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Alone at the far end of the bar, Miles is surrounded by her peers, prosecutors and defense attorneys alike. All busy chatting, either drunk or well on their way towards it, spilling details about ongoing cases that definitely breached attorney-client confidentiality and gossiping about which attorney from which district was screwing the lead detective on their off hours.
Riveting stuff, if Miles hadn’t heard it all a thousand times before. Legal conferences like these, even the ones where she’s been asked to speak, are little more than networking events of which she has no use for. She’d only come here as a favor to a friend, Verity Gavelle, who had pleaded via long distance phone call that she make the trip to New York to speak about international trial law.
Well, she’d spoken. Earlier this afternoon, going on for the required thirty-five minutes and then stopping to ask for questions. People had been coming by her spot at the bar all evening, congratulating her on the lecture and offering to buy her a drink. Miles had declined all of them, of course, preferring instead to stick to herself and people watch while she waits for the evening to draw to a close.
Person-watch, really, because Miles is here tonight to observe Kris Gavin in all her carefully plied upon glory. Kris had also been asked to speak at this conference (though not as a keynote speaker, Miles had noted with some satisfaction). She’d tried to set that aside the whole flight over, the likelihood of running into a woman she spent far too much time thinking about.
More towards the center of the hotel bar, Kris is engaged in conversation with some people Miles doesn’t recognize. Miles can’t hear their conversation from this far away and refuses to move closer, but every now and again someone will say something and she’ll hear Kris’ laughter, bright and high, cutting across the din and chatter of the rest of the room.
If Miles knew what was good for her, she’d be back up in her room right now, packing for her early flight back to Amsterdam tomorrow. Instead, she’s here, idly swirling around a glass of whisky in one hand and waiting for Kris to approach her. It’s inevitable - her positioning in the room and the way she’s projecting her voice, making a pointed effort not to look anywhere near Miles, betray how badly she wants to speak to her.
Miles will let her run her course, play whatever games she feels she needs to play before finally walking over. It gives her time to observe, prepare, taking slow sips of her drink while contemplating what kind of woman Kris Gavin is exactly.
What does she know about her? She knows that she’s a defense attorney, and a rather successful one at that. She knows that Kris has taken Phoenix’s old win record from her, that she’s highly regarded and known for keeping herself collected in the courtroom. “The coolest defense in the West”, or something like that.
Miles knows that her younger brother is Klavier Gavin, the rockstar-slash-prosecutor, and that her younger brother had been the prosecutor in the trial wherein Phoenix was disbarred. She knows that Klavier and Kristoph don’t get along much, because Phoenix has told her, and she knows that Kristoph was the sole dissenting vote when the Bar Committee had voted to strip Phoenix of her badge.
Miles also knows - and this by far is the most troubling - that Phoenix has been sleeping with Kris on and off for the past four odd years. She’d admitted as much to Miles the first time they’d reconnected, and it’d been hard to grasp at first, the idea that someone else could have been in bed next to Phoenix or with her inside of them since they’d last spoken.
Of course, Miles hadn’t exactly been exclusive either, and it’s not like they were ever together. But she supposed she intrinsically had always assumed they would be, that even when she had the occasional dalliance here or there Phoenix would always be back in Los Angeles, waiting.
Honestly, it had been easier to take in the fact that Kris had been the one behind Phoenix’s disbarment than it had to hear they were sleeping together. At least then Miles had a reason for the immense dislike she felt for her.
Still, she can’t help but bristle a little bit every time Kris throws her head back and laughs, exposing the long, pale column of her throat. Miles knows Phoenix continues sleeping with her because can’t let Kris think anything is amiss, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’d slept with her in the first place. That she’d found her beautiful, wanted to take her home and undress her the same way she had with Miles.
