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Crimson Obsession
homo sum; humani nihil mihi alienum est
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25th-Aug-2013 01:58 pm - [Fic] [Ace Attorney] In this Twilight
[Phoenix] X-Files Edgeworth.
In this twilight how dare you speak in grace?
-Mumford and Sons

The woods are dark and cold. The air smells of moisture, fresh and clean and touched with something sweet. Flowers? If he must be out at this hour there are worse places he could be.

Edgeworth starts walking and quickly disappears into the forest. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Not yet. Presumably he will know it when he comes to it. Until then he will breathe in the aromatic air and pick his way carefully through the woods by the light of the moon. It’s full tonight; somehow it shines down on the forest floor as bright as if the trees didn’t have such thick heads, or even had no heads at all. It makes it easy to make out everything: his path; the silvered moss covering the base of each tree, only on one side; bushes sparsely decorating the space in between, festooned with flowers whose colors are washed out in blazes of shining white. It’s beauty like he has rarely seen outside of glossy photo spreads in magazines, and better than any of those because of the scent and the chill and the perfect, peaceful stillness.

There’s a clearing ahead. He hesitates, curious but unsure. There is something about the place, something sacrosanct and foreboding. Not menacing, per se. It’s simply a place not meant for the likes of him.

Slowly he walks into the circle.

It is warmer in this glade. The floor is covered in countless blades of shimmering grass. In the middle there is a small spot of soft, dark dirt; it looks like the beginnings of a garden, the kind that will eventually yield a variety of delicious things, large and succulent. There is a hum in the air, a tingling on his skin. It’s exhilarating. He spins around, taking in the wall of majestic trees surrounding him. He is almost tempted to do something foolish, like throw his arms into the air then fling himself onto the dewy ground, laughing like a schoolboy. For a moment he feels like he can believe in magic.

Then the ground lurches out from under him, draining his joy as easily as a pin pricking the air out of a balloon. He stumbles and has to steady himself with his arms out at his sides to keep from falling. He looks down to find he wandered into the garden, and now he isn’t sure it is a garden. The surface is thick mud. It is covering his shoes, undoubtedly ruining them. All good feelings towards the forest fade quickly, leaving him irritated and disappointed. Grumbling expletives under his breath, he shifts his weight to work one foot out of the mud.

That foot won’t come. Neither will the other one. Puzzled, he puts more effort into it, twisting and pulling, and when he’s done the mud is up to his calves. The first stirrings of concern flit through his chest. He frowns and, after one more counterproductive attempt, leans over to reach for the firm grass. It’s just out of reach. He only succeeds in getting the muck all over his palms and soaking his pants in front, halfway up his legs.

It is then that he realizes he is sinking. No, the mud is pulling him down, hungrily. It’s up to his knees now and rising quickly. Panic starts to take hold of him, driving him to flail about without direction. He pulls on his legs, pushes on the muck until his hands are swallowed. It takes a monumental effort to extricate them, and a monumental force of will to power on through the panic and keep searching for an escape.

When the muck reaches his waist he realizes he is not alone.

“What are you doing?” It’s Wright. He’s standing there in front of Miles, his hands in the pockets of his jeans and an infuriatingly casual smile on his lips. Miles’ heart skips a beat. Fear? Or something else?

“…Working on my opening statements for tomorrow. What does it look like I’m doing? Fool.” He spits the word out as if it’s bitter on his tongue and goes back to floundering in the muck.

“From where I’m standing it looks like you’re…not getting out of there.”

Miles glares heatedly at him. “Leave me alone.” Something flashes across the other man’s face, but he cant decipher it.

“Are you sure you want me to do that? I mean, you kind of look like you need—”

“If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have said it,” Miles snaps. “I don’t need anything. Go away.”

Wright hesitates a moment then hunkers down beside the mud (no, quicksand, it’s quicksand, God help him) pit. He makes no move to help Miles, he doesn’t leave. He just hovers there with his arms resting on his knees. Miles does his best to ignore the man. It isn’t too difficult, really. He has much more pressing matters on his mind. Quicksand pressing on his legs, groin, ass, and waist. The mire tugs at him, seeps under his clothes, squeezes him in places that haven’t seen any attention in years. It’s claiming him, inch by torturous inch, and his fear is rising. His efforts become more fevered, less sure. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore except trying to get out. Trying to save himself. The pit is warm, residual heat from the day’s sun, and it smells of decaying plant and animal matter, a thick, cloying stench. The world is unstable. It rolls about him like an ocean, and he bobs up and down with each desperate motion that stirs the mire. The combined effect, along with his fear, makes him dizzy. His struggling saps his energy until his desperate movements weaken and slow. When he’s in up to his chest with the mud compressing his lungs, he comes dangerously close to passing out.

