Chapter Text
Things Trucy remembers from before she was a Wright:
Her first Daddy’s favorite thing to do was to play cards and get drunk. He’d win and then he’d drink and then he’d talk about how great he was, waxing poetic till he passed out somewhere. Sometimes, grudgingly, he’d do other things- magic tricks, when Magnifi made him, or feed Trucy, when he remembered. She wasn’t great at the magic yet, her hands too small and pockets too shallow for anything really stage worthy, and he wouldn’t play her in cards. He said it was because she was too young, but Uncle Valant had let it slip that he wouldn’t play her mother, either.
So really, if Trucy wanted to spend any time with him at all, it happened late at night, when he was flush with victory and a quarter of a bottle down. She’d sneak out of bed, put the cape on that she’d insisted be cut from the exact same cloth, and she’d sit at his feet on the floor and listen.
“Trucy,” he’d say, full of sage advice and hundred proof breath. “There are only two kinds of women in this world: damsels and whores.”
And Trucy knew, even then, that she was no damsel.
~~
Lamiror is a damsel. Thalassa Gramarye is a damsel. It’s less of a shock than it probably should be to find out they’re the same person. Trucy tumbles to it exactly ten minutes before they sit her and Polly down to explain it to them, Daddy twisting his hands up in his pockets like he does when he’s nervvy and trying not to show it. She sits obediently, with wide fake-surprised eyes through the whole presentation, like she hadn’t a clue. By the end of the explanation, he’s standing behind Trucy with his hands on her shoulders, like she’s a physical barrier between him and the anguished fury radiating off Polly’s armchair across the coffee table. Daddy always was kind of a coward. She doesn’t mind it, though. It’s a good survival skill.
Polly storms off, which is unfortunate- he leaves his suitcases fresh from Kuhra’in and his phone still plugged in and charging in the wall. Jeez, they really gave him the old one-two punch on this one, huh? Couldn’t wait a single second once it suited them to tell. It’s fine, though, Polly always is eventually. She texts Klavier in an hour or so and he tells her that yes, Polly gave him a call from the courthouse payphone, and yes, he’s okay, and yes, he just needs time. And Trucy knew all that, but it’s nice to have the confirmation. She doesn’t tell Daddy or Mommy because they haven’t earned it. She lets them fret a little, and fuss over her as the only child left to dote on. She’s used to that, too; being the favorite by default.
Trucy likes Thalassa. She likes how pretty she is, and how she calls Trucy pet names in Borginian that sound exotic, like little short melodies. She likes that her Mommy tells her Daddy what a great job he’s been doing, eyes bright, even if she finds the way her Daddy preens afterward a little silly and a lot put-on. She likes going out to dinner and having the waiter comment on what a lovely couple, what an adorable daughter, what a perfect little family they make. She can lean into it too, if Daddy wants to play that game. They can all have a fun round of Playing House and pretending Big Brother is just away at his Grown Up Job, instead of having an existential crisis at his maybe-boyfriend’s condo.
It’s all fun and games for the first week. The second week is fine too, really. But when Klavier Gavin pulls into the parking lot at the Wonder Bar for Trucy’s show for the third time and Polly sees Thalassa and Trucy and her Daddy waiting for the third time and they turn around the car without even opening the door for the third time, Trucy turns to her mother and very calmly and clearly says “I can’t talk to you anymore. You’re too expensive.”
Thalassa’s eyes go big and dark with tears immediately, so inexpressibly beautiful, but Trucy is firm. Daddy is there too, and he doesn’t say anything. Trucy doesn’t look at him. He’s not included; he’s just along for the ride.
“My dear heart. I’m so sorry,” Thalassa begins. “You must realize that as soon as I knew, I wanted to-”
“People want a lot of things,” Trucy says agreeably. “You wanted to wait, so you did! Now we don’t want to see you, and so we won’t.”
“Trucy,” her Daddy murmurs, shocked, and Trucy shifts just a fraction of an inch to the left, edging him out of the conversation as clearly as though she’d slammed a door in his face. He shuts up nicely. That’s the lovely thing about Daddy; he’s observant in his own way.
“This was nice, catching up. But I’m bored with it now, okay?” Trucy blinks at Thalassa
“I… understand if there’s no place for me in your life,” Thalassa says, her rich and lovely voice full of sorrow; her brows knit in a way that should be ugly but isn’t because Thalassa is ethereal with high cheekbones like a fairy queen or a thoroughbred racehorse and Trucy laughs.
