foolishwren | 46. Prose (Voice/Action) (Sunday evening)

Current Mood: ashamed
Current Location: Goldenrod City

46. Prose (Voice/Action) (Sunday evening)

_{[ooc: Hey guys! Like most tl;dr stuff I post, THIS IS OPTIONAL READING so feel free to completely skip over it, although those with characters in the hotel are also free to say that they saw Heather leaving her hotel room with a really, really dark expression. She will not be deterred or particularly receptive to any attempts to engage in conversation. If you would like to, however, here's some appropriate listening material.]}

ERROR: NUMBER NO LONGER IN USE. beeeeeeep.






ERROR: NUMBER NO LONGER IN USE. beeeeeeep.






ERROR: NUMBER NO LONGER IN USE. beeeeeeep.

Heather's thumb hovered over the 'Connect' button, but didn't press it again. She'd already done it about fifteen times, hoping to hear something else, but she'd already known that the message wouldn't change, no matter how many times she called. The truth was that it wasn't even a surprise, no matter how much she wished it could have been, nor how much she simultaneously dreaded and expected it.

With each passing day, she had known it more and more.

Hearing this now was only a confirmation.

The last nail in the coffin.

He was gone.

It had been evening when she'd gotten it in her head that hey, it had been a few days since the last try. Maybe she should try calling Dad up again. It wasn't that she was actually expecting a result-- it had been an entire month since she last heard from him, after all.

I've got a lot of catching up to do, he had said. I can only imagine how much I've missed.

And that had been it.

But when that hideous dial-tone and automated message came buzzing out of the speakers on Heather's PokeGear, it was as though something very heavy had slid down her throat and settled somewhere low in her stomach, lying there like a bowling ball. Or a big rock.

It wasn't too late in the day, but the early winter evening had already crept in, turning the sky outside to that deep ocean blue and bringing lights all over the city to life. Still, Heather's hotel room was dark, lit only by the lights outside, shining from the windows of other tall buildings. She had been reaching for the bedside lamp as she had been dialing the number, and when the message turned on, her hand had stopped, then slowly returned to her lap.

So this was it.

After a month of waiting, he really was gone.

... so you're not mad? was what she had asked him, and she'd never gotten a reply. Maybe now she'd never know.

The decision she'd made to finally stop hesitating, to actually try to appreciate this strange second chance she had, was made too late. Just like everything else decent she'd ever done.

Oh boy, Mason. You sure did blow it this time. You haven't changed at all.

She swallowed, hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat.

Just the same as ever. You never do appreciate what you have. Not till it's too late. Well, now it IS. Are you happy?

She snapped the 'Gear shut with a click and stood up. It was an automatic motion-- and it hardly even felt like she herself was the one doing it. Shoving the 'Gear into her pocket, she grabbed up her recently-discarded coat and yanked it on, buttoning it up with fingers that hardly felt the metal.

As she made her way to the door, there was a sharp whine and a cold wetness in the palm of her hand as a big moist nose was shoved into it. She looked over her shoulder sharply and was met with Cujo's wide-eyed stare and hopeful wagging tail. Walk? Walk? WALK??

"... No, Cujo. Stay," Heather said, her voice feeling thick and sounding even thicker as she shoved his snout back and turned to the door. He made a few wuffling sounds and tried to latch onto her sleeve playfully, like he always did when they were about to go out. A hasty intake of breath rattled the cords in Heather's throat in a surprisingly growl-like fashion and she yanked her arm upwards, hissing at him through gritted teeth. "I said STAY!"

The Growlithe let go with a startled woof and shrank back, bushy tail sinking between his legs.

Heather did not stop to glare further. She clamped her mouth shut and opened the door, slamming it loudly behind her as she went out into the hallway, leaving silence in her wake.

After a couple moments, the orange dog crept forward and pawed a little at the closed door, a high-pitched whine shuddering out of his throat and piercing the dark blue quiet. When his scratching proved fruitless, he curled up on the carpet. All right... he would wait.

~*~

The cold was the kind that hurt.

It nipped sharply at her face, bare hands, and the gaps between her coat's buttons as she left the hotel's lobby and strode through the snow, breath steaming in front of her. She didn't know where she was going. Maybe that was the point. There weren't many people out tonight, leaving the sugar-glazed streets bare. That was fine with her. Familiar faces were not something she wanted to see right now. The bitter air was creeping through the fabric of her jeans, making the material stiff and sinking into her legs as she walked, and her boots skidded and squeaked in the snow, but she ignored it all.

