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Klavier’s night was going pretty well. The life of a rockstar like him was bound to be filled with glitz and glamour - and there was never any shortage of attractive ladies ready to swoon at his feet over a well-placed wink or flashing smile. And, of course, a healthy dose of partying and booze every now and then was to be expected too. How else was he to stir up scandalous headlines in the tabloids? So, really, it was only natural that he should be where he was right now: on the highway riding his beloved hog at 3:46 AM, tired and drunk out of his mind.
Well, no. That was an exaggeration, surely. He was just a bit tipsy. After all, he’d only had two… ah, no, there was that fruity cocktail too… and then a second beer… and then he’d decided to just start pounding shots… Well, some reasonably low number of drinks. Even if he couldn’t quite recall what it was exactly.
So, by all accounts, Klavier’s night was going splendidly. It should have been. It was, until he heard the shrill, unmistakable shriek of a police siren from behind him.
“Scheiße,” he muttered.
He’d hoped he was imagining it at first. Perhaps his alcohol-muddled mind had simply conjured up the Gavinners’ hit debut single “13 Years Hard Time For Love” out of nowhere, known for its bold blaring of police sirens accompanying the instrumental. So he continued driving. His foot wavered on the gas pedal. And the siren didn’t stop.
He chanced a look over his shoulder, which proved to be a poor decision because suddenly he was swerving dangerously to the right. Swearing, he whipped his head back around and got back in his lane. There really was a police car behind him. He had no choice but to slow and come to a complete stop.
Sweat beaded beneath his bangs. Klavier listened as the cop slammed the car door shut, then walked slowly toward where he waited on his hog. He was a prosecutor. He had never even thought to imagine ending up on this side of the law before. He would be a laughingstock. And, worse yet…
The cop seemed to freeze as he stood next to Klavier. Klavier had no way of reading the guy’s expression, since he was wearing fully opaque black sunglasses - which, frankly, seemed terribly impractical for such early hours of the morning as this, and yet Klavier had gone through a regretful phase during his early career in which he’d made similar eyewear choices, so who was he to judge?
The man adjusted his hat, then crossed his arms. “Good evening. Or - morning, I guess, huh?”
This seemed like a trap. “Guten Morgen.”
He guffawed at that, for some reason. “Do you know why you got pulled over, sir?”
“Hmm,” Klavier said. “Would I be incorrect in thinking it’s because of my dashingly good looks?”
Despite making sure to follow up with his most dazzling grin, the cop seemed unperturbed. “Afraid not, mister. Would you care to enlighten me with what you think the speed limit is around here?”
“Uhhh.” Klavier twirled his hair around his fingers to distract from his rising panic. “If I recall, Herr Cop, it should be about 65…”
“Not just about, Herr Hotshot. It’s definitely 65.” He gave a cocky grin then, and Klavier kind of wanted to just punch him and drive off, Alas, violence was never the answer. And besides, there was something else bothering him about this guy, but - he just couldn’t figure out what. “And just to speed things up here, I’ll tell you what you were going - 104, give or take.”
Scheiße. Had he really? …Maybe he was a little more drunk than he thought.
“Ah, nein, surely this is some kind of mistake!” Klavier laughed (ignoring the small hiccup that followed), shaking his hair so it fell effortlessly over his shoulder in a way that was made to enchant. Yet there was no change in what little he could see of the policeman’s expression. Of course he was unlucky enough to get a cop whose… preferences didn’t favor him, despite seemingly the rest of the world being incapable of not fawning over him. Well, except maybe a certain defense attorney of short stature. And definitely a certain snack-munching detective. Actually, perhaps there were more exceptions to this rule than he realized.
“We’ll see about that, bud.” Klavier bit back a frown at the audacity of using such informal language when this guy was probably about to arrest him. Reluctantly, he got up to walk in a straight line. Or try to, at least - it was clear the officer wasn’t impressed with his attempt. After looking over his driver’s license (which he thankfully had on him) and reading aloud Klavier’s rights, the officer pulled out a pair of handcuffs and secured them around his wrists without any further fanfare. This wasn’t Klavier’s first time being put in handcuffs, but a situation like this felt vastly different from shooting the music video for “Gunna Lock U Up.”
