Chapter Text
“I simply do not understand why I need attend so many of the same event.”
“Perhaps if you left the confines of the study more often, Miles Edgeworth, you would begin to understand.” Franziska snorted, upturning her nose.
It had been an excruciatingly long carriage ride to arrive at the White manor by sundown. It was difficult to read on the bumpy dirt road, and if attending parties would divest him of Franziska’s bickering, Miles would gladly go to a hundred.
He knew it would not, from experience, but he still breathed a sigh of relief when their carriage entered through the iron gates of the White estate. The sheer garishness of the entire grounds never ceased to impress Miles. How one man could hold such an obsession with gold plated cherubs and hedge self portraits he would never know.
As the carriage pulled up to the main entrance of the manor, Miles relaxed his disgusted expression and adjusted his hat and gloves.
“Remember, little brother, that you must assist me in disembarking.” Franziska reminded, head still tilted upwards. She had not budged from her seat, though Miles was angled towards the carriage door and itching to get out.
“Of course I remember.”
“Oh, good,” she replied, “I thought you might have forgotten in the midst of all your academic exploits.”
Biting back a retort as the carriage door clicked open, Miles stepped off the vehicle and offered his hand to Franziska, who hovered her palm just over his as she shuffled out of the carriage.
Her sour attitude towards Miles was simply something he’d come to accept through his years at the Von Karma household, and she always did this, never really touching his hand in a statement of ego and arrogance. One day, Miles thought, Franziska might trip on her way down and at last accept his support, but that day had yet to come.
Coming out of the carriage in a ball of pastel blue taffeta and fine fur, Franziska quickly took the lead, walking regally up the marble steps to the grand doorway. In regular fashion, Miles followed a few steps behind. He had attended five events in the past month with Franziska, and he knew the drill.
Their coats were taken at the door and they were announced upon entry to the ballroom: the daughter and the protégé of Lord Von Karma, Franziska Von Karma and Miles Edgeworth. As soon as their names were called a man with an ostentatiously bright smile came up to them. This was the host of the night’s banquet: Redd White. Nouveau riche, his mentor had told him-- and it showed in White’s terrible taste in dress and decoration. Still, he had become prominent in trading silks and spices, and it would be bad form to spurn the invitation of this up-climbing merchant.
“Miss Von Karma, Mr. Edgeworth,” arms outstretched, White approached them. “How splendiferous it is that you could come to my humble little gathering.”
“Thank you for your invitation, Mr. White.” Miles replied, bowing as Franziska curtsied.
“My father is unable to attend tonight, but he sends his regards.”
“It’s a shame he had to miss tonight’s dinner. My chef does the most scrumlicious roast pheasant.” Redd grinned again, his teeth glinting in the light.
He was certain that “scrumlicious” wasn’t a word, and this party was anything but "humble", but Miles smiled politely and nodded as Franziska told Redd that her father would be sure to not miss the next party. When the next guest was announced, their host departed with a wink of his eye; Franziska and Miles proceeded deeper into the crowd, looking for familiar faces.
“Is that the Viscount Payne by the powder room?” Catching a glimpse of the sullen man through the party-goers, Franziska whispered amusedly. “They say he comes unannounced to any party there’s fine wine at-- and because he’s a viscount, many hosts dare not turn him away.”
“Franziska. Be careful with idle gossip.” Miles chided, glancing around the room.
“Since when did you hold the authority to order me around? I will make sure father hears of this.”
“My mentor would wish you to keep unpleasant rumours unsaid.”
He was right, Franziska knew, and so she pursed her lips and turned away.
Struggling to keep a pleasant look on his face, Miles followed Franziska around the ballroom, greeting whoever caught their attention and exchanging pleasantries.
It was utterly exhausting, and Miles was glad when the dinner bell finally rung and the guests all retired to the dining hall.
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“Nick, the dressed tomatoes are to die for!” Maya took a large bite off her fork, chewing happily with a blissed look on her face.
Next to her, Phoenix sighed, picking at his food.