Her crooked path took her down streets and alleys that she didn't even notice-- the wind was already yanking moisture from her eyes and scraping at her cheeks like an incorporeal cheesegrater, reddening them. She could have been walking for fifteen minutes or it could have been an hour-- but by the time she stopped, it felt like no time had passed at all, the journey was such a blur. Her feet, numb-toed and aching from the cold, had brought her to a secluded alley, lined with the occasional trash can and walled in brick.

Snowflakes lit up like neon on the lights above the back-doors (shut, of course), and her breath was coming out in deep, shapely puffs of vapor with each labored exhalation that came out of her open mouth, which she wasn't bothering to close. She probably should have been shivering, but that leaden weight in her stomach was anchoring her whole body down, it seemed. Looking around with watering eyes, she saw no one around that could interrupt or stop by with well-meaning concern. Good.

Letting out a shuddery breath, she leaned against the brick, hearing its rough surface catch on the fabric of her coatsleeve and scuff it in a rich cacophony of breaking thread. The frosty air nipped painfully at her ears-- she'd left her hat behind. Oh well, whatever. Too late to worry about that now. Not that she was worried. There wasn't any room for worry in her head.

You're STUPID, girl, you're so goddamn stupid. That chance was practically GIFT-WRAPPED and you just sat there for months and DARED the universe to take it away again.

How can you even feel sorry for yourself?

You practically spread your arms to the sky and yelled HEY, I'M NOT GONNA DO SHIT WITH WHAT YOU GAVE ME! HAHA, PSYCH! MIGHT AS WELL TAKE IT BACK!

You stupid, stupid kid.

Heather turned her forehead to rest against the wall-- hard enough that she could feel the rough grain of it scraping her scalp.

Sad wasn't what she was right now. Sad was what happened when Grandpa died or your best friend moved away.

Shame.

That was what that leaden weight in her stomach was. The lump in her throat and the growing tightness in her chest, too. Good, old-fashioned, guilt-tinged, hot, sick shame.

Gritting her teeth, Heather pounded a fist helplessly against the wall, her shoulders hunched.

"You stupid, stupid..."

But the sentence died in her throat with a tight squeak, because words just didn't do it this time. Somehow, they made it hurt worse. Wasn't letting any of that pressure out-- just emptying her lungs and somehow making it tighter.

The butt of her fist hit the wall again with a feeble smack as she stood there, every muscle tensing to the point of pain. Had to get it out, somehow. Couldn't show her face back around anywhere unless it had come out-- that was just how she knew it had to go. Go off somewhere by yourself and have a good cry or something and then once it's over, you can go back to battling on through whatever it was and nobody would be any the wiser unless you told them.

But talking wasn't working.

It hurt too much, and it was the kind of hurt that Heather wasn't good at dealing with.

Throat tight, she drew her fist back-- far this time-- and let fly.

Her bare knuckles met the brick with an explosion of hot pain that she could practically SEE painted on the inside of her eyelids.

Her fingers tingled and stung as she pulled away-- and then slammed them into the wall again.

And again.

Now with the other hand.

And again.

Now both at once.

And again.

And again, harder this time.

Something popped in one of them-- and crunched in another-- but she kept going-- each swing more and more vicious until she was muffling a howl with each new blow, eyes shut tight and raspy, sobbish snarls ripping their way out of her throat with the exertion.

Finally, she just couldn't do it anymore.

Sagging against the wall with her clenched fists resting above her head, Heather just crumpled, her chest heaving in and out and her breath floating away into the night.

There were tears streaming down her face now, although the heat was sucked out of them long before they could finish rolling down to her chin.

She didn't dare look at her hands-- she could feel the swollenness of the fingers and the bite of the cold where the skin had broken and turned to a nasty, meaty mess. They probably looked like ground hamburger. She didn't want to see it, even though she knew she'd have to look eventually, so she just kept her head pointed straight down at the floor of the empty alley and panted as though she'd run a dozen miles, gulping in lungfuls of the frigid air even though it made her wheeze.

She couldn't stay here all night, she knew.

She had to go back.

Had to face the reality of the situation.

The leaden weight had lessened, but it had been replaced with a sickening sense of embarrassment, one that crawled through her hotly and made the prospect of lying awake in that bedroom by herself, not sleeping, just mulling over and over on her own pathetic behavior, absolutely unbearable.