Through it all Wright watches him, his expression shifting as Miles sinks deeper. Finally he lowers himself onto his knees, brushing the very edge of the pit. “Come on, Miles. This isn’t funny anymore.”

It was a line right out of their childhood. It stole his breath away, his name and the connotations of it. “This wasn’t funny to begin with!” he cries, horror-stricken. “How can you be so…so callous?”

Wright has the decency to look stung. “I just want to help…”

“I already told you I don’t need it.” He doesn’t, does he? Quicksand doesn’t kill you. Not like in the old jungle adventure movies. He learned that when he was a child—a period when said old jungle adventure movies had him terrified to go hiking or camping or even to the botanic gardens for fear of stumbling into quicksand. His father had looked it up on-line for him, and showed him articles and videos explaining everything—how quicksand was really a suspension of very fine sand floating in water, how people were more buoyant than the sand so they would eventually stop sinking, and how you could get out of it by swimming or using a long, heavy stick to pull yourself out backwards.

The memory calms him. But this doesn’t feel like sand, and he’s too tired to swim, and he has no stick. He is still sinking.

The mire is over his collarbone now. He stopped moving entirely a minute ago. Not that he had the energy to continue, but he hoped it would also slow his descent. It isn’t helping much. It’s still going to swallow him whole. His arms float on the surface, stretching his torso as he sinks and making it harder and harder to breath. Does crucifixion feel like this?, he wonders idly as the panic drives his mind into strange directions. Wright’s leaning over the pit now, his hand just out of reach. Only a little further and…

“Miles, please,” he whines. Miles realizes the man is terrified. Terrified for him.

Abject fear grips his chest, his heart, tighter than the mire could ever be. It’s creeping up his neck now, touches his chin. He leans his head back, keeping his face turned upwards, out of the mud for as long as possible. In moments it will fill his ears.

Miles!

As his mouth is swallowed he shouts “Hel—” and chokes on mud before he can finish the word. His hand is groping, reaching for his friend. His eyes grow wide, the white showing all around his pupil. He closes them just before the mud claims them. The last thing he sees is Phoenix leaning precariously over the edge, desperately trying to reach his hand but still just out of reach.

Then it’s dark and silent and terror takes hold of him completely. His struggles resume. The surface of the pit rolls with his writhing, rippling from one side to the other. He kicks furiously, one last ditch effort to push himself within reach, to let Phoenix save him.

When only his fingertips are still marring the pit’s perfectly smooth surface and he is on the verge of taking one last, fatal breath—salvation. Impossibly, Phoenix’s hand grasps his under the mud. He feels a great, wrenching force dragging him up. Cool air brushes his hand, his arm, the muck is caked on every inch of his body as he reemerges. It freezes on his skin and clothes. His lungs feel close to bursting when his head finally breaches the surface. He yanks his other arm free with his last scrap of strength and claws the mud from his nose and mouth, freeing him to noisily fill his lungs. His deep, shuddering breaths wrack his entire body. He’s covered in mud, runny where it mingles with tears he didn’t know he cried. His upward momentum stops when his upper arms are free. Coughing and shaking, Miles rubs the mud from his eyes and looks up at his rescuer.

His words of thanks die on his tongue. Manfred von Karma is standing over him, standing in the pit as if its gravity has no hold on him.

“S-sir? Thank you. I—”

“Hold your tongue, boy. I don’t want to hear any more sniveling from you.” Miles’ mouth snaps shut audibly. Dread begins to pool in his stomach.

“You make me sick. A von Karma gets himself out of his own messes. A von Karma is the pit, not its victim.” He leans down, close enough for Miles to nearly gag on his cologne. A sneer twists his lips. “A von Karma does not ask for help. Especially not from spiky-haired fools.”

