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Klavier has always felt like he’s drowning, which is ironic, given his Nöck wassermann – German water spirit – heritage. Flailing, grasping – gasping – for the truth. He doesn’t know what it’s like to live without constant pressure on his lungs, sweeping waves of anxious adrenaline. He doesn’t know how much has been a malevolent aufhocker or his own imaginings by the time he’s studying at Themis. It took a long time to learn the difference. Regardless, he certainly can’t remember a time without it.
So when Klavier walks into the courtroom to face the man who bested his brother Kristoph, he is not expecting to feel a surge of what feels like fresh air in his lungs. He knows that the red-suited defense attorney’s name is Apollo Justice, used to work under Kristoph, and now associates with Phoenix Wright. Justice eyes Klavier’s dripping jacket, and he shrugs with a grin. It’s one of the only signs of being a Nöck that he hasn’t been able to stifle, and no one comments on it.
Klavier studies the man, committing his face to memory, every expression and position. He thinks he’s got the man’s face down, making him easier to read and fluster. It’s what makes the brief ripple of shining gold scales when Justice is particularly locking onto a witness’s tell startling. Not that Klavier actually thought he and Kristoph were the only not-exactly-humans in the Los Angeles law profession.
It still catches him off-guard enough that when the judge asks if he has any objections for further cross-examination, he starts. “Nein, Herr Judge, I’m sure it will help find the truth, ja?” Justice looks at him curiously, then his eyes turn back to the same intensity to the witness, a brilliant shade of gold entering the brown of his irises.
Klavier loses the trial to Apollo Justice, and isn’t all that unhappy about it. But as he’s leaving the courtroom, his inner monologue with Kristoph’s disapproving voice starts. He can almost hear his brother saying I’m disappointed in you, Klavier. You shouldn’t collude with the defense, and your inattention and distraction is highly unprofessional. It’s as if the aufhocker lands on his back again, but there’s nothing there, because Klavier would know.
His family, Kristoph included, were all Aufhockers of the water spirit type, the kind that latch onto people’s backs and drain the fight and air out of them. Klavier has tried so hard to not lose sight of the truth, has tried to help pursue justice and aid people, to not break people apart. He speed-walks to the bathroom, leaving a dripping trail on the floor, trying to make his small internal joke about needing a perpetual wet floor sign.
He is not prepared for Apollo Justice in front of the mirror, fiddling with the attorney’s badge on his suit. It seems Justice was also not prepared for anyone walking in, because he jumps and lets out a screech that hurts Klavier’s ears. The scales ripple again, and Klavier stares, momentarily entranced.
“Oh! Uh, sorry, I was just leaving, I -”
“Nein, even rockstars must wash their faces in front of other people sometimes, ja?” Klavier says with a brilliant smile. It is nothing compared to the dawn-like radiance from Apollo.
“Prosecutor Gavin - you’re not, y'know, like the other prosecutors – or other people in general,” Justice says, tilting his head with the last statement - and again, the burning gold in his eyes.
“Please, Herr Forehead, call me Klavier. Neither are you, I imagine. Even your name is like the sun, ja?”
“You can call me Apollo, anything but that ridiculous nickname,” groans Apollo. “Also, you are not particularly original with the sun commentary. I’m descended from something something to do with the sun and Greek mythology but I’ve never been clear on what.”
“Ah...” Klavier pauses, thinking. “Apollo. I’m … a German water spirit – a Nöck. The rest of my family – including mein bruder..." The air temporarily leaves him again, and it takes a moment. “They're called Aufhockers, even though they’re water spirits like me. They … hurt people.” It’s the closest he’s come to admitting that Kristoph may be truly darker than he has ever imagined. “But – enough of that! Herr Fore – Apollo. Come celebrate the trial with me over dinner, ja?”
He is not sure what has possessed to him to ask like this, the man put his brother away, and yet Klavier cannot forget the sudden ease in breathing earlier. Or how Apollo’s smiles genuinely light up the courtroom and his wit and perception.
Apollo hasn’t said anything, and Klavier opens his mouth to backtrack. The radiance fills the room again, and Apollo’s looking at Klavier like he matters, and says, “Only if it’s not some stupid fancy German restaurant - or wherever you rockstars like to go.”
Klavier huffs, laughs, and tells Apollo to choose the restaurant.