Jede Musiknote in der Partitur

[madimpossibledreamer]

Can someone explain to me: is Mikeko a fanon thing or Spirit of Justice thing (which I have yet to play because I’m behind on everything)?  The cat is everywhere and I’m not sure where he came from…  (I love him, I'm just confused by poof!magic cat.  I didn't even see Trucy.)

Main Points:
Ace Attorney
Chapter Summary: The place of music in Klavier's life.  It touches everything, really.
Word Count: 2115
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Klavier has a crush on Apollo that he hasn't managed to convince him is legit yet.
Note: Apollo Justice spoilers.  Kristoph being Kristoph.

        Music is everything, to Klavier.
        He very carefully doesn’t say so to the press, of course.  He already has a hard enough time getting anyone to take him seriously.  Like there was a natural disconnect between music and the law.  Herr Judge took him seriously, and for this he is eternally grateful.  Was concerned about his career, about what the court had done to Klavier’s mind, unlike all those others whispering.  A prodigy who couldn’t hack it, a fraud for whom reports of his intelligence were greatly exaggerated. 
        Herr Edgeworth treated him like just another prosecutor, and the professionalism delights him enough that he’s only a little too over-familiar with the legend, unlike his usual refrain.  The awkwardness of having been the one to finally defeat the man’s rival is a constant awkwardness between the two of them, though it seems there’s no hard feelings, there.  He’s more prone to the occasional wince and less likely to use caustic words than Frau von Karma when Klavier makes a mistake in the language of his childhood, too, though just as likely to offer constructive criticism. 
        Alice, ah, Alice.  It’s easy for most to overlook the superhuman power that comes from being a receptionist, but when going on tour, staying in so many hotels, you learn the power a receptionist has, to ruin your life or make it the best night ever. 
        Herr Justice is a gift and a delight.  It’s hard to tell whether his belief in Klavier’s talents comes from having studied under Kristoph or learning quick, facing him in the first trial.  When he’d still had that poisonous hope Kris had been feeding him, he might have added a third option, that perhaps Kristoph had warned his intern about a prosecutor who is more than he seems, but knowing what he knows now it’s much more likely that Kris had undercut him, encouraging a surface impression only.  If nothing else, he’d been praising in such a way about Apollo that had Klavier dismissing the man as a boring stick-in-the-mud, without a bone of creativity in his body.  An empty vessel to shape as desired, without a say or any thoughts of his own.  Apollo refuses to take his flirting seriously, all because their first meeting had been staged specifically to test and understand “Wright’s apprentice”.  True, and ja, having a man flirt when much of the population was straight was a choice, but it wasn’t the only one available to him, and the tapes had been inadequate communicating what the man looked like in person.  He’d chosen his approach seeing the man for the first time, hoping maybe there wasn’t a hatred there, for the Gavins.  It’d be a good enough test, and ach, his heart ached.
        The results he’d gotten were hardly the ones he expected, but then, that’s Justice for you.  He’d gotten a man passionate about his namesake, at least, all appearances said so, so maybe the evidence had merely convinced him?  And that’s not even counting how he can catch every little nervous tick, or the grumpy way he goes along with just about everything.
        He has Klavier more self-conscious than ever of his own nervous habits, though thankfully none have appeared in the courtroom.  He wants more than anything to appear honest to this man who values the truth just as much, someone who finally seems to understand more than anyone else, other than perhaps Herr Edgeworth (and, mein Gott, he really, really needs to apologize to Herr Wright, now that he understands the true horrifying scope of that case), but at the same time it seems so difficult to conquer that obstacle and allow himself to feel vulnerable.
        He’s always self-conscious.  It’s rare he can let himself go and just…relax and not overthink everything.  He’s always thinking about what he looks like, and what he’s saying, and whether others are reacting as intended to, well, any of it.  The weight of the rings is grounding, and ja, it’s also partially because he enjoys the look.  It had been amazing, true, to write music, share it with the world and just glory in the celebrations with others who enjoyed the same thing he does.  He fiddles with them, or his hair, when he’s nervous, particularly when he’s talking to someone pretty.  Like Apollo.  It’s ridiculous as a rock star to be starstruck around pretty people, but then, it’s rarely just a face, for him.  It’s the whole package, and Apollo is.  What is one thing on paper is a completely different thing when it’s all put together in such an adorable face.  But even more than that, it was even more incredible to be given the lessons on dealing with the press and with the fans, on dressing and acting to project the image he desires.  It had been like being handed the keys to interactions, and despite what Kris might have said, those alone were worth the slight diversion, because they definitely came in handy with his chosen profession.
        Music is grounding, just like the rings, though far less tangible in appearance.  Music helps him concentrate, or prevents him from falling asleep when he’s been working too hard on a song or a case headed for trial.  Sometimes he’ll even put one song on repeat, if he really, really needs the help to concentrate.  Music is a language that helps him connect to people, far more reliably than words alone.  He can’t help the smile when he hears a particular note or notes. 