No matter her age, his childhood friend would never change. Now that they were both older, he had been asked on many occasions to escort Maya to functions, and just as he’d returned from duty in India, he had hardly been given a day’s notice before being told to escort her to this party. He was still fatigued from sea travel, and the bright lights and colourful interior of the White manor only made his headache worse.
As much as he struggled to conceal it, he was upset, and though the food was delicious, Phoenix wanted badly to gallop home and collapse in the warmth of his bed.
“Remind me again why I had to accompany you to this party?” He whispered to Maya as their half-empty plates were brought away.
“I would have come by myself, but you know my aunt. She’d never allow it.”
“Right.” Sighing again, Phoenix took a sip of wine. Morgan Fey was ever the traditionalist.
Phoenix despised social functions, but they were a part of life. At the very least, the host of the party was a businessman who traded in India. He could make his way through conversation solely by his knowledge of the colony.
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Miles had lost count of the courses by the time after-meal petit fours were served. To the chef’s credit, the roast pheasant had been delicious, but the portion was enormous, as were the portions of other dishes. His waistcoat felt ready to burst, but he remained straight-backed, breathing deeply in an attempt to relieve some discomfort.
The clanging of a wine glass interrupted his thoughts, and the dinner guests’ attention was drawn to the head of the table.
“Esteemed guests!” Redd stood at his seat, hitting his glass with a spoon. “What an abso-posi-lutely perfect meal that was. I trust you all had amazing gastronomic experiences?”
The guests nodded weakly in agreement. They were all stuffed to the brim, and their host flashed a smile.
“Then let us gentlemen retire to the smoking room. And of course, the drawing room is open for the ladies.”
As the dinner guests rose and left the table, Franziska followed suit, giving Miles only a condescending glance before walking away.
Would it have been too much for her pride to say a simple “see you later?”
Miles didn’t care for smoking, nor did the care for the liquor that usually came with it. The wine had been enough for him, so he lagged behind as the men of the party trailed out of the dining room. The terrace was nearby, and he knew he needed the fresh air.
Cracking open the glass paned doors to the terrace, the soft summer breeze blew across Miles’ face. It seemed to pull him in, free from the overpowering perfumes and mustiness that dominated the house. The racket of the music and chatter from inside were completely muted, and only the cricketing and rustling of nature filled Miles’ ears.
He walked to the edge of the terrace, placing his hands on the elaborate brass railing that bordered it. It was liberating, to be away from the party. No matter how many parties his mentor had him attend, Miles was convinced he would never get used to them. He preferred to be left with his books and his thoughts, and nothing made him happier than to spend an afternoon sipping tea and poring over the extensive Von Karma library collection.
Miles was just considering finding their carriage and retrieving his book from it when he noticed another figure on the terrace, further down towards the garden.
Well, no matter. There was enough space on the terrace for the both of them.
Breathing deeply in the night air, Miles rested against the railing and closed his eyes.
“I see I’m not the only one avoiding the party.” The sound of footsteps approached Miles, and he opened his eyes to see the other man had come near.
The man was undeniably good looking. Though his hair was unusually structured, the rowdy spikes were swept back, and they elongated the man’s face just enough to highlight his solid jawline. Perhaps it was just the backlighting from the ballroom windows, but his eyes were impossibly bright in the darkness, and seemed to contain stars.
It took a while for Miles to remember to reply.
“So… It seems.”
“That took you a while,” the man chuckled, resting an elbow on the railing. “Did you have much to drink at dinner?”
“No. I hardly had a glass of wine,” Miles retorted, embarrassed. “This atmosphere simply fatigues me.”
“You mean the party? I don’t care for it either.” The other man seemed to relax at Miles’ words, and he crossed his arms on the railing. “I’m here escorting a friend of mine, but I’d much rather be literally anywhere else right now.”
Nodding in agreement, Miles turned his head aside to meet his new acquaintance’s gaze.
“I was told to attend this party by my benefactor. I was asked escort his daughter, though it appears she doesn’t appreciate my company.”