“Wait,” Klavier said. “I, of course, accept full responsibility for my actions. This was a careless mistake, one I will not be making again.”
“Glad to hear it.” The cop opened the car door.
“But this- I mean-” He couldn’t hold back his frown now. Him, yes, he had made a reckless mistake and deserved swift and fair punishment. But the fans… they shouldn’t have to suffer too. “Ach! This is going to ruin the tour.”
A pause. The officer’s hand lingered on the car door handle.
Then: “What tour?”
Klavier gaped. Was zur Hölle? This couldn’t be real. The man had frozen when he’d seen him - surely because he’d realized just who it was that he’d pulled over. And he knew he had just looked at Klavier’s license, full name and all. “The world tour!”
There was a long silence as the policeman stood there, holding on to Klavier’s wrist and the car door without moving. Klavier worried for a moment that he’d broken him. Or maybe he had a teenage daughter who he’d just remembered was a fan and was having a miraculous change of heart in arresting him. Or something.
Deciding to try his luck, he continued, “So if you’d agree to just give me a ticket and let me be on my way-”
“What do you mean, the world tour?” The sentence died on his tongue. The cop sounded awfully agitated all of a sudden.
Furrowing his brow, he said, “The Gavinners. Our Guilty As Charged tour-”
“-isn’t a world tour. It’s only in this country. So tell me what makes it a world tour.”
“We… haven’t announced the locations yet, Herr Cop.” Seriously, what was with this guy? There was something so… Klavier got some odd feeling he couldn’t quite place each time he spoke.
“Yeah, well I think I’d fuckin’ know them anyway, Klavier!” And suddenly, the cop was ripping off his sunglasses and hat to reveal a shockingly familiar set of dark eyes and vaguely phallic hair beneath - in fact, this was someone Klavier saw practically every day, during band practices and press releases and even, on rare occasions, at the Prosecutor’s Office. Oh mein Gott. No wonder he’d felt so odd.
“Daryan?” he blurted, unable to stop his eyes from going wide. The whole thing was inexplicably sobering, despite his mind still being fuzzy and the fact that he was stumbling over his words just slightly. “Was - what are you doing here?”
“I’m doing my job, Klavier. Care to explain what the hell it is you’re doing?” Klavier didn’t have a good response for that. He grit his teeth while forcing a smile. Not only did he have to experience something so mortifying, now his own bandmate was here to witness it too. Was, in fact, the very one arresting him.
“I don’t believe this is your job, actually, Daryan,” he pointed out with as much cheer as he could muster. “After all, you’re a detective with Criminal Affairs, international division. Not exactly a common traffic cop.”
“Shut up,” he snapped, face steadily going red. Klavier sensed there was more to this story than he was going to hear. “Ever consider that there’s not always work for an international detective who won’t go overseas? And why am I explaining myself here, huh? You’re the drunk driver, Mr. Perfect Prosecutor.” Distantly, Klavier had to admit he had a point. “Now I’d appreciate it if you told me what the fuck is going on with our band.”
“...You already knew what we’d been discussing for the tour,” Klavier said evenly.
“Yeah, and we all agreed! Stay within the country; no planes, no oceans, none of that! So why are you running your mouth about some world tour?”
Klavier took a breath, keeping a careful smile plastered on his face. He hoped he didn’t look as much like he was going to vomit up all his drinks as he felt. “Our team has looked at the data. A world tour would be a major success - in fact, we might make history with the kind of sales we’re talking about. I understand your refusal to go on planes, Daryan - but we cannot deprive the world of our performances forever, ja?”
“What the hell, Gavin?” Daryan exploded, stepping back and running a hand through his truly unfortunate hair. His eyes were fiery. But it was a little hard to take him seriously when his hairstyle struggled to bring anything to mind but an erect penis.“So, what, you all just decided ‘let’s do a world tour and not tell Daryan,’ is that it? I’m not jetting out to other countries, fuck that!”
