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Franziska is starting to believe it to be a universal truth, is all. Right alongside any of the others—the skies above are vast and blue, the world will end in heat and light, the Deutsche Bahn will never fucking arrive on time, and nothing good will ever happen at Gourd Lake.
It’s a damn shame, too, because the afternoon had started oh-so-marvelously. Franziska will admit she was more than a bit hesitant when Maya Fey told her that Phoenix Wright was out of town, that he had left his apartment for the young medium to roost in. Maya was so delighted to get out of Kurain and be in the city, surrounded on all sides with people—Franziska could not for a second understand that feeling, but she certainly loved watching Maya glisten with its shape.
More than anything, Maya was incredibly excited to have a place to invite Franziska to. Or a new place, rather—as Maya had invited Franziska to every location imaginable, content to do anything so long as the two of them were spending time together
That was still a bit of a shock, and Franziska is beginning to believe she will never truly get used to it. For a goddess like Maya Fey to look at someone as undeserving as Franziska with such reverence… well, it was more than Franziska could bear to think about for too long, her heart overflowing with gilded, glittering gratitude.
Out here on the lake, there is snow. It was a miracle, if the two of them had ever seen one—the snow rarely ever traveled down from the mountains, certainly never into the urban sprawl of sunny SoCal. Everything about this was almost tooth-rottingly romantic in how serendipitous it was—an empty apartment the week Franziska flew back to LA. A cute girl who enjoyed her company in that apartment. An uncharacteristically cold winter turning the drab grey of the city into something resembling a sparkling ivory wonderland. And the residents of the Golden State faring poorly in that same cold, electing mostly to admire the weather from inside.
Hailing from the chilly mountaintops, Maya fared better in these circumstances than anyone or anything. The comfort of it was apparent in every inch of her, now—she’s in an incredibly light pullover, pastel pink and emblazoned with a fading graphic of what Franziska has come to learn is The Pink Princess, Warrior of Little Olde Tokyo. Plain denim jeans with felt-tip marker hearts and stars scribbled here and there, no pattern to them, remnants of Maya’s boredom on the train, or on Wright’s couch, or anywhere else she could get her hands on a pen and too much free time. Fuzzy black snow boots, simply a given. As she’s gesturing wildly in the midst of her enthusiastic speech, Franziska can’t help but stare worriedly at her quickly-reddening hands—how on earth is this girl not frostbitten?
Granted, it’s really not that cold. Still, her heart aches without her permission, without much reason at all—same as it always is around Maya, since the day the girl first offered her that overjoyed, eyes-shut smile.
“—but the thing is, even though their interactions in canon are never more than small exchanges, the broader narrative goes out of its way to establish the Cobalt Crusader and the Pink Princess as narrative foils—”
Maya’s having the time of her life talking about her television shows, and Franziska is trying to work up the courage to reach out and hold her hand. The impulse burns static there in her chest, refusing to catch and ignite—however lovely it might be, the thought of stopping Maya’s wild, adorable gesticulation is certainly less than favourable.
“—it’s weird, ‘cause you’d think that’d be the Iron Infant’s job. But even though the two of them go toe-to-toe in the movie, Cobalt’s backstory and character arc is a near-perfect parallel of everything Pink goes through separate of her—”
Franziska is trying so hard to listen to the actual words Maya is saying as she spins her argument to this hypothetical courtroom. It is not that Maya Fey’s interests do not deserve to be expressed and heard in full—they do. It is not that Maya Fey’s passionate defense of her favourite romantic coupling in the text is flawed in any sense—it’s not, and it is actually quite a compelling read. Lastly, it is not that Franziska is a particularly inattentive person, even to that which she hasn’t much interest in herself—no, Franziska simply enjoys collecting information, whatever that information may entail.
What distracts her is that Maya is beautiful. Which Franziska, of course, knew long before this moment, but that doesn’t stop the fact from being terribly distracting. Who tired of gazing at starlight, the setting sun, spring flowers as they bloomed? Certainly not Franziska, and all of those examples were things not even close to comparable to Maya’s own beauty.