She’s not exactly Mile’s type - she prefers her women more on the masculine side, and it seems, so too does Kris - but there’s no denying something seductive about her, alluring. Half of Kris’ hair is done up in an elaborate twist at the back of her head, the rest curling loosely around her shoulders. Her blonde hair is so pale there’s no way it’s natural, not with the tan of her skin, and but try as hard as she might Miles cannot see any of her roots grown in.
Her dress is a pale lilac color with open shoulders and a neckline that showed just the slightest bit of cleavage. She’s opted to keep her glasses on, which Miles finds amusing. Unlike herself, who wears them because she can’t be bothered to deal with taking contacts in and out when her glasses work just fine, she imagines Kris is wearing them to look smarter, well informed.
Miles, in comparison, is dressed not all that different from her usual office wear. She’s swapped out the cravat for a silver necklace, but save for that and slightly nicer earrings she could be back in the courtroom right now. Earlier in her career, she might have dressed up a bit more, but now she’s found that her reputation tends to precede her at these sorts of things and there’s really no need to make the extra effort.
The crowd around Kris seems to dissipate a little, walking over to the other end of the room. Miles turns her back towards them. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be caught staring, frankly, she doesn’t care what Kris thinks. But she’d rather let Kris think she can approach this situation non-chalantly, and continue with the usual pleasantries until the mask inevitably fell away.
Sure enough, a few seconds later she senses someone walking up behind her.
“Is this seat taken?”
What a ridiculous question.
“Not presently.” Still, she does not turn to face her, watching out of the corner of her eye as Kris takes a seat and tucks her dress under her legs. Miles takes a sip of her drink, longer this time.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Ms. Edgeworth.” Kris holds out a hand for her to shake, and finally, Miles looks at her, taking in the wide smile and dark purple lipstick. She returns the handshake, then lets her hand fall back down to her lap and turns her attention forward.
“Likewise.” She says, though good is not exactly the word Miles would use.
“Bartender!” Kris flags him down, gesturing to herself and Miles. “Two, I’m sorry, what is it you’re drinking again?” Miles looks down at her glass.
“Brandy. Asbach, I believe. But I’m fine with what I have.” She holds out her glass, still half full, the ice fully melted. Kris just smiles.
“Just one for me then. On the rocks.” The bartender nods, returns with a glass and fills it wordlessly, sliding it back over to Kris. She takes a sip, pulls a face at the taste before she can stop herself. Miles smirks a bit at this - it’s not a very good liquor, too bitter and syrupy for her liking. She takes a sip of her own drink.
“It’s… strong.” Is all Kris can think to say after a moment. “I usually prefer wine.”
Then maybe you should have ordered wine, Miles thinks, but doesn’t say. Instead: “What brings you to New York?”
Kris laughs, as if Miles had just told a hilarious joke rather than asking a basic question. “Same as anyone else here, I’d imagine. It’s quite the honor to be asked to speak at a NACDL conference. I attended your lecture today, by the way. I found it very interesting.”
“Really?” Miles raises an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”
Kris sets down her glass, adjusts her glasses. “Well of course, international trial law is hardly a direct one to one comparison to what we have here in the States, but the principles stay the same. Loosening the restrictions on what evidence can be deemed to be admissible is, like you said, risky. Take for example, handwriting analysis.”
There’s certain things about Kris, the sudden gleam in her eye, the tightening of her fingers around the glass, that give her away in moments like this. It’s funny, because when Phoenix had first told Miles that Kris had been the one behind the disbarment, she’d said that she still had trouble wrapping her head around it. That she couldn’t believe someone like Kris, who had gone out of her way to be kind to Phoenix and had voted against her disbarment, could have been the one responsible for it in the first place. Stretched out in bed next to Miles, lying naked save for the sheet she had pulled around her, Phoenix had sounded almost unsure of herself, conflicted.
Miles hadn’t had any trouble in the slightest believing it. Of course, she already disliked Kris from the beginning, since Phoenix had admitted to sleeping with her semi-frequently, but even watching her now would be enough. Kris moves like a snake, all fake smiles and affected laughter. Her appearance screams money and power- exactly the kind of person who’d be both capable and willing to get Phoenix disbarred.