“We weren’t expecting you to.”
He looked momentarily like he’d been slapped. Then, scowling, he bit out, “The fuck does that mean?”
“I know you’re not a stupid man, Daryan, despite how much you try to prove otherwise.” Sensing he finally had the upper hand here, Klavier flipped his hair coolly (as best he could without being able to move his hands) and fixed Daryan with a charming smile. “Think about it. You’re second guitar, ja? Certainly an important part of the band, but not exactly the star of the show. Finding a replacement is easy enough. And you’d rather stay here handing out traffic tickets than meet our adoring fans anyway.” Okay, so maybe he was being a little harsh considering he himself considered music to be more of a side gig compared to prosecuting. But he was drunk. It was 2 AM. He’d been handcuffed. And not in the way that might lead to a fun time.
“Not to mention,” he went on, ignoring Daryan’s head looking like it might pop clean off, “you’re falling way behind in popularity polls, Daryan. You can’t deny it. Your playing has been sloppy lately, and I know we all have our jobs in law, but that doesn’t mean we can neglect the band-”
“Oh yeah? Well, just imagine how the fans will feel knowing their precious prosecutor who puts the bad, bad criminals away is one himself, huh?” He blinked as Daryan sprang into motion, taking hold of Klavier’s wrists again to shove him roughly into the back seat of the car. “Guess it runs in the family, Gavin.”
Klavier pushed back the sudden wave of nausea that rolled through him. Smiling, he said mildly, “Well, if you’re looking to up your popularity, I would first consider a change of hairstyle, Daryan. The way it is now, the public might start thinking you’re trying to compensate for something. Not a good look.”
“Shut the fuck up, Gavin, you’ve got a damned unicorn horn attached to your head!” The door slammed shut with far more force than was strictly necessary.
Klavier leaned back with a sigh, closing his eyes. The metal of the cuffs were beginning to dig into his wrists. His throat was painfully dry. His beloved hog sat outside, just beyond his reach. And his mouth kind of felt like a tiny rat with rabies or something had crawled into it and died. But not before giving birth to several more, tinier rat babies that also had rabies. And also died.
The night had been going so well.
Really, he should’ve known.
────────────
Klavier knew his small colleague had a rather formidable set of vocal cords, even in comparison with his own, but the sheer volume of his famous Chords of Steel coming through the old detention center telephone was simply too much. The phone clattered on the ground as he clutched at his ears, wincing. It took him a moment to recover enough to pick it back up.
The tinny sound of Apollo’s voice continued to assault him through the speaker. “WHAAAAAAAAAT??!!”
“Take mercy on my ears, please, Herr Forehead.”
“Take mercy on my heart first!” Ach, Klavier could’ve spun that into something appropriately flirtatious with ease if only Apollo hadn’t barrelled onward instantly. “You’ve been arrested? By your own bandmate? And you want me to defend you?”
“Ja, ja, and ja.” Calling up the Wright Anything Agency had perhaps been a tad risky. What with the… rocky start to his relationship with Phoenix Wright himself and his kinda sorta rivalry with Apollo Justice, it likely wasn’t the ideal place to find an attorney. But who else was he meant to entrust with his defense? His first option was currently rotting away in jail while awaiting the death sentence. And also probably not his first option anymore, for related reasons.
Sure, he was capable of defending himself. But besides the fact that that was generally a deeply ill-advised tactic that only the most idiotic of people used, he’d witnessed what Apollo could do - the man could be quite the menace in the courtroom. And who could pass up a magic lie-detecting attorney? (That was often how he came across, anyway. Klavier figured he was just really into psychology or something.)
“But - I mean, you weren’t actually driving drunk, were you?”
Klavier examined his nails.
Apollo seemed to take the silence for what it was (practically an admission). “What - wait, you’re kidding me, right? Really, Prosecutor Gavin?! How am I supposed to defend you if you really did it?”
