damned_institute | Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

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Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

Most days, fish and chips (and a cold beer or three) was pretty goddamned high on S.T.'s list of perfect expense-account lunches. Today, the idea of picking at greasy hunks of unidentified bottom-feeder odds-and-ends (politely known as scrod, to the delight of teenagers all across the Northeast) didn't appeal.

He begged off and collapsed into his bed, after using his damp shirt as an excuse to surreptiously check the contents of his closet. Bingo. His nurse watched his little show, unimpressed but (more importantly) unsuspicious. Not that his hairy chest was much of a catch today, pale and sweating from fever. At least she didn't tuck him in.

The intercom woke up up right on schedule, and pulling the sheets back over his head almost won. But a handful of unanswered missives and a vague sense of duty dragged him out to the bulletin, and from there it was easier to stagger over to the greenhouse.

It was warm inside -- a deep, humid warmth that actually penetrated to the aches in more joints and muscles than he could remember the names of. Like a sauna, without the hassle of finding someplace to look that wasn't a mound of pasty middle-management cellulite. Or a sweat lodge, without the opposite hassle of being conscious that he was the only white guy in the room. In fact, besides the nurses in holding patterns, he was the only person in the room.

He located a tray of tomato seedlings going rootbound in their tiny six-packs, and a potting bench whose location was a quick-and-dirty approximation of equidistantly far from anything blooming. He assured his nurse he knew what he was doing, and after a couple of successful repottings, gently sliding the little seedlings out and loosening the tangled roots, she seemed to agree and backed off. It was, by far, the most fucking theraputic thing he'd found in this hellhole so far, and he let himself sink into the rhythm of the task.

[Free!]

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Edgeworth's nurse caught him by the arm as he was heading for the Sun Room again after lunch. "Mr. Pierce, you're not spending all day indoors. You're heading out to the greenhouse." He started to protest, stating that he could hardly keep a potted plant alive, much less do anything useful with any of the plants here, but she was having none of it. She marched him outside and to the greenhouse, then pointed him towards some white roses, with the instructions to look out for them.

He nodded, resigned to the fact that he was at least expected to stand there and look for a while. If the rest of the day up till now hadn't been so productive, he would have been a lot grumpier about being in the stuffy room.

[o hai thar, Mr. Coffee.]

Godot's interest in the greenhouse ended when the nurse informed him that no, they did not have coffee plants there. He was more than content to take another nap on the couch, but a bossy woman in orthopedic pumps nagged as much as a nanny on steroids, as if she honestly believed a little more fresh air was really that good for someone in 'your unfortunate condition, Mr. Valdez.' Because apparently where modern medicine failed, gardening would step in and make his boo boos all better.

Ha! That was Trite's sort of logic if he'd ever heard it.

Oh, and the conversation he'd had with Blondie was far from forgotten. Only his pride as a lawyer had given Godot the training enough to keep a face of composure as he walked into the greenhouse. Trite wasn't there, and that was for the best; too much of his nonsense at once, and even the prosecutor's temper might snap. If that were going to happen, better it be tonight, when he could belittle the man in the privacy of his own needle-free room.

There was someone there, however, who Godot did want to hear from. Just how much had Pretty Boy found out about the future? Not that he held much faith in someone who chose tea over the purity of black magic, or Trite for company in his bed (still a suspicion, but Godot wouldn't be afraid to place money on that bet). Still, there was something about the whole affair that didn't settle properly in his mind, like finding coffee grounds in his mug. Even if it was just the hope that the future as described wasn't possible, that Trite really couldn't stoop so low; even that was enough to get Godot to head over to the man.

"Looking for something worthy of steeping, Frilly Boy?" If they grew tea here, but not coffee, Godot was going to file a formal complaint. "At least your ruffles won't get dirty, thanks to the uniforms they so thoughtfully provided us."

"And good afternoon to you, too," Edgeworth said, turning and nodding once. If speaking with Godot, who was clearly upset - man was the worst thing that happened that day, then that was fine by him. The rest of the day had been a success, and he wasn't planning to let the man ruin it.

"Why, exactly, would I want to drink tea grown in a place like this? The atmosphere would ruin the leaves," he said. "The place isn't suited entirely for growing coffee beans, either, I'm sorry to say. I know they tend to grow in warm, humid climates, but this is stifling, not warm."

