Work Text:
September 30, 05:43
Wright Anything Agency
Phoenix Wright was once a morning person. Back in the early days of his career, he'd get up with the sun, take his time making breakfast, maybe even have a cup of coffee while he looked at the news. He used to bike down the path along the river to the courthouse, even though it took longer, because he loved to feel the wind in his hair and the new day rolling in from the east. It cheered him up, even on the worst days.
If only that naive, innocent idiot had known what was coming. Since he took a job at the Borscht Bowl club, morning is about as welcome as a nosy estranged relative knocking on your door after a funeral. Half the time he doesn't bother going to bed, and can never sleep with the sun streaming through the holes in the curtain, or the echoes of angry patrons ringing in his ears, or the incessant worries about his long list of failures as a lawyer and a father.
So when Phoenix is rudely awoken from a frankly miraculous restful sleep by a mysterious bang at 5:44am, he knows someone is about to pay for it. Probably himself.
"Trucy?" he groans, opening the bedroom door a crack.
"Yes, Daddy?" she answers in a saccharine tone that tells him exactly who he has to blame for his early morning.
He sighs, and shoves the door open all the way—only for a cooing blur of grey to shoot past him towards the kitchen. He rubs his eyes. Either his laundry list of head injuries is finally catching up to him, or that was a fucking bird.
Phoenix turns to Trucy, and stares blearily at her. "What the hell was that?"
Instead of answering, Trucy looks up from under the brim of her red hat. In situations like these she usually turns both eyes into saucers in order to make herself look innocent, but in this case it's quite possibly to distract him from the fact that she has two hands clasped around the chest of a white-grey pigeon whose eyes are so red and sunken Phoenix doesn't even want to guess what diseases it has.
"Coo," says the pigeon.
"Oopsie," says Trucy.
"Truce," says Phoenix, blinking slowly at the squirming pigeon. "How many birds are in the apartment right now?"
Trucy shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Um… three?"
"Right," says Phoenix. "Let's open a window."
What follows is a hectic chase scene straight out of a clown's slapstick routine, in which Phoenix trips over one of the birds, has his hat stolen by another, and finally succeeds in slamming the window on them only for all three to converge on the glass, howling and shrieking like lost cats. While that continues, he decides, in the interest of not dying of some horrible variant of bird flu, to enlist Trucy's help in scrubbing down every available surface of the lounge. By the time they've finished, it's cleaner than it's been in years. The two of them collapse onto the couch and admire their handiwork for all of ten seconds before Phoenix's alarm goes off to wake Trucy for school.
Phoenix groans, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "That time already?"
"Sorry, Daddy," says Trucy mournfully, and he looks down to see her sitting on her hands, swinging both legs against the couch.
"Hey, I'm not upset," he says quickly. "This place needed a good clean anyway." He flicks the brim of her hat back and Trucy smiles, pulling it back into place with both hands. "Though uh, out of interest, why did you bring three pigeons in off the street at 5am?"
Trucy pushes out her chest proudly. "For a magic trick, of course! You can't call yourself a magician if you can't do the dove pan! It's a classic!"
"Right." Ignoring the fact that he needs to google that later, Phoenix clears his throat. "Well, maybe we can leave those tricks until you're a bit older—"
"I can't."
He pauses with his mouth still open, and looks down at Trucy again. Now she's dead still, shoulders clenched and head tilted forward so the brim of her hat covers her face. She can be hard to read, even to a lawyer like Phoenix, but the wobble in her jaw betrays her distress. "What do you mean, you can't?" he asks gently.
Trucy sighs. "When Daddy—my other Daddy—was my age, he was already performing. Mommy would have been a fully fledged assistant of the Gramarye troupe! If I can't even do a basic trick like that, I'll never become a great magician."
Phoenix puts one arm around her small shoulders, and taps the fingers of the other against the couch. There's a lot he could say to that—Zak Gramarye is not exactly role model of the year, and given how dangerous their shows were, he's pretty sure you could prosecute the Gramarye Troupe for child endangerment letting her mom help out like that. But at the end of the day, what does he know? Magic is Trucy's world, and it's his fault she's been cut off from it. He can't let her lose out on her dreams on top of that.
"I understand," he says finally, and feels Trucy's hat rustle against his arm as she looks up. "We'll figure out a way for you to practice your tricks. But, for Daddy's sanity, no more stray animals, okay?"