Gingerly, she removed one arm from the wall and dipped her swollen, bloody fingers into her pocket to withdraw the PokeGear.

Otacon. She wanted to talk to Otacon-- but no, this wasn't-- she couldn't. She could hear his voice, plain as day, talking to her right before he left-- he'd told her to call him if she needed ANYTHING-- day or night. Well, she needed something all right, but... no. Just... no.

He had also told her, months before, to take advantage of that incredible, blessed chance she'd been given-- a second chance to be with her father. Something he'd have given the world for. Had she followed that advice? No. And that was why she was here right now, standing by herself in some alley with pulverized roadkill hands. She couldn't call him. She couldn't face him. How could she look him in the eye and tell him that her father was gone, and that it was her own damn fault that she hadn't taken advantage of his presence here sooner?

The sobs between breaths grew shuddery-- the cold was starting to creep in now and her shoulders were shaking.

Flipping the 'Gear open, she brushed over the keypad with a pained frown that was rapidly becoming a tearful grimace.

She was halfway through dialing up Snake's 'Gear when she stopped, swallowing hard and squeezing her eyes shut. No... no, he didn't even know. Didn't even know that her father had been here, or even that she HAD a father. And if she went to him, she'd need to explain... need to say why she was upset. Not because he'd ask her, but because... Heather Mason didn't cry for no reason-- not to other people. And she didn't want to explain.

Wasn't even sure she could explain.

Snake wasn't her only friend here in Goldenrod. No, she was lucky, she was fucking lucky-- a lot of her friends were here. Good friends. Ones she trusted-- ones who she probably wouldn't even mind seeing her in a silly weak moment like this.

But they didn't know, either.

Hardly anybody did, because she'd told so few. Kept it a secret. Her embarrassing, shameful little secret.

Otacon was one. He was gone. She wasn't even sure if she'd get to see him again in person any time soon, and how could she expect his sympathy? He would give it, of course-- but somehow that would just make it worse, because she knew that this was one thing she did not deserve it on.

James was another-- but he was in Azalea, and sweet-hearted thing that he was, the thought of blubbering to him over the phone made Heather's stomach curl in shame.

Nobody here. Nobody here who she could go to in person-- have a conversation that WASN'T still, ultimately, physically by herself.

... Except for...

Heather straightened up, drawing in a long, watery sniff and reaching up a throbbing hand to wipe away the now-icy tears that were lingering on her face, leaving trails of cold in their wake, and clumsily punching numbers into the keypad with the thumb on her other.

There was one other person who knew that Harry Mason had appeared in Johto-- one other person who knew about Heather's reluctance to make her identity known to him. A person who had been in the same situation himself-- from the opposite end.

And he happened to be staying a couple floors above Heather's own room at the Goldenrod Hotel.

[Audio-- locked to Phoenix Wright.]

_{[Her voice is punctuated by gasps-- she's out of breath and wheezing. Her voice is hoarse and there's weird gaps between the words, like she's struggling to put them together.]}

I-- ... P- ... Phoenix?

Uhm.

Are you-- ... are you there?

I gotta-- ... can I talk t'you?

It's.

Uhm.

It's important...

_{[ooc edit: thank you so much for your lovely comments, guys. I can't even begin to describe how much I appreciate ALL of them. I'm screening them to cut down on clutter, though! ILU!]}

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

_{[She doesn't move from the couch. She's sitting there in an uncharacteristically timid fashion, her head hanging and her shoulders slumped-- though she rolls them upwards slightly when he drapes the blanket over her, to bunch it up tighter around her neck. She's still shivering a little-- though the warmth of the hotel room is helping with that.]

[At the lawyer's request for a walk-through of hand-care procedures, she looks up at last, brows peaked upwards.]}

Honestly, Phoenix, it's-- ... it's not the first time I'll have had to do something like this... I really can do it myself...

_{[For once, there's none of the usual stubborn, argumentative vibe that's usually present in her voice whenever she's responding to anyone trying to stop her from doing anything. She just sounds.... tired. There's that heaviness that Phoenix always seems to pick up on-- that sense of crushing weight. It pulls her words down, down, down like an anchor.]}

... If you could... like, get me a bowl of warm water or somethin', that'd be great, though.