“You’re making it sound so important,” Trucy says, shaking her head. “I don’t really care either way. I mean, I was hoping to cash in on some of those backlogged birthday presents, but if the price for knowing you is Polly, I want a refund.”
Trucy goes inside then, because it’s ten minutes to curtain and she’s got to set up one or two more tricks. She sees Daddy putting an arm around Thalassa’s shoulders, sees her go crumple down with gorgeous grief and rolls her eyes. Her Daddy is the cleverest man alive about everything but this.
Her show goes off without a hitch. She pays no mind to the sad looking couple in front, with two empty seats at their table. If they want to bring the mood down, they can just leave. Daddy can hitchhike, or call Mr. Edgeworth to drive him and his date home, and won’t that be an awkward conversation for them all. She’s half tempted to call for him.
But no, that would be avoidance, and Trucy doesn’t do that. She might gloss and shimmer over the ugly bits, but she lets them crash around her, like waves on a shore. No point in being stupid over it.
“Thanks for staying to see my show! I hope you really enjoyed it.” Trucy says brightly when she’s thanked all her fans but the last two, her biggest fans, who look crumpled up and nervous, like they don’t even want to be there. What a charming couple! She’s sure Thalassa’s never had to do anything but be lovely and weak but seeing Daddy going to pieces is kind of a disappointment. She didn’t help him become the undefeated champion of the underground LA poker scene for him to lose it over some sad, wispy thing in a pale flowy dress, even if it is her mother. Trucy’s seen enough men go to pieces for Thalassa Gramarye, thanks. Hard pass.
“Mi stellina, gioia tesoro,” Thalassa begins sorrowfully and Trucy turns up the charm.
“It wasn’t half bad, if I do say so myself! A perfect note to end things on.” Thalassa has sparkling tears that leave glittering trails down her cheeks; half the lighting and half a truly artful use of stage make up. Crying’s only pretty when your mascara’s waterproof, after all. Still, Trucy softens a little. She doesn’t really mean it; it’s showmanship. She’s sure her Mommy knows all about that. It’s time to end scene!
“Listen, it’s okay! We’re okay, we were lucky. And you’re still pretty lucky, too! I mean Polly and me got dropped off like yesterday’s soggy noodles and we still ended up pretty good kids. I’m going to be a world famous magician and Polly’s just plain old amazing in every way. You can read about us in the papers whenever you feel sorry about it. Oh, no more shows though- people might get the wrong idea.”
As she’s talking, she heads over to the car- Trucy’s car, Daddy still doesn’t drive and it’s nice for times like this, when Trucy wants to make sure she’s the one calling the shots. She’s a great little sidekick nine days out of ten, but this is ten. He can get in the car or he can stay with her mother; there’s not really much of a choice at all. Her Daddy gives Thalassa a tremendously sorry look, like he’d love to scoop her up and put her on a shelf someplace safe and ornamental, but he gets in the goddamn car like Trucy knew he would. She’s set it up that way, after all.
Trucy’s life has always been a series of choices. Weighing pros and cons is second nature- impulse by necessity now a set part of her personality matrix. It’s cute, for the most part- she’s adorable and forgivable mostly, so long as she hides the parts of her that are, well. A little bloodless? She likes to think she’s done a pretty good job so far, but the jig may be up. Ah well, you can only repeat the same trick so many times before somebody catches on. That’s rule number two of magic, right after keeping your secrets to yourself.
As she gets into the car, Thalassa catches her hand. Trucy’s hand is strong; she’s got a couple little scars and burn marks from tricks gone sideways, and her grip is amazing from all the sleight of hand. She’s the resident pickle jar opener of the Wright household, after all. Thalassa’s hand is delicate and thin, bones light, birdlike, and hollow. She presses a crumpled piece of paper into Trucy’s palm. It’s got her cell phone and email and all kinds of stuff on it. Real important stuff, probably.
Trucy throws it out the window on the highway.
So.
Bloodless.
Example: Trucy keeps a ranked list of her important people in her head, updating constantly in real time. It’s only practical. If, for instance, there had ever been the need to choose between Daddy and her first Daddy, she would pick this one. To live with, to support, to give the only life saving dose of a fast acting poison’s antidote in the nick of time- that kind of thing.
