Nightmare § 9

[prosecutes]

Warnings: One very scary little girl.
Dream Effect: Fear and humiliation. Then more fear.

"You must be exhausted from such a long flight, Miles," a stern-sounding man announces as he walks down a long hallway, not even bothering to look back and face the person he is speaking to. "You will refrain from sleeping until it is your proper bedtime. Understood?"

A gloomy child of no older than ten walks behind his adoptive father silently, carrying a small suitcase in his hands. Inside is all that remains of his old life. "Yes, sir," he answers.

The rest is a blur until they arrive at their destination. Once the door is opened, Miles stares at the room, mouth agape. A bright sea of saturation immediately floods his eyes: pastel pink carpeting, rose-colored walls, fuchsia curtains and various other shades of pink decorating the dark burgundy furniture. Miles rubs his eyes, blaming what he sees on the sleep deprivation from the trans-continental flight. It can't be right.

"This was my elder daughter's room," Manfred mentions impassively. "You will stay here."

A few brief and uneventful flashes later, another memory of that room springs up. It has not changed much, but the furniture has all been rearranged to resemble a courtroom. The spectator benches are filled with stuffed animals and various dolls. A large stuffed giraffe sits at the judge's bench. The defense attorney is a frightening-looking clown with a missing eye and tiny bite marks all over his hands. A three-year-old Franziska sits proudly at the prosecutor's bench. Miles is the defendant.

"The prosecution will prove today, without a doubt, that the defendant, Miles Edgeworth, is guilty of being a foolish fool," the girl proclaims articulately, taking considerable pauses where necessary and with as much authority as she can muster at her young age. It's clear that she has spent time practicing this particular statement. With arms crossed and his brows furrowed, Miles isn't happy about the way their game is going. He looks up at Franziska briefly to see her glaring daggers in his direction.

"What?" he asks.

"It's the defense attorney's turn. Make him talk."

"But it's so humiliating."

"Miles Edgeworth, you promised!"

"No, I didn't."

"Do it or I'll tell papa you were being mean!"

Rolling his eyes, Miles speaks out in a high-pitched voice. "The defense will prove that these allegations are false." His voice returns to normal. "There, happy now?"

Franziska's sharp gaze softens considerably as she stares at Miles. For what seems like the first time since he's met her, she appears to resemble a normal child of her age. Confused and uncertain, she bites down on her lower lip as she attempts to understand what Miles has just said. When no explanation can be found in her limited vocabulary, she has no choice but to ask why he chose that particular word. "...Alligators?" she asks quietly.

"No, allegations," Miles answers. "It means assertions made with little or no proof. Accusations."

The girl sniffles. She looks down at her bench, unable to come up with a retort. With a frustrated moan, she rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. Miles can't just let her stand there and cry. He gets up from his bench and walks over to her to try and calm her down.

And just like that, Franziska is back to her usual frightening self. In fact, she looks absolutely furious. Whether it's at Miles knowing a word she doesn't or at herself for not knowing what the word was, it does not matter: all the anger will be redirected at Miles in either case. "Foolish fool!" she screams. "Who said you could leave your place? Bailiff! Arrest him right now!"

The panda doesn't move.

Suddenly deciding to take matters into her own hands, Franziska goes over to the 'bailiff' and snatches his jumprope. "Foolishly foolish fooly fool!!" she shrieks as she runs toward Edgeworth, flailing the jumprope above her head.

Miles runs for his life.

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[Obviously still very sleepy, he mutters something unintelligible before shutting off the Dreamberry.]

Comments

[hunt-jackals.livejournal.com]

[Liquid wouldn't assault a public official... unless he knew he could get away with it. This guy was kind of starting to push his buttons; he was just so... self-righteous.]

When I encounter someone who can make a viable claim that I am indecently exposed, I will take due notice.

[At least I'm not dressed like the unholy combination of a fruitcake and a tea doily.]

[prosecutes]

[Pot, meet fashionably-dressed kettle.]

See to it that you do.

[And now he'll be checking his watch to see how much time he has before he must leave for work.]

[hunt-jackals.livejournal.com]

[That outfit hasn't been fashionable since the early 19th century. And that color has never been in style.]

I shall. But I didn't catch your name.

[prosecutes]

[LIES.]

Miles Edgeworth, Chief Prosecutor. And you are?

[He did read the name in the case report a while back, but he can't possibly be expected to remember every single misdemeanor case verbatim.]

[hunt-jackals.livejournal.com]

I generally go by Liquid Snake. Just Liquid will suffice.

[They hadn't accepted codenames when he was booked, so he'd just picked an alias to give them. He still wanted to stick to the codename-- using a civilian name was just... strange.]

[prosecutes]

Liquid, is it? Very well.

[If he ever needs to, he can just look up that case file again for the 'real' name.]