[ When he opens his eyes, he is, perhaps, perplexed. He is a condemned man, one who has been dragged forth into the harsh light he himself once thought he championed and exposed for the dark and miserable creature he truly is and then sentenced to death. He had, after all, killed two people for sure, attempted to kill another--when she was twelve, to boot--and there are who knows how many other skeletons in his closet. More than anyone knows, that's for sure. And he'd made sure it stayed that way, silent and unwavering one he returned to his cell after that damned jurist system was instated and the miserable little wretch of a girl he'd tried to do away with to cover for the forgery he had her made managed to escape an accidental trap he laid that snagged her father instead. and yet...
And yet... Here he is, sitting in a café, like he'd never been confined to solitary and like he'd never been found out. There is tea in front of him, made precisely how he likes it, and no chains or bars and no threat of a noose around his neck. It's quite astonishing, really, and he looks around momentarily, taking note that, at least for the moment, no one seems to be taking notice of a condemned man walking free.
For a moment, the demon in his heart whispers. He could have revenge. He could kill Phoenix Wright, like he should have some time ago. He'd underestimated him. And that boy he'd taken under his wing, too, for turning his brother against him. But the thought of harming Apollo wilts as soon as it blooms. No. Just like he wouldn't kill Klavier, he would not kill Apollo.
...Perhaps Apollo is, in a way, who he had wanted to be, and that had given the demon that whispers in his heart some hint of blood to lap at. But no, no, he won't even dream of hurting Apollo. Apollo is... A complicated matter, anyway.
At least for now, he finally settles on, he will simply sit here and enjoy a nice cup of tea without worry about cell checks or anything else. ]
no subject
And yet... Here he is, sitting in a café, like he'd never been confined to solitary and like he'd never been found out. There is tea in front of him, made precisely how he likes it, and no chains or bars and no threat of a noose around his neck. It's quite astonishing, really, and he looks around momentarily, taking note that, at least for the moment, no one seems to be taking notice of a condemned man walking free.
For a moment, the demon in his heart whispers. He could have revenge. He could kill Phoenix Wright, like he should have some time ago. He'd underestimated him. And that boy he'd taken under his wing, too, for turning his brother against him. But the thought of harming Apollo wilts as soon as it blooms. No. Just like he wouldn't kill Klavier, he would not kill Apollo.
...Perhaps Apollo is, in a way, who he had wanted to be, and that had given the demon that whispers in his heart some hint of blood to lap at. But no, no, he won't even dream of hurting Apollo. Apollo is... A complicated matter, anyway.
At least for now, he finally settles on, he will simply sit here and enjoy a nice cup of tea without worry about cell checks or anything else. ]