"Yes sir!" Trucy leaps up with her cheerful demeanour firmly back in place, and exaggerated salute sending the edge of her cape fluttering over her back. "I'll go get ready for school."
"Sounds good," says Phoenix, watching her skip over to her bedroom as he stands up, and stifles a yawn. "I think I might get ready for bed."
Trucy stops, then takes a few steps backwards. "But I thought you had a meeting with Miss Degrow today."
Fuck. "Right, that was today, wasn't it." Trucy's enthusiastic third grade teacher insisted that they should have a 'meeting' to discuss how she's settled into school. He hasn't said as much to Trucy, but that rings a distant alarm bell—Trucy's never mentioned anything when he asks her about school, but surely they wouldn't ask him to come in unless there was a problem?
"Honestly Daddy," tuts Trucy with a shake of her head. "What would you do without me?"
He's considered the question himself, and never come up with a favourable answer. "Probably run around squawking like one of those pigeons," he replies flippantly, making a flapping gesture with his hands until Trucy's composure breaks, and she giggles. "Now, let's get you some breakfast."
─── ⋆⋅🪄⋅⋆ ──
September 30, 15:25
Kitamura Elementary School
"And now, for my next magical spell…" Trucy lifts her wand (which is more of a cool stick that she found on the floor) in an arc to point it up at the clear sky. "I will turn this mound of sand into whatever you desire!"
Three of her classmates stare blankly back at her from the other end of the sandpit. It's a beautiful day, and the sun comes down in rays on the school courtyard, the perfect setting for a whimsical effect such as this. But these elementary schoolers can't see it yet. After a second, one of the boys points at the mound of sand by Trucy's feet, and says, "Like what?"
"Like…" Trucy swings her stick wand around to point at the girl next to him. "Rosita! What would you like me to make?"
Rosita jumps, putting both hands to her thick glasses. "Ooh, um, a palace! Like a princess one!"
She has to resist rolling her eyes. Rosita is soo predictable. But that's exactly why Trucy asked her. "One princess castle, coming right up!" she announces, waving her wand one, two, three times before she carefully knocks down her wall of sand to show the castle behind it. "Ta-da!"
"Ooooh!" Her classmates lean forward eagerly to inspect her creation, and Trucy feels the thrill of a successful trick run through her body like bubbles in a glass of lemonade. Her daddy always told her that the success of the trick is in the faces of the audience, and judging by these faces, it's no failure. "That's so cool!" squeals Rosita. "How did you do it? How?"
"By magic, of course!" Trucy beams smugly.
Maybe it's the glow of a successful trick that distracts her, because when she sees the soccer ball bounce across the sandpit, she doesn't react quickly enough to stop curly-haired Ashley Anoue (or Ashley Annoying as Trucy refers to her in her head) from kicking the sandcastle all over Trucy's shoes. "Oops!" she says sarcastically, picking up her ball.
"Hey, Trucy made that for me!" Rosita crosses her arms and glowers at Ashley. "What did you kick it for?"
"It was an accident!" Ashley shrugs, and scrunches up her face in disdain. "Besides, she's just playing at being a magician. You're stupid for believing in her magic tricks."
"I'm not stupid!" shouts Rosita, both cheeks turning red.
Trucy sighs. Now her magic show is ruined, she'd better step in. "And I'm a real magician," she adds, wiggling her wand at Ashley. "Maybe you should go away before I cast a spell and infest your desk with ants like I did with Lucas."
Ashley tosses a curl over her shoulder. "It wasn't magic! You just put them there!"
"Want me to do it again?" asks Trucy, poking the wand at her shoulder. This time it has the desired effect, as Ashley bats it away and runs back towards the soccer goalposts across the yard.
"Ugh!" Rosita looks down at the pile of sand next to their feet. "I can't believe she knocked it over."
"I'll do it again for you!" Trucy offers, until she sees a familiar spiky head at the courtyard door. "Or maybe tomorrow, my daddy's here."
"Okay! Tomorrow will you make me a princess in a beautiful dress?" asks Rosita, putting both palms together and leaning forward so her glasses catch the light.
Trucy puts a hand to her chin. "I'll have to see how strong my magic is tomorrow, but I'll try."
Rosita grins. "See you tomorrow!"