So what if Trucy’s list is a little less ‘people-I-love’ and a little more ‘sacrificial-lambs-in-order-of-expendibility.’ Some choices are a big deal. She’d made a choice to be a good stupid little girl and run an errand a few years back that ruined Phoenix Wright’s life. Then she’d doubled down - leeched onto him with oozey syrupy affection and sucked his blood dry when he was already half empty. It had worked out very well for her in the long run. Here she is, happy, healthy, and heir to the Gramarye legacy without having to actually be raised by any of them. Win-win.
Point is, she’s got a list. It’s roughly triangular in shape, she thinks- a scant dozen people tied to a train track that she’s willing to derail a cart or two full of orphans for.
Well, she’d considered herself an orphan for the longest time, anyway. An honorary orphan. She’d actually sort of liked the coming-back-from-amnesia plot twist, a nice season finale cliffhanger. Trucy is pretty flexible as far as this thing goes, and why not? It was easy enough to slot a New Mommy Achievement in there somewhere just below Athena and above the Chemistry teacher she’s sort of crushing on.
She’d liked Polly finding out they were related. She felt like it was only right, that if they were on the same page it justified just how far up he was on that list. Right around Daddy level, in fact, though if a lone gunman came shooting up the place and Trucy could only save one, it was gonna have to be Polly. Daddy is too soft; if he lives because Polly dies he’s likely to throw himself in front of a truck. Then she’d have lost them both. No, Polly’s like her. He’s used to losing. He’ll mope a bit and pull through, she’s sure. After three weeks of no Polly and Daddy being absurd, though, the ranks are shifting a bit. Polly’s definitely number one; where Daddy falls depends entirely on this conversation. Trucy’s been awfully fond of Mr. Edgeworth since he brought her that two pound box of imported chocolates for her birthday, after all. And Klavier’s still uber dreamy, even if he’s obsessed with her dorky brother.
In the car Daddy’s real quiet now- he’s even breathing quiet, like inhaling too much might set her off. And isn’t that just so super unfair? She loves him, he’s top of the list, or nearly.
“That was… different,” he says finally with an extra side of caution.
“Not really, Daddy,” Trucy says brightly.
“I’ve... never seen you like that.”
“Of course not,” Trucy grins. “I’m not like that in front of you.”
“What does that mean?” Trucy just hums. He’s clutching to the oh shit handle and she’s not even speeding, how rude. “Trucy?”
“You love me, don’t you Daddy?”
“More than anything, You know that,” Daddy insists.
Trucy nods. “You didn’t have to, though.”
“We talked about that, when I took you in-”
“That’s not it. Just because you had to take care of me… you didn’t have to love me too,” she explains patiently.
“You’re very lovable,” Daddy defends her. “Of course I would love you.”
“Daddy,” Trucy says, a touch exasperated. “That’s what I’m talking about. I needed you to love me and you wanted to love me. That’s great! I just… helped a little bit.”
She risks a glance and Daddy looks unsettled. Ah well.
“You think it was… some kind of childish machinations that made me love you?” Daddy asks, trying to get the facts straight. She loves when he does that. It shows he’s really listening.
“I was a baby,” Trucy rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t that serious. I just made sure I was the best Trucy Wright I could be. I’m cute and clever and just troublesome enough to be interesting. And I could mostly take care of myself, which helped.”
“You’re all those things,” Daddy says stubbornly. “Cute and clever and interesting and independent.” If he’s confused as to how this relates back to Thalassa, he’s not showing it. Very cool, Daddy. Keep that hand close.
“Oh, sure,” Trucy agrees. “But I’m also pretty ruthless, Daddy. I know you think I’m making a mistake and I’m gonna cry about it later, but I really won’t. If my Mommy gets hit by a bus tomorrow I won’t take back a single word of it.” Trucy tries smiling again but it’s a little lopsided. “I’m sorry. I’m Zak Gramarye’s daughter after all.”
“You’re my daughter,” Daddy says, smacking his hands against the dashboard, suddenly fierce and Trucy jerks in surprise, though she keeps her hands steady on the wheel. “I’m ruthless too. The things I did… you got it from me. I’m sorry, but you’re mine.”
A surprising wave of heat simmers in Trucy’s middle. At first she thinks she’s warmed by his claim over her. Then she takes a deep breath and distantly realizes that it’s anger.
“Would you have taken me in if I were a boy?” Trucy asks abruptly.