And besides. Miles is all too familiar with the reasons why someone responsible for a horrible, life altering event might attempt to care for it’s victims, as confusing as that may seem.
“You mean, the handwriting analysis itself, or the experts who conduct it?”
Kris shrugs, still smiling. “Either or. The point being that you can’t use that alone to link a suspect to a crime, since even experts admit that it’s not always accurate. But they admit that about the work of other experts, hardly ever themselves. So who,” Kris leans a bit closer to her, necklace dangling forward of her chest and hanging in mid-air, catching the light, “is to be trusted?”
Miles pulls her eyes away from her, from the tiny slip of Kris’ lacy black bra that can be seen above the neckline of her dress. “I think evidence alone cannot determine the guilty party. Especially considering the wrong person could be presiding over it’s usage. Take Von Karma, my old mentor for example. Proper reform could prevent that kind of abuse in the future.”
Kris leans back. “Hence the jury system.”
“Yes, hence the jury system.”
They stare at each other for a moment, not breaking eye contact. The masks were beginning to slip, after all. “Well, it’s an interesting idea, at any rate. Hard to implement, but worthwhile, if it’ll prevent the kind of ah, what did you say? Abuses, yes. That’s right.”
She takes another sip of her drink, continues. “You’ve met Klavier before, of course. He would have loved your lecture today. I’ll have to forward him a recording.”
Low hanging fruit. Miles knows from Phoenix that Kris is loathe to bring up her younger brother in any context, afraid that his star power would overshadow hers. Miles also knows that Kris likely assumes she hates Klavier for being the one to get Phoenix disbarred, and thinks by bringing him up she can rattle her a bit. She’s played her cards too early, as Phoenix is ought to say. Bad move.
“I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
“Pity. I know you were a big inspiration to him. Probably wouldn't have become a prosecutor without it. Though of course, you did have quite the reputation back in those days. What was it they called you? The demon prosecutor?”
“Yes, that was the name. Though I doubt anyone is still using it. I haven’t practiced in Japainfornia in nearly six years.”
“What an honor, then, that we were able to have you here at this conference. I’m sure the flight over is not easy.”
“I believe,” Miles says, feeling herself start to grow annoyed by the continued praises, by their lack of a point, “that was the moniker I was known under when we met the first time, wasn’t it?”
Because this was not in fact, the first time they had met. There had been one other occasion, back when Miles herself was barely out of law school. At this very conference, though in Chicago, not New York, she had attended with Von Karma, barely leaving his side the entire time. It was events like that where she’d been taught the particulars of networking, the importance of knowing the right person - who might be open to taking bribes, who might look the other way at a forgery. That sort of thing.
Kris, from Miles’ best recollection, had still been in law school at that time, 2L or 3L at best. Miles doesn’t remember much about her, only that she’d thought her pleasant to look at but entirely too desperate, stumbling over herself to make an introduction to Von Karma in unpracticed German. Von Karma had responded back in English, asking that he not have his time be wasted by a mere law student, one studying to be a defense attorney at that.
She’d forgotten all about it till she’d read the headlines on State v. Gramarye, wondering why the name Gavin had sounded so familiar, Kris’ name tacked on to the end of the article and listed only as “Klavier’s older sister, also an attorney.” The slight must eat her up inside.
Kris seems to take a moment to collect herself. “I wasn’t sure if you remembered. It was such a long time ago.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Von Karma certainly was not thrilled to have met me, that I remember.” Miles turns to her, surprised she’d admit that part aloud. It was obvious he’d been annoyed by her, yes, but it’s another thing entirely for Kris to say that, and to Miles of all people.
“Well, I wouldn’t lose much sleep over it. Von Karma wasn’t too fond of many people. He was a difficult man to impress.”
