Chapter Text
Friday, October 20, 2028
“I swear it used to be right here,” Miles gestured at the clearly-not-a-restaurant vet clinic in front of him, mortified.
“How long ago are we talking about here?” Klavier raised an eyebrow.
“I’d say… eight- no, ten years ago.”
“Maybe this is not the right place?” Eustace proposed.
Simon scoffed. “That is exactly what you said before. And it led to us wandering in circles for twenty minutes in case that restaurant had grown legs and walked somewhere else.”
Eustace either didn’t hear him or simply chose to ignore him. “We could try again! Walk a bit further, and maybe…”
Slowly, Simon looked up at the streetlight they had stopped under, which was buzzing like a swarm of flies. Its mellow flickering light put a dim, brief spotlight on them, as if an impatient audience was waiting for the men to do something, anything, other than stand around.
Simon wished he were home. On serene Friday nights like this one, he liked to order some takeout, lay on the couch under at least three blankets, and watch infomercials with Taka. The hawk would let out a raspy screech whenever vacuum cleaners, lawnmowers, and other noisy house devices were shown, making Simon roar with laughter without fail. But no—he had to agree to the so-called ‘work outing’, which so far had consisted of him and a few coworkers aimlessly searching for a restaurant that apparently didn’t exist. He hung his head low, breathed in and out slowly, and reminded himself he couldn’t snap at anyone—especially not around his boss—for the hundredth time that night.
After they’d all finally agreed to go home and the formalities were over, though? Simon was going to give Klavier a piece of his mind.
Klavier had been bugging everyone in the Prosecutor’s Office for several days about going out ‘to strengthen the bond between colleagues’. A simple work outing to the untrained eye; except to his fellow prosecutors it was made abundantly clear by Klavier’s insistence that he merely wanted to go out for drinks on a Friday night, and he didn’t want to do it alone. Eustace agreed without so much of a second thought, of course—he and Klavier had known each other since their time at Themis Legal Academy, and lately Eustace had been complaining about missing the good old days and turning blue because they rarely hung out now (followed by Klavier correcting, “You mean ‘feeling blue’, Eustace.”).
Miles found the entire ordeal odd. He wondered whether Klavier didn’t have many friends, save for Eustace, so he had resorted to inviting his work colleagues out for dinner in a desperate attempt to quiet his loneliness. Miles later discarded the notion, as it was common knowledge that Klavier was generally well-liked and widely popular. After giving it some thought, Miles surmised that Klavier was just trying to bring the Prosecutor’s Office closer together after several years of corruption and feuds, an idea he didn’t dislike; and so, he acceded to go out that Friday—with the condition that he got to pick the place. Maybe because he did so as the Chief Prosecutor, in the end, Simon too gave in. Rookie mistake.
Miles crossed his arms and squinted at the vet clinic as though staring at it with enough determination was going to turn the building into a lavish restaurant. After a few seconds, he turned to the group. “I… I truly don’t know what to say. I apologize profusely. I should have called first to make a reservation—no one would have picked up and I would have chosen another restaurant. I’m abashed, making you all come here for nothing. Is it too late to-? One second,” he patted his left pocket and then his right, with urgency. “Where have I put my watch? Ah, forget it. Can anyone tell me what time it is?”
“Um,” Eustace glanced at his watch, “it’s almost nine.”
“Nine pm ?” Miles clutched his chest, horrified.
Not before checking the time again to confirm that it was in fact almost 9pm and not 9am, Eustace replied, “... Yes, nine in the afternoon. More like night, I guess; it’s getting dark.”
Miles looked at them and then at Eustace’s watch and then back at them, visibly distraught.
“ That's probably past his bedtime ,” Klavier said in a tone no louder than a whisper, albeit Simon caught it and promptly hated himself for almost laughing at something Klavier had said.
Eustace looked at Miles with pity. “Don’t worry! There are probably a million restaurants around-”
“Perhaps we should go home,” Simon chimed in, clearly at the wrong time and in a tone that gave away his impatience.
“Or perhaps, Herr Samurai,” Klavier refuted immediately, talking like the people in the infomercials Simon wished he could be watching instead; trying to sell a defective product only a fool would buy, “we could go anywhere cheap, and have a couple drinks. Doesn’t need to be a fancy restaurant.” He turned to Miles. “No offense.”
“No,” was Simon’s cutting answer.
“Anywhere cheap? You mean there ?” Eustace pointed past Klavier, behind him.
Klavier promptly turned around, and Miles and Simon both followed the direction Eustace’s finger was signaling with their eyes.
Only a crosswalk away, neons that read ‘ ANYWHERE CHEAP’ mounted over the steel door of a bar cast blue shadows across the sidewalk. The dark brown brick facade of the establishment, adorned with graffiti and worn posters promoting concerts from several years back, was sandwiched between a bakery—closed by that time of the day—and an Internet cafe. The bar only accounted for two industrial style windows, one of which had been left ajar; even so, the group of prosecutors couldn’t make out any songs coming from the inside—no loud music, and no animated chattering either.
