madimpossibledreamer

        Mr. Wright, Miles muses one sentimental morning into his teacup, is much like an earthquake.
        He will, of course, never utter this to his friend, who would undoubtedly take it incorrectly, but it is true.  He’s not afraid of Wright, not really, but the man has a habit of barging into his life unexpectedly and shaking his world apart, and he’s not always the best at adapting in the wake of such things.
        But—he’s also like his namesake.  For all the destructive force and raw, terrifying power, Phoenix only ever wants to renew, to burn and tear down that which need not be kept, that which contributes nothing to the world, in order to coax out new life.
        Doubtless he would laugh, would rub a hand at the back of his spikes and disavow any power he held.  But it would not make any of this any less true.
        Edgeworth, of course, is in awe of this power.  In awe, and sometimes he feels his own powers of adaptability are woefully inadequate, but never once has he felt afraid of the man himself (well, no, perhaps that is a lie, perhaps, early on after their reunion, but no more).

( who's the defense attorney equivalent of payne? because they're probably on the hook for defending this one )

        “So, lemme get this straight.  In collecting cards, a seven year old kid is Edgeworth’s biggest rival.”
        “Yep.  Apparently, he’s the only other person in the world to own the Ultra Rare Premium First Edition of the Steel Samurai, and keeps up the bidding wars for the newest Steel Samurai cards.”
        “I can understand Edgeworth, but how the hell does a little kid have enough money to be a problem??”

( Ace Attorney Investigations spoilers this time )

“I’ve had enough of games!  What’s going on?” Apollo demands, voice booming over the playing field.
               The piercing blue eyes dart over to him, and then the drifter throws off the beanie, familiar spikes springing free.  Apollo gapes, for once, completely quiet.  That’s Phoenix Wright, the Turnabout King and disgraced champion.
               “Well, how’s this?” a voice offers, now no longer muffled by the raggedy scarf Wright tugs down from his face.  It’s shockingly cheerful for a guy who had pretty much disappeared after his once shining reputation was in ruins, to the point there were recurring rumors about his death or mysterious disappearance.  He was one of the hottest dueling topics in the tabloids.  Perhaps even more than the King of Games, since at least a little more was known about the latter definitively.
               “Shadow Games are real, this is in danger of becoming one, and if you stay, you’re likely to get caught up in this whole mess, too.”
               Apollo thinks.  He can be reckless, rash.  He’s either overly angry or really nervous, but neither are really conducive to thinking things through logically.  Most of the time.
               Despite what the others in his class say, though, he is capable of patience sometimes, and he uses it now to examine the situation.  He can’t just run into this like he usually does.  It’s bigger than that.
               So all this time, his mysterious benefactor hadn’t been some unknown duelist.  And had been, maybe, dragging him into something, but at least was giving him a choice, now.
               Maybe that was superficial.  He half expects that Wright knows that, too.  And yet.
               Part of Phoenix still believes, and that’s enough to convince him.  If a man who had lived through such horrors could still believe that good exists, then who was he to deny?  Here was his chance to make a practical difference.
               “Like you’re getting rid of me.”  He recognizes that goofy grin, but the sharp, dangerous way the eyes narrow as he turns back to the other player is definitely new.