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His head pounds, his chest hurts and his nose won’t stop tickling; Simon had almost forgotten just how irritating colds can be, but he certainly remembers now. Although he is somewhat proud of the fact that you cannot actually tell he is ill just by looking at him, to the point that no one has noticed anything wrong with him.
However, his body is starting to betray him in the most ridiculous way possible: sneezing. Yes, he cannot seem to stop sneezing, and he knows his constant, mucus-filled sneezes will give away his illness in court today.
A couple of hours later, his fear is confirmed. Suddenly aware of how flushed his normally pale face is, Simon’s legs wobble behind the bench, and he just hopes he won’t start sneezing.
But even without the sneezes, the defence team have noticed his condition. Athena Cykes and Apollo Justice frown as they look across the courtroom at him, Athena’s Widget bright yellow around her neck.
“Prosecutor Blackquill,” Justice says. “Uh, are you okay? You don’t look very well.”
“I’m fine, Justice-dono,” Simon mutters, his voice hoarse.
“Are you sure about that, Simon?” Athena asks.
“Yes,” he says with as much emphasis as he can without sounding sarcastic. “I am.”
The two lawyers look at each other and Simon rolls his eyes. Hoping that has settled the issue, he scratches Taka’s head and waits for the Judge to arrive—
“Achoo!”
As much as he tries to suppress it, a violent sneeze escapes him, the noise echoing around the courtroom and saliva and mucus coating the tissue he got in front of his face just in time. It is disgusting and makes Taka jump so badly he flies across the courtroom to land on Athena’s head.
A ridiculous sense of embarrassment making his already flushed face burn, Simon throws the soiled tissue into the trashcan near his bench and wishes everyone would stop staring at him.
But it is impossible to retain composure when—
“Achoo!”
—You cannot stop sneezing.
And Simon happens to be midway through a sneezing fit when the Judge exits his chambers and sits in his chair, meaning the Judge notices too.
“Oh dear, Prosecutor Blackquill, have you got a cold?” the Judge says, his eyes flickering to the hawk still perched on Athena’s head.
By this point, it just seems redundant to pretend he is healthy.
“How very astute, Your Baldness,” Simon says, his voice nasal until he blows it, already halfway through his packet of tissues despite the trial not yet having started. “You could be a forensics investigator.”
And when the Judge fails to notice his sarcasm and smiles, Simon chuckles… at least, until that sets off another sneezing fit.
Jesus Christ, this is going to be a long trial.