“No,” Miles this time.
“Why not?” Eustace furrowed in confusion. He looked at Klavier. “Isn’t that the kind of place you were looking for? ‘ Anywhere cheap’? ”
“It is exactly the place I was looking for, Eustace!” Klavier exclaimed.
Smiling ear to ear in silent defiance to Miles and Simon’s glares, he turned around and booked it toward the bar.
The next thing Klavier heard was a muffled “ Careful! ”, followed by the jarring sound of a horn as a black car blew through the crosswalk.
Something— someone? —pulled him backwards just in time. Way too harshly.
As the car drove past, Klavier could faintly see his whole life flash before his eyes as he lost his balance and braced himself for the fall, instinctively putting his palms down so they’d be first to come into contact with the cracked grey concrete. Everything was happening in slow motion. The sounds in his periphery seemed so low pitched and slow, he couldn’t make anything out. The city lights and the crosswalk before him were blurry and for a moment it reminded Klavier of trying to open his eyes underwater in his parents’ pool when he was a kid.
The same force that had pulled him back earlier, however, stopped Klavier from falling over.
Eustace then grabbed the lapels of Klavier’s jacket and pulled towards himself in an effort to further stabilize Klavier. It took the latter a few seconds to be able to stand straight again.
“Mr. Gavin!” Miles was suddenly in front of him— when did he get there? —, white as a sheet.
Another voice, coming from behind Klavier this time, finally snapped him out of the haze he’d been in for what felt like ages to him.
“What are you, a toddler?” and then, “Do you have a death wish?”
“Mr. Gavin,” Miles repeated, his voice calmer than before, yet a bit shaky still, “Be more mindful of your surroundings, for both our sakes. You almost gave me a coronary. If Mr. Blackquill hadn’t grabbed you-”
“He’s right, Klavier.” Eustace was still holding onto the lapels of Klavier’s jacket, his eyes fully open and unblinking in shock. “You would’ve eaten toast!”
“ You would’ve been toast, ” Miles corrected, shaking something off his suit jacket—the scare, probably. “But yes.”
Klavier flicked his bangs with a shaky hand as he scoffed.
“Mein Gott, I’m fine, I’m fine! It’ll take more than a car going 25 mph to take me out!” He brushed them off.
Miles and Eustace stared in bewilderment at the ‘no biggie’ show Klavier was putting up.
“I’m going home,” Simon concluded.
“No no no ,” Klavier swiftly got in front of him, putting both hands on Simon’s shoulders. Simon stopped reluctantly, not without first rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “How about this: we go to that ‘Anywhere Cheap’ bar and we drink to me being alive!”
Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. Eustace, on the other hand, seemed to be considering it.
“Drinks on me. Just fifteen minutes. Just tonight. Really, you can down them and leave.” Klavier started bargaining. He quickly glanced at the others and saw Eustace as the one most willing to agree to it, thus he spoke only at him from then on. “We’ve been walking for a while, aren’t you thirsty, Eustace? I know I am. Parched, even. I’d drink a cold glass of grape juice right now.”
Eustace nodded. “I wouldn’t say no to a glass of grape juice either.”
Klavier gestured at Eustace as if saying “ See? ”
Miles let out a sigh. “Fifteen minutes.”
While fixing his glasses, he took a few steps and waited at the curb for the rest of the group.
“Seriously ? ” Simon threw his hands up.
“Right on, Herr Edgeworth! Let’s rock! But let’s, um… look both ways this time,” Klavier said as he went to stand at the curb next to Miles.
················· 🍸 ·················•
Outside, by the door, an orange tabby was lying on its right side inside on top of a folded light yellow blanket. Next to the blanket were two bowls: one full of water, and one likely intended to be a food bowl, which was empty at that moment.
The cat perked up upon seeing the group come close as it meowed softly and blinked slowly, welcoming the men to say hi to it. The four of them silently agreed to take turns petting the cat before walking in.
Sticky floors and rock music playing on the speakers was, as far as Klavier was concerned, the essential things a bar had to have. Anything else such as warm dim lighting that wasted no time making you feel at home, furniture that hadn’t been upgraded in decades, and the dingy scent of stale beer spilled on the floor as well as the smokiness lingering in tables of cigarettes from ages ago weren’t as important—still, that bar possessed all those qualities too.
Klavier sensed Simon felt the same way, judging by the way his shoulders relaxed and his stern gaze softened for a second.
Before Klavier could finish taking it all in, a woman no older than twenty-five carrying a can of tuna bumped into Miles.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she apologized hurriedly, at the same time checking nothing had left a stain on Miles’ suit jacket. “Are you okay? I’m truly so, so sorry! I’m late to feed Belli! She must be starving!”