“The daughter of Baron Von Karma, was it?” The other man recalled, cutting into Miles’ sentence. “I remember you entered the ballroom with her. It’s true her beauty has no compare, but as for rumours of her temper…”
“All true.”
“Ha!” The man laughs, a grin breaking across his face. “It sounds like you’ve gotten the short end of the stick.”
“Plenty.” Miles sighed.
“And you are-” Pausing, the other man thought for a moment. “Miles Edgeworth.”
“That’s right. I’m surprised you remembered.” Miles raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in intrigue.
“The name stuck in my mind is all.”
“Forgive me, sir, but I don’t believe I know your name.” Turning to the other man, Miles outstretched his hand for a handshake.
“Wright. Phoenix Wright.” Taking Miles’ hand, Phoenix gave it a firm shake. “It’s a pleasure. I’m currently on leave from duty in India.”
“India.” It seemed that Wright was a military man- and one assigned to foreign post, no less. “I can’t say I’m familiar with the colony.”
“I could tell you.” Phoenix’s eyes lit up at the thought, and it seemed that the party goers would be occupied for a while yet-- so Miles nodded.
“I would be happy to listen. I’ve never been outside the country.”
Wright was taken aback by the concept. “Never?”
“Never.”
“Then you’ve never traveled by ship.” Phoenix furrowed his brow. “I suppose I should start there.”
“Please.”
The rest of the evening passed quickly with conversation. If setting sail for weeks to an unknown continent was unthinkable to Miles, then the things Phoenix had encountered in his time in India were even more incredible. According to him, cows roamed freely in the streets amongst horses and carriages, as though they belonged there and not in the field. There were large markets with every good imaginable under the sweltering heat of the Indian sun. India was unbearably humid, and the food the locals ate was so pungent and spicy that it seemed all the hotter. Vibrant colours littered the streets every year in spring when the local festival, “Holi”, Phoenix said it was, arrived, and people would throw coloured powders and water at one another and drink and eat and be merry. It was his favorite time of the year in India, and Phoenix recalled fondly an experience where a bright cloud of pigment hit him square in the face and he’d never seen the child that threw it so scared, but he finally broke position where he’d been on duty and played with them instead. His uniform was a mess, but no matter-- he had an extra set. The colors never washed out completely, but it made for a good memento.
At the distant foyer, the chattering of guests could be heard too soon, signalling the end of the evening. With a sigh, Miles acknowledged it, knowing he and Phoenix would have to return to the party.
“It’s regrettable that we couldn’t talk longer.” Miles admitted, leaning away from the terrace railing. “I would have liked to.”
“I was afraid I might have talked too long;” looking surprised, Phoenix replied, “I’m often stopped by the time I reach the point of ‘The Great Elephant Rampage of 1858’.”
“On the contrary, I was engrossed.”
“You flatter me.”
“I really do mean it when I say I would have liked to talk longer.” Miles pressed, a little hastened by the end of the party. “Do you have a mailing address to which I might write?”
“Er, do you have a piece of paper?”
Retrieving a fountain pen and some pieces of paper from his coat pocket, Miles offered them to Phoenix, who took them with thanks. It was difficult to write in pen with only one’s palm as support, but Phoenix managed, and gave the slip of paper to Miles once he deemed it legible. Scrawling his own address on another slip of paper, Miles handed it to Phoenix and was suddenly struck with urgency.
“I must be getting back to Franziska.” He frowned, looking at his wristwatch. She would lampoon him if he didn’t have her coat when she was ready to leave. He nodded to Phoenix. “I will write to you soon, Wright.”
“Until then.” Phoenix raised his hand in goodbye, and Miles re-entered the building to find his demanding companion.
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Later, in the dim light of the carriage, Miles would pass his fingers over the uneven ink of Phoenix’s handwriting. It was unkempt, but he didn’t mind. It suited Wright, and Miles folded the paper back into his pocket with a quiet smile.
That night, he would dream of India.