The words, then, fade in and out of focus as Franziska is gazing at this wonderful creature, eyes lidded and lovesick as she takes it all in. Maya almost never stopped moving—and whether she was dressed casually or in her proper vestments, the sound of her heavy prayer beads clinking against themselves had to be one of the most soothing noises in the world. The mountains and valleys in the octaves of her voice, it’s so strange to think Franziska once thought it shrill, obnoxious, impolite. It sounds like a song, now, its notes paradoxically beautiful in their cacophony, the tilted way they arrange themselves.
As she walks and talks, Maya herself doesn’t look at Franziska, but that is more than alright. Her eyes are on the horizon, as though she’s looking out at an audience, projecting her voice so they can hear. She didn’t seem to struggle with friendly eye contact the way Franziska herself did—no, it was more that she saved it for when it would matter most. A bright-eyed turn in Franziska’s direction, an overjoyed smile as she waited for a reaction. Right now, she faces onward, toward the gentle overcast, with little regard to the path underfoot that she’s walked a thousand times now. Perhaps that was why Maya loved taking Franziska to all these places she loved and knew—no breathtaking new sights to see, no surprising changes in environment, just the two of them existing in the familiar space, where Maya could turn all her attention on the two of them, together.
Feeling more than a bit flustered at the mere thought, Franziska lets her own gaze fall to her feet, where her and Maya’s footsteps produce a pleasant whisper of a crunch on the quickly-melting snow. Initially, Franziska’s just focusing on the feeling of each thump vibrating up her legs, trying not to embarrass herself in front of a pretty girl—but then she’s thinking about the pretty girl, looking to the pretty girl’s own fluffy boots. Most of all, noticing the fallen, snow-covered branch bisecting the path in front of the pretty girl, the one that said pretty girl doesn’t seem to have spotted.
“Um,” Franziska says, never sure how to interrupt Maya when she’s this focused, “Maya—”
“I know, Franzy, but like, let me cook here,” Maya says, still not having detected the hazard as it looms. “See, I think they wanted to do more with the two of them. But they were unsure if a female-led movie would be able to sell merch. Which is total horseshit, ‘cause—”
One syllable of a yelp of sorts is all Maya gets out before Franziska’s protective instincts kick in. As Maya trips forward, Franziska dives, pushing herself up off the slippery ground and wrapping her arms firmly around the shorter girl’s waist. In a few short moments she’s sure she’ll be a frazzled mess about this—leaning over Maya, with her pelvis pressed up against her beloved’s… she’s not going to think about it. In fact, she doesn’t have time to think about it, because as soon as she manages to heave the both of them backward—pulling Maya back up onto her feet, Franziska feels her stomach drop for wholly different reasons.
Stumbling from the rebound, Franziska putters backward a bit, toward the wintersoaked grass that frames the water. A yielding square of earth lies in wait there for her, and the second her heel sinks into the mud she knows there is no saving her. Still, a von Karma to her very core, she paws at the air for purchase as she falls—over the lip, skidding down the small incline, directly into Gourd Lake.
It’s a struggle not to lose the breath in her lungs when her back makes contact with the water. If she had fallen from a greater height, she’s sure the impact would’ve snatched it entirely. The next thing to hit her, of course, is the overwhelming sensation of being cold. A cold so intense it almost feels like nothing at all, a razorsharp biting sensation that shocks her to her core. The miracle is that she manages to move her arms at all, spin herself around in the freezing, murky waters and claw herself back to the foggy light at the surface. There is the thinnest thread of luck in that this part of the lake is not particularly deep, but the word thinnest does all the heavy lifting in that sentiment.
One hand breaches the water’s surface, and the moment it hits the air all her fingers seem to freeze twice as cold. It stings, like a thousand papercuts crisscrossing her skin, but she doesn’t have much time to wince into the feeling of it before a near-divine warmth takes its place. Maya’s hand wraps firm around Franziska’s bony wrist, tugging her out with all the strength it can muster.
Of the two of them, Franziska can pretty confidently say that she’s the one with the more robust upper-body strength. Maya’s certainly giving her a run for her money, though—fishing her and her every sopping wet layer out of the still-sloshing waters. Regrettably, she lands half-on-top of Maya, scrambling through the resistance of her now-weighty wardrobe to push off the poor girl before she winds up just as soaked.