Not waiting for Miles to answer, let alone assure her he was all right, the woman rushed past them, opened the door, and disappeared into the blue neon night.
The prosecutors exchanged confused looks. Klavier glanced around the crowded bar and noticed that, even though there were six stools by the bar top, they were all empty; the customers were sitting at the many wooden tables spaced evenly through the bustling establishment. He shrugged, clapped once, and concluded, “Okay, let’s go find a table!”
Having settled in a four-person table—the only one vacant, save another which could only sit two people—, the prosecutors wasted zero time plunking themselves down on the chairs. Miles felt a crack when he leaned back and onto the back of his chair, which he consciously ignored.
Klavier let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m exhausted. And thirsty. I could drink the water in that flower vase on the bar top- ah, drink menus!”
Morale was so low none of them had noticed the decades-old drink menus until Klavier mentioned it. They were laminated yet had bent and ripped corners, and they were disgustingly sticky. The mint green background caught the eye more than the dozens of tiny pictures of available drinks and their names written in Comic Sans below each one.
“What is a ‘Trinidadi Issues’ ?” Eustace whispered to Klavier as he pointed to a cocktail in the upper left corner of the menu whose only discernible quality was red .
Klavier shrugged. “Keine Ahnung.”
Eustace stared intently at Klavier for a solid five seconds, brows slightly furrowed as if waiting for the latter to clarify his latest statement or provide more information, before giving up.
“What does that mean?”
“ ‘No idea,’ ” Klavier replied.
“... Then why do you say it?”
Simon set his drink menu down so strenuously it made a brief swoosh sound as it cut the air, shaking the table a little when it came into contact with it.
“ What are these names? I won’t sit here solving riddles three all night,” he decided. “I’ll just order a normal beer, surely they must have some in the back.”
“I’ll have grape-” began Eustace.
“No drinking alcoholic beverages during the work outing,” Miles reminded Simon nonchalantly.
“This stopped being a normal work outing the moment this plank almost got run over by a car,” Simon pointed an accusatory finger at Klavier, who turned to look behind him in feigned confusion before pointing to himself and mouthing, “ Who, me? ”. It took all the restraint Simon could muster to continue sitting still.
“Can I have-?” Eustace tried again.
“We have to drive home after this, Mr. Blackquill.” Miles stood his ground.
“Can I have grape juice?” Eustace chimed in, now quieter.
“Yes, yes, we heard you the first time, Eustace.” Miles gathered the drink menus in front of him, held them together, and tapped the edge of the stack lightly against the table to nudge the menus into alignment. “Go and order that for yourself and three glasses of water for us, if you please.”
Klavier and Simon both opened their mouths to say something, yet ultimately decided not to argue the toss. Eustace got up and giddily walked toward the bar, leaving behind the other three prosecutors sitting in uncomfortable silence; a silence Klavier tried to break immediately, on account of him loathing awkward situations—nobody had ever dared tell him this, but sometimes by doing so he made situations even more awkward.
“Any interesting cases lately?” He put his left elbow on the back of the chair and rested his head on that hand. “Herr Samurai, word’s out you’re prosecuting that guy who tried to claim a bouncy castle was his legal and legitimate place of residency. Piece of cake, if you ask me. Ah, I’m so jealous! I love fun cases!”
Simon side-eyed him and, after crossing his arms, he simply mumbled, “ Mm-hm ,” in confirmation.
Klavier pretended not to notice that Simon absolutely did not want to talk to him and instead turned to Miles. “You should assign me those kinds of cases. Not always, but at least more often. The ones I’m getting lately are a bit-” He stopped himself before saying ‘boring’ and addressed Simon again, “Anyway, who are you up against?”
“That would be me!”
Miles, Klavier, and Simon turned to look at the direction that voice had come from so swiftly they got whiplash.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Simon smirked.
Athena, standing with her hands on her hips next to their table, threw her head back laughing—a reaction that seemed quite exaggerated, yet it made Simon chuckle a little, too.
Miles inadvertently stared and analyzed the interaction for too long. Ever since he’d known Simon, the man had been nothing but aloof, often behaving rather standoffish in social situations. Miles had never really cared about that—Simon did his job, and he did it well every time, and professionalism was all Miles expected from him as the Chief Prosecutor. Still, sometimes Miles wondered whether Simon was lonely. He’d never pry into another person’s personal life and feelings, thus he never went as far as to ask Simon directly, though he couldn’t help but worry about it anyway, mostly because he knew what it was like to feel alone—to put up walls in hopes nobody would be brave enough to climb them. But Miles had also realized at some point that, no matter how tall those walls were, every now and then somebody would come into your life who, instead of even considering buying some climbing gear and getting to work, straight up began kicking and punching the walls with all their might until the bricks faltered and it all came crumbling down. Miles knew how scary yet comforting that was, and watching it happen to someone else was, somehow, gratifying.