“What?” Daddy look lost. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Let’s just say. Hypothetically speaking, Polly, sixteen, he’s the one who gives you the diary page. He’s the one stuck after first Daddy took off. Do you take him in?”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say here, Truce.” Daddy’s face is scrunched up like his does know, actually, he just doesn’t like it. “You’re going to have to spell it out.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Trucy says sweetly. “Let’s talk about it.”
Trucy yanks the wheel sharply to the side and Daddy is scrambling, eyes wide as he’s slammed against the car door. She pulls into an empty parking lot and turns the car off. Daddy is pale and muttering curses under his breath but whatever her face looks like makes him stop mid-word.
“There are only two kinds of women in this world: damsels and whores.” Trucy tells him flatly and her Daddy looks gutted.
“Who the fuck told you that?” he demands.
“It doesn’t matter, Daddy, it’s true. And I’m not a damsel, I’m the other one.”
“Trucy!”
“I don’t mean like a sex thing, although probably Daddy did mean it like a sex thing-”
“Wait a minute, Zak told you that-”
“You wanted me to talk about it, so let me talk. Or we can go back to before if you want to and I won’t bring it up anymore. It’s been too long, we love each other and mean it too much to up and quit, but you can love somebody and really, really start to hate them too sometimes.” Trucy’s eyes are getting a little wet so she turns to look out her driver side window so he can’t see, like he doesn’t know she’s crying just from the way her shoulders are curved.
It’s quiet for a moment, then-
“I just can’t believe Zak Gramarye called his eight year old daughter a whore,” Daddy says with a dry not-humor. She glances over and he’s got his head in his hands. Thirty six isn’t old, not really, but he looks old right now.
“However he meant it, it doesn’t matter,” Trucy says, sniffling a bit but regaining her composure. “The way I saw it, there were women like my mother and there were women like me. You always say that you love me, that I’m your favorite kind of person, but Daddy… I’m not like her. I’m willing to get my hands dirty, and I fight and lie, and I’ll live even if it half kills me. I’m not a good little girl and I don’t faint at the sight of blood.”
“But you go crazy for these damsels, just like him. You let them cry and simper and railroad your life and you don’t even look happy about it. You’re not having fun, this isn’t the life you worked for. I don’t think you even like her; I don’t think you know one thing about her except her sad backstory and how pretty she looks when she’s upset. It’s like something you’ve been trained to do, like a dog with a bone it doesn’t even want. You let some stranger ruin your relationships with the people you were supposed to care about because she’s tragic and beautiful and helpless and she asked you to. You put her above all of us, and you had to know how it was going to go. It’s sick, Daddy. Seriously, you should have cared about what I think, but I’m yours, like you said: I have to put up with it. But you hurt Polly real bad and he’s my favorite.”
Daddy is quiet for a long time, eyes fixed on her face.
“Ok,” he says evenly. “Thalassa got the axe. What’s my punishment?”
“It’s not about punishment, Daddy.” Trucy starts the car back up. “You do that just fine all by yourself.” They’re quiet the rest of the short ride home, but when they get there, Daddy doesn’t get out and so Trucy doesn’t either. It’s a little chilly this time of year when the sun goes down, but they stay there anyway.
“I don’t like Thalassa,” Daddy admits. “I mean she’s fine, but. I’m not serious about it. It isn’t really anything.”
Trucy gives him her attention. It’s his turn; it’s only polite.
“I guess I never thought about it.” He rubs the side of his jaw with a wince. “I think a lot of that was just growing up that way. Maybe my mom was kind of a damsel, when you put it that way. Not that it’s any excuse,” he adds.
“Was she a good mom?” Trucy asks curiously. He’s never brought her up before.
“No,” Daddy says with a little laugh. “She really, really wasn’t.”
“Daddy, what do you want?” Trucy asks plainly.
“I don’t want you to be upset with me. I’d also like Apollo to not hate my guts. If you mean the other thing, I don’t want a damsel, no. Not really. I just get swept up in it. If I’m ever going to make it with somebody, I’d want a partner. I’d need someone who wouldn’t make me do shitty things to show they’re more important. I want someone at my level, or even better. I want someone who gets me and helps me even when I can’t be gallant. It’s nice, to be the white knight. It’s really nice, in the moment, but it’s not real.” He sighs. “I can’t believe how badly I’ve fucked this up.”
“I wish you’d just tell Mr. Edgeworth,” Trucy sighs back, and Daddy makes a sound like she’s hit him with a baseball bat. Unwilling to argue any more, Trucy gets out of the car and goes upstairs.