tvklogs | How The Prosecutor Stole Christmas

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miles edgeworth

How The Prosecutor Stole Christmas

Who:

truthsnomiracle and YOU!
What: Edgeworth being irritated by December and all that comes with it
When: Daytime, early December
Where: Prospero generally
Warnings: Angst, grouchiness, generally bad mood.
Format: Your choice of prose, action, or... well, read for yourself.

All the Prospero natives like Christmas a lot.
But this man, from outside Prospero, does not!
Miles Edgeworth hates Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Yet if you ask why, he won't share the whole reason.
He'll claim that the crime rate upsurges just then,
That high expectations breed desperate men.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
Is the tale of a lift at the end of a hall.

Whatever the reason, the earthquake or crime,
It sours his mood to see signs of this time.
He glares up at banners -- his Grinchiest frown --
Then at warm, lighted windows beyond in the town.
The man, not a fool, knows there's more than he sees:
Hanging mistletoe, wreaths, and of course Christmas trees.
There's the shopping, where avarice poisons the heart.
Inevitably, Christmas carols will start,
And then, oh, the noise! Oh, the noise, noise, noise, noise!
Together, the full force of Christmas destroys
So much of the wall that's surrounding that time --
The murder once thought an unsolvable crime.

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['Twas the night before a wedding and all through the land,
The Fianna were in a frenzy, weapons in hand.
The country was searched high and low with great care,
In hopes that a far too pretty knight would be there.

Fionn mac Cumhaill wanted him dead,
Hatred and betrayal all through his head.
But they couldn't catch up despite his mania;
Such was the tale of Diarmuid and Grainne.

In a winter years after came another chance
To prove himself a knight with unshakable alliance.
Gold and red lances twirled like a flash,
Each strike landing with a resounding crash.

In a foreign land coated with new-fallen snow,
It was a Master who struck the final blow.
Struck through the chest with his dreams unfurled,
Servant Lancer died cursing the world.

As you can see, this guy really can't win,
Even with a Persona like Cu Chulainn.
No matter the lifetime, events really do suck,
With Lancers' tradition of E-ranked Luck.

Knowing nothing about the holiday season,
It seems the city just likes lights for some reason.
Stressed as he is, he's without a clue
And even a knight knows not what to do.

He wanders the city in winter regalia,
Wondering about holiday paraphernalia.
The city is showy as a bright-feathered myna,
Much to the confusion of Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.]

[Tl;dr--'the ancient knight is confused'. Gaelic is DAMN hard to rhyme.]

At times when defenses within cave and fade,
Familiar faces can be of some aid.
Though Edgeworth did scarcely know Diarmuid, the same
Could be said of Kay Faraday, who made the claim
Of heiress to ravenly vigilantism.
Thus Edgeworth, though broiling with Yule pessimism,
Was able to muster a half-grin and nod
At the knight of Fianna and past demigod.

Edited 2011-12-06 20:16 (UTC)

Upon noticing, Diarmuid, most patient of knights,
Turned his attention from the colorful lights.
He greeted Edgeworth with a wave and a smile;
Hiding this confusion he'd felt for a while.

For what purpose was this a thing which was done?
The residents seemed happy, down to the last one.
Clearly it was a holiday, but what kind?
Two thousand years' difference left him a touch behind.

"Edgeworth," he asked, and obvious was the reason,
"what can you tell me about this holiday season?"
Even a clever knight's attempts to do all that he could
Did not cover things as human experience would.

"A favorite of many, though not of myself.
Children are told to behave to earn wealth
in the form of playthings," Edgeworth glumly explained,
trying to hide the fact that he was pained.
"In theory, however, a prophet's birthday
Is the basis behind this ornate holiday."

"I understand," Diarmuid replied with a nod,
Though still he found much of it quite odd.
"But I must admit I'd never expected to see
Celebration in the form of decorating a tree."

In Ireland parties were often the same,
With so much drinking one often forgot his own name.
More than the knights, what was truly legendary
Were the hangovers of which one had to be wary.

"What else can you tell me?" he asked in turn,
For standard human customs he would just have to learn.
"This place is difficult, more than it seems,
I never would have imagined it even in dreams."

"The tree is a relic of German tradition.
Those who believed in Christ made it their mission
To draw from competitors symbols and days
That would smooth the transition to their foreign ways.
The date, for example, is merely symbolic,
A time other cultures used for their own frolic
Related to hope," Edgeworth smoothly replied,
The truth being something he strove to provide.

"I recall we had a holiday around this time of year,
On a day I assume must be drawing near."
He paused thoughtfully, crossing his arms;
It wasn't quite Yule but had much the same charms.

"Forgive me, surely I'm troubling you so,
But there's simply so much that I still don't know."
Seeming embarrassed, he smiled with a faint sigh,
Humans now were so strange and he wasn't sure why.

"Indeed, on this month's twenty-second of days,
the solstice occurs." As explaining the ways
of modern society was quite expected
with Diarmuid about, the man wasn't rejected.
Instead, Edgeworth shrugged. "It's a welcome distraction,
if marginal, from all the holiday action."

"Twenty-second, right; I'd have been quite distressed
If any of us missed such a chance for some rest."
Of course fighting Shadows was all good and well,
But working too hard would turn life into hell.

Diarmuid gave a curious look, adjusting his glasses
And glancing around at the civilian masses.
"Not a fan of the holiday?" came the Lancer's query,
Wondering where misery could be in a season so cheery.

"Commercialism and anticipation
Help make this a holiday I'd rather shun.
Some people grow greedy on days such as these
And bring those who verify sins to their knees."

