Miles Edgeworth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
miniworth) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
route_10652011-01-24 05:40 pm
miniworth) wrote in route_10652011-01-24 05:40 pm
Entry tags:
And I've complained.
Who: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miniworth and usedrage
Where: Goldenrod City Pokémon Center
When: January 24th, 7PM
Summary: Miles wakes up, there is not enough drama, and he'll probably have Ken anger-facing about Miles' sister.
Rating: ...PG-13?
Miles began to stir around seven o'clock that evening. The signs were subtle at first: a slight frown that steadily deepened, a twitching of his fingers. But he was definitely stirring, signs of life that had been absent for the past nine days.
His dreams, like every dream he'd had for the last many months, were not of the pleasant kind. He looked around, light gray eyes scanning the dark room he sat in. There was a large window across from him, ghostly moonlight seeping into the room and illuminating everything in a hazy, cold light. A bed much too large for his small body, an armchair with a cushion so soft that he sank into it when he sat down, an elegant desk where sat his thick textbooks, a quill pen resting elegantly there. The signs of wealth - the physical evidence of the luxury in which he was placed now - was everywhere. This was his world. This was in his room in the von Karma household, in Germany, where he'd been living for the last nine months.
And how pointless those nine months had been.
He raised a trembling, cold hand to his throat, remembering what had happened just a few minutes before.
It felt... fine. As if it hadn't completely clamped up on him and nearly suffocated him earlier. Taking a deep breath, Miles licked his dry lips, whispering to himself: "Manfred von Karma killed Gregory Edgeworth."
Nothing happened. The words came out fine, and Miles repeated himself, his ability to do so assuring him that he was alone, and nobody was close enough to hear him - to hear the truth. He chanted that phrase several more times, his voice growing steadily shakier until he cracked down into a torn sort of laugh, his head falling down onto drawn up knees.
Miles' hand twitched more, his fingers curling into a loose fist.
So this was it.
He was going to remember everything he knew, and he would not be able to do a thing about it. Every time he opened his mouth to utter a single sound about what he knew, his throat would lock up, and he would not be able to speak - or breathe - until he gave up and staggered back to his room, where he would be alone. He had tried to contact his mother, his father's old assistant, but the phones would not connect, the marmy voice of the machine the only greeting he ever received.
What was it that Merlin had said?
...the future doesn't work like that. Don't ever, ever think it was your fault because you couldn't change it. When you mess around with that sort of thing, it never turns out the way you believe it will.
.....How right he had been.
Miles' laughter died away, and he let his body slide, sideways, across the wall until he was lying on his side on the floor, staring at a patch of moonlight on his carpet. The burgundy color of the carpet reminded him of Merlin's neckerchief, the color of Mitsuru Kirijo's hair, the armband Ken Amada wore around his arm occasionally. The last time he saw them was months ago, and he wondered how they were doing now...
He missed them.
The boy's frown deepened even more, the fist tightening.
It was strange to feel homesick for a world he didn't even belong in.
He closed his eyes against the hot stinging in the corners of his eyes, the anger burning in his stomach as he recalled both the faces of his smiling friends back in Johto, and the sneering figure of Manfred von Karma as he spoke of Miles' father.
Never forgive criminals, Miles Edgeworth. Become a prosecutor, and find revenge.
The image of the legendary prosecutor raising a gun made Miles snap open his eyes.
He was, first, blinded by the white light that burned into his retinas, a brightness that pushed any shadow of Manfred von Karma to the back of his mind as Miles raised his arm to cover his eyes. The limb felt oddly heavy, and he soon dropped it, opting instead to squint at the room he suddenly found himself in --
Why was it so bright?
As his eyesight adjusted, he was able to make out what looked like a tiled ceiling, a white fluorescent light beaming down on him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he realized that he was lying on a bed with white sheets.... in fact, the whole room seemed to be basked in this color.
"Where am I...?"
He tilted his head - it felt heavy as well - to the side to get a better look at his surroundings, and his gaze fell on a figure, a very familiar person, dozing off in a spinning chair by the bed. Brown hair not as spiky as Miles remembered, as tired-looking as he ever was, the usual orange sweatshirt and black jacket. Miles would recognize Ken Amada anywhere.
It dawned on him, then, that he, Miles Edgeworth, had returned to Johto.
miniworth and usedrage Where: Goldenrod City Pokémon Center
When: January 24th, 7PM
Summary: Miles wakes up, there is not enough drama, and he'll probably have Ken anger-facing about Miles' sister.