Athena always spoke to Simon as if toppling his wall had been no big deal, like all the kicking and punching the bricks hadn’t made her knuckles bleed and her hopes falter. Simon answered back like he'd purposely built up that wall at shoulder height and using no mortar so Athena wouldn’t hurt herself in the process of bringing it down.
“Fraülein, are you even old enough to be here? And why are you in a bar on your own? Don’t tell me…” Klavier beamed. He leaned forward toward her. “You have a date!”
“ What ? I’m here with Mr. Wright! He got a flat tire on our way home and he had the brilliant idea of asking if anyone had a spare tube for the wheel. In a bar . I always tell him biking to and back from the courthouse whenever we have a trial is not optimal per se, but you know how he is. In one ear and out the other,” Athena sighed.
“Wright.” Miles greeted him in the most neutral tone he could manage as the former emerged from the sea of patrons. Miles shifted in his seat, embarrassed and suddenly overcome with the urge to run away.
“I thought my ears were ringing like crazy.” Phoenix looked at Athena, his eyebrows arched, “Putting in a good word for me, huh?”
“Any luck with the tube thing?” Athena smirked.
“Don’t say ‘ I told you so ’ yet. I’ve yet to ask the bartender,” Phoenix glanced around the table, “and also everyone here. Does anybody-?”
“Obviously, no,” Miles didn’t let him finish.
“Nein,” Klavier added.
Simon didn’t even bother replying. Phoenix hung his head low as he let out a bated breath, like he didn’t see that coming at all.
“I’ll go get a couple chairs,” Klavier offered.
As he was getting up from his seat, Eustace came back carrying the four drinks at once—one placed on top of his thumb and index finger and the other resting on his palm, on each hand. He had mastered carrying them that way one night at Klavier’s place when boredom had overcome them and they decided to kill some time searching for ‘bartending tips’ online, shattering over a dozen glasses and bottles in the learning process.
Eustace didn’t take his eyes away from Phoenix as he set the full and undamaged glasses on the table. Phoenix stared back, and then at the drinks.
“Oh, I think I’ll go get myself a glass of grape juice, too,” Phoenix said upon seeing Eustace’s.
Miles got up like his chair was on fire. “I will go get it.”
“I’m already standing.” Phoenix firmly put his hand up, signalling Miles to sit back down, which the latter begrudgingly did. “Athena, want anything?”
Athena tapped her chin with her index finger. “I mean, they probably have orange juice; otherwise, could this bar really be called a bar? It’s, like, the most basic of juices. But if they don’t- hey!”
Athena tried to grab Phoenix by his suit sleeve as he began making his way toward the bar before she finished her sentence, to no avail.
“Too slow, Cykes-dono,” Simon teased her.
Eustace watched Phoenix attentively as he disappeared into the sea of tables and standing patrons by the bar.
“I think I know him,” Eustace muttered.
“You don’t,” Miles refuted.
“I do! I think it was… Ah, yes! When I took the bar exam!”
Eustace had taken the bar exam two times. The first time, he had just turned seventeen and his father had bought Eustace’s way into the Prosecutor’s Office, even though the latter was convinced he had flunked the test; thinking back at it now, Eustace knew he probably, no, he most definitely did fail. The second time, he was twenty-five and he’d given up his badge a couple years prior owing to it feeling dirty ; his father’s fingerprints still on it—his father’s grip still on him. Rarely if ever leaving his house, he studied hard. One day bled into the other, and then one month bled into another, yet Eustace didn’t stop until he deemed himself prepared. Only then he decided to retake the bar exam and pass on his own means and effort.
The first day of the exam, Phoenix had been in that room too. Eustace was sure of it. He wore a different blue suit and had a five o’clock shadow, but it was definitely the same person. Phoenix’s gaze landed on Eustace only once, and Eustace could practically hear his thoughts: “ That guy has a baton. I’ve never met an orchestra director who also wanted to be a lawyer. ”
Phoenix’s face was always so loud.
That’s how Eustace came to understand that Phoenix genuinely hadn’t recognized him. But he recognized Phoenix.
In fact, he realized he recognized Phoenix in more ways than one: a man who was clearly close to his mentor, had been disbarred at one point, wore a blue suit—a color Miles had referred to as calming more than once—…
“Ah! He’s that man !” Eustace blurted out.
“What man?” Simon tilted his head.
Miles cleared his throat so loudly he drew the attention of everyone around the table— the exact scenario he was trying to avoid. “I wonder if Prosecutor Gavin was able to find some vacant chairs.”
As if the universe had decided to answer his query right away, Miles saw Klavier walk toward the table holding one chair under each arm, dodging people left and right.
“There we go,” Klavier set one of the chairs down between Miles and Simon and the other between Simon and himself.
“Thanks!” Athena smiled ear to ear. She sat on the last chair Klavier had set down, much to his relief.
Phoenix came back with the drinks surprisingly quickly. The jarring noise—like nails on a chalkboard—his chair made when its legs were dragged across the floor as Phoenix pulled it out with his foot and then close to the table made Eustace grimace.
