I heard the shots. I heard the screams. But it's the silence after I remember most.

[turnaboutson]

♥ Who: Miles Edgeworth and you!
♥ Where: Throughout the city
♥ When: December 28 / Ranir 28
♥ What: Someone's trying very hard to pretend that he's okay today and that it isn't the anniversary of the worst day of his life. It's fine. It's fine. Everything's fine, Carl.
♥ Rating: CW for PTSD, murder, childhood trauma, emotional abuse, potential discussion of physical abuse

Normally, dates don't mean much to him. He keeps a calendar in his head, true, but he doesn't particularly care what day it is one way or the other. He's even ignored his own birthday.

Not so with December 28. Not so with the date of the DL-6 incident, the date that had irrevocably changed his life when he'd been just nine years old. December 28, 2001. Two-thirds of his life ago now. Eighteen years on.

He didn't have that nightmare every night now, but December...that was different. H-help! I can't breathe!

Quiet! I said quiet! You're not making this any easier!

Stop breathing my air! I'll...I'll stop you! Stop breathing my aaaaair!

(Get away...!)

(Get away from my father!)

The gunshot, and the scream - that scream, the one that haunts him to this day. He knows the source, now; he knows that it wasn't his father, but the man who had raised him after the tragic and untimely death of Gregory Edgeworth. Manfred von Karma. Gregory's murderer. The man who had ruined so many lives with that one gunshot.

He had stayed at home, but found that he was too restless; now he's wandering the streets, looking for something, anything, to take his mind off of things. He's even drinking tea from the replicators (tea is comforting, tea is good, tea would help, tea would help, tea would help) - and sometimes he's absentmindedly ordered that ginger and honey tea.

Comments

[turnaboutson]

[At least the chatting is helping somewhat to keep his mind off of things. He sits down on the couch, but the mention of a dog - or a canine, at least - grabs his attention/]

You have a pet wolf?

[He's heard weirder things here, but a dog is a dog.]

[the_tailor]

A space wolf. Keith found him when he was still a puppy when he was stuck on a big weird space whale in a time distortion or some weird thing that made two years pass for him when barely any time did for the rest of us. They're best buds. Kosmo is really sweet, though, as long as you're not trying to attack any of us. You'll have to meet him someday.

[Nodnod. There's a big difference, there, between wolf and space wolf. It doesn't take long to make the tea, and he returns to Miles, sitting next to him and placing a mug in front of him.]

[turnaboutson]

[Miles is...not even going to address that. He's found that things are a lot easier that way.]

Well, I wouldn't be trying to attack anyone. I think I'd like to meet him sometime. And I don't think I've met Keith, either.

[He quietly thanks Lance for the tea and curls his hands around the mug, unwilling to talk about what's really preoccupying him.]

[the_tailor]

I'll introduce you to the two of them soon. Keith isn't the most sociable guy around, but he's gotten a lot better than he used to be. I'm sure he'd be happy to meet a friend of mine.

[Nodnod. He's going to have to somehow adjust the flow of conversation soon, though...]

How's the tea?

[turnaboutson]

It's not as awful as I've had around here, [he says with a small smile.]

And I haven't been known to be incredibly sociable, either.

[the_tailor]

Then you two will get along just fine.

[He smiles back and nods.]

It's hard to get quality food and drinkstuff around here, but it's getting better, I think.

[turnaboutson]

A larger sample size is probably helping.

[He sips the tea. It's really not that bad, especially considering what his replicator has been spitting out, which is something almost, but not entirely, quite unlike tea.]

I apologize. For saying...it's not on you to try and comfort me, [he says, trying to figure out how to word things.]

[the_tailor]

You have no reason to apologize, man. I'm your friend. I want to hear you out and comfort you best I can, because you are.

[Lance gives a little nod, leaning back in his seat. Miles isn't exactly a forthcoming guy when it comes to his own past, and he wonders if it's something going on in the city that'd made him so easily and blatantly say the cause of his mood right now. It isn't as if Lance wants to take advantage of that exactly, but if he has the opportunity due to it to help him, he'll take it.]

Talk to me. I might not always know what to say, but I've always been a really good listener.

[turnaboutson]

[Miles looks like he's about to clam up for a second - he desperately wants to - and then he lets out a sigh, like sorrow is leaving his body when the air does. His throat burns with the need to talk about it.]

My father was a defense attorney. I joined him in the courthouse one day when he was defending a client against an infamous prosecutor. He lost, but he put a mark on the prosecutor's perfect record.

We were in the elevator, getting ready to leave. Me, my father, and a bailiff. Then there was an earthquake, and the power went out. We were trapped there for hours, and we were losing air. My father and the bailiff started fighting...the gun ended up near me. I was hysterical - I screamed at them to stop fighting, and threw it.

And the gun went off.

[He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.]

[the_tailor]

[Well, shit. Lance was prepared for a sad story, but this is far beyond that. A horrifying situation, and what seems to be an absolutely tragic conclusion. From what Miles has said so far, the assumption of what happened is nothing short of traumatic. And even if all isn't what it seems by the tale at the moment, it doesn't really change that fact.]

That... This really isn't meant to be empty platitudes or anything, but I really am so sorry. I could never imagine going through that.

[turnaboutson]

[The attempt at comfort, while it would usually anger him, actually helps.] Thank you, [he says quietly.] But that's not the end of the story.

For fifteen years, I thought that I had killed my father. Then someone desperate to save me, someone who believed in me, proved that I hadn't done it. The man who raised me after my father died had killed him out of pure spite. I was brought up by my father's murderer, and turned into something that he would have hated.