Klavier rolled his eyes, hoping whatever psychic powers Apollo possessed could sense it through the phone. “I know your firm doesn’t seem to be familiar with the concept, Herr Forehead, but that’s actually how defenses work most of the time. However - and here’s something else new for the Wright Anything Agency - I’m not asking you to get me a not guilty verdict. I am aware what I did was wrong. But I would like to persuade Herr Judge to let my punishment not include jail time.”
“But… don’t these kinds of charges only land you in jail for a few days at most? I mean, not saying that would be a fun time, but wouldn’t you also want to try and get out of the fines or something? Or community service? Or having your license suspended?”
“You know an awful lot about driving-related offenses for someone who still rides their bicycle around everywhere.”
Apollo scoffed. “I had to go to law school too, you know.”
“Well, to answer your question, yes, that might usually be true. However, I seem to be looking at about… three years in prison.”
“WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT???!!!” Klavier was able to tighten his grip just before he could drop the phone this time.
“For all your studies, Herr Forehead, you have forgotten one crucial detail: we live in Japanifornia. Anything goes in law.” Klavier snapped his fingers for emphasis. “It seems Japanifornian law, as of this morning, declares driving under the influence to be an offense able to land you up to five years in prison. My bandmate must be very upset with me.”
“What?! He - he can’t just do that. …Can he?”
“I’m glad you’re getting all fired up! I’m expecting that kind of passion in my defense.” Klavier wondered how Apollo’s face looked right now. He would pay good money to see it. “Even without the matter of the tour, I am still hoping to prevent this from reaching the press. Keep it on the downlow, ja? They say all publicity’s good publicity, but that’s not the case when you’re already the number one rock band in the world! I’d much rather preserve at least a semblance of my dignity.”
“Wait, wait!” Apollo was getting increasingly distressed. Klavier felt kind of bad for him. “No, this is crazy. You didn’t hit anyone, right? Oh god, are they arresting you for manslaughter?!”
That wasn’t even worth a response. “So what is it you’re saying, hmm? That you’re refusing to defend me? Ach, you wound me, Herr Forehead.”
“No! I’m just - I’m asking you what really happened. If you want me as your defense, you’ll have to trust me with that much.”
He smiled. “Excellent point, Herr Forehead. I’ll tell you all about it when you arrive. Auf Wiedersehen!” Klavier hung up before he could protest.
Half an hour and one soggy ham sandwich later, a stern-faced Apollo was standing in front of him with his hands crossed against his chest. “Prosecutor Gavin.” Klavier couldn’t help but find it terribly amusing how his hair horns seemed to stand at attention, sticking straight up atop his head. “Would you please actually tell me now what led to… this?”
“You need only ask, Herr Forehead,” Klavier said sweetly. “Achtung, baby! Listen carefully. As you have heard, I was arrested on the highway at about 4 AM this morning. I had indeed been drinking, though I hadn’t considered I was actually drunk - I’m no lightweight, after all.” He neglected to mention just how many drinks he had ended up having. He didn’t even know what the final number was. “I was riding my hog without a care in the world when I was pulled over by a mysterious cop, And then, he revealed himself to be my own bandmate, Daryan Crescend. Ach, what terrible luck!”
“Hold on,” Apollo interjected. “Why did he pull you over? Were you speeding?”
“Well.” He twirled his hair absently. “In a sense of the word, perhaps, ja.”
“This is really just a yes or no question, not a ‘perhaps.’ And I can tell from the way you’re twirling your hair that it’s a definite yes.” He was, wasn’t he? He really should’ve considered the drawbacks of hiring a magical lie-detecting lawyer. Apollo groaned. “You’re certainly not making this easy for me…”
“Where’s that unwavering faith in your client, Herr Forehead? Besides, Daryan didn’t know for sure if I was drunk or not.” He deigned not to mention the not-so-straight line he’d walked in. “He was just angry because I was talking about the tour.”
Apollo squinted at him. “What tour?”
“The world tour!”
