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Fact number 76 about Phoenix Wright: he was pathetic on ice. Edgeworth found this out the hard way one fateful Friday night.
It all began after Larry Butz learned of his permanent return to the States. Larry had pestered him to "leave his Friday nights open for his good old friends". Edgeworth, of course, turned down the invitation at the first opportune moment. Immediately, whines and complaints befitting only someone as mentally incapable as Larry assaulted his ears through the phone. His usual peace and quiet were severely abused for the following thirty six hours, and seeing that the former Demon Prosecutor ran out of aspirins to treat his headaches, finally relented to showing up that Friday night.
The first few meetings were surprisingly bearable. Larry Butz had brought them to a classy bar in a shocking display of sense. Their selection of wine, although not quite as fancy as Edgeworth's palate was used to, was extensive nonetheless. Wright still lacked all sense of proper logic, sober or drunk, and Larry had been, surprise surprise, dumped by his girlfriend four hours prior. On average, their conversations during those first few reunions were actually tolerable, even though he had thought of leaving them to their own ridiculousness on quite a few occasions during their outing.
He had not expected to end up on an indoors skating rink five weeks in. Their preferred meeting place usually involved sitting at a table and ingesting some variety of food or drink. He probably should have suspected a sudden change in their usual Friday night routine when the Butz announced, scarcely twenty minutes before they were due to meet, that he had a new location in mind, that he had already paid for all three of them, and that he would arrive late.
Of course, the Butz arrived not at all. Which meant he had to deal with Wright on his own.
"How do you even tie these-"
"Wright."
"Oh come on, Miles. I've lived in California since forever. You can't expect me to know how to handle large areas of frozen water!"
"This indoor rink has existed since-"
"Miles," he whined.
Edgeworth could only sigh in utter exasperation. He knelt in front of the fully grown five-year-old man and proceeded to tie his skates. "We've done this once in Germany," he scowled, tugging vehemently at the laces.
"Objection! That was outdoors, on a real lake, and I was wearing regular boots! That's completely different from trying to stand on a blade."
The Chief Prosecutor only stood up, his task completed, and offered his hand for Wright to take. The man pouted, twisted his legs in an attempt to get used to the skates, and clung hastily to Edgeworth's fingers when he moved to retract them. Wright stood up, perhaps a bit too quickly, stumbled, and yelped as he tried to regain balance. Miles steadied him before they both toppled over and smirked once the world was right-side-up again.
"We are not even on the ice yet," the prosecutor observed with a lifted eyebrow.
"Shut up," Wright replied, mortified.
"Think of this as biking. Once you become used to it..."
"Miles, we are in California, the only ice I am used to are the small cubes I put in my drink!"
"...you will not forget how to skate again."
Edgeworth led them to the rink backwards, Wright clung to his fingers in a death grip and waddled as elegantly as he could. They blocked one of the entrances to the rink as Wright tried and failed to steady the leg he had tentatively extended on ice.
"Wright, the children are glaring daggers at you."
Said man twisted his head as much as he could to look at the children without having to perturb the precarious balance he had just achieved, one feet planted firmly on terra firma and the other trembling on the rink. He offered the younger ones an apologetic smile. "You shall not pass?" he said sheepishly. With a final burst of courage, Wright lifted the one leg still notoriously attached to solid ground and brought it upon the ice. Edgeworth began skating backward and pulling his frozen partner away from the entrance.
"Hold it!!" the defense attorney cried, voice at least one octave higher than usual. His legs attempted to move forward on the ice through a walking movement, which did not agree with the physics of skating and caused Wright's body to flail about. His hands still clung to Edgeworth's fingers for dear life. "You can't just start showing off your skills when I'm barely surviving here!"
Edgeworth paid him no heed, continuing to pull him around the rink. "You are not supposed to walk," he finally said, when Wright's knees almost gave out. "Try gliding by pushing your skates outward."
Phoenix tried to do as instructed, with limited success at first. As they made their seventh lap around the rink, however, the defense attorney felt confident enough to let go of one of Miles' hands. "I believe Truce might like these kinds of things," Wright said offhandedly.
The prosecutor nodded, and slid his remaining hand out of Wright's grasp.
"Wha-!" Phoenix gasped as he tipped forward and frantically grabbed the railings. "Traitor!"
"Three rounds," Miles compromised, "and I'll let you off the ice with a cup of hot chocolate." Without waiting for an answer, he took off alone, picking up speed as he went. Von Karma had taken him skating as a rare reward for good behavior during his stay in Germany. He blamed his affinity for the sport on the psychological association he had made between temporary contentedness and gliding on ice. After nightmares upon nightmares of having killed his father, being able to skate alone in the dead of winter seemed like a needed reprieve. He did not skate often, but he inevitably enjoyed the few instances he was granted.
Phoenix watched him zigzag through the rink with a vigor normally reserved for the privacy of their bedroom. His hair swayed as he picked up speed, toned legs manoeuvering deftly to avoid fellow skaters, hips swaying just so when he made for a drastic turn. Phoenix found Edgeworth truly beautiful to watch.
Three laps later, Edgeworth stopped at his side and helped him out of the rink. Phoenix's legs were still rather shaky, but it was all expected of his first experience on ice. He wobbled back to his seat, lowering himself with a sigh of satisfaction. On the rink, a zamboni swirled, restoring the ice to its previous state of smoothness.
When Edgeworth returned with a cup of hot chocolate and a satisfied smirk, Wright motioned for him to sit. Edgeworth pecked him on the cheek, handed him the warm drink, and twined their fingers. Wright sighed in satisfaction despite his aching feet. If this was what it took to make Miles happy, he would gladly endure it all again.
-End-