Laying there in the slush and mud, Franziska’s natural inclination to feel disgusting and pathetic and lowly is snatched away by how the cold air around her now barbs twice as frigid in its assault. The papercuts from before turn to proper knives, and then she is shivering, shivering more violently than she knew a person could shiver. Her tongue tucks itself far back in her mouth with purpose, terrified of the gnashing, violent chattering of her teeth that starts itself without permission. Every attempt she makes to press those teeth together and hold her jaw firm sends the tremors back down into her neck, her collar, her shoulders—the energy itself desperate for somewhere to go.
Steeling herself, she clenches her muscles against the dreadful feeling, inching herself closer to a still-panting Maya and inspecting her for any external wounds.
“Y-Y-You’re n-not—” she struggles through her quivering lips, “—inj-jured, are y-you?”
“You fucking—!” Maya snaps upward immediately, her vitality returning all at once, in that way it so often did. “Franzy, you drive me crazy, oh my god!”
Ungracefully, then, Maya is on her—aggressive in her movements, all but tugging Franziska’s arms out of the cinderblock she once called a jacket. Even if she wanted to fight back, she knows she couldn’t with the way her tendons pulse uncomfortably against themselves, and so she lets herself be manhandled, wrangled out of one drenched layer. To her shock and horror, Maya doesn’t stop at just her jacket—unbuttoning the cardigan she’s wearing underneath it with absolutely zero shame or hesitation.
It’s no wonder Franziska’s so cold, with all the heat in her body rushing to her face like that.
“M-M-M-Maya Fey!” Franziska near-wails, but keeps it at a sort of whisper-scream to avoid drawing any more attention. “We are in p-p-public!”
“I don’t give a horse’s ass where we are!” Maya puffs up her cheeks and slaps Franziska’s slipping, faltering hands away from the buttons. “You’re not going hypothermic on my watch just because you’re too bashful to let me undress you!”
Why did she have to phrase it like that? Oh, how grateful Franziska is that there’s no one out at this part of the lake to see—how easy it would be to misconstrue if the wrong individual were to walk onto their path. The headline spins around her head and dizzies her with its every letter and serif, Prodigy Prosecutor Franziska von Karma Seen Engaging In Public Indecency With Kurain Channelling Master Maya Fey at Scenic Gourd Lake.
Miles’ annoyingly foolish voice echoes in her head, well, I’m glad I’m no longer the family member with the worst press experience at that particular location.
Thankfully, Franziska is not left there in her underclothes for long—Maya one-handedly yanks off her hoodie as soon as she’s finished and unceremoniously pulls it down over her girlfriend’s head. The warmth of it is such a salve that Franziska needs no guidance to stretch her arms out into its embrace, feeling her tremors subside near-instantly. Furiously doting, then, Maya pulls its collar closer to Franziska’s neck, looking nervously at the rivulets of freezing water that drop off Franziska’s hair and darken the jacket’s hue.
Franziska looks right back up at her—now with her arms bare, she was wearing a t-shirt under that—with the same look of earnest worry lining her own red-stained face.
“You c-can’t—” Franziska wetly palms Maya’s face, hopelessly tender. “You’re going to catch y-yourself a c-c-cold—”
As if the fates themselves wish to shut her up, the first sneeze of many shudders up her throat. It’s a feat of great strength even just to twist herself away from Maya, impolitely into the open air—uncouth as it is, it’s far worse to make a mess on the arm of the pretty girl’s hoodie. Franziska watches the aftermath of her breath turning to steam in the chill, and once her nose starts to run she finds it will not stop.
“Yeah, I’m going to get myself sick.” Maya rolls her eyes, to her credit, completely unbothered in the cold. “Alright, Soggy, we’re moving this hot date back to Nick’s place. You can tell me all about how reckless and foolish I am back there, alright?”
Franziska’s face is so thoroughly frosty and damp that she can’t actually feel the line of moisture trickling down onto her still-trembling lips. She sniffles out of guesswork more than anything, letting out a shaky breath as she rises to her feet, stumbles inelegantly into Maya’s arms, and nods. For all her uncharacteristically exasperated fury, Maya holds her gently, now—gathering Franziska’s wet clothes up in one arm, wrapping the other around her beloved’s quaking shoulders, and keeping her close as the two of them make the ten-minute trek back to the apartment.
