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"That fool says I have no one to give flowers to," Miles seethed while pacing around his office. "What a joke! What a preposterous assumption! Unresearched and unfounded, as any of his assertions in court are wont to be!"
He picked up steam as he paced furiously about. "I will become more skilled in flowers than he could ever imagine. I will make him regret his words. He may be a great man, and he may shine brightly as a legal and personal inspiration, but in matters of flowers, he is dirt! He is mud! He will rue the day he made a mockery of me in court! Ha!"
Miles jabbed at his phone. "Secretary, please reschedule all my afternoon meetings." He determinedly enrolled himself in an accredited online course, and by that evening, he was a certified Associate Florist specializing in native Japanifornian blooms.
🌸
But who was to be the first lucky recipient of Miles's shiny new accreditation? Certainly not Wright, for he must be experienced in the field before attempting to show up that fool. No, he would only have one chance to leave Wright humiliated, and he had to make it count!
His eye fell on the garish bouquet by his window. Yes. Perfect.
The next morning, an extravagant bouquet of yellow carnations waited at KB Security. It was so wide it filled the entire reception desk.
"For meeee?" Oldbag shrieked. "It's about time! Watching all the young'uns get flowers day in and day out, it's too much to bear! At last someone appreciates this elegant lady. And it's. . . it's. . . it's from Edgy-poo?"
"Um. . . pretty sure yellow carnations are for rejection," her hapless coworker said. "Whoever this Edgy-poo is, he must really have wanted to get his point across."
"Nonsense. Hmph. Why would anyone reject me?" Oldbag haughtily replied.
🌸
The next was Larry, another risk-free fool. Miles sent him a spray of iris and sage. For the wisdom you lack, read the card.
He had both overestimated Larry and underestimated him. "Sage, for wisdom," Larry said immediately, knowingly. "Don't look so surprised, Edgey. I'm an artist! I know all about symbols!"
Miles wondered why Larry looked so pleased. "Then you're well aware the meaning of the bouquet?" he hazarded to ask.
"Yes! Irises for Iris! It's telling me it would be wise to go after Iris. I always knew she was my soulmate! Thanks for believing in me, Edgey!"
He was gone like a orange, haphazard lightning flash. Miles blinked, perturbed. Well, he was still learning. He was bound to mess up at least one bouquet out of the bunch.
🌸
He proceeded to his professional associates from there. Oversized peonies for Klavier ("You're too flashy, tone it down!"), black bat flowers for Simon (that one needed no explanation), and prickly thistle for the Paynes ("You're a pain to have around"). Queen Anne's Lace for Gumshoe: common and abundant, yet uplifting. Even the judge received a small bouquet of chrysanthemums and sunflowers, for fairness in judgment.
"Why thank you, Herr Edgeworth. I am quite beautiful, ja?"
"Hmph. Dark and fearsome as a samurai sword."
"Ah, sharp thorns to represent our sharp, rookie-killing intellects!"
Miles sighed. It wasn't his fault his office was filled with fools. Surely Wright, a man who could pull meaning from the tiniest contradiction, would have better sense, or at least his assistant-of-the-day would. The man may not know flowers, but he'd know his court record inside and out. Yes, Miles would simply file in a brochure before enacting his grand plan.
🌸
It was time for the gifts of importance. For Trucy, a magician's baton that transformed into a flowering bouquet. "For your stage show." For Kay, a hair clip adorned with simple white flowers with a lock-picking set built into the clip. "Crow flowers," he explained, fastening it to her hair. Orchids for Maya and Pearl. "For your spiritual strength," Miles said seriously, presenting them in a vase dotted with moonstones.
For Franziska, a lotus preserved in silver and decorated with jewels. "Because you rose above our family's deceit, to become a symbol of strength and justice," he pronounced, as eloquent as he'd ever been in court. "You are a rare jewel of a prosecutor, and always, always my big sister."
"Don't talk about Papa that way," Franziska groused, and Miles pretended not to see her dab at her eyes.
🌸
He was ready. He'd prepared for months, chosen the perfect scene and occasion. The stars were all aligned. It was time.
He swooped by in his sports car and cornered Phoenix Wright outside the courthouse. "There is something of note which requires your observation," he said cryptically.
"Is it evidence?" Phoenix asked.
"Well, you'd best come see."
"Okay. There's something I need to show you too."
"Is it your badge? I've already seen that," Miles huffed.
Phoenix scowled.
Miles drove them to their carefully-planned outing, while Phoenix jabbered away asking all sorts of inconvenient questions. "Where are we going? Is this Gourd Lake? Why are we going to Gourd Lake? This isn't an investigation, is it? Are we—is this just for fun? Is this a d—"
"We're here!" Miles interrupted, slamming on the brakes.
They got out at the edge of the lake, and Miles led them to a meandering trail disappearing into the woods. The trees stretched overhead, their shadows long in the setting sun. Crows squawked overhead, and Phoenix nervously inched closer. Miles rolled his eyes and took Phoenix's arm. They rounded a corner.
They were standing in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by thick bushes. The clearing was dominated by a single, large blossom in the center, five feet wide and twelve feet tall, surrounded by a brown, dried circle of dead plants. The flower stank horribly, putrid stench rolling off it in waves and making Phoenix's eyes water.
"Amorphophallus titanum," Miles announced. "Commonly called the titan arum."
"Edgeworth," Phoenix gasped, "what are you trying to say?" He gestured at the ruffled, deep burgundy petals and the single, very erect spike standing at attention in the center. "Do you. . . want me so badly that. . . you know?"
You're a prick, and your logic stinks, Miles had been about to say. The words died on his tongue.
How could you have misinterpreted so badly, he tried to say instead, when he turned and saw Phoenix's face. Confused and just a little hopeful.
Perhaps he himself was the one who had misunderstood, or perhaps the Language of Flowers had known him better than he knew himself.
It took him three tries to unstick his tongue. "Yes," he whispered, and Phoenix's face broke into an impossibly-happy grin.
Yes.
🌸
"By the way, can we swing by my office?" Phoenix hesitantly asked.
"Of course," Miles answered, distracted.
Phoenix returned with something held out of view behind his back. "Erm, this is for you," he mumbled, shoving it at Miles.
Bemused, Miles took the single red rose. "How very typical," he said dryly.
"Well, it's one of the only flowers I know!" Phoenix protested, turning pink. "And I'm sure you know exactly what it means."