“Um… okay?” Evidently dumbfounded by Klavier’s irritation, he hurried on with, “Wait. He didn’t check that you were drunk? He didn’t use, um, a breathalyzer or whatever?”
“He did a few tests, but nein, not a breathalyzer.”
“...Isn’t that kind of necessary when you’re being arrested for a DUI?”
“Considering he bent Japanifornian law to his will this very morning just to spite me, it’s not too hard to believe Daryan might have skipped a few crucial steps.”
Apollo frowned, his brow scrunching up like he was thinking very hard. Klavier could have elected to ask if it was his first time or make some other equally annoying comment, but instead he stared at him, coming to the amusing realization that Apollo quite resembled a ladybug: tiny, bright red, and equipped with a pair of antennae. He knew better than to say that one out loud, though. Especially when he was asking for Apollo’s help.
“Okay. Fine. This is fine. Uh, guard?” The guard stood at attention. Klavier was pretty sure he’d been a few seconds from falling asleep. “We’d like to get a breathalyzer test for my client. Please.”
The guard mumbled something assenting and poked his head out the door, probably to pass along their request. “Ach, what is it you’re doing here? I know the Wright Anything Agency operates on unconventional methods, but just how will proving my drunkenness make things any better?”
Apollo seemed not to hear him, pacing back and forth and absently tapping his forehead. “It’s only been a few hours, so it should still be mostly accurate… And even if it’s not, it’s their fault for not doing it sooner…”
“Earth to Herr Forehead.”
Apollo turned to face him, clearing his throat. “Just let me handle the defense, Prosecutor Gavin. That is what you called me here to do.”
“Ah, you accept?” Klavier grinned. “Danke, Herr Forehead. Your assistance will be invaluable.”
“Stop calling me that. Anyway.” Apollo adjusted his sleeves, which had started to fall from their signature rolled-up position, then fixed Klavier with a determined stare. “I’ll do it. And don’t worry, you’ll be declared ‘not guilty’ in no time.”
“Was?! But I just told you-”
────────────
Apollo never thought the day would come where he’d see Klavier Gavin in the defendant’s seat of the courtroom, but here they were. What was even more shocking, though perhaps a bit less important, was the odd hairstyle of the prosecutor standing opposite him. He thought it looked a little familiar somehow, but that was probably just his imagination running wild from nerves.
“So you’ve come back for more already, hmm?” the prosecutor said, voice horrifyingly squeaky. “Well, there’ll be no more holding back from me! Prepare yourself for the taste of Payne!”
Who is this guy…? “No, I think you should prepare yourself for the taste of Justice!” Apollo shouted back.
The judge banged his gavel in warning. “Mr. Justice, for the last time, please save your Chords of Steel for later! After all, this is called the courtroom, not the chordroom!”
Trucy giggled from beside him, then nudged him with her elbow. “He got you there, Polly!”
…Each day, Apollo regretted his choice of profession more and more.
“Now, will the prosecution please continue with its opening statement?”
“Of course, Your Honor.” The strange-looking prosecutor straightened, shuffling the stack of papers in front of him. “Klavier Gavin was arrested yesterday on June 18th at 3:58 AM after riding his motorcycle while intoxicated. He was caught speeding and overall driving with no regard for his or others’ safety. In fact, I have the officer who arrested him here as the prosecution’s witness, detective Daryan Crescend - who plays guitar in the defendant’s very own band, the Gavinners!”
“What?!” The judge blinked, looking bewildered. “Ahem. Well, this is quite the unusual situation. I must say, Mr. Gavin, I hoped never to see you take this role in the courtroom. Especially after what happened with your brother, respected defense attorney that he was.”
“A fallen star indeed.” The prosecutor smirked, flipping his hair that looked like it had gone grey a long, long time ago. “Well, turns out there was only room for one star in the Prosecutor’s Office after all, eh, Gavin?”
“Is everybody forgetting that Prosecutor Gavin didn’t actually murder anyone?” Apollo hissed at Trucy.