_{[Had to wash the hands OFF and see what the real damage was before she could do anything, after all.]}

[Phoenix is plenty aware that...well, that she's probably had a lot worse in her monster-ridden homwtown. But this was now, in Johto, with a man who would feel horrible and blatantly pathetic if he had to watch a wounded girl fix herself up when he had a perfectly good pair of functioning hands, thank you very much.]

Just because it's not the first time doesn't mean that you should.

[He's just...he has no idea what's going on. First, there's the fact that she's coming to him for help. Phoenix...vaguely suspected that he was the LAST person Heather would ever come to at a time like this, because while he considered her a friend, a good friend, even, he knew she had plenty of other friends in Goldenrod she could go to for help.

So why had she come to him?

At her request, though, he snaps out of his pondering to mentally slap himself a bit; where was his first-aid training when he needed it? Oh, well, what's important was that it got done--] S-Sure. One second--

[He straightens up a bit and turns towards the sink, sorting through one of the cabinets for anything that could hold a large amount of water. Finally settling on Pess's water bowl, he rinses the metal bowl out thouroughly -- VERY thouroughly, slight germaphobe that he is -- before refilling it with warm water and gingerly carrying it back to where Heather was sitting. He places it on the endtable next to her, shoving his Gear and the rest of the first-aid equipment aside to make room for it.]

Edited 2010-12-13 16:18 (UTC)

_{[She managed a weary and half-hearted smile at that.]}

I know what I'm doing s'what means that I should.

_{[Phoenix had it right-- there WERE other people she could go to. The funny part was, they still didn't know each other on the level that Heather knew several of her other buddies. So why WAS she here. Couldn't be for the hands-- as much as Heather hated hospitals, she wasn't a moron. She'd go to the Center if she had to. So why...?]

[Ah well, looked like he'd have to wait a little bit for an explanation, because.... yow, those hands. When he returned with the bowl, she nodded an mumbled out a quiet thanks before scooting over a little on the couch to better reach it and dipping her fingers in gingerly. An explosive hiss escaped her and she shut her eyes, wincing as the raw flesh encountered the water, making red bloom across it, but she didn't withdraw. Had to make 'em clean before she could do anything...]}

I, uh-- I'm real sorry about this...

_{[Her teeth were gritted and the OWWWWWWWW from her hands was a convenient excuse not to look straight at the lawyer when she spoke.]}

[He sighs, running a hand through his spikes; she's as stubborn as ever, and loathe he to admit it, he was completely out of his element when it came to this kind of thing. He wasn't going to take his eye off of her, though, and leans with his elbows on the endtable, resting his chin on twined hands.

He flinches involuntarily when he sees her wince, his own fingers clenching as sympathy pain tickled the tips -- that looked incredibly painful, and he actually had to glance away to avoid feeling nauseous at the sight of the blood-clouded water.

When she speaks again, he shakes his head, turning back towards her and grimacing when he sees her pained expression.] Don't be.

But, uh...you will go to the Pokémon Center later, right?

[There's an unspoken "You better" tacked onto the end of that sentence, Heather. He will escort you there through the foot upon foot of snow if he has to. Heck, good luck getting out of his sight the next few days, even.]

Edited 2010-12-13 20:07 (UTC)

_{[Even here and now, Heather was a stubborn soul. But at least she had gone to someone. Right now that was the only thing easing her OWN nauseous shame. She'd gone to someone. That was good, right? Running away was what had brought on this trouble in the first place. She was learning, right? Right?]}

I-- yeah, I will.

I just-- ... I couldn't. Not right now.

There's--

_{[She hung her head there, putting her focus on gently flexing her fingers in the water so that she wouldn't have to look up. How... how WAS she supposed to explain this?]}

I didn't wanna... um.

_{[For someone normally so confident, this hesitant voice really IS reminiscent of that night they had talked, back in October. Had it really been that long ago?]}

I just-- ... I didn't wanna go there, not right now. There's... too many people, and friends, and-- they'd... they'd ask questions.

_{[She withdrew her hands from the tiny basin at last, fingers dripping. With the blood washed away, it turned out it really HAD looked worse than it was-- although the sight still wasn't pretty. 'Skinned to the bone' was the slightly-over-exaggerated but still appropriately unpleasant phrase to describe it-- the wounds were raw and angry and bruising was already spreading down from the knuckles. They were swollen and stiff-looking.]

