capeandcowllogs | "The law is a gun, which if it misses a pigeon always kills a crow."

WHO: Miles Edgeworth, unstable ex-lawyer, and Jonathan Crane, unstable ex-psychologist
WHERE: The prison cells
WHEN: Sunday afternoon.
WARNINGS: Death. Horrible, horrible death.
SUMMARY: See above.
FORMAT: words words words

He wasn't sure what exactly had driven him to visit the prisons again. Perhaps it was a form of self-punishment, seeing all the empty cells that he had worked so hard to try and fill. It didn't matter, really; he had felt the need to go, ignoring (forgetting?) the appointment for tea that he'd made with Aziraphale. The only thing that he could think of anymore was the need to work harder, to look at what he'd done so far and see how it had gone wrong; try to fix it, to refine the process, have an easier time in his future arrest attempts.

He had to prove that he could do what he wanted. He wasn't under anyone's control. Until he could arrest people and keep them there, he wasn't fulfilling his duties--and that meant he was failing to prove his autonomous nature. Control had to be his, had to remain his one way to keep himself from falling prey to another von Karma. That was why he wore the jabot still, after all. It was elegant, yes, but it served as a reminder not to let others direct his life.

But despite all of his efforts, he. was. failing.

And no matter how hard he worked to stray from the Demon Prosecutor he'd once been, he always seemed to come back to it in one fashion or another; the perfectionist in him had surfaced, and was screaming for metaphorical blood.

It had to be paid.

Edgeworth paced along the length of the prison hallway, staring into the cells and thinking. That one, cut open by mysterious blades that hadn't existed. Another, nothing but rubble. The third--how had he not remembered the smaller bat-form?

He sighed, staring into the fourth, empty but for a slightly rumpled blanket, and leaned his head against the bars.

And then he remembered Crane.

Edgeworth turned slowly, straightening up, and stared silenty at the man in the cell across the hallway.

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As these long, tiresome days usually went: Jonathan sat in his cell and read, his bespectacled eyes slowly scanning over every word in front of him as if they were his only ties to society. He didn't even notice that he was being watched, let alone that it was the Law doing the watching.

How disconcerting.

Edited 2009-04-20 03:32 (UTC)

He waited long enough to see that Crane was paying him no mind; tilting his head, he moved forward slowly, one step at a time. In a minute or so, he stood a foot away from the bars, and looked at the book that his prisoner was reading--it wasn't one that he recognized.

"Your trial," he said, suddenly, as though he'd already been in the middle of a conversation with the other man. "I'm told it's to be next week."

It had taken far too long to get the damned thing lined up, but he refused to trust anyone he deemed incompetent with such a delicate matter.

At least he'd gotten that right.

...Hadn't he?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how you procured a man's attention. Crane slowly tilted his book -- Joseph Conrad's "The Heart of Darkness" -- away from his face, angling the thing so that the Law could only see the upper portion of facial features. As usual, the haggard, waif-thin man looked about as worse for wear as any man unaccustomed to the harshness of a prisoner's life would in his same situation.

"What day?" he asked, casting his gaze up to the Law's lips, eyes barely moving thereafter.

"Thursday," he replies, taking in the other's appearance with a frown. Crane had taken his imprisonment far worse than he'd believed the man would; had they not been treating him as well as the rest of the suspects? Perhaps they'd let their biases come through--but, no, who was in charge of the cells these days, anyway, now that Vimes had come through?

He couldn't remember--which was odd, because as of the first day he'd arrived in the City, he hadn't forgotten anything.

"It was not meant to take this long," he added, apologizing without actually saying the two words most people would have had no problem speaking.

Jonathan pursed his lips, and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Even criminals in Gotham received better processing than whatever rabble were in control of these jails.

"I'm sure that the length of the waiting period simply means that I'll receive fair trial," he replied, expertly keeping the small edge of sarcasm that statement should've held out of his voice.

"I was trying to find you the proper attorney," he said, now automatically on the defensive. "You wished to have fair representation."

Edited 2009-04-20 04:20 (UTC)

"You realize I was speaking more about the time spent in this cell before you took interest in this case, yes?"

Yes bb I am sorryf or dropping it.

it was my tag. don't worry.

<3

you go be on your semi-hiatus though. we can pick this up when you come back, okay? don't worry until then. and thank you for the hug. ty gave it. and robot chicken was good. <3

Just IM me when you want to start again!

"The law is a gun, which if it misses a pigeon always kills a crow."

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short tag is short and edited because heat makes me contradictions me

Short tag is also short because. Idk.

i kind of want to finish this. i don't know if you still do.--g

Re: i kind of want to finish this. i don't know if you still do.--g

Re: i kind of want to finish this. i don't know if you still do.--g

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