A Turnabout Tale {Ace Attorney Wattys 2016}

Turnabout Hellos

Turnabout Hellos

December 24, 9:47 pm
High Prosecutor's Office

Slightly ringing, the ice entered the bottom of the glass with a sharp ping. The soft slush of a drink covered the semi-opaque cubes in a transparent brown liquid. One whiff of the concoction would have been enough to tell a person that the drink was a strong one: a double shot of whiskey at the least. The ice was a delicacy, as it had come from the depths of the rambunctious, loud Christmas party being held in the main foyer of the offices. Too much happiness, too much cheer was situated out there. It made the drinker sick, and so he wanted to avoid it in his office to any avail. After all, he had to pack up the case files of the day's turnabout.

Another win, it was. He was what they thought of as a prodigy of sorts, yet despite the fact his win record had come easily he still couldn't beat him. He still couldn't beat that dumb, happy-go-lucky, disgrace of a lawyer that was ultimately the bane to his existence. The man couldn't understand his purpose, which was sick. Being a prosecutor meant that he could convict criminals for their wrongdoings. Criminals deserved to die and to pay for what they had did. However, the attorney insisted upon going on in his way, not understanding this. It was utterly shameful.

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. Taking a sip from the cold, bittersweet drink in his hand he willed for the night be over. In three more days his past would be eliminated from legal existence. The statute of limitation on the DL-6 incident would expire and be gone forever from his life. At least that would lay at rest, of all things that could be put down. All he had to do was just focus on his work until then. He wouldn't bother with anything else.

He got up, taking his drink and case files with him to approach the wall. Stuffing his case files into the right order, he scurried back and forth, putting everything in alphabetical fashion. A light broke into his office and he witnessed the door being opened a hair, while a timid face peeped in. He believed he knew who it was, but continued putting up his files until the girl came in.

"M-mr. Edgeworth," she peeped.

He stopped arranging his files to looked at Ema Skye, the sister of Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye. He said, "Yes Ema, what is it that the chief prosecutor needs?"

"Um, nothing sir," she said, "I just wanted to know if you'd come join the Christmas p-party."

He glared at her, "Go away. I don't like Christmas. The only thing that matters now is work. There is no time for such irrelevancies in the face of justice. I have a job to do, and criminals to send to justice. I'm rather surprised your sister even threw such a trivial event in the first place when the law doesn't rest."

"But Mr. Miles—" she said, being cut off.

"I'm organizing my case files, leave me be," was the only thing he had to say before she ducked her brown head out in fear.

Edgeworth finished doing this work quickly and found himself sitting silently in his office. The outside noise of the party was blaring, so he could still hear it, but he ignored it despite. He preferred being amongst his work, even if he had to sacrifice a bit of peace of mind for it. He took another calm sip of the whiskey. Christmas parties were unfavorable, as was the season, and so the sole atonement that existed was the light haze induced by the liquid luck. A call sounded on his office phone, but he quickly silenced it when he discovered it was from the nuisance attorney Phoenix Wright. He didn't want to be bothered by the outside world, much less him.