There is a terrible menace in his tone that frightens Miles more than the pit. “Please, sir,” he began, obsequious to a fault. “I didn’t—”

You are a fool who’s not fit to represent the von Karma name.” His voice has the warmth of a stone lying in snow. Under the muck covering Miles’ face, his cheeks blanch. “You are a disappointment. I refuse to waste any more time on you.”

Miles doesn’t even get out a word before he’s sinking again, this time forced down from above, forced down by the hand clutching his wrist in a rigor mortis grip. Miles cries out easily this time, terror making his pleas high and sharp. The words fall over each other, following him down until the mud claims his mouth again. He grapples with his mentor to no avail. The man has weight and leverage and solid ground to stand on. Miles’ desperate yanking and clawing does no more than pull threads in the pristine fabric of the man’s suit jacket.

This time, the last thing Miles sees is Manfred von Karma, his mentor and adopted father, the hub of his entire world, staring down at him with absolute dispassion. A sense of utter betrayal stabs him, but even as he looks up at his mentor with fear, pain, and confusion in his eyes, he knows this is only what he deserves.

The muck closes over him again, and this time there is no helping hand to be found. Drowning in fear, Miles holds his breath as long as he can, but there’s no safety waiting for him at the other end. Only slow suffocation and oblivion. Tears flow again as he opens his mouth to scream—

He wakes in a cold sweat. His office… He sits up and finds the couch did a number on his neck. He slept wrong, hadn’t meant to sleep at all. But it’s a minor annoyance when compared with the fear slowly fading from his chest. His heart is beating wildly, a staccato beat he focuses on to center himself. Deep breaths, almost desperate this time. Hungry, as if he came too close to drowning. All in all, it’s a familiar routine. But still, this is one of the harder nightmares to come down from, especially when sensations and images from it still linger on his mind.

His subconscious has never been subtle with the nightmares. Admittedly, the subject matter on this one was entirely new. His mentor never featured in them, and Wright was…an unfamiliar element. He wondered over the dream, what parts he could remember as he was finding it harder and harder to remember them. If this nightmare meant anything (he finds it hard to believe nightmares don’t have meaning, after the ones he has struggled with for most of his life) it was that he must not let his childhood friend worm his way back into his life. He can’t let Wright make him weak or turn him off his course.

Edgeworth moves to his desk and logs back into his computer. He may have admired the defendant once, but this new case is his to win.

Losing is not an option.
19th-Oct-2010 10:04 am - ...
[Phoenix] AFFECTION!
We're getting a new Phoenix Wright game...on the 3DS...with Phoenix and Maya animated...and crossed over with Professor fucking Layton.

My life is almost complete. *A*

Posted via LjBeetle
12th-Sep-2010 09:52 pm - "I'm not quite dead yet..."
[MINI] My MINI is love.
So... Hello everybody! Long time no see, amirite? Now that life seems like it's starting to (maybe possibly) get less insane, I thought it was about time to make my triumphant return to my LJ...which I apparently haven't used since June 2009. L-lol. Plurk is still likely to be my main haunt (despite the fact that I'm too verbose to use it correctly), but I'll try to keep an eye on my friends here and do a bit of commenting around.

As for our life to date, there has been way too much going on to detail, but I'll try to recap the best stuff:

More than you ever wanted to know about our lives.Collapse )

I think that's everything. So...what have I missed?

Posted via LjBeetle
19th-Jun-2009 01:12 am - Voice Post
[Phoenix] X-Files Edgeworth.
VoicePost
239K 1:14
“___ home phone, but anyway this is Ches and were calling because we, we're in Vegas and we had a room on the 3rd floor ___ roof the Mirage Hotel and we're giving an upgrade to a suite on the 24th floor for free, because we randomly got a bed with just liquid all over the mattress. We don't where it was came from or what it was, apparently been there and It was in the mattress and ___ on it so we don't know what the hell she lay in. We should sleep on the 24th floor. Yeah we like super excited so we just wanted everybody to know. I think, I think that's it, we're having a good time ok we'll talk about. What's the stuff happen today late, but yeah suite. Ok. Bye.”