Trucy picks up her bag from the side of the sandpit and runs across the courtyard to the door. At this time most kids have gone home, and it's only the ones whose parents work late and won't scold them for messing about in the courtyard that stick around. Usually Trucy is one of them, but she likes having her Daddy come and collect her occasionally, when he's not busy.
And judging by his hoodie, it doesn't look like he's been very busy today. He ruffles her hair. "Good day?"
"Yep!" She puts her backpack on, and starts skipping down the corridor, before she realizes Daddy hasn't moved. "What?"
"Why is there so much sand in your sneakers?" he asks, half-laughing as he catches up with her. But there's a twitch behind the smile, something only Trucy can see. This is an interrogation.
So she sticks on her best smile. "I was playing in the sandpit with Rosita. We were gonna bury each other alive!"
The twitch doesn't disappear entirely, but he relaxes his shoulders slightly, and jokes, "Good thing I got here in time to save you."
"Right!" Trucy continues skipping down the corridor, this time with Daddy firmly in tow, but when they get to the school entrance, she can't help glancing at the window to her classroom, two gold squares in the afternoon sun. "What about you? How was your day?"
Daddy chuckles as they step out into the street. "You want to know how my meeting with your teacher went?"
"No…" Trucy looks up at him from under her hat. "…Did she say something bad?"
He keeps walking, with his hands in his pockets. Only for a few seconds, but those seconds are enough for Trucy's heart to drop out of her chest, certain that she's finally been proven an unworthy daughter, and that Daddy will finally realize it too. Then he says, "We talked about a few things, but I'm not worried about them, so I don't think you should be either."
Trucy stops walking on the street corner. "But what does that mean?"
A few brittle autumn leaves drop onto her shoulders in the breeze, and Daddy crouches down to her level to brush them off, one by one. Every second feels like torture as Trucy scrutinises every minute shift in his face with no idea how to make sense of them. He sighs. "Well, Truce, you understand that you need to go to school, right?"
"I never had to before," she mumbles.
"I know, you were a full-time magician before, but think about it this way," Daddy says gently. "Everything you learn at school will help you become a better magician."
Trucy wrinkles her nose. "Even social studies?"
"Especially social studies," he replies. "That was very useful for me when I was a lawyer."
And Daddy was a good lawyer, Trucy reasons. She shifts from one foot to the other, squinting at his face still. He doesn't seem angry or upset. "And I can still do magic at school, right?"
"Well…" Daddy stands back up to his full height and continues walking. "What if there were other places you could do magic too?"
It takes Trucy a few seconds to realise what he means, but once she does she's bouncing up and down like a sparkler, both hands on his arm. "Does that mean I get to perform? Where? When?"
"It's a surprise," he says with a wink. "That's all I'm gonna say."
But if he's telling her about the surprise, that's practically an invitation to find out. Her brain is already fizzing with anticipation—Daddy obviously has a plan of some kind, which means she needs to find out what it is as soon as possible… and make some plans of her own.
─── ⋆⋅🪄⋅⋆ ──
October 2, 14:22
Prosecutor Edgeworth's Office
There are very few things Miles Edgeworth hates more than answering emails.
He's formal by nature, something he considers a blessing in his professional life, and likes to think that he can pass on information efficiently. This should make emails nothing more than simple tedium. And yet, between the useless pleasantries with people whose faces he can't recall, the unspoken rule of not pointing out incompetence directly, and the fact that no one seems to actually read the information he's taken the time to lay out for them, Miles quite often finishes clearing his inbox with a tension headache.
So when he's in the middle of reading a particularly grating email regarding the collection of evidence he sent over months ago, and the phone rings, Miles pounces on it like a cat to a treat.
"Miles Edgeworth speaking."
"Good afternoon, Mr Edgeworth," says a prim voice on the other end.
Hm. He doesn't do too well with faces, but Miles isn't that bad at recognising voices. "Trucy? Is that you?"
"This is a business call," she replies brusquely. "So you may address me as Miss Wright."
Miles blinks a few times, bewildered by this request, but ultimately complies. "Very well… Miss Wright, how may I help you?"
Trucy makes a little "ahem!" noise, as if preparing to give a grand speech. "I am in the market for a bird," she announces. "Not any stray off the street, you understand, it must be a high quality bird with no diseases. Do you know where I could get one?"
A bird? Miles frowns. "May I ask what the bird is for?"
"You may not."