A good few hours after falling into the lake, Franziska is trying to grapple with the fact that Phoenix Wright has managed to stay alive this long, with the state his apartment is in. The fridge is nearly empty, the cabinets fare similarly, all manner of dietary items in this dwellingspace were clearly brought in by one Maya Fey. Paradoxically, his tea selection takes up two whole shelves of the cabinet above the electric kettle—electric kettle?!—a fact which Franziska can make some guesses about, but absolutely will not with how she knows her stomach will turn. After all, she already feels dreadful enough.
The television is on, playing something mindless, and when it fades to black before commercial, Franziska unfortunately catches her reflection in the bulbous void—how old was this man’s TV?—whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is she looks cartoonishly haggard, like she belongs in a picture-book encyclopedia, smack dab on the center of the page for illness. Feet in the bucket of warm water, clutching the blanket around her shoulders like a lifeline, hot water bottle quickly falling crooked on her head with every shuddering, half-stifled sneeze. The things are so relentless she’s beginning to lose control of them, and with every new one that comes her muscles jelly more from exertion.
Worst of all, she is still shivering. Like the lakewater had found some unmended crack in her bones, seeped in beneath the surface, made its life’s mission in sloshing around and freezing her marrow.
Defiant, Franziska can do little else but pull the bottle off her head, make even the slightest attempt to look less like a caricature despite her lowly state. Instead, she hugs it to her stomach, curling her fingers to a loose rest atop its surface so that her knuckles can catch some of its heat. Maya had given her explicit permission to dirty this hoodie in whatever way she wished, but she still feels like an absolute wretch when she instinctively ducks down into its cover and her nose leaves the smallest damp spot on the collar. Revolting.
Feeling sore all over from the nonstop quivering, Franziska shuts her weepy eyes and buries her face in Maya’s jacket, inhaling deeply. One thing Franziska loved about Maya is that she always smelled nice, with absolutely no effort on her part. Franziska was doused in expensive perfumes, luxury hair products, top-of-the-line skincare—Maya cared for none of this, simply existing as she was. Yet the tantalizing scent of something sweet or coconutty always seemed to linger around her, accented every so often with the earthly sharpness of temple incense and woodsmoke.
Right now the latter is a bit of a hazard to Franziska’s oversensitive nose. Regardless of the way it’s making her sneeze, though, she can’t stop herself from going back to it—pressing the fabric up to her eyes and inhaling long and deep, until every last bit of Maya floods her frayed senses.
“Still amongst the living, Soggy?” comes Maya’s voice from beyond the veil. “Or should I get into the channeling position and drop you a spiritual line?”
Slowly, Franziska opens her eyes. Maya’s standing over her with a massive, steaming mug of tea and a plate full of store bought cookies. Even with the headache-inducing fluorescents of Wright’s apartment kitchen on one side of her, she looks impossibly beautiful.
“I’m f—”
Temple incense. Betrayal. Franziska curls forward and tumbles into a wrenching spate of sneezes, casting the blanket off one jerking shoulder. Her best attempt is made to contain the miserable things, but she can feel moisture burst out around her graceless fingers, no doubt turning the apartment into a proper petri dish.
“…fine,” she attempts nobly, though the nasally quality her voice is gaining isn’t doing much to assert such.
“Really good thing you’re a lawyer, I don’t think acting is your strong suit.” Maya places the cookies on the coffee table adjacent and plops herself down next to her girlfriend. “I always thought it was an old wives’ tale, getting sick from cold water.”
“You make yourself ill via that precise method,” a watery sniffle, one that does absolutely nothing, “multiple times a year.”
“Eh, could be something else.” Maya nudges the cup carefully at Franziska’s arm, reminding her it’s there for the taking. “Y’know, I’m usually pretty sleep deprived when I’m training, too. Aren’t you always telling me how bad that is for you?”
“Indeed I am.” Franziska takes the mug, lets the steam kiss her face for a while. “To little success.”
“Yeah, you freakin’ health nut.” Maya ruffles her still-damp hair. “See, if you’re out here sopping wet and catching colds about it, I know it’s legit.”