He'd let the comment about his cravat pass. There was a more important question. "So. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

So Frills had managed to have a good day, or so his mood might make it seem. He even threw in a comment about coffee, one that hadn't been followed up by a totally baseless insinuation that Godot was trying to pass off one blend for a hundred. Probably smart, considering how pleased the prosecutor was with that side of the playing field at the moment. Frills was undoubtedly close to Trite; there'd been enough fodder to fuel more than one rumor even before he'd gotten there. But after that first night, Godot didn't exactly think assuming a bit of truth to the tales was a fool's choice.

"Ha! You're pretty perky, given our situation." Godot rested a hand in his pocket, taking a look around the heated room. A man who'd been in Hell couldn't find a place like this to be stifling. Besides, the heat was nothing compared to what boiled just beneath the surface of Godot's thoughts.

"I had a little talk a couple of shifts ago that you'd probably find interesting. A blondie with glasses told me a little fairy tell. Maybe you know how it goes? The average-looking Prince tries to slay the dragon, but stabs a Princess instead? Complete with no one living happily ever after. Pretty sad story, starring a pathetic would-be hero."

Edited 2009-04-12 01:21 (UTC)

Edgeworth's expression changed completely the moment Godot mentioned Kristoph Gavin, the faint smile that had been on his face turning into a deep frown. Of course, the other defense attorney hadn't been mentioned by name, but there was only one person who could possibly fit that description. I should have known...what else would it be? And of course, Gavin would have told most of what happened. The question is really how much of the story was omitted.

It was all he could do to bite back the instinctive defensive reply that immediately came to mind, particularly when it was coupled with a stab of pain from the voice. He took as deep a breath as he could manage in the atmosphere before saying anything in reply.

"I've heard the story of which you speak, from two different sides. However, I don't think the situation is as cut and dry as the storytellers would have you believe. I suspect foul play of some sort was involved - or, in other words, that a wicked Wizard set up our Prince to take the fall."

Leave it to Frills to immediate jump onto the 'We Heart Nicky' train; Godot couldn't say he was surprised. Still, he felt a touch of sympathy for the man. He looked a bit too much like a kid who dropped his ice cream not too.

"Sorry Princess, but I can't trust you to have an unbiased opinion, can I?" Yet even as a grin played on his lips, Godot couldn't help but wonder if maybe Frilly hadn't managed to find the right magic toad. True, he couldn't expect Edgeworth to remain objective with his personal involvement. Hell, he didn't even blame the guy. But Godot was the man who would be judge, and he couldn't deny the possibility that Frills just might be right.

Or maybe he was just hoping the possibility was there at all. A man could hardly be blamed for wanting a future worth living for.

"So let's hear it. You want to be a credible witness, don't you?" The smirk never faded, and Godot eyed Frills from behind his glasses. "What makes you think that the Prince wasn't the one who went rotten?"

"I suppose not," he said, regaining his composure quickly. "But at the same time, I wouldn't expect you to have a completely unbiased opinion, either, given your rather unique way of interacting with him," Edgeworth added. "I'll do my best to keep any personal bias I may have out of this, though," he said, and looked Godot in the eye as he did.

"I'll assume that our mutual acquaintance explained all of the details of the case, so I won't rehash them. There are several points that strike me as being noteworthy. The first is that everyone seems to either be unaware of, or have completely forgotten, exactly how the vital piece of evidence fell into the defense's hands. The second is the all-too-convenient witness that was called in to testify to the forgery."

Miles didn't like the third, not one bit, but it couldn't be left out, either. "The third is the identity of the one person that spoke in his defense afterwards."

"Ha!" The pot's cry of black bounced off the kettle's skin, and Godot shook his head at the Princess' attempt at a counter. "Don't forget that I came to you, Frilly Boy. I'm giving Trite more of a chance in this mess than he deserves. But I've always been too generous for my own good."

Take now, for instance. As loathe as he was to see eye to eye with Pretty Boy on anything, Edgeworth had picked out the same two points Godot had when he listened to the tale. "I noticed that too. Not bad, Princess. Nice to see your stay here hasn't dulled some of your senses." Taste obviously not included.

Now that third bit was interesting; storytime with Blondie had ended before Godot apparently got to the unbelievable conclusion. "Well, anyone can figure out from your reaction that it wasn't you. And if you were paying attention two nights ago, you know it wasn't me either." Not that Godot would even if the truth hadn't come to light, but it was still worth pointing out. That didn't leave too many names that ran in Trite's circle. Godot imagined the Filly would be quicker with her whip than with the ballot. "So who was it?"