“Sure, but drunk driving is still really serious, Polly! You could kill someone on accident like that.” She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “You know, if you’re ever out for a night on the town and end up needing a ride home, you can always call Daddy, okay? Drunk driving is still dangerous, even on a bicycle.”
“Trucy, not only has he never owned a car, I think I would trust you behind the wheel more than your dad. And anyway, if you agree what Prosecutor Gavin did was so terrible, maybe I should help you throw out all those Gavinners CDs you bought.”
Trucy gasped, hand flying up to cover her mouth. “You wouldn’t! C’mon, you have to separate the art from the artist!”
“Very well, Mr. Payne. The court would like to hear from your witness.”
Apollo was only barely able to hold back a shriek of pure and utter terror when Daryan Crescend took the stand. That prosecutor - what had the judge called him, Payge? Payme? - might as well have had completely ordinary, everyday hair compared to the monstrosity perched atop that man’s head.
“Polly, I’ll never make fun of your hair horns again,” Trucy whispered.
Daryan crossed his arms, staring unabashedly where Klavier was sitting. “So it’s come to this, eh, partner? Who would’ve thought one day I’d be putting you in cuffs?”
Apollo felt his fists clench almost unconsciously. “Please proceed with your testimony, Detective.”
“Alright, alright. Let’s rock, then.” A cocky grin appeared on his face. “Like the prosecutor said, I arrested Klavier yesterday morning. He was speeding on his motorcycle when I pulled him over - can’t just let that slide, even for a bandmate. So I arrested him for driving under the influence, and here we a-”
“OBJECTION!”
“Wha- Mr. Justice, your cross examination hasn’t even begun yet!”
Oops. He decided to pretend he hadn’t heard that. “-Detective Crescend, you say my client was driving under the influence. How did you know that?”
“Well, it was pretty obvious. Anyone with a nose would’ve been able to smell the alcohol on his breath, and he failed all my field sobriety tests-”
“Well, what if my client is just really, really clumsy?!”
A beat passed. Apollo got the uncomfortable feeling that everybody’s eyes were on him.
“...Polly, did you actually go to law school?”
“Mr. Justice, I would hate to hand out penalties so early in the trial.”
“This was the best lawyer you could get, Klavier?” Daryan erupted into laughter. “Oh man. Too bad your brother wasn’t available, huh? Might as well kiss your career goodbye right now.”
His career. That’s right - Daryan was doing this more because of the Gavinners than any other reason, and he was playing dirty to land Klavier in jail. Well, Apollo wasn’t just going to sit back and let him. “Uh, sorry, I don’t know why I said - anyway. Detective Crescend, answer this: did you use a breathalyzer to get Mr. Gavin’s blood-alcohol concentration recorded?”
Daryan paused. “No. It’s not a requirement. There’s other evidence showing he was impaired.”
“Well, within a few hours of being arrested, I had my client do a breathalyzer test. And would you like to know what his BAC level was?”
Daryan narrowed his eyes. Apollo let his dramatic silence linger for an appropriate amount of time before throwing his hand out to point at Daryan and bellow:
“0.7 PERCENT!”
“W-WHAT?!” shrieked Prosecutor Payve.
Daryan’s mouth fell open, and he finally seemed to be speechless.
“Huh?!” The judge’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head. “Mr. Justice, y-you- that is absurd! A BAC of 0.4 percent already puts you at risk of death! If that is the case, how is Mr. Gavin even standing here today?!”
“What the hell?” muttered Daryan.
“Your Honor, putting the matter of my client’s… questionable health choices aside, what we are focusing on here is the legality of what transpired. And I think it should interest the court that the maximum permitted BAC while driving in Japanifornia is 0.8 percent!”
“What is this rookie talking about?” scoffed the prosecutor across from him. “Everybody knows that it’s 0.08 percent!”