Franziska’s already-weak retort to that is snatched away by another pair of sneezes. With the mug in both hands, all she can do is try desperately to hold the liquid steady while she shudders to the side with no hope of covering. God in heaven, she cannot bear to look at Maya with how waterlogged her whole face is.
“Gesundheit, babe. So many times.”
Unbothered as ever, Maya just scoots the tissue box closer to her. Previously unopened, just sitting there on Wright’s closet-shelf—waiting for an untimely illness (unlikely), or a world-shattering breakup (incredibly unlikely), or a surprise visit from a foolish prosecutor with chronic pollen allergies (data deleted due to extreme revulsion). Setting her mug down beside it, Franziska grabs a handful of the lotiony things and dabs miserably at her eyes before taking care of her persistent nose.
“I do hope—” another sneeze, this time thankfully into the tissue, “—that my unfortunate brush with the lake has not ruined your plans, dearheart.”
“Hmm…” Maya hums, pressing a finger to her chin. “I guess that depends. When you fell in did you see Gourdy?”
“Did I—” Franziska grabs her tea back off the table, halting where she is to shoot Maya a perplexed look, “—encounter whom?”
“Gourdy. Y’know, the lake monster? Local celebrity?” Maya grins. “‘Cause like, if I found out you and he met and went on a whole adventure while you were down there, and you didn’t invite me? Yeah, I’m probably gonna be kinda mad at you, Franzy.”
“I—” A laugh bubbles up in Franziska’s throat, momentarily chasing away the ache that forms there. She tries her best to hold form, smiling weakly as she states her piece.
“No, Maya Fey, I did not exchange hidden pleasantries with one of your foolish American cryptids in the thirty seconds I was below the water.”
“Oh yeah? You didn’t fall into some sorta magical time-stasis and learn all about life and the power of friendship with Gourdy? My friend Gourdy?”
She pokes playfully at Franziska’s chest, and all Franziska can do is keep laughing a wheezy-laugh behind shut teeth, the shake in her shoulders transforming into something far more healthy.
“Never!” Franziska half-heartedly slaps her accusatory digits away. “Never without you, Schatzi.”
Performatively, Maya puffs up her chest, crosses her arms, huffs out of her nose as she pulls away and faces forward. “Then of course we’re good. I doubt you wanted to take a swim in the freezing lake, and it’s my fault anyways for not looking where I was going.”
“It is a lucky break I noticed to begin with.” Finally, Franziska sips at her tea, and she swears she can feel the liquid trickle down and pool in her stomach, spreading warmth to every gelid inch of her. “I believe we were both quite entranced by your impassioned oration.”
“Oh yeah, you dork?” says a still-grinning Maya. “You like hearing me talk about toku yuri?”
Franziska is not yet ill enough to admit aloud that she doesn’t know what those words mean. “I enjoy your company. That is all. Beyond that, though…”
Another long, slow sip of her tea. Overloaded with honey, just the way she liked it when she wasn’t feeling well. Had she told Maya that? Or did Maya just guess, serendipitously correct enough and generous enough and loving enough?
“…your voice is immeasurably soothing, my love,” says Franziska as she leans into Maya, head tilted against the girl’s shoulder. “Truth be told, I’d listen to you read a phone book.”
If she were looking, she’d see Maya’s eyes go a little far-off and watery, watch the young medium’s lip begin to wobble. Just as quickly, she’d watch as Maya shook the sensitive feeling away, replacing it with jokes and bravado, as always.
“Well, I don’t think even Nick’s old ass has one of those around, sucks to suck I guess.”
Pulling the fallen blanket over her own shoulder, Maya snakes her hand around Franziska’s waist and draws the two of them closer.
“So, where did I leave off?” Franziska feels Maya’s face rub against her own as she casts her eyes toward the popcorn ceiling in thought. “Oh yeah! The fall of Global Studios’ reputation and how it wasn’t even the murder on set that tanked them and instead that one time a high level merchandising CEO said some dumb shit about girls not buying toys—”
Franziska doesn’t know when exactly she drifts off. Only that when she wakes up, it’s to Maya’s singsongy, lilting tones announcing, “Hey! I think your clothes are finally dry.”
Half-awake on some fool’s couch, the scent of temple incense fills her nose.
She murmurs out something barely coherent, and lives in the hoodie for the remainder of her stay.