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It starts innocently enough, as all of Franziska von Karma’s most foolish decisions do.
Franziska is in this foolish country on business, of course—but she has the case she will be prosecuting well in hand, and it is not against one specific no-longer-a-defense-attorney, so her normal amount of preparation is quite sufficient. Therefore, she feels no guilt in contacting one Maya Fey to see if she is available, nor in driving out to Kurain Village for the afternoon and night to spend some time with a beautiful woman in a beautiful village.
The afternoon is a much-needed break from the constant work of ensuring justice is served, and Franziska quite enjoys hearing of the latest antics Maya has gotten up to. The evening becomes slightly more stressful than Franziska had planned due to an incident involving Maya’s whip practice and a broken urn that she would have sworn was out of range, but it is fixed in a timely enough manner and Maya later clarifies that breaking the urn is, in fact, practically a Fey family rite of passage, so all is well in the end apparently. The night is lovely and one of the most restful ones Franziska has had in her life, not least of which due to good company.
Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and Franziska’s moderately impulsive visit to Maya Fey is one such good thing indeed. In order to return to the city and have enough time to properly prepare for the morning’s trial, she has to get up… earlier than she would prefer, even if she is used to it. Judging by the way Maya is yawning as she follows Franziska out to her car, Maya neither prefers the time nor is used to it. It is still dark out, after all.
“It…” Another massive yawn from Maya Fey. “…really is good to see you, you know!”
Franziska hefts her suitcase and smiles warmly. “It is good to see you as well, Maya Fey… why do you have that?”
That happens to be one of several unopened boxes of pepperoni pizza. Maya had, improbably and foolishly, convinced Franziska to agree to ordering out for some rather low-quality American food on the condition that it wasn’t burgers. Franziska is willing to admit that this Papa John may have some idea of what he is doing when it comes to the culinary arts, though she will not be admitting it without being prompted to do so first. She is also willing to admit that she may have misunderstood the ordering process, which resulted in eight boxes of pizza being delivered to Fey Manor instead of eight slices.
Ah well. It isn’t as if Maya Fey won’t eat the leftovers.
“Well,” Maya beams sleepily, “it seems kind of unfair to not send you off with something. Besides, you ordered so much pizza that even my second stomach won’t be able to eat it all before it goes bad. Least I can do to thank you for coming. And paying for the pizza.”
“Very well,” Franziska concedes. She takes the box of pizza in both hands, and turns to her rented car. Upon realizing that the car door is not yet open, she sighs, sets the box of pizza on the top of the car, and goes searching through her purse for her keys. “Maya Fey, with all due respect, you look about ready to fall over.”
“I kinda am,” Maya admits with yet another foolishly gigantic yawn. “But it’d be kinda rude not to see you off, so…”
Franziska finds her keys, unlocks the car door, and pulls it open. Then she sets the keys down on the seat, turns on her heel—and presses her lips, gently, to Maya’s. Even more gently, she caresses Maya’s face with both hands as she pulls away, and looks into her beautiful eyes.
(They are blue, currently. Maya has been experimenting with contact lenses in recent months, since she apparently now needs them to see things clearly at a distance. Franziska thinks—knows, really—that they are beautiful no matter what color she chooses.)
“I love you, Maya Fey,” she declares to the grey twilight just before dawn, and to the mostly deserted parking lot just down the hill from Fey Manor. “Now go back to sleep, you fool.”
“You too, Franziska von Karma,” Maya says equally fondly. She reaches to take one of Franziska’s hands in hers, squeezes it tightly, and then departs.
Franziska has known of the effect Maya Fey has on her since long before she acted on these feelings to begin with. Still, knowing of a thing and effectively dealing with it are not necessarily synonyms, and so Franziska does not realize anything at all is amiss after she has loaded her suitcase into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s side. Hands on the steering wheel and her usual gloves back on, whip in its usual place at her side, she takes a deep breath and pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road.
She’s scarcely gone ten meters before there is a muffled THUMP somewhere behind her. Franziska looks to the rearview mirror. There is something in the road behind her, a box of some sort she must have run over. Who on earth would be littering this far from civilization, she can’t imagine, but it disgusts her. Were she not in such a hurry, she’d pick it up herself. As it is, she makes a mental note to tell Maya to look out for whoever that foolish litterer is, along with the proclamation of her victory in court today, and she keeps driving without a second glance.
The drive back to the city is long, and not altogether that interesting, but Franziska von Karma is a professional, and she makes excellent time back to her hotel. Exactly one hour and thirty-seven minutes later, she pulls into that parking lot, her thoughts already turning to the trial. She is quite certain that the defendant is in fact guilty, based on the available evidence, and he certainly doesn’t have a Phoenix Wright to turn things around.
No one has a Phoenix Wright to turn things around anymore, which is far more a reflection on the deeply flawed judicial system in this foolish country than on that particular foolish fool. Phoenix Wright? Forged evidence? As if. The only possible conclusion is that he was set up, and yet that conclusion so simple a child could come up with it is impossible for anyone with any authority to accept.
Phoenix Wright, disbarred. One way or another, that will not last. Franziska is certain of that little. She is equally certain that, should those fools who thought disbarring Phoenix Wright was an excellent idea not be careful, they will make him into the very monster they proclaimed him to be.
