamn it my phone died just as i was submitting this tag
[For his own part, Kotetsu has a vested interest in keeping in touch with Edgeworth. They were friends, before, and he's a bit in denial that that Edgeworth is gone.]