[Wincing, she bent them a few times-- okay. Nothing was broken... miraculously. But that was a small comfort. They still hurt like hell. Clumsily, she reached over for the first-aid kit on the end of the table for something to dry them on, and finally looked up to meet Phoenix's eyes.]

[There aren't tears in hers (well. YET), but the pouchy, purpled flesh underneath them is suspiciously glossy-looking. She'd been crying.]}

I would've, but this-- I... I didn't know who else to go to...

Edited 2010-12-13 20:24 (UTC)

[And it's that hesitant tone in her voice, so unusual and only reminiscent to their serious conversations, that's putting Phoenix most on edge at the moment. Physical pain was only temporary, after all, and surface woulds would eventually heal, lose the stinging pain and gradually fade into something forgotten, sometimes comical, but always in the past.

But emotional wounds? Now, those were. Well. Um.

...they were both pretty much walking examples of that.

When she gradually tugs her hands out of the water, Phoenix winces all over again. Maybe not a shredder, as he'd initially thought, but the girl's hands still looked rather...maimed. Torn and bruised, primarily at the knuckles, grossly swollen.]

...I'm guessing this is more than some...random desire to punch something, then. [Something you don't want to talk about. Now, what did that remind him of?

When he sees Heather grope around on the end table, he takes a second to get to his feet, quickly scampering into the bathroom to return with a towel, leaning back down to his earlier position and gently nudging it under her injured hands.

It was during times like these that Phoenix praised his college professors like no others -- for all their strict rules and constant bitching and overcompetativeness, they'd been damn good teachers, and the art of bluffing was one that he'd grown to quietly master because of them. Inwardly, he could feel himself flat out panicking -- wild ideas and half-thought-out explanations and constant questions surging and pulsing, giving him a headache. Part of him revelled in the mayhem, being so reminiscent of his usual courtroom finales, while the other bit was too busy trying not to get swept away.

For a second, he needs to screw his eyes shut, fists clenching against the dark, now slightly damp wood of the endtable, before he can return his focus to Heather. This happens to be right when she finally brings herself to meet his eyes, too, and the subtle gloss and just...the desperation he sees there, it's overwhelming.]

You...didn't?

[Panic is momentarily shoved aside as he begins to rifle through mental list of "what the shit Heather could be talking about". It wasn't a very long list.

His initial guess is that her mother had shown up. The mother whom she hated so badly, that was twisted enough to try and birth a god inside her own daughter.

...but, no. Heather would be angry, not...not this awkward package of nerves and hesitation.

What could it be?]

Did something--

[Obviously, SOMETHING happened. He stops himself, hesitating only just, rephrasing.] ...what happened, Heather?

_{[ooc; Obviously, angst is more important than Spanish. (http://i435.photobucket.com/albums/qq77/nijyuushichi/heatheryouareamasochist-1.jpg)]}

_{[Physical pain is something Heather had grown remarkably good at handling-- even before she had gone back to Silent Hill. Maybe it had just been something she'd gotten from toughening herself up and spending so much of her teenage years throwing punches and receiving them. Or maybe it had even been a carryover from Alessa's life-- of which the last seven years had been spent in hideous agony. She didn't know-- but whatever it was, she'd gotten good at it. Few tears here and there, maybe some noise, but she knew how to cope.]

[Even as she gingerly took the towel and folded her hands into it, wincing visibly and gritting her teeth as she hissed, she was coping.]

[That wasn't what was making her voice tight... Phoenix had proven himself to be a remarkably perceptive individual to her before, and she could tell it wasn't a fluke. He knew something was up and she had to tell him. That was what she'd COME here for-- it sure wasn't her hands, she could take care of those on her own. But the other stuff? All this? Taking care of that alone had worked-- kept her alive for a long time back in her own world, but if this godawful mistake of hers had taught her anything, it was that it wasn't working here.]

[What was that Sora had told her, back when she had been raging over the attempted murder? She could hardly remember, her judgment had been so clouded with fury at that time... but it'd had something to do with not being alone. That she shouldn't be alone when she was like this-- or rather, that NO one should. That it was dangerous. That kid was bright-- damn bright for his age. So ... here she was. A little late, as usual (maybe her hands would have thanked her if she'd listened earlier), but still here. NOT alone. ... But she still had to explain herself... That was hard enough in and of itself-- but after all... it would have been even harder if she'd gone to somebody else.]}

I...