“Oops, sorry about that. My hands are full.” Phoenix apologized. “By the way, I don’t know if you heard it but my bike got a flat tire. I know it’s a long shot, but do you happen-”
“Oh, you have a bike? Cool! I never learned how to ride a bike,” Eustace’s statement didn’t match the childlike smile on his face.
Athena immediately broke the silence that ensued. “So, anyway, what are you guys doing here?”
“Yeah, what are you doing here, specifically?” Phoenix looked straight at Miles as he brought the glass of grape juice up to his lips, not taking a sip just yet. “Honestly, Edgeworth, I didn’t picture you as a regular in a place like this.”
Miles so knew this was coming, and he still took the bait. “A regular , you say? That’s far from-”
“Are they holding you hostage here or something?” Athena added.
“How much is the ransom?” Phoenix continued as he pulled out his wallet and started looking through its contents.
Klavier let out a forced chuckle, then sank into his seat as Miles rolled his eyes and began explaining to the defense attorneys how they’d ended up in Anywhere Cheap. Klavier didn’t quite catch what he was saying—it sounded kind of like TV static. Time was moving weird, as if somebody were toying with the playback speed. He prayed nobody had noticed he’d gone quiet all of the sudden.
He’d been uncomfortable around Phoenix ever since everything with Kristoph happened. Klavier always made a point to avoid him, changing paths whenever he saw him anywhere near the courthouse; in his defense, it was always more of a knee-jerk reaction than something premeditated. Should he apologize to Phoenix about the forged diary page thing, even though it hadn’t really been Klavier’s fault? Klavier was convinced Phoenix hated him, even though the latter had been nothing but nice and jovial the few times they’d bumped into each other.
Did Phoenix think Klavier hated him? Surely not, despite Klavier inadvertently acting uneasy around him. Surely not, even though Phoenix’s career ended, virtually, because of Klavier; the fact that he was being puppeteered by his older brother was irrelevant.
Surely not, right?
Presumably out of the blue, Phoenix glanced at Klavier as the indistinct conversation carried on without them and, for a second, Phoenix flashed him a faint but warm smile.
Klavier froze. The gesture seemed genuine, but yet again, Klavier didn’t know Phoenix well enough to know how well he pretended. Perhaps Kristoph’s poison had dripped through spotless suits and debonair manners, permeating Phoenix. Perhaps every soul Kristoph ever reached out and touched had become toxic—a biohazard that should be handled with caution.
Even Klavier.
“... but Prosecutor Gavin insisted we had a drink, so here we are. Not because I feel like it. Certainly not because I come here often.” Miles fixed his glasses as he finished retelling how they’d gotten there. Then, lowering his voice, he proclaimed, “In fact, I can’t think of anything I want less than to be here.”
“You can say that again.” Simon went to take a sip of his glass of water before realizing what was in it was, in fact, just water. He set it aside. “This is ridiculous.”
Athena briefly placed a calming hand on Simon’s shoulder while she cleared her throat, subtly letting it be known that she wanted to change topics and steer the conversation toward a lighter territory.
She tapped Phoenix’s forearm to get his attention. “Hey, imagine somebody steals your bike while we’re here, and when you find out who did it and you accuse them, they say ‘I want a lawyer!’, and then I offer to represent them in court; but when the day of the trial comes around and the judge announces the court is in session, I go ‘ By the way, do you want to meet my assistant? He will be helping with your defense today’ and bam , you walk in and go stand behind the desk next to me. So obviously the robber knows they’re done for! Wouldn’t that be-?”
“Athena,” Phoenix cut her off.
“What?” she huffed in annoyance.
“Why am I an assistant in this scenario? If my bike gets stolen, that’s personal. I’m not letting anyone get away with that; in fact, I-”
“You what ? You’re going to prosecute the robber? Talk about a career change.” Athena chuckled and elbowed Phoenix playfully. “We only have a chance if we pretend to be their lawyers and then completely botch the defense! You’re not thinking big at all.”
Athena didn’t even let a second pass before she locked eyes with Simon. “Don’t.”
“ ‘Don’t’ what?” Simon instinctively put his hands up as if he were within the hostages of a bank robbery. “I’m not doing anything!”
“I know you’re about to say something like ‘ Botching the defense is what you always do anyway ’.”
Before Simon could confirm or deny Athena’s claim, Miles put his hand up like a schoolboy asking the teacher for permission to speak.
“If I may chime in… the very premise of your story, I’m afraid, is flawed. No offense,” he lightly bowed his head at Athena.
“Huh? Offense taken. How is it flawed, exactly?” Athena crossed her arms.