It was a half-truth, which the knight may detect
Given evidence past, but he'd rather protect
Himself from the discussion as best he is able
Than have his worst memory brought to the table.

"I find lies not suiting honest men.
If you wish not to answer, be assured that you can."
Diarmuid never dared speak anything but the truth;
Not a single lie even in the days of his youth.

"Of course it was hardly my intention to pry,
So whatever your reasons, I've no place asking why.
We all have our problems, that's the fact of the matter;
So there's no need to distract me with less relevant chatter."

The barrister winced as his ruse was laid bare.
Concerning confession, he didn't yet dare.
Yet a man so perceptive deserved some respect --
it sadly was more than he'd come to expect.

He heaved a great sigh, then admitted, "You're right --
I only brought part of the truth to the light.
The matter is painful and private, however;
the day will undoubtedly haunt me forever."

Diarmuid of course had no bracelet enchanted,
His skill of perception rarely taken for granted.
"I've seen many days like that, though not for a while,"
The answer came with a hesitant smile.

Though hardly older than Edgeworth he seemed remarkably aged,
With a look to his eyes that could not quite be gauged.
But he shrugged and he sighed with a wave of his hand;
Dismissing a subject for which he'd not planned.

"It matters little, taking all things into account,
Whatever the problems, we have more to surmount."
He spoke with all a general's practicality
...or perhaps merely someone too used to formality.

The weariness seen in the barrister's eyes
Paired with his hair color might prompt surprise
From someone mistaking him for twice his age
Once they were corrected by somebody sage.

As gold eyes met steely ones, there was connection;
Looks both determined, each other's reflection.
"A creed most familiar," Edgeworth remarked.
"Since passing the bar, I have always embarked
on a path to the future, eschewing the past.
Though I've made mistakes, I've sworn also to cast
aside that which does justice harm," Edgeworth asserted.
No need to be detailed on how he's converted.

"I've done much the same in my own way,
But 'justice' may have changed from back in my day.
So few comprehend the heart of a knight,
The loss of valor is a terrible plight."

Such deplorable things had been done by his Master;
Worse still committed by Ryuunosuke with Caster.
He lamented his end came in a manner so vicious,
All for the sake of a corrupted holy chalice.

"Valor hasn't been lost, though it is rather rare,"
Edgeworth replied with a most wistful stare.
"The laws of the courts in my home jurisdiction
are cruel to defense; only those with conviction
survive very long. Thus it was an attorney
who worked in defense who disrupted my journey
along a more cowardly path," he admitted.
"If not for that man, I might well have committed
the worst of atrocities." Heaving a sigh,
He found himself missing the blue-suited guy.

"If only my path could have ended so well."
Alas, his war in Fuyuki had turned into hell.
"My Master treated honor as some kind of game,
Believing my valor would bring naught but shame."

The words he spoke held a bitter air,
As Diarmuid recalled such a sense of despair.
That Master's absence was no great plight,
As any next meeting would end in a fight.

"Your Master?" he queried -- though instantly he
Remembered that Diarmuid might want privacy.
"There's no need to answer," he quickly backpedaled,
As at such a moment, if somebody meddled,
The bailiff himself wouldn't take it so well.
Some stories are simply so painful to tell
That letting one opt out is only polite.
"I'm somewhat reminded of one man who might
have agreed with him." Now it was Miles Edgeworth who
Looked bitter -- although the man looked ashamed too.

'Twas brillig, but these Christmas toves
Did sparkle, glimmer, in the wabe
Such whimsy in the borogoves
All these Christmas lights outgrabe.

"Beware the Grinchy ones, young one!
Their lack of spirit, it will catch
Beware the Grinchy one, and shun
The son of frumious Bandersnatch!"

She took her shopping bag in hand --
For Prospero's secrets she sought
And rested a while by the Christmas tree
And stood a while in thought.

And as in uffish thought she stood
The Grinchy one, with eyes of flame
Came sniffling through Prospero's 'hood
And grumbled as he came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The shopping bag went snicker-snack
Aimed for his head, but wasn't dead
And they went galumphing back.

"And has thou slain the Grinchy one?
No? And why, my dearest girl?
O frabjous day, but what you've done
Does not deserve Calloo, Callay!"

'Twas brillig, but these Christmas toves
Did sparkle, glimmer, in the wabe
Such whimsy in the borogoves
All these Christmas lights outgrabe.

The Grinch had a sister, a barrister too,
Most skilled with a whip, which toward him often flew.
So when struck with a bag, though enraged to be sure,
His immediate thought was to simply endure
The attack, and instead of a charge of assault
Spin towards the young Alice, the youkai at fault,
And shout at the stranger, "Just what was that for?!"
A few passersby turned their heads at the roar.

"Your grumbling, grouching, rough and stern
It startled me, so new in town
And you see, these things called Shadows, I've learned
Is something that gave me cause to frown."

So said the girl, so plain her quip
As she put her hand upon her waist;
Her shopping bag within her grip
And waited there, showing restraint.

Edited 2011-12-06 20:55 (UTC)

"Miss, I assure you, a Shadow I'm not,"
Replied the young barrister, brimming with haught.
"The Dark Hour tolls at precisely midnight.
The city is safe while it's bathed in sunlight."
Edgeworth then finished with great consternation,
"Ergo, you still owe me some explanation."

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How The Prosecutor Stole Christmas

you asked for it

Yes, yes I did. XD

let's see how long before i ragequit

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1/2

2/2 Done!

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here goes.

What have I started? XD

Something beautiful!

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