_{[Pausing briefly with her towel-bundled hands in her lap, she straightened up for a second, shutting her eyes and sucking in a long, deep breath. And when she does speak, her voice is very, very small.]}

... He's gone.

Dad's gone.

_{[ooc: oh my god. ;-; THOSE TWOOOOOOO! /SAVES FOREVER. I love your art so much, you know that? That is so sweet. ;-; PHOENIX IS SUCH A GOOD BUDDY.]}

Edited 2010-12-13 23:32 (UTC)

[Phoenix...is not good with injuries of others, but is surprisingly sturdy about his own, both phyically and emotionally. Really, it only takes a few hallucinatons or poison to bring him down.

When it looks as if she's comfortable, with her hands situated on her lap, Phoenix moves from the side of the endtable to sit next to her on the couch, far enough away to give her some room and to not jostle Heather's hands as he does so.

And despite now being next to her, he has to lean in just a tad in order to hear her quiet words.

...oh.]

Your--

[For a few seconds, Phoenix dosn't understand why she's so upset -- okay, it was her dad, but she could just see him back at home when she got there, ri--

...

Oh.

The memories of their conversation -- first, of her confiding to him about the fact she even HAD a father in Johto, and second, of her telling him that her father was also sort of dead -- all sort of bundle up into a ball and roll around a bit, and he has to shake his head to sort it all out completely.

Oh, no.]

_Heather...

[His arms make some sort of reflexive, jerky movement, instinctively wanting to give some kind of physical comfort -- a hand on the shoulder, a hug, maybe -- but he stops, remembering her battered hands. He didn't want to do anything to risk jostling her and hurting them more.

Instead, he settles for lying his hands rather hopelessly on his legs, fingers twining into the fabric of his pants as he watches the girl with worried, sympathetic eyes.]

...I'm sorry, Heather.

_{[ooc; waaah, thank you! ;; I do not deserve such praise, my friend! They are such dorks though, I swear.]}

_{[As the cogs in his head grind around and eventually reach the correct conclusion, Heather just stares straight down at the towel in her lap. Her hands were still bleeding, but between the water and the soft fabric staunching the blood, some of the throbbing was starting to die. Just a little bit, though.]

[She knew that he would know what she meant. Hell, she wasn't even sure she'd actually SAID her father was dead-- just that it was complicated-- but you sure as heck didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure it out.]

[A feeble croak creeps into her voice.]}

I... he didn't know who I was for the longest, 'cause... 'cause of stuff that happened back when he was that age and I didn't want him to freak out... or... _{[Or hate me.]}

But-- after that ... that fog, I-- ... I didn't wanna hide anymore so I t-told him, and-- ... and that's when he stopped sayin' anything.

_{[Her shoulders had started to shake and she squared them to steady them, turning her head down so that her stringy, snow-damp hair hung in her face and obscured her eyes. Her chest's starting to hitch a little.]}

... I-- I didn't tell anybody, I just-- ... it was too-- _{[Embarrassing. Downright embarrassing. Didn't wanna admit just how badly she'd screwed up.]}

--And-- ... and today, I tried t-to call again just in case, and-- ... he's.

He's gone.

N-number no longer in service.

_{[Her tone had turned mocking in that very last sentence-- a half-hearted, hurt-sounding pantomime of the error message she had received.]}

... I fucked up so bad.

[It was mentioned during her tirade about Silent Hill -- if you could even call it that -- about her father killing the God. And then, the two of them fleeing, and then...yeah.

He can't imagine how godawful Heather must be feeling right now. I mean, it was just...

...really, father figures were not things Phoenix was well-versed on. Never having been close to his father, and having the closest thing he'd had to a father (read: Gregory Edgeworth) die before he even got to know the man beyond a "Mr. Edgeworth" level, and THEN being suddenly thrust into being one for Maya...it was definitely abnormal, to say the least.

The mention of the fog sends chills up Phoenix's spine. It had really all begun with that, hadn't it? He marvelled at the fact that it's only been, what, three months? Maybe more, what with how much the days seemed to blend together here...but regardless.

He feels a little surge of pride to hear that, in the end, she had indeed told him -- he'd always wondering if she had, how it had gone, what had his reply been? -- and despite it being after the fact, he still mutters;] ...I'm glad you told him. ["That was brave of you."]

