She was a slight woman, her outfit plain and singularly colored -- a nurse? That's what her nametag said, at least. Phoenix returned the smile she flashed at him, awkwardly scratching the back of his head with a hand. His name wasn't Mr. Snide. Maybe there had been a mistake? "Maybe you have my name mixed up with someone else's...but my name is Phoenix Wright..."
"Oh no, this is the room you've always been in, Peter. M29. But don't worry. I was sent here to take you to the Arts and Crafts room. You like gingerbread, don't you?" The avoidance of his question was apparent. The smile slowly dropped off of Phoenix's face, replaced with an expression of confusion and traces of panic. "Oh, don't look like that. There are going to be plenty of gumdrops for you to use! I know those are your favorite."
"Where am I?" Phoenix suddenly asked the question, looking rather pale.
"Landel's Institute." She studied him closely. "Are you feeling well? Perhaps you should go see one of the doctors--"
"No, no, I'm fine, really." I'm more than fine. But why in the hell am I here?! "Why am I here?"
She looked slightly confused. "You've been here for a while. From your records, it looks like you got into a car accident and had a head injury -- and after recuperation at the hospital, they sent you here."
"I'm not crazy." Phoenix stated the words calmly, even while they weren't related to what she had just said. "My name isn't Peter Snide. And I'm not supposed to be here. What about my client? What did they do?"
The nurse watched him for a moment before she went to flip through her paperwork, as if there were anything inside that would actually be of interest to the seemingly distressed man. This had happened frequently since Peter's entrance -- delusions, of course, of the fact that he was a lawyer, and that he needed to take care of a case -- but, of course, there were no records about that, or of law being his profession. "I apologize, Mr. Snide, but we never received any information about your...client."
Phoenix suddenly realized that her expression was pitying, as if he were asking a question for the millionth time, yet had gained the same answer every time, like a sad puppy that kept on getting kicked for someone else's wrongdoing. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't! He wanted to say that, to say he wasn't supposed to be here, that he couldn't possibly have lost his mind...
...but what did he know? He could have lost his mind if he'd been injured in the accident...but if he was crazy, why was he suddenly sane? Most of the time, that kind of thing stuck with a person...he didn't know. He just didn't know. "I'm not crazy," he said, but he knew there was no point. He felt helpless as the words escaped his lips. The whirlwind of thoughts that passed through his head were dizzying and self-defeating, and the nurse seemed to not want to allow him the time to sort all of them out.
"Of course you aren't, Peter," her tone was sympathetic, and she reached forward, grasping Phoenix's arm. When he surrendered it without much resistance, she smiled. "That's a good boy. Let's go build some gingerbread houses, shall we?"
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"Oh no, this is the room you've always been in, Peter. M29. But don't worry. I was sent here to take you to the Arts and Crafts room. You like gingerbread, don't you?" The avoidance of his question was apparent. The smile slowly dropped off of Phoenix's face, replaced with an expression of confusion and traces of panic. "Oh, don't look like that. There are going to be plenty of gumdrops for you to use! I know those are your favorite."
"Where am I?" Phoenix suddenly asked the question, looking rather pale.
"Landel's Institute." She studied him closely. "Are you feeling well? Perhaps you should go see one of the doctors--"
"No, no, I'm fine, really." I'm more than fine. But why in the hell am I here?! "Why am I here?"
She looked slightly confused. "You've been here for a while. From your records, it looks like you got into a car accident and had a head injury -- and after recuperation at the hospital, they sent you here."
"I'm not crazy." Phoenix stated the words calmly, even while they weren't related to what she had just said. "My name isn't Peter Snide. And I'm not supposed to be here. What about my client? What did they do?"
The nurse watched him for a moment before she went to flip through her paperwork, as if there were anything inside that would actually be of interest to the seemingly distressed man. This had happened frequently since Peter's entrance -- delusions, of course, of the fact that he was a lawyer, and that he needed to take care of a case -- but, of course, there were no records about that, or of law being his profession. "I apologize, Mr. Snide, but we never received any information about your...client."
Phoenix suddenly realized that her expression was pitying, as if he were asking a question for the millionth time, yet had gained the same answer every time, like a sad puppy that kept on getting kicked for someone else's wrongdoing. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't! He wanted to say that, to say he wasn't supposed to be here, that he couldn't possibly have lost his mind...
...but what did he know? He could have lost his mind if he'd been injured in the accident...but if he was crazy, why was he suddenly sane? Most of the time, that kind of thing stuck with a person...he didn't know. He just didn't know. "I'm not crazy," he said, but he knew there was no point. He felt helpless as the words escaped his lips. The whirlwind of thoughts that passed through his head were dizzying and self-defeating, and the nurse seemed to not want to allow him the time to sort all of them out.
"Of course you aren't, Peter," her tone was sympathetic, and she reached forward, grasping Phoenix's arm. When he surrendered it without much resistance, she smiled. "That's a good boy. Let's go build some gingerbread houses, shall we?"