Auto-Transcribed Voice Post
3rd-May-2009 10:43 pm - This is a post.
[Phoenix] X-Files Edgeworth.
Jumping on the bandwagon (and testing the crosspost feature)! I don't know that I'll get any use out of this thing, but I figured I should at least grab a name while it's still young. Soooo...any of you that have accounts at Dreamwidth can friend 'frillygayprosecutor', if you'd like~
30th-Jan-2009 10:37 pm(no subject)
[Phoenix] Mmmmmmm.
One or two of you might be very interested to know that I have just procured the BOURNE TRILOGY, in fabulous Blu-ray format! \o/ For almost half the retail price. ILU, Target. <3 (Oh Orly, Supremacy has exclusive deleted scenes~) Thanks to Idgie, I also have a Snuggie. Two, actually! One for home and one for our freezing fucking cold office building at work. Yay Snuggie!

I also have a new haircut! My stylist was amazed to see me, I've been growing my hair out for this new style and she hasn't seen me in many moons.

Cut for my face. :DCollapse )

...Think that's it. Now I'm off to start RPing blanket*fic.
25th-Jan-2009 03:06 pm - GHOSTS.
[Phoenix] Edgey WTF
LOL Typhoid.

Later I shall hopefully write about our amazing trip to the Queen Mary this weekend for Ghost Expo 2009! We had paranormal experiences~ The video on that page will give you a pretty good idea of all the stuff we saw, and I'll try to post the million pictures I have.
13th-Dec-2008 11:16 am - Time to spread some holiday cheer~
[Phoenix] Winter lovin&#39;.
SO. Idgie had the brilliant idea of sending out holiday cards this year (the boxes of cards we passed in Target last night were apparently too adorable to resist) soooooo. ANYONE WHO WANTS A HOLIDAY CARD, COMMENT HERE WITH YOUR MAILING ADDRESS. All comments are screened, so as long as you don't mind us knowing where you live (mwahahahahahaha!) you're safe here. Oh, and Idgie's already made a post to collect addresses, so if you commented there you, uh, don't need to comment here. XD

Must go get dressed now. We're on the way out to get the Christmas tree (fuck why more decorating? WHY?) and hopefully we'll be able to convince Nicki to stop at Starbucks on the way home for a Caramel Spice Hot Apple Cider, my new drug of choice now that Idgie gave me her cold.

For anyone wondering where I am, Plurk's kind of eaten what little free time I have. UP TO THE MINUTE INFORMATION on my comings and goings can be found there. Maybe one of these days I'll have time to actually journal instead of decorating for the holidays rargh.
17th-Nov-2008 09:30 pm - I'M ALIVE AND UNBURNINATED.
[Phoenix] Where is your god now?
So most of you guys have probably already seen this on Idgie's journal, but we nearly got evacuated by the Freeway Complex Fire that's apparently made it onto the national news over the past few days. There were two insanely huge fires in the LA area this weekend, the Sayre fire and this one, which started in Brea (where my office is \o/) and spread toward Chino Hills and Diamond Bar (where we live). Idgie's put up a recap of events here and I have a few pictures from the first day (Saturday) up on my Plurk (which you guys should join if you haven't).

Other than what Idgie's posted and what we've been updating with on our Plurks, there isn't much more to say. We're finally safe now; the evacuees (which came as close as a city block away from our home) were allowed back into their homes early this afternoon. We've spent the last...six hours or so putting everything back in its place.

Cut for ramblings about MATERIAL THINGS and over-long explanations of fire happenings.Collapse )

Okay, enough rambling. Now our room is nice and clean (and even vacuumed and the bedding is washed!), our CPUs are dust-free, all of our belongings are completely put away, and we're off to pick up a celebratory dessert before going back to Weight Watchers tomorrow. I think we're both going to need a couple days to rest up, but we should be right as rain soon. Even the ash has mostly left the air (I swear we got more ash on our cars the first time I visited, and those fires weren't nearly this close). And I have my Idgie, and all is right with the world. ♥
10th-Nov-2008 11:30 pm(no subject)
[Phoenix] Mmmmmmm.


I absolutely failed on everything tonight, but I'm hoping I can be forgiven since I was up till 3a last night I suck yay. Does it help if I say I finagled a day off tomorrow and plan to put the last tweaks on the player guide and then tag like the wind? ;o;

...Random question. Anyone else ever start to favor text-less icons on their personal journals after using them so much on their RP journals?

Also, Panic! at the Disco is ridiculously infectious and poppy and I think I like it. A Fever You Can't Sweat Out kept me from dying at work today. Thanks, Panic!
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