“Maybe back in your day, Prosecutor Payke!” Apollo crossed his arms with a smirk as the prosecutor spluttered something sounding vaguely like, “that’s not my na-”. “But a few years ago, when there was a sudden surge of popularity in grape juice over wine and other alcoholic drinks in Japanifornia, that number was raised to 0.8 as it wasn’t as much of a legal concern anymore. So my client was well within his legal rights!”
“Oh, shut your mouth before I shut it for you!” Daryan snapped. “You used the breathalyzer hours after he was arrested! He could’ve been at 0.8 or more while he was driving!”
“I’d rethink that statement, Detective Crescend. BAC levels don’t fall quickly enough for that to be true! And besides, even if they did, you would be the one at fault for not testing it when you arrested him!”
“Hmmm,” the judge said pensively. “The defense makes a compelling argument. While I am frankly concerned for Mr. Gavin’s wellbeing, it appears he did not actually commit any crimes.”
“That’s just obviously untrue,” Daryan sputtered, face red with anger. “He was driving recklessly! Did you miss the part where he was speeding? Almost forty miles over the goddamn speed limit?!”
“Oh. Well.” said the judge, before someone cut in with:
“Excuse me, Herr Judge, Herr Forehead, but I have something I think the court should hear.” All eyes turned to Klavier at the defendant’s seat. “Before passing judgment on my alleged crimes, I would just like to say… I think what we can all agree to be the true crime here is such a god-awful hairstyle.”
“OH, YOU’RE ONE TO FUCKING TALK, GAVIN-”
“DETECTIVE CRESCEND!” The judge banged his gavel furiously. “Language! There are children in this courtroom!”
Apollo turned to look at Trucy. “It’s okay for you to hear about brutal murders, though, I guess?”
“Don’t worry, I’m really mature for my age!” Trucy chirped. “And I’ve heard Daddy say looooots of interesting words when he thinks I’m not listening.”
“So sorry, Your Honor,” Daryan said, not sounding particularly sorry. “That better not be directed at me. Gavin. Take a look around - what about your ugly hairstyle you copied from your murderer brother? And your lawyer’s stupid, sad excuse for hair?” Apollo ran a hand through his hair horns self-consciously. They looked nice… didn’t they? He didn’t use all that hair gel for nothing… And they made him taller… “I don’t even need to describe whatever Payne’s got going on. And the judge doesn’t even have hair, for god’s sake!”
A long silence stretched over the courtroom. The judge glowered pointedly at Daryan.
Then, a single bang sounded from the gavel. “Guilty.”
Apollo paled. “What-”
“Not your client, Mr. Justice. Detective Daryan Crescend, you are guilty of terrible hair in the first degree. And my wife quite likes my appearance, thank you very much.”
“What? Hold on, you’ve gotta be kidding-” Suddenly, in a flash of army green, a rather large man was putting Daryan in handcuffs. “What the hell do you think you’re-”
“Save it for the cops, pal.”
“First of all, I am the cops, and second of all, who even are you?” Daryan barked.
“Oh, I’m a detective, too! Detective Dick Gumshoe at your service. Uh, Detective Skye was in the gallery too, but she said this was pointless if the ‘glimmerous fop’ was innocent, whatever that means, and she left.”
“Good ol’ Ema,” Apollo sighed.
“Mr. Gavin… I trust you have learned from your mistakes and will be more careful from now on, yes?” prompted the judge. “...And perhaps you could see about getting my granddaughter a ticket to your upcoming tour. She’s a big fan.”
“Ooh, I wanna go!” Trucy cried.
Klavier’s smile was back in full force. “Oh, yes, Herr Judge, I promise. I will never be making this kind of mistake again, I assure you.”
“I see. Well, that’s that! As for the current defendant of this trial, Klavier Gavin, your verdict is…” Bang! “Not guilty!”
“Wow, good job, Polly! That’s gotta be the shortest trial in history!”
“Um… yeah. Thanks.” Apollo was long past questioning anything that happened in this district.
Klavier was up and at the defense’s bench in the blink of an eye, shooting Apollo a dazzling grin. “Herr Forehead, I could kiss you right now.”
