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When Miles agreed to attend Franziska's performance in lieu of her father, given that Mr. von Karma was far too busy to waste time on anything not directly relating to prosecution and the law, and that Miles happened to be in the country anyway —mainly due to Mr. von Karma requesting his presence for the holidays, and... regardless of his own personal feelings about this time of year, personal feelings are not a good enough excuse to decline his mentor on something so insignificant—Miles had been expecting to do so from the audience.
He isn't entirely certain where he went wrong, exactly, but somewhere between arriving well before the actual performance time and now, he wound up being immediately identified as Franziskas amerikanischer Bruder, pulled aside, and asked to assist given that one of the stage techs with a rather crucial role had called out sick about an hour ago.
It will be simple, they said. And, admittedly, they weren't lying—from the approximately five minutes of training he received, he's gathered that his job is to point this spotlight at whoever is on stage at the time. If there are multiple actors, then he is to use his best judgment, for naturally Franziska's brother would have read the script and would therefore know what prominence each and every actor has.
He has not read the script. All he knows is that Franziska is the lead actress, and that is... about it.
To be completely honest, he should have said no. He is a prosecutor, not some poorly paid (if at all) theater technician. But... he is here, after all, and he didn't say no, and at this point it is far too late to back out of what he has agreed to do.
At least the actual lights technician (there are normally two—the more junior one is the one who called out) has assured him that, so long as he points the spotlight at someone on-stage, she'll be able to handle the rest. Really, she just needs any halfway-reliable person to point the other spotlight, because she can't be in two places at once and everyone is already stretched very, very thin. She can't be any older than Franziska, though. She's tall, with frizzy dark hair that looks approximately as frazzled as she herself does, and a pencil tucked behind her ear. Miles is reminded of Detective Gumshoe, except that the lights technician here clearly knows what she is doing, and Gumshoe... more often than not, doesn't.
"Miles Edgeworth," someone snaps from below him—who is he kidding, it's quite obviously Franziska, one hand on her hip and some dark-colored clothes tucked under her arm. "Get down from there this instant."
Warily, Miles does so—the ladder seems sturdy enough, but one can never be certain—and nods. In English as well, he greets, "Franziska von Karma. I was wondering where you were."
"Attempting to get ready. When they told me that they had found a temporary replacement for Schmidt, they didn't..." Franziska sighs. "Do you know anything about what role you are to play here?"
"I've gathered that I point the spotlight at whoever is most prominent onstage," Miles replies. "That would be you, I assume?"
"You assume correctly, but there is... far more than can be taught in the hour we have remaining before our final performance. For now, just..." She holds out the clothes at him. "Change into these. To act as a theater tech, you must dress the part, and I'm reasonably certain that Tobias is your size. You need darker clothes."
Miles just... stares. He looks down at his own outfit—red, but a very dark red, and he already put away his cravat upon being informed of his role here—and looks back at Franziska. "This is not dark enough?"
Franziska shakes her head emphatically. "Black. Unless you wish to return home for your own clothes, but I sincerely doubt you own anything appropriate."
She... isn't wrong. Miles sighs, and takes the clothes. "Which way is the bathroom?"
"Down that hall, and around the corner. If it's being used, try the one in the women's dressing room, just... knock, first, if the door is closed, someone might be changing." Franziska smiles. It's a feral smile that Miles typically associates with her whip, and yet he sees it nowhere on her. Evidently, she takes her role in this production quite seriously if she's left it behind... or maybe it's just somewhere in that mentioned dressing room. "Or, you could change in the men's dressing room. No one would object—you are, however temporarily, a member of this production."
Logically speaking, there is no reason why changing in the men's dressing room should bother him. Yet his face heats up—he is suddenly very glad for how dark it is backstage already, though he's been told it will get darker once it's closer to showtime—and he says, "No, I'd prefer the bathroom. I wouldn't want to get in anyone's way."
Franziska shrugs. "Suit yourself, fool."
The first bathroom Franziska had indicated is, in fact, occupied. The women's dressing room—and the other bathroom—is, blessedly, not occupied in the slightest. It takes him some time to change out of his suit and into the offered sweatpants and hoodie. It feels... odd, but he supposes borrowed clothes would have to. Not for the first time, he wonders if it is too late to back out.
Not for the first time, he reminds himself that the last thing he wants to do is to disappoint people who could become valuable contacts in future for himself and for Franziska. Her entire reasoning for getting involved in community theater, after all, had involved a quite impressive series of mental gymnastics to justify it as learning how to understand potentially difficult witnesses. It had worked well enough. Well enough, that is, for her father not to object—not for him to attend a single performance of hers.
Not even if she is the lead actress in a renowned play.
Upon hearing that he would be in town for this one, how could Miles not attend? This is... significantly different than he had expected his attendance to go, but while it is strange, and odd, it isn't necessarily uncomfortable.
Suit safely hung on a borrowed hanger, he exits the bathroom. The women's dressing room is nearly deserted, though not entirely so as it was when he last passed through it. Franziska is seated in full costume on a stool, arms wrapped around the girl on her lap to steady her. The girl on her lap has... dark, frizzy hair...
"Hello, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska says without turning around.
The lights technician laughs, blushing, and echoes, "Hello, Miles Edgeworth."
"Hello, Franziska," Miles says in turn. "Hello..."
He hadn't caught the lights technician's name, actually. She leans out around Franziska and takes pity on him by saying, in more heavily accented English than Franziska’s, "Call me Lia. Everyone does."
"Hello, Ms. Lia." Miles clears his throat awkwardly. "If you don't mind me asking... what is it the two of you are doing?"
"I'm helping her with her makeup," Lia supplies. "Or... what's the word in English... practicing?"
"I do have no less than three quick-changes throughout the course of the play," Franziska says haughtily. "One of which involves some very delicate re-application of makeup. We always practice it before the play starts."
"Ja. Does that not make sense?"
"I... see," Miles says slowly. He doesn't see, but he knows very little about how theater works, so that is almost certainly a failing on his end, not either of theirs. "Don't let me interrupt you, then. And, ah... in case I don't see you before the show starts, Franziska... break a leg?"
"Thank you, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska says with a serious nod. There must be something strange going on with the lighting in here, because it almost looks like Franziska's features too are tinted a slight red.
"I will come find you and go over the last few things you need to know in a few minutes," Lia says as well. "Don't go far."
Miles nods, and flees the scene. He's barely closed the dressing room door behind him when he hears, of all things, laughter. It's almost certainly at his expense, for some breach of theater etiquette he isn't aware of. Still, the performance—somehow—goes off without a hitch. The audience enjoys it. Miles arguably enjoys it more, being able to see how the show is put together, piece by piece. He is invited to the cast and crew's dinner after the fact, but feels he must respectfully decline.
It doesn't occur to him until years later, after Franziska's father is dead and Miles no longer lives life under the hangman's noose, that the supposed quick-change practice was in reality nothing of the sort. There hadn't been makeup of any sort within reach, such an intimate pose was surely not necessary, and Miles had met the actual makeup tech later that night.
In retrospect, it should have been far more obvious than it actually was.
In retrospect, a lot of things should have been far more obvious than they actually were. His sister being very emphatically a lesbian just happened to be one of the most obvious.