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It was the first day of the rest of his life.
Well, that wasn’t completely true, strictly speaking. It was at least two weeks since... that event... had occurred. Since he had been tricked into, effectively, committing legal suicide in the same courthouse where had won so many impossible victories. Since Phoenix Wright, “Ace Attorney”, had lost the badge that entitled him to that name.
Since he had gained a daughter.
Still, she wasn’t up yet, and neither was he. It was way too early to be up and about, and really, it wasn’t as though he even had anything to do. The whole investigation into Zak Gramarye’s disappearance was a dead end, and he didn’t even have the authority to look into it, anyway.
(Though, come to think of it, even if he had his attorney’s badge he still wouldn’t have any authority to look into it. Oh well. Either way, without his talisman, it... just wasn’t the same.)
His hand brushed something in the gloom, which fell over and clinked on the floor. What was that? It was too dark to see... way too early in the morning to be thinking about anything at all. And besides, he had a killer headache.
Oh, right. A bottle of grape juice.
Well, hopefully he’d drained the bottle of any liquids completely last night. Didn’t want to stain the carpet of the Wright and Co Law Offi... of the newly-formed Wright Talent Agency, after all. Wouldn’t look good. Who would hire him then?
...who would hire him now?
He was getting mired in self-pity, he knew. Maybe it was for the best. This didn’t really feel like a “Get out of the office and mope around” kind of day, anyway. This was more like a “Slump in the office couch and lie there, unshaven and bedraggled, raging against the unworthy heavens and doing your best not to scream” sort of week.
Yes, that was definitely the sort of plan he endorsed. It turned out to be a fairly successful kind of plan, too, at least until the phone started to ring some time later. He hadn’t gotten around to disconnecting it yet... maybe it was someone looking for a lawyer? He’d have to say those hateful words, tell another person of his shame.
He was still debating whether to fall off the couch and drag himself to the phone when the decision was made for him. The door burst open and a little girl – Trucy Gramarye... or Trucy Wright, he supposed – rushed in, holding a cordless phone out in front of her and bursting with pride.
“It’s for you, Daddy!” she said. “Isn’t it amazing? Barely a day and we’re already getting calls for the famous Phoenix Wright of Wright Talent Agency!”
Phoenix grumbled something incoherent and took the phone, absently tousling her hair as he did so. Cute as a button, she was; pity her father – her real father, he corrected himself – had gone and done his famed vanishing act on his attorney’s badge. He raised the phone to one ear.
“Yeah?”
“Wright.”
Phoenix nearly jumped out of his skin. After the shame and humiliation he had so recently gone through, this was very nearly the last person he wanted to hear from. “Damnit, Miles, not now,” he muttered scratching his head, dimly aware of Trucy tidying up the office, humming as she did so. “Really not a fantastic time...”
“...before anything else,” came the silky-smooth tones of Phoenix’s friend and archrival, “answer me this, Wright: What’s this nonsense about being a ‘daddy’?”
Phoenix winced. “It’s, uh, it’s complicated.”
“So I hear. You sound like you just got up.”
“I did.”
“It’s 1 o’clock in the afternoon.”
“I’m a deep sleeper.”
Edgeworth chuckled lightly, the sardonic tone of his laughter audible even through the slightly dodgy connection – it wasn’t a great phone line, but it was all that the Wright and Co Law Office could afford. “Bereft of your badge though you may be, Wright, it’s good to know you haven’t lost that damn wit of yours.”
Phoenix groaned. “Seriously, Edgeworth, what do you want? It’s wonderful to know that you know that I’ve been humiliated and stripped of my position, but I’m really not in the greatest of moods right now.”
A pause. “Listen, Wright. I can tell solely by the tone of your voice – yes, don’t roll your eyes at me, Wright – I can tell by your voice that you’ve probably been sitting there feeling sorry for yourself and doing nothing for approximately – “ another pause – “two weeks.”
“So?”
Yet another pause, then a sigh. “So much for subtlety. What I am saying to you, Phoenix Wright, is this: get out of your office, stop whining like a self-important baby, and come talk this out with people you know.”
“That’s oddly direct of you,” Phoenix grumbled, blinking in the harsh daylight; Trucy had just pulled up the blinds. “Care to tell me why?”
“I would have thought that obvious to a man as renowned as you, Wright,” Edgeworth said, voice studiously neutral. “But in any case, if you cannot figure it out, my hands are tied. Meet me – no, sorry, meet us – at the... I’ll make this easy for you. Meet us at the Gatewater Hotel in an hour, alright?
“Will you stop bugging me if I do?”
“You have my word.”