“Wh- Huh?” No, okay, he was definitely questioning that. Who even says stuff like that in the middle of a courtroom?!
“Whoa, are you okay?” Trucy said, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You don’t have a fever or something, do you? Your face practically matches your suit!”
“...Please stop talking, Trucy.”
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” roared Daryan as the detective hauled him away. “THAT’S NOT EVEN A REAL CRIME! AND IT NEVER HAS BEEN!”
“Oh?” said Klavier. “Funny, I could’ve sworn that it wasn’t possible to be facing three years in jail for something like what I did, either. And yet, that was precisely the predicament I found myself in. Odd, isn’t it, Daryan?”
“Fuck you, Gavin,” he spat.
Klavier had a faint smile as he watched Daryan be taken away, but his eyes were steel. “Farewell, Detective Crescend. I guess you won’t be able to attend the Gavinners’ tour after all, right, ‘partner’?” A slow smile spread across his face. “Our world tour, that is.”
────────────
“Red suit, blue tie, sees through any lie,
He might look like any other guy,
I don’t know why he makes me feel so high,
Just got arrested ‘cause I am DUI: Drunk under your influence-”
Daryan shut the radio off with a scowl.
“That doesn’t even fuckin’ make sense,” he muttered to himself.
“Ah, yes.” He startled: the only person around his cell was whoever was in the one opposite him, holding a newspaper up in front of their face. Then, they set it down on their lap, one leg crossed primly over the other, and Daryan’s blood ran cold. “My brother has never been known for his… eloquent lyricism. Though I’m sure you’re far more familiar with that than I.”
His life was the fucking worst. “...Kristoph. Long time no see.”
“Indeed. I hear my old protégé has taken you down in court as well, Mr. Crescend. My apologies - if I had known Phoenix Wright would corrupt the boy so, I would have kept him far, far away.”
“Tch. Whatever.” He’d thought at least he wouldn’t be getting a long sentence for something as stupid as a hairstyle - certainly shorter than if he’d gotten caught for something like, say, smuggling Borginian cocoons. At first it had seemed he was right, but then he’d heard more on the policy surrounding phallic hairstyles in particular and learned he was very, very wrong. “Your idiot brother’s the one I’m really pissed at right now.”
“Right, his little band has gone on tour without you, haven’t they?” Kristoph clicked his tongue as he held up his newspaper again. “Yes… Ah, that foul song you were playing - ‘Just Got Arrested Cuz I’m DUI: Drunk Under Ur Influence’ - it seems to be a hit. They have sold out concert venues across the world… hmph. He always did waste too much time on his frivolities instead of just focusing on law. Apparently, they have replaced you already. It says here they have a man named Gary Tarr filling your role.”
“Fucking backstabbers,” he said through gritted teeth.
Kristoph smiled. “Having had my very own client and supposed friend of seven years turn my protégé against me, I’m inclined to share your sentiment.”
He then raised a teacup delicately to his lips, and Daryan stared, dumbfounded. “So let me get this straight - Phoenix Wright puts you in jail for murder and steals your protégé - who’s probably out having tons of gay sex with your brother right now, by the way - and you’re just sitting here, drinking tea?”
“Please do not put such a repulsive image in my mind.”
Daryan leaned back on his extremely uncomfortable bed. “Well, whatever. Even if it’s ten, twenty years before I’m out of this hellhole, I’m gonna hunt Klavier down and fucking destroy him.”
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Kristoph said breezily.
“What?” he snarled.
He set his teacup down carefully. “Just that anything regarding hairstyles has been removed from Japanifornia law. No one knows why they were there in the first place.”
Finally. “That’s what I've been saying this whole goddamn time! Now, finally I can get-”
“Well, excluding any… ‘phallic’ hairstyles. It has been decided that those will earn their offenders a life sentence.”
The resounding scream that followed was loud enough to reach even the Gavinners’ concert venue, interrupting their next song “My Brother’s a Murderer, My Bandmate’s a Dick (And My Boyfriend Got Them Sentenced For Life).”