[He continues listening with rapt attention, the gnawing concern and sympathy growing ever more as it clearly becomes harder for Heather to form the words. Her mockery of the system message, it hits too close to home for Phoenix's liking -- his breath catches as memories of just about a week ago flash through his mind, thumbing "Connect" over and over with Maya's number flashing on the screen, trying not to cry and, in the end, failing entirely.

That feeling, he does know. And it's what finally causes him to override his usual awkwardness and reach up to rest a hand on Heather's shoulder, in comfort.]

...if he stopped replying, you can't go and blame yourself.

_{[She shakes her head back and forth slowly, staring downwards at her wet boots and the pinkish water in the basin. Her shoulders are quaking for real now.]}

I know it's not my fault... but... I still-- ... I still shoulda said something sooner, I-- ... he was here for months before I said anything, I could've told him ages ago, and-- I-- ... I dunno, been able to-- ... _{[She makes some vague gesture with one arm-- or elbow, more accurately, she wasn't quite ready to take her hands out of that towel-- and sniffs, trying to find the words. But eventually she just shakes her head in disgust.]}

I was too late.

I was always too late.

It's just like--this-- this is just like when-- got home, and-- he was-- walked in and he was in his chair, but-- ... not right, and--

_{[If the sharp gasps that had started to slip between her words weren't hint enough that she was starting to crack, then the way her voice broke and she slumped forward in her seat like a marionette with its strings cut, forehead to knees, was proof enough. A horrid sob wracks her whole body.]}

[At her vague gesture, Phoenix nods, making a non-committal sound of understanding.] You wish you could have been able to spend more time with him.

[...is there a note of genuine understanding in there, Heather?

He's startled when she slumps forward, voluntarily shying away from the action -- but when he sees her shoulders heave, hears her strangled sob -- and that description of her father's death, it was...

Truth be told, it was hitting very close to home. After all, hadn't he come to the office one night, eager for a chance to actually DINE OUT, with the woman he respected most in the world and her little sister, only to arrive to his mentor's still-warm body slumped by the window?

When he hears her strangled sob, sees her shoulders heave -- a hand on her shoulder doesn't seem like enough at this and, gingerly, he reaches around to cup her in a one-armed hug, a slight tugging indicating that she's free to lean on him, if she so wishes.]

I'm so sorry, Heather.

[Of course, "sorry" doesn't bring people back. One would normally associate it with someone who's using it as a cop out when they don't know what else to say. It's a rather stupid phrase, really, for this kind of situation.

But of course, like everything Phoenix does, it's the genuine emotion and and blunt honesty that tints the corners of his every word that may makes it seem just a little less cliché.]

Sometimes...the world just doesn't--it just doesn't give you the chance to be there when you need to be. ["If only I'd gotten there five minutes sooner." "If only I had a license." "If only I'd asked her what she was doing all those nights alone in the office."] We wish we can, but... [There's a slow shake of his head.] You can't help it if you were scared, I mean... _{I would be, too.}

[As you may have noticed, Phoenix is not cut for giving words at the time like this. But he tries, he tries.

_{[Wished? Yes. She wished she'd seen the light sooner and been a better daughter, instead of shaping up just a scant few months before Harry died. She wished she hadn't stayed out so late that night. She wished she'd gotten "that thing" at the store for him instead of falling asleep in that stupid restaurant. And god damn it, she wished she had told him who she was here in Johto instead of hiding like a little coward until it was long past time to ditch the disguise and own up.]

[She wished she had stopped taking things for granted like she thought she'd learned to an entire year ago.]

[When Phoenix's arm snakes around her, she leans on him without hesitation, turning her head just slightly to press her forehead into his side-- screw dignity, she craves the comfort. It's comfort she hasn't been letting herself have much of and boy is she regretting it. She has no idea just how well he understands some of the pain she's feeling-- but to be fair, she's not in much of a state to understand anything except her own failure at the moment. Her shoulders are still quaking and the sobs, coming faster and shorter, are punctuated with a hapless, almost doglike whine that seeps into her somewhat-broken words.]}

B-but it did g-guh-give me a chance! It g-gave me lots of chances, but I w-wasted all of them, l-like a stupid bitch...! Even w-when he was alive!

N'I-- n'all I wanted ever s-since he d-died was for a second chance and t-then I got one and BLEW THAT too!!

[Her hair is still damp from the melted snow; when she leans on him, he can feel the nip of the cold water uncomfortably through his thin dress shirt, but, really, it was the least of his worries at the moment. He rubs her shoulder, gently but firmly, not put off by the constant jerking of them as she sobs.