“Fine,” muttered Phoenix, dragging himself upright. Across the street, the Gatewater Hotel sparkled gently in the afternoon sun. Was it really that late in the day? “I’ll be there.”
“Good. Well, see you there.”
The line went dead. Phoenix sighed.
This was probably going to be a very long day...
-------------
It had been many years since Phoenix had last actually stepped inside the expensive, (recently) five-star hotel that was situated right across the street. Business, apparently, was booming. Men and women in fancy clothes and professional-looking suits drifted idly around the lobby, chatting amongst themselves or making important calls. Phoenix actually felt rather out of place in his ill-fitting blue suit and with a chattering blue magician girl darting around the place, although to be fair he had felt equally out of place when this place had merely been a not-cheap three-star hotel.
“Ahem, sir...”
Phoenix jumped. An immaculately dressed man was standing behind him, smiling politely. “Ah, yes?”
The man bowed. “Mr Wright, isn’t it? I never forget a face,” he smiled, straightening up. “Would sir care for some tea?”
“Ah, no thanks,” Phoenix said, one eye on Trucy, who was making the most of this momentary distraction to attempt to amuse some passing businessmen. “Ah, aren’t you – uh, the bellboy, from, uh, my fi- my second case?”
“Indeed, sir,” the man smiled, “though I’ve moved on up in the world since then, I can assure you of that!” Behind him there was a collective gasp, a sudden flutter of wings, and some scattered applause. “Are you sure you won’t take any tea, sir?”
“No, no, I’m perfectly alright,” said Phoenix, craning to see around the man. “Uh, I hate to be rude, but is there any reason you needed to talk to me? I was on my way to meet someone...”
“Ah, yes indeed, sir. I was tasked to deliver a message by a gentleman in red, sir,” the man said, still holding his tea-tray up high. Phoenix watched carefully as a pair of doves landed on it, cooing gently. “Ah, yes.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Hmmm, one moment sir... ah, yes. The message is, ‘We’re waiting in the Blue Badger Room’.”
Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “...huh?”
“The Blue Badger Room, sir,” the man nodded, gesturing in some vague direction. “Named, as I’m sure you remember, after our police force’s beloved mascot, the Blue Badger? It’s ab-so-lutely grand, I assure you.”
“I see,” said Phoenix evenly. “Well, thank you for delivering the message.”
“It was my pleasure, sir,” said the man, bowing once again; the doves squarked suddenly, in protest, and flew off, leaving a trail of feathers behind. “And if you could kindly inform your ward that no unlicensed magic is permitted in the foyer, that would be most appreciated.”
---------------
Phoenix could’ve sworn that the Gatewater Hotel hadn’t been this big the last time he was here, but since that had been years ago and he had been right in the middle of a trial focusing primarily on the murder of his friend and mentor, he supposed that there was room for a reasonable margin of error. Still, by the time he reached two huge double doors that proclaimed themselves to be the entrance to the Blue Badger Room, his chest was heaving with exertion.
“Serves Daddy right for just lying around for two whole weeks!” giggled Trucy, dashing around with her arms out like an aeroplane. Phoenix just smiled, panting. Kids.
It took him almost a minute or two to get back to normal (with a little help from a large tangled bundle of flags-of-all-nations that Trucy produced from somewhere, which Phoenix immediately commandeered as a sweat-towel, for which he was rewarded with a kick to the shins). But he made no move to reach for the handles of the door.
Sudden self-doubt assailed him. What the hell was Edgeworth playing at? Was this some intricate revenge/humiliation plot? For all that they hung out, were good childhood friends, and occasionally saved one another’s life, they were still bitter nemesises. Nemisisis. Nemisii? Enemies. Yeah, that was a better word.
Or maybe his little sister, Franziska, had put him up to it. It would be just like her, to try and grind the ‘unbeatable’ Phoenix Wright into the dust, even though he was already lower than dust. He could feel the whip welts now – and he couldn’t even guess why. Because she hated him? Because she was the only one ‘allowed’ to defeat him? Because she was Franziska von Karma, and as such, totally immune to such concepts as ‘common sense’ or ‘not whipping people for no good reason’?
But... but either way, they’d talk eventually. They all would. They’d come to him in their ones and twos, drop by, offer their condolences, and leave. And that would be the end of it, perhaps. Like now. He’d go in there, listen to the two of them smarm it up, and leave again. It would be over, and it’d be over now.
Yeah, that’s what would happen. Just a quick burst of sympathy, real or fake, he didn’t care, and then he could go back to his office and mope. Maybe pick up some more grape juice on the way. He didn’t know. Either way, whatever lay ahead was just through this door.
Steeling his courage, bracing himself for mocking laughter or crocodile tears, Phoenix opened the door.