"I'm glad we see eye to eye on those two points. They're too convenient to be simple coincidences. Why would the prosecutor in the case prepare a surprise witness beforehand? There would be no need to do so if there was no prior knowledge." He wasn't going to comment on the prior comments - he'd risen to the bait once on the bulletin board earlier, and had no intention of doing so a second time.

"You've ruled out the usual suspects," Edgeworth confirmed. "I was apparently engaged elsewhere, you wouldn't have been there even if they had an infinite supply of free coffee, and Franziska...to my knowledge, would still be caught up in her foolish pride.

What's particularly surprising...you know how close Wright is to the Fey family. You would think that Maya would be pounding the door down trying to get in to speak on his behalf, no? I certainly would. And there are a number of his other clients who would be willing to speak. Lana Skye would have been out of prison by then, and her sister would certainly have been willing to do so."

He paused for just a moment. "Why, then, was the storyteller the only one to say anything? It would be a clever cover-up, playing the sympathetic role in a situation such as that."

Edited 2009-04-12 04:58 (UTC)

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Frills was too hopeful for his own good, but luckily, he had Godot there to tug on the reigns. "You still don't know where the prior knowledge came from. And you know just how much a prosecutor can get away with based on his good word. Even keeping a key witness off the stand, unless the defense is good enough to drag the cat out of the bag. No doubt the court accepted Blondie Number Two's good word with pressing for more."

And that would be your mistake, Trite. Just one of many in this mess.

"Who knows? The good forger might have come forward himself. Wouldn't be the first leaf to change colors with the seasons." And that's where objectivity came in. Frills wasn't thinking, and he missed that little fact. Trying to force the evidence to match the conclusion was a mistake rookies made--and Edgeworth had been a prodigy even in his first case.

Godot should know.

"Convenience isn't evidence! Don't accept a second place beauty queen just because she winks at you, Pretty Boy. If you want to play the defense, it's the top prize or nothing!" Who knew talk of the future would make him so nostalgic. He wasn't wearing the mask, but somewhere inside Godot, Diego Armando smiled.

"So the storyteller voted in Trite's favor, did he?" Now Godot mulled over the thought: water trickled into the filter, and mixed with the grounds to form the brew. "Interesting little ploy. Now answer me this. What could you possibly have been doing that would have kept you away from those little proceedings, Frills? And not just you, but all of those other moths that gather around Trite's flame. You said it didn't make sense, but you're the one not thinking it through. Water doesn't just become tea because you pour it into a cup!"

"I'm all too aware of the fact that with the prosecutor's badge comes a level of trust that the defense is never granted," Edgeworth snapped back. "It's a fact we've both exploited, I'm sure. But, wouldn't it be more likely for a new prosecutor to hide a witness that could turn on them? After all, if the forger didn't come forward of his own volition, and the wrong questions were asked, things could go wrong all too quickly."

He tilted his head to one side. He knew he wasn't thinking about this case objectively, but it was difficult to do so. The voice had reacted violently to the story, and in particular, to the storyteller. It had only acted that way in the presence of one other person. Of course, that wasn't objective evidence, but it hadn't steered him wrong before.

"Question, then: why would the forger come forward on his own? After all, forgery is a crime on its own. I don't see him doing so, if for no other reason than wanting to avoid jail time. It's more likely that he was coerced, or offered something in return for his testimony against Wright. A plea bargain, or something else?"

That last thought, the reasons he hadn't been there...it was that thought that had led to him losing his temper before. He closed his eyes, turning away in order to cool his head for just a moment before he turned back to Godot again.

"In theory, there are a number of reasons that I wouldn't have been there. A delayed flight, another kind of snarl in the travel plans..." He trailed off for just a moment. "There's also the distinct possibility that because of my own past, I...would have been asked not to be there, or not told until it was too late.

Likewise, you know as well, if not better than I, what kind of situation Maya Fey was in at the time. It may have been a simple act of protecting her from further stress. She had just been thrust unexpectedly into what I can only imagine was a difficult leadership position. That's not even getting into the tension between the various factions in the family, each of them wanting their own way. So...perhaps we weren't told until everything was over."

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Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

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