“How are they going to steal Wright’s bike if it currently has a flat tire? Don’t you suppose the robber would notice the vehicle’s inability to be his ‘getaway bike’, instead trying his luck with yours, Ms. Cykes; which, may I remind you, is in perfect condition and would without a doubt get the perpetrator away from the scene of the crime?” Miles wagged a finger. “Moreover, what would be your plan to catch the robber? They have already skipped town. And if we get into-”
“We get the picture,” Phoenix stopped Miles dead on his tracks. “Now, Athena, it’s your bike that’s getting stolen. What are you going to do, prosecute the robber?” He smirked.
Athena thought about it for a second as she sipped on her orange juice, then shrugged. “I don’t see why the original plan has to change at all; except we’d switch roles and I’d be the assistant. Then one of our amazing prosecutor friends here helps us take the robber down. Ten minute-long trial, tops. Basically a drive-through sentence. “ What would you like to order, sir? ” “ An acquittal, Your Honor. ” “ Sorry, we only serve prison time with a fine on the side! ” Something like that.”
“Prison for a bike robbery?” Klavier bursted out laughing. “Life with no chance of parole, I imagine.”
“It’s so nice getting called ‘amazing’ as a prosecutor,” Eustace ignored the rest of Athena’s speech. He rested his head on the palm of one hand as he swirled the glass of grape juice with the other with an air of melancholia. “It’s like everyone hates us. When I stand behind the desk, I can always feel the gallery shooting looks of disapproval at me. I can’t help it—no matter how many cases I prosecute, it’s hard for me not to be on the verge of tears.”
“... We need to work on that, Eustace,” Miles murmured.
“He’s right, though,” Klavier attested. “Prosecutors are like the ‘bad guys’.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “Making witnesses relive their trauma for testimony, working to take the defendant down even if they appear innocent… you know, all that jazz. People seem to believe we take pleasure in it. But I don’t let that get to me.” He flicked his bangs and leaned back on his chair.
“Well, some do take pleasure in it, lamentably. And they make sure to get a guilty verdict by any means necessary, completely demeaning what it means to be a prosecutor,” Miles dug up the grave. “But that is no more. People like that have gotten their comeuppance, so we mustn't let that clouded view of prosecutors affect us. We do our job professionally and without a hint of malice, and we will never become those who tainted this profession.” He locked eyes with Eustace, and emphasized, “We will never become them.”
Eustace smiled faintly, then hung his head low. Almost imperceptible under the chattering of friends, family, and lovers toasting and laughing on a tranquil October night, the dusty orange neon fluorescents above the bar top let out a high-pitched buzz.
“Yeah, exactly, so like I said: don’t let it get to you,” Klavier summarized.
“I see where you guys are coming from,” Athena tapped the table softly as she looked upwards, pensive, “and I agree—unfortunately, people hate prosecutors. But not as much as they hate defense attorneys. After all, that one saying goes ‘ But first, let’s kill all the lawyers ’, not ‘ But first, let’s kill all the prosecutors ’.”
“I’m sure that’s in reference to all attorneys, Fräulein. Us prosecutors are attorneys too.” Klavier disagreed.
Athena’s demeanor changed in a second. She put her hands on the table, palms down, as if she were making a point in court. “Oh, really? Then why did defense attorneys go the way of the dodo in Khura’in, until very recently? Ah, because they could wind up dead only for showing up in court!” Athena gestured at Phoenix. “I mean, we’ve all heard it from Mr. Wright! That’s how loathed we are in some places.”
“Actually, now that you mention Khura’in; how’s Herr Forehead?” Klavier interjected. “I haven’t heard from-”
“Ad populum fallacy, Cykes-dono. Just because it happens somewhere, does not mean it is a common occurrence everywhere else—nor does it make it a fact.” Simon, his eyes closed, shook his head solemnly.
“ Objection! ” Athena blurted out, out of habit. “I never said it was a fact. I’m just saying there’s more evidence and more cases of people hating on defense attorneys than on prosecutors.”
Eustace’s eyes darted back and forth between Miles and Phoenix—giving the impression he was watching a tennis match—, hoping either of the ‘responsible adults’ at the table would make the asinine argument come to a halt.
Instead, Phoenix finished the rest of his grape juice in one sip, wiped his lips with a napkin, and added on to Athena’s argument. “My two cents? I’m not saying being a prosecutor is a breeze, but she’s not entirely wrong. You do have it a bit easier. Not to be rude, but some prosecutors wouldn’t last a day in a defense attorney’s shoes, for a myriad of reasons. Unless you’re the best of the best, you better get ready to eat ramen for dinner five days a week; that for starters. And the clients we represent sometimes are… how do I put it? A couple cards short of a full deck. Way over our paygrade, which is basically peanuts, by the way.”
“Ha! Try getting some of the witnesses I’ve had to deal with to testify properly! Now that is a tall order,” Miles argued.
Phoenix dismissed Miles’ comment with the wave of a hand and continued defending his case. “I mean it! One time —and this was right before the trial started— I had a client assure me that ‘my pants aren’t on fire, so I couldn’t possibly be a liar’ was a good way to convince the Judge of his innocence if all else failed. How are you supposed to react to that?”