For a moment, neither of them speak, sipping their drinks in silence. Miles finishes the last of hers, sets down the empty glass on the table.
“Another?” Kris offers.
“No, I’m okay. Best to avoid drinking too much at these things, you know.”
Kris nods in agreement. “If only Grossberg had had that mentality. Perhaps he wouldn't have ended up face down in the fountain.”
Marvin Grossberg, in his final act of infamy before a long overdue retirement, had several years ago gotten so drunk at a post-conference networking event that he’d tripped in the lobby and fallen headfirst into the fountain. Footage of his accident had quickly spread across the internet, Grossberg struggling to right himself and slipping several more times in the process.
“I wouldn’t have minded being there that night.” says Miles. “I saw the video, of course, but-”
“Some things you really have to see for yourself. It was like watching a sopping wet cat flounder around in a fish tank.”
“Are you describing the fountain incident, or his court performances?”
“Both, naturally.”
Miles laughs. Her eyes crinkle up at the edges as the crease of her brow softens. Kris laughs too, genuine, and for a moment, that’s all they are; coworkers delighting in the misery of a mutually disliked colleague.
In any other context, this would feel a bit like a date, with the drinks and the ambient lighting, the way Kris looks her up and down, head to toe, almost lazily. She can see how Phoenix might have fallen for it, especially if Kris had voted against the disbarment, taken her out for dinner afterwards. Phoenix always did have a soft spot for the lone defender, inspiring a degree of loyalty others might consider a flaw.
She never did know who had started it, whether Phoenix had initiated first or if it had been Kris. Part of her was scared to ask, since maybe if she did the rushed dalliances she’d been imagining in the back room of the Borscht Bowl Club would become long, drawn out affairs. Nights together, preceded by a candle lit dinner and wine, Kris asking about Trucy and how she was doing in school. The bruises that were still sometimes on Phoenix’s neck when she arrived to Miles in Europe had to come from somewhere.
Naively, she’d assumed that when Phoenix discovered Kris had been responsible for the loss of her badge, that the sex would stop too. She remembers the argument that followed when Miles had learned otherwise. She’d said that she was worried for Phoenix’s safety, but that hadn’t been it, instead she’d been upset that Phoenix could choose to still sleep with someone who ruined her life when all she had to do to have Miles was to ask.
But Phoenix never did ask. Said she’d gotten tired of hearing no, which Miles could hardly fault her for.
She wishes she’d accepted that other drink.
Miles fakes a yawn, covering her mouth politely.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I keeping you from something? I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sure you have a flight to catch early tomorrow morning.”
“Not at all. Forgive me. The asbach has a way of making me more tired than it should.”
“Perhaps you’d prefer something livelier?” Miles blinks. If Kris is suggesting they take Jaeger bombs right now, then she’s respectfully out of her mind. Miles isn’t twenty anymore, and this isn’t a Karaoke bar.
But then Kris puts her hand over Miles’, gently, almost like you would with a scared animal, and Miles understands what she’s asking now.
Her nails are sharp, well manicured. They’d probably feel very good, on her back or in her hair, or else Phoenix wouldn’t have looked like a wild tiger had clawed at her back one of the more recent times Miles had visited L.A.
“Only if you’d like, of course.” Kris looks up through her eyelashes at Miles, mouth parted slightly. Miles imagines kissing her, pulling on her hair and biting down hard on her lip.
“Excellent.” Kris flags down the bartender. “A bottle of wine, red please. You can send it to Room 304, in about five minutes.” She turns to Miles. “Unless you’d rather have it here?”
Miles shakes her head. “Upstairs is fine.” She feels almost outside of herself, saying it, though it’s not the alcohol. Miles has always been very good at holding her liquor.
“Good.” Kris says softly. “Good.” She stands up from her seat, smoothing out the fabric of her dress and pushing up her curls just a touch. “Well, Prosecutor?” She leans over Miles’s shoulder, her lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Don’t keep me waiting.”