        Music is what helped him remember particulars for tests—he’d just listen to specific songs when studying and replay them in his mind when it came time for the test, and the same trick comes in useful during actual trials.  Whenever he finds a show or movie or game he likes, so much of it depends on the music, and he doesn’t stop there, looking up AMVs for those.  He’s actually ridiculously flattered when a fan uses a Gavinners song for one, though he’s not allowed to say so.  The record’s far more protective (and ridiculous; it’s transformative, ach herrje!, there’s a very good reason he didn’t specialize in copyright law), but when he strikes out on his own, recording a few pieces for youtube only, he does some research into creative commons and releases them under a creative commons license. 
        Music is for listening to for cheering up, or when already happy.  The vast array of genres all have their place, as do the lyrics.  He hums or sings like a cat purrs, in other words.  Something to bring him down to Earth, when he feels too much and can’t put it all into words.  Something that reminds him to feel, when he’s too tired or too upset and simply can’t be bothered to care otherwise, because it hurts too much to care otherwise.  He might be losing his use of Deutsch, too shy about his already depreciating ability to speak it much in front of others and thus get in the practice he’d need to not lose it completely, but he clings to a lyrical accent, and in any case he’s always been far more fluent in music than any language he’s ever formally learned, with the ability to play music by ear.  He loved Kristoph, and believed the best of him for far too long, but at times his Bruder could be a little too much and then, music was his refuge, no matter how rude Kris thought it.  That was certainly the case with his relatives, although he’s still one of those old fogeys that prefers to use an mp3 player, however vanishingly difficult it is to get his hands on one. 
        Kristoph valued music, and his skill with the piano was technically brilliant, if a little soulless.  Whether that matched the player or the fact that he thought it merely a tool, not a way of life, is a difficult question that Klavier refuses to ponder for long.  There’s also a song in that, a beautifully terrible metaphor, given the translation of his own name and the way Kristoph had used him as just another instrument of vengeance, but for once that’s one that can go unvoiced, at least for a long while.  Maybe, perhaps, when it’s not too soon, when there’s some distance and the wound does not ache as badly.
        He assigns songs to people he knows, to days, to cases.  Half the time he wakes up with a song running through his mind.  Music sets the mood, or gets him out of one.  He loves his headphones, though he isn’t allowed to talk about brand because they’d never quite managed to work out a deal.  He’d never gotten into the earbud fad, because it hurt his ears and hearing, because the sound quality was nowhere near desired.  He continues to use the old-fashioned corded headphones, for sound quality.  In school, he’d had them around his neck more often than not, a comforting weight.  Purple, of course.  He still misses his first pair.
        He guards his hearing jealously, conscientiously never turning up the volume.  There had been some pushback against the concert earplugs, but he’d made certain the brand chosen was discreet enough and argued that a health campaign could be good PR, and that had been that.  They were a rock band, ja, but they were also all in the law profession, and if anyone could prove that safety could be cool, they could do so.  Charity events and donations were common enough.  They’d even scored a partnership and sold them before concerts, and he’d greatly enjoyed that.  (Though perhaps he should’ve made it clearer to Herr Justice, and maybe he would have deigned to grace the actual audience with his presence?  Then again, that had been fail on top of fail when it came to impressing a lächerlich crush; nothing about that concert had gone right.  Still.  Perhaps he should mention it, casually, during some later case?)
        They’d been given, finally, permission to address the question of police brutality, before the disaster of a concert, after which he’d had a busy few months.  The resulting interview, months and months later, is quieter, more subdued than anyone had really expected, but they can’t blame him, given the circumstances.  At least the reporter is understanding as he fiddles enough Apollo would probably yell at him to chill, or something characteristically unexpected.  He has to clarify, as per the terms, that he doesn’t speak for the band, or anything but on his own, though he does indicate at the very least several others believe as he does, though carefully does not name names.  That the system had grown complacent, that voices that should have been heard far before this were being silenced.  “It’s easy enough,” he muses, “To say ‘ach, that did not happen in front of me or to me, it must not be happening’, but we take others’ views into personal consideration all the time.  Why not with this?  I suspect the answer, for many, will be an uncomfortable one.”  He’d taken personal pride in the guilty verdict of the one officer who’d killed “in the line of duty”, though had taken care not to show the glee until he’d reached his apartment, at which point he’d poured it all into an overnight song.  Waited to release it, of course, he remembered his lessons, but suspected a few might know the truth anyway.
        Everything led to a song, or could be related to one.  A characteristic that annoys the Fraulein detective, he knows, as it’s common for him to be humming something-or-other as he checks out a crime scene (though he does try not to step on her toes, he knows how much she loathes that, and possibly him as well, depending).  It had caused a snort from Herr Forehead, though he makes a single remark and moves on.  As much as the man grumbles, he admires how flexible Apollo is—no, not in a yoga-esque manner, although he thanks everything that thanks to his fair skin seems inclined to tan, not burn, and hide any evidence of any trace of blush.  Apollo complains and then just gets along with whatever odd situation he’s been dropped into.  It’s an admirable characteristic.  So as odd as an overly cheerful prosecutor humming at a crime scene might be, the man doesn’t question, just accepts it as another oddity of his life.
        He finds himself wondering what type of music Herr Justice likes, before deciding he’s probably indulged his crush enough for today and switches to humming one of his ‘focus’ songs, getting down to business.  For the moment, anyway.