Both Simon and Klavier guffawed in a way that betrayed that they’d love to hear a defendant say something like that in court.
“Was it Larry?” Miles feigned genuine doubt because he deemed it impolite to directly state ‘It was Larry, wasn’t it?’ .
“... That’s confidential,” Phoenix replied.
A faint chuckle escaped Miles’ lips, which ended up getting drowned out by louder laughs around the table.
Mimicking his mentor’s habit, Eustace raised his hand indicating he wanted to talk.
“I have a funny story too. Can I tell it?” He fully turned to Miles, tapping the table lightly to get his attention. “You’ll like this one; Klavier loves it. It’s about a witness I had once.” The look on his face tipped his hand—he was having the time of his life.
“Do tell us,” Miles encouraged him, to everyone’s surprise. Klavier, about to interject and convince him, quickly closed his mouth, satisfied.
As Eustace cleared his throat and straightened himself to begin his story, Phoenix stared at the bottom of his now empty glass of grape juice, and then at the other attorneys around the table, one by one. “How about another round?”
Fifteen minutes later, they were laughing over some mocktails Miles had reluctantly agreed to order, sharing their most embarrassing and unhinged experiences as attorneys. At some point Klavier managed to get a heartfelt laugh out of Phoenix with one of his anecdotes and the former stopped feeling like he wanted to run away and hide in the toilets until the conversation was over.
Half an hour after that, having already discussed paramount topics such as which was the best color for a living room wall—and why it was definitely not vantablack, as Simon had suggested—and what differentiated a ladder from a stepladder, they voted on what would centaurs eat if they existed; giving humans are omnivores, but horses are herbivores. Phoenix and Eustace reasoned that the centaur would have to stick to a plant-based diet despite its human torso as to not upset their horse digestive system; so the centaur would have to be a vegetarian, essentially. Klavier was on the fence. Athena suddenly brought up that centaurs could be technically classified as insects on account of them having six legs. Miles and Simon both abandoned their ‘ this is a foolish conversation ’ stance to refute this.
The bar was practically at full capacity at 10pm when Miles managed to get the attention of the woman who had bumped into the prosecutors the first time they walked in, in hopes of asking her for the check and avoiding having to get up and ask the bartender instead. Miles had stopped her right as she was opening a small bag full of cat treats and marching toward the door, but she quickly turned on her heels and disappeared into the crowd again.
“Good call,” Phoenix commented. “It’s getting late and I don’t know how I’m going to get home yet. Truce will probably be in bed by the time I get back.”
Athena thought about it for a second. “You can take my bike and come back for yours tomorrow, I’ll call a-”
“Don’t even think about it,” Phoenix cut her off, “You’re not going anywhere alone. We’ll both call a-”
“Don’t even think about it,” Miles was the one interrupting this time. “I will drive you both home. And that’s final.” He spoke to Phoenix specifically next. “Tomorrow we will come back for your bike and get it fixed.”
Some words of dissension got ready to leave Phoenix’s mouth and were promptly swallowed as the woman from before came back with the check.
“Thank you,” Klavier grabbed it before anyone else could and took out his credit card at a prodigious speed. “And Fräulein, put everything on my credit card, if you please.”
Although almost imperceptibly, Klavier winked at her. The woman looked like she’d seen a pompous blonde ghost.
“Wait. Hold on a second. You! What?! It’s you!” She pointed at Klavier as if he had never seen himself. “There’s no way! I just can’t believe it! You’re Klavier Gavin! Like, from the Gavinners!”
Klavier simply smiled politely and prayed that the chattering inside the establishment was so loud as to drown out the woman’s enthusiastic ramble.
“Ugh, I’m sorry, I tend to talk a lot when I get excited. But I mean it, you could knock me down with a feather right now! Seriously! Am I being filmed? Is this one of those hidden camera-? Doesn’t matter, honestly. I’m so happy I couldn’t care less!” She grabbed a used napkin from Eustace’s hand as he was using it and handed it to Klavier. “I know I’m a bother, but could you sign this for me?”
“You are not a bother, Fräulein, not at all. And you deserve more than a quick autograph in a dirty napkin.” Klavier smiled at her—sincerely this time, warmly—and checked his pockets. Out of an inside pocket of his leather jacket he pulled a folded piece of paper and a black pen.
Simon rolled his eyes at the fact that Klavier was carrying that with him everywhere he went in the event that someone might ask for his autograph.
“Thank you! You’re too nice! Can you write ‘to Mary’ in there? Before or after you sign it is fine. Actually, write ‘to Mary and Jack’ , if you don’t mind.” Mary pointed at the blond man that had been making beverages behind the bar all night while she cleaned after the patrons and ran in and out the back muttering things to herself. “He’s never liked your music, but I hope he appreciates the detail!”