There's a short silence. Miles is not quite sure what Trucy thinks of him—he often feels like he's intruding if he ever meets her with her father, and while Trucy is always happy to show him her magic tricks, there's certainly a guardedness about her that he wonders if it's possible to untangle. After all, when he was her age, with his father gone and the justice system leaving him in the dust, would he have trusted any strange adult who professed to have his best interests at heart?
"Very well. I have a contact in the circus business who may be able to help you. I can text you her phone number, and let her know she may receive a call from you. Would that be agreeable?"
"Yes!" enthuses Trucy, then clears her throat. "Yes, that would be very agreeable."
"Then I shall do so. Feel free to call again if you require any further assistance."
The line goes quiet again, and he's about to put the phone down when Trucy adds, quietly, "Thank you, Mr Edgeworth." Then she hangs up.
Miles places the phone back in its place, and returns his attention to his email inbox, though he can't stop his mind wandering. A bird? What could she be planning? Should he tell Wright about this?
…No. There's no need. Wright has probably seen worse.
─── ⋆⋅🪄⋅⋆ ──
October 23, 19:38
Borscht Bowl Club
Phoenix might be a pianist by trade, but he's never had the posture to prove it. He sits lopsided on the piano stool of the Borscht Bowl Club, slouched over the highest keys of the piano with a grin on his face. To anyone who knows him, that might seem a bit strange. He would usually slog his way through a shift with a practised expression of boredom and a blank stare that doesn't allow for anyone to think he might be making eye contact. But all that's different tonight, because Phoenix isn't the one providing the entertainment for restaurant clientele right now—Trucy is.
She's a natural. When she first came on in her glimmering hat and cape, there were a few murmurs of "Aww" throughout the room, a few comments about how it must be bring your child to work day. But Phoenix never doubted for a second. His daughter is bright, funny, doesn't allow a single lull in her performance as she bounces across the stage like a fireball and enthralls the audience one by one.
"Were these your cards?" she asks, leaning off the stage on one leg like a ballerina to let the man see over his glasses.
"Well, one of them is right, but I only have one card," he says in confusion.
"Are you sure?" asks Trucy mischievously, gesturing down to his bag. He frowns, reaches down, and… pulls out the second card matching Trucy's hand.
There's a chorus of "Oooh" from the crowd as the man passes both cards back to Trucy and she makes a show of dusting them off. "Never lend your things out to people you don't know," she says with a tut. "You never know where they might leave them lying around."
Laughter ripples across the room. Trucy gives another dazzling smile to her captive audience, and moves onto her next trick with a twirl. She's shining up there, like Phoenix has never seen her. He's never been so glad to work at this dump—chances are nowhere else would have just let him replace his usual act with his nine-year-old, but he can see it now. Trucy needs this. She's like a desert plant that thrives under the spotlight and he needs to give her space to grow.
"You're letting her perform at this dive, Wright?"
Phoenix blinks. For a moment, he wonders if he might have imagined it, let the excitement of the evening get to him. But when he turns around, a familiar magenta suit is pulling up a chair. "Edgeworth? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Miss Wright invited me," he replies. His tone is suitably smug, just one ingredient mixed with the pushing up of his glasses and flick of his silver fringe that make him such an insufferable cocktail of a man. "We met through work."
"I guess that's why Trucy kept doing the disappearing phone trick." Phoenix glances back at the stage where Trucy is tapping an empty birdcage, and reacting with theatric disappointment as nothing happens. "What are you doing, like, in the country though?"
"I still have responsibilities here," says Edgeworth, looking pointedly at the stage. "Not that you would know."
Ouch. Phoenix knows, he knows that he hasn't been too great at answering the phone this past year. Maybe it stings more when Edgeworth's right next to him sucking on a lemon, at work of all places, and only because Trucy invited him. "Sorry I haven't been around."
"I understand." Edgeworth gestures to the stage. "You're otherwise occupied."
Trucy whirls around on the stage, cape flying in a nonexistent breeze, and Phoenix can't help smiling. "You could say that."
Just then, a white bird appears from under Trucy's cape, fluttering up to land on top of the birdcage. "Jesus!" Phoenix jumps, leaning forward over the piano, until he notices Edgeworth staring at him with his nose in the air. "I wasn't expecting the bird," he says grumpily, and squints at it again. At least it looks clean. "Where the hell did she get that from?"
If he didn't know better, he could swear Edgeworth's lips twitch. "Indeed. I have no idea."