It was days like today when Phoenix Wright wondered why, exactly, he had ever thought that becoming a defense attorney would be a good idea.
Today was the fifth consecutive day of the trial of Ronda Bout, a client of his accused of killing someone at the local fair. She was accused of pushing her boyfriend, Vince Seere, onto the tracks of the rollercoaster after hours.
Phoenix was sure of her innocence, but the problem was that she had such an irritating, damnable way of talking... It took her an hour of talking for one to understand her point; she was so indirect and vague. If she would just testify in a straightforward manner, and explain it all...! But, that wasn't the case; her meandering, airy speech left the judge and jury unconvinced of the truth in her words.
It was made worse that one of the main witnesses for the prosecution was Wendy Oldbag, his least favourite -- and yet enduringly present -- witness. She prattled on and on, much in the same way his client did, but without the charming vapidity, and with each testimony more fabricated and phony than the last.
To top it off, the prosecutor in the Bout case was none other than Miles Edgeworth. The cool, calm, silvery-haired prosecutor, whose every look at Phoenix in the courtroom was full of sneering confidence. If the testimonies of the irritating witness and his unconvincing client weren't enough to drive Phoenix to the edge of his wits, Edgeworth's haughty smirk directed at him through all of it was the cherry on top of the foul cake.
For now, however, the trial had adjourned, and Phoenix couldn't be happier. After a short and thoroughly aggravating chat with his rambling client, Phoenix left the courthouse, striding quickly towards his beat-up old one-speed bike that he rode to and from work every day.
However, on his way to his trusty, rusty bike, a sleek red sportscar pulled up beside him. The window rolled down, and Miles Edgeworth looked out at him. "Surely you didn't forget?" he asked.
Phoenix frowned at him. "Not really in the mood, Miles." His voice held a bit more of a snarl than he intended.
However, he remained unfazed. "C'mon, get in."
He was silent for a moment, and then jerked his head over towards his faded blue bike. "What about my bike?"
He regarded it with a similar expression that one might have when presented with a pet leaving an unwanted surprise on the freshly-washed carpet. "You can come back for it tomorrow, I'll give you a ride."
Tomorrow. Like he needed to be reminded that he would be coming back here to try and finish up this damn case.
"C'mon, Wright," Edgeworth sighed. "We both agreed when we started this: we leave courtroom politics in the court."
He frowned. "Fine." He walked around to the other side, admiring, with more than a little jealousy, the fine vehicle. He got in, sinking into the soft leather seats, and closed the door.
"Seatbelt, Phoenix."
"Shut up, Miles." Click.
They sped smoothly off. They made a stop-in at the grocery store to acquire supplies: Dill Pickle chips and a bottle of Fanta for Miles; and gummi worms and a six-pack of light beer for Phoenix. As Miles studied the various brands of chips to find the best deal, Phoneix leant against the shopping cart and wondered what they must look like to outsiders. They were both still in their suits. Would people think they were work friends? Roommates? Brothers?
They left the store after purchasing their junk food and drove to Phoenix's apartment. They alternated each week; sometimes they would go to Mile's sleek penthouse apartment with lush carpets and gorgeous paintings, and then sometimes they would go to Phoenix's shabby one-room apartment with a bed, TV, and not much else. Miles had learnt to hold his tongue on the matter of Phoenix's relative poverty; it was a touchy subject.
So, just like every other week, they sat down on Phoenix's bed, leant against the wall with junk food in hand, and watched a movie. This week they were watching one of the more terrible Steel Samurai made-for-TV movies -- all of which Miles owned on DVD. They had seen it many times before, and therefore did not pay that much attention to it. They chatted and laughed, made in-jokes about the terrible acting and recited particularly cheesy lines.
For just a few hours every week, they were no longer an attorney and a prosecutor, facing each other down in court. For just a few hours every week, they were simply friends.
When Phoenix thought about it, as he did now while Miles, in spite of himself, had gotten caught up in the tense dramatic part of the movie -- a fanboy for life -- he supposed that all this animosity that was supposed to lie between them was his own fault. He had become an attorney to follow Miles in his dream to become a prosecutor; to follow him and meet him again even after the terrible incident with his father, when his best friend was suddenly taken away from him like waking up from a dream.
He supposed that, in retrospect, it was a somewhat foolish idea to hope that he could once again become friends with Miles by being his opponent in court. But, as he looked over at his friend and professional opponent, clutching a pillow with his eyes locked on the television, perhaps it wasn't so foolish. After all, here they were, all these years later, friends, despite the distance and despite their careers.
It was days like today when Phoenix Wright remembered why he had gone chasing after Miles Edgeworth's dream; he was following the coma of the shooting star, hoping to, one day, catch up with the star itself.
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