“‘To Mary and Jack…’” Klavier read out loud as he wrote.
“Wait, could you also…? No, it’s stupid. Don’t worry about it.” Mary shook her head and her mahogany hair in a tightly pulled ponytail hit a man standing behind her.
“Hey!” He complained.
“Go on,” Klavier encouraged her, paying no mind to the guy’s annoyance.
“I was wondering if you could also dedicate it to Belli. She’s a cat, but she means a lot to me. You’ve seen her at the entrance, right? She’s always around. And she seems to like it when I play The Gavinners on the speakers! Her ears kind of perk up, like she’s curious.” Mary put both her hands up to her head with the palms looking forward, imitating the cat’s ears. “That has to mean something, right?”
“Ah, Fräulein, you just made my night. I’ve had fans of all genders and nationalities, but never of a different species,” Klavier thanked her. “Of course, the cat gets an autograph too. Her name’s Belli, you say?”
“Yes! From Bellini. Like the cocktail!” Mary replied.
“So, she’s your cat? She’s so cute! I stopped to pet her before we came in,” Athena seemed to melt at the memory of stroking Belli’s soft hair. “He had to drag me away from her!” She pointed at Phoenix.
“Well, technically…” Mary’s expression sombered. “She’s not really mine . My landlord says animals are forbidden in my apartment, and Jack doesn’t like her much.” She glanced at him once again. He was now drying glasses and ignoring a patron’s attempt to talk to him.
“What?! How could someone not love Belli?” Athena sounded genuinely heartbroken. “She’s the cutest, with her little head and her tiny ears. And she takes a pet like no problem!”
“I know, right?” Mary’s eyes widened in enthusiasm, as if after a long time she’d finally found someone who understood her bond with the cat and her adoration for it. “But there’s no convincing him, so she’s still a stray, even though she’s been practically living by the entrance for a couple years. I do all I can to take care of her, but…”
“You do more than enough, Fräulein.” Klavier finished writing and handed the autograph to Mary. He seemed to have written way more than what she had asked him to. “And I’m sure she appreciates your kindness.”
“You are too nice, Mr. Gavin!” Mary pressed the autograph to her chest. “I will keep this like a treasure!”
“Just Klavier, please,” Klavier extended his hand to her, and she took it and shook it eagerly. “We’ll meet again soon, after all, so let’s drop the formalities, ja?”
“We will? Really?” Mary looked around the table, not letting go of Klavier’s hand just yet. The other attorneys all seemed to be mentally asking the very same question.
“Of course! Will you be working here next Friday, too?” Klavier asked as he delicately freed himself from her firm handshake. Miles and Simon shot him a stern look simultaneously.
“Yes! This is my family’s business, so I work all day every day! Well, not all day, only at night. But you get what I mean.” Mary played with the paper in her hands, folding and then unfolding it.
“Well, I hope our presence distracts you from your hard work next week, at least for a few minutes,” Klavier laughed softly as he gestured to his colleagues.
Athena lit up immediately. “I, for one, would love to see sweet Belli again. Mr. Wright?” She pleaded, turning to Phoenix with puppy eyes.
Glances were momentarily exchanged between Phoenix and Miles. The latter’s body language screamed ‘Don’t you dare. Let’s leave. Now.’
“I’ll think about it,” Phoenix declared. Then, when Miles looked away, he gave Athena a faint smile—accompanied by a nod of assurance.
An out of tempo symphony of dragged chairs and ‘thank you’s ensued. Klavier finished paying for everyone’s orders and shook Mary’s hand again and again as the two of them went back and forth expressing their gratitude.
“We’ll be so happy to have you back!” Mary opened the door to see the attorneys out and bid farewell to them.
“Bye, Mary! Bye, Belli!” Athena said as she waved. The cat blinked slowly in response.
Phoenix and Athena went to check that their bikes were properly chained to a lamppost near the bar before they left. Though annoyed, Miles took a second to pet Belli’s head when he thought nobody was looking.
“I think she likes you,” Eustace pointed out.
Miles stood up straight as fast as humanly possible. “Nonsense. You heard her, the cat likes everybody.” He crossed his arms and went to lean against the brick wall before realizing it was covered in freshly made graffiti and probably more than one inebriated person's bodily fluids of every kind.
“You are a disgrace, Gavin-dono,” Simon commented suddenly, his tone completely flat and solemn.
“I- What was that about? I’m a disgrace?” Klavier stared at Simon in disbelief and then at Miles, in hopes he reprimanded Simon.
“You gave that woman false expectations.” Simon didn’t take his eyes off Klavier. “She admires you, and you told her we are coming back here next Friday. That is a foul lie. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“It wasn’t a lie.” Klavier simply stated. “We are all coming back here next Friday. Same time—around nine. Bis dann!”
Not looking back once and not waiting for a counterargument, Klavier began walking to his car, leaving a trail of confused—and some pissed—coworkers behind him.