Rating: ...PG-13?
Miles began to stir around seven o'clock that evening. The signs were subtle at first: a slight frown that steadily deepened, a twitching of his fingers. But he was definitely stirring, signs of life that had been absent for the past nine days.
His dreams, like every dream he'd had for the last many months, were not of the pleasant kind. He looked around, light gray eyes scanning the dark room he sat in. There was a large window across from him, ghostly moonlight seeping into the room and illuminating everything in a hazy, cold light. A bed much too large for his small body, an armchair with a cushion so soft that he sank into it when he sat down, an elegant desk where sat his thick textbooks, a quill pen resting elegantly there. The signs of wealth - the physical evidence of the luxury in which he was placed now - was everywhere. This was his world. This was in his room in the von Karma household, in Germany, where he'd been living for the last nine months.
And how pointless those nine months had been.
He raised a trembling, cold hand to his throat, remembering what had happened just a few minutes before.
It felt... fine. As if it hadn't completely clamped up on him and nearly suffocated him earlier. Taking a deep breath, Miles licked his dry lips, whispering to himself: "Manfred von Karma killed Gregory Edgeworth."
Nothing happened. The words came out fine, and Miles repeated himself, his ability to do so assuring him that he was alone, and nobody was close enough to hear him - to hear the truth. He chanted that phrase several more times, his voice growing steadily shakier until he cracked down into a torn sort of laugh, his head falling down onto drawn up knees.
Miles' hand twitched more, his fingers curling into a loose fist.
So this was it.
He was going to remember everything he knew, and he would not be able to do a thing about it. Every time he opened his mouth to utter a single sound about what he knew, his throat would lock up, and he would not be able to speak - or breathe - until he gave up and staggered back to his room, where he would be alone. He had tried to contact his mother, his father's old assistant, but the phones would not connect, the marmy voice of the machine the only greeting he ever received.
What was it that Merlin had said?
...the future doesn't work like that. Don't ever, ever think it was your fault because you couldn't change it. When you mess around with that sort of thing, it never turns out the way you believe it will.
.....How right he had been.
Miles' laughter died away, and he let his body slide, sideways, across the wall until he was lying on his side on the floor, staring at a patch of moonlight on his carpet. The burgundy color of the carpet reminded him of Merlin's neckerchief, the color of Mitsuru Kirijo's hair, the armband Ken Amada wore around his arm occasionally. The last time he saw them was months ago, and he wondered how they were doing now...
He missed them.
The boy's frown deepened even more, the fist tightening.
It was strange to feel homesick for a world he didn't even belong in.
He closed his eyes against the hot stinging in the corners of his eyes, the anger burning in his stomach as he recalled both the faces of his smiling friends back in Johto, and the sneering figure of Manfred von Karma as he spoke of Miles' father.
Never forgive criminals, Miles Edgeworth. Become a prosecutor, and find revenge.
The image of the legendary prosecutor raising a gun made Miles snap open his eyes.
He was, first, blinded by the white light that burned into his retinas, a brightness that pushed any shadow of Manfred von Karma to the back of his mind as Miles raised his arm to cover his eyes. The limb felt oddly heavy, and he soon dropped it, opting instead to squint at the room he suddenly found himself in --
Why was it so bright?
As his eyesight adjusted, he was able to make out what looked like a tiled ceiling, a white fluorescent light beaming down on him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he realized that he was lying on a bed with white sheets.... in fact, the whole room seemed to be basked in this color.
"Where am I...?"
He tilted his head - it felt heavy as well - to the side to get a better look at his surroundings, and his gaze fell on a figure, a very familiar person, dozing off in a spinning chair by the bed. Brown hair not as spiky as Miles remembered, as tired-looking as he ever was, the usual orange sweatshirt and black jacket. Miles would recognize Ken Amada anywhere.
It dawned on him, then, that he, Miles Edgeworth, had returned to Johto.
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"How has the weather been?"
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"I wasn't really paying attention."
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"Thank you for taking care fo them."
And Miles climbs onto the chair, stepping up onto the windowsill and hopping out, getting caught by Pess in midair.
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"Still. Thank you."
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"I missed it here."
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But mostly Ken.
Not that he'd admit it.
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"I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you."
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"I'll walk with you. I won't overdo it, but walking might do me some good."
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It was strange to think that, to Ken, that was only two weeks ago.
"It's good to be back."
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