Her flight back to Germany is not until the evening of the last possible day of this trial. Perhaps, if she wraps this up quickly, she will have time to pay Phoenix Wright and his little girl a visit as well, if they’d have her. It will be… strange, not seeing Phoenix Wright on the other side of a courtroom, but if her relationship with Maya Fey has taught her anything at all, it is that her life needs strange, and she is quite curious as to what little Trucy is like. She is likely too young to learn how to use a proper whip, but perhaps the next time she is in this country, perhaps Franziska can find her old riding crop and vest it upon a worthy new bearer.
Satisfied, and determined to conclude the trial quickly in order to facilitate this, Franziska gathers up her bags. There is her suitcase, and her purse, and—hm. Something’s missing, though there is nothing else in the car. What else would…
The pizza.
The pizza.
Her eyes flick up to the top of the rented car, though she knows full well it is hopeless. Something as light as a box of pepperoni pizza, even a full one, would not have stayed on there for the entire journey—and she has a sneaking suspicion she knows exactly where it fell off.
She takes a deep breath, and resists the urge to whip the car. Instead, she retrieves her phone, and dials a number.
Maya does not pick up, which is quite understandable—the Master of the Kurain Channelling Technique does quite enjoy sleeping in. Her answering machine, however, picks up with a bright and cheerful greeting of “Maya here! Looks like I couldn’t get to the phone right now, which means I’m probably sleeping, eating, training, or marathoning Steel Samurai again. Leave me a message with your name, number, you know the drill, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a nice day!”
Franziska sighs as the phone beeps. “Good morning, Maya Fey. It is likely an exercise in futility to ask you this. However, once you do wake up, if you could go out to the road off from the parking lot and… see if there is anything there? It is… well, not important now I suppose, but I sincerely hope at least some of it is salvageable. Thank you.” She pauses briefly, finger hovering over the button to end the call, and adds, “I love you.”
The trial is pathetically easy. Too many of them are, now, in this country. It is not even noon when the gavel comes down with a resounding verdict of guilty, and as a consequence, Franziska is checking her phone for any voicemail when Maya Fey calls her back.
“Franziska von Karma,” she greets as she picks up, even though it isn’t as if she doesn’t know who this is.
“Hi, Fran!” She can practically hear Maya Fey beaming through the phone. “So… to answer your question, nope, not salvageable. We’ve honestly got enough pizza here that you could come back and get another box if you wanted to. Maybe take it to Nick and his kiddo.”
“Not a bad idea. I have been meaning to pay Phoenix Wright a visit, and this trial of mine has reached its conclusion.”
“Already? Wow. Guilty?”
“Of course. The benefits of being in my current position include rarely prosecuting an innocent defendant.”
“Huh. Cool. So… did you leave the box on top of your car or something?”
Franziska sighs. There is no one else in the prosecution’s lobby at the moment, but she would not exactly mind some fresh air, so she goes for the door as she answers, “I did not intend on leaving it there for the trip, Maya Fey.”
“Of course not!” There is a sound that sounds suspiciously like laughter, hidden behind a hand clapped over a traitorous mouth. “Of course not. Franziska, I’m really sorry, this is the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Wait until I tell Pearly—“
“Don’t you dare,” Franziska hisses, a little too loudly. She gets a few odd looks from the other various personnel milling around the courthouse, but not for long, and soon she is outside. “Maya Fey. Do not tell anyone about this, or I’ll…”
“What, prosecute me for murder again?”
She’s joking, from her tone, but also with Maya Fey one can never be sure where a theoretical murder charge is involved. To the best of Franziska’s knowledge, Maya Fey has been a defendant in a murder case at least three times—two of which Franziska herself prosecuted, one of which turned out to be an extremely bizarre misunderstanding Franziska is still a little mad about—and was a suspect for a short time in a fourth.
“Not unless you find yourself under suspicion for murder again,” is Franziska’s rather curt response. “Which I should not have to advise you against.”
“Oh, come on! You say that like I try to find trouble! Trouble finds me!” Maya laughs. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone unless you bring it up first.”
“Thank you.” Franziska can’t imagine a single situation where she would ever bring it up first, except maybe with her therapist. “I… can’t believe I did that. How foolish of me.”
“Aw, don’t beat yourself up about it. Happens to the best of us!”
“I hope you are including yourself in that us and not merely me.”
Maya laughs harder. “Love you too. Actually hey, idea, why don’t you bring Nick and his daughter over for the weekend? He needs social interaction in his life and whatever part-time job he’s got now does not count, thank you very much!”
“I…” That is actually a surprisingly sound idea for something Maya has supposedly had completely spur-of-the-moment. “I’m not sure if he’d agree if I asked him.”
“Call me back in like ten minutes. I’ll tell him I’ve got a ride for him. Just not who it is until it’s too late to back out, I bet he doesn’t know you’re in the country at all!” Maya laughs. “Love you, Fran!”
“You too,” Franziska says fondly. “I still can’t believe I did that.”
“Happens to the best of us, Franziska m’lady. Happens to the best of us.”
And before Franziska can appropriately react to being called m’lady by Maya Fey, she hangs up. Franziska puts away her phone, finds her car, and returns to her hotel with an almost scary smile on her face.
(It would only be scary to someone who knows of her and doesn’t know her, which is, as it turns out, exactly what she wants from it.)