One of the responibilities he'd found that his job had given him was to be the shoulder for people to cry on. More or less, anyway. It was always how he'd interpreted "be there for your client", and while it was sometimes hard to do through the thick glass walls of the detention center, Phoenix would always try. Just being there, he found, helped put his clients at ease, even if they were busy worrying about him most of the time.

This was no different. This was somebody that had needed someone, anyone, and had chosen to come to him -- granted, he was her only real choice when context was taken into account, but it didn't stop him from feeling just a little bit touched. She continues to cry, her breath halting spardically and her words cut into little pieces, little fragments. He sighs, quietly, his grip around her shoulders tightening ever so slightly.]

It's never as simple as that.

[Phoenix was lucky -- through Maya, he could see Mia whenever he needed, both in court and out of it, and it eased the pain of her death considerably, even if speaking to her through her sister was rather...awkward, to say the least.

"Thank goodness," he'd thought, "Now I can tell her the things I meant to, before she passed away."

...it was staggering, what was still left unsaid. Phoenix came to Johto without ever really telling Mia anything, and...what would he do when he got back home?

He didn't know if he was scared. It didn't really matter either way.

His grip tightens around Heather again. He hopes that what he's doing is enough.]

_{[Phoenix is a credit to his profession-- the chances of Heather spilling her guts to any OTHER lawyer? Doubtful. Extremely doubtful.]

[As for why she had gone to him-- well, yes, he WAS her only choice-- well. The only choice she had wanted to consider, anyway. But there was more to it than that... For some reason, despite all instincts to the contrary, despite the fact that-- well, she STILL had gotten to know him largely because she had punched his lights out (and then kicked out whatever was left)-- there was just something innately trustworthy about him. Something that overrode even Heather's ingrained paranoia (ironically instilled in her by her father-- for good reason). And besides that... well, he understood. He had gone through the same thing ... sort of. Maybe not exactly. ... But she could tell he understood.]

[She didn't reply that time-- just continued to shudder and wheeze, her whole body tensed and curled in on itself like a little pillbug. Considering just how supremely out-of-character it was for tough-as-nails, often-overconfident Heather to be looking so vulnerable, it might have been funny (in a sort of cruel way) were it not for the circumstances. She's leaning on him like he was some kind of lifeline. She didn't often need one besides herself, but-- well, nobody's invincible. And tonight she's anything but. No matter how much she didn't like breaking down in front of anyone, all she can think when his embrace tightens is that right now, she'd rather be here than alone in her room, curled up in bed and staring without seeing at the wall. Which was where she would have been, if she hadn't called. The breakdown'd had to have happened sooner or later. She supposed, all things considered, that she was still lucky, even now.]

[Eventually, the sobs start to trail off, fading from the out-of-control hitching gasps into deep, shaky breathing, and the scrawny, hunched shoulders under Phoenix's arm stop tightening spastically like coiled springs, although their owner is still curled into a near-fetal position, one knee to her chest.]

[She's quiet for a few moments-- ... and then those shoulders shake again, this time with a low, sheepish (and still a little teary) laugh as she lifts one end of that towel to swipe at her eyes.]}

.... W-we have gotta stop meeting like this...

Edited 2010-12-14 14:59 (UTC)

[He waits patiently for Heather to calm down, giving her far shoulder the occasional comforting rub, his eyes locked on the slowly reddening towel in her lap, occasionaly flickering up to stare worridly at the top of her head before wandering back again.

He's about to wonder if he'll have to find something to tell Edgeworth to do to keep him out of the room for longer when he feels the girl's shoulders relax; he shifts a bit, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at Heather's face. Thr worry in his eyes hasn't left, but at least he doesn't look as if he's about to pass out from panic anymore.

At her comment, he actually chuckles; it's strained, of course, but mostly sincere. Hadn't those been exactly rhe same words Touya had told him, outside of Dark Cave while Phoenix had been writhing on the ground in pain?] That we do.

_{And here I was hoping it'd been a calm Christmas...}

[There's nothing accusatory or bitter in that comment -- he sounds tired, mostly. And a tad bit amused, in a morbid kind of way. December was NOT Phoenix's opprotune month of the year.]

_{[She sits up a little, finally peeling away a bit from the lawyer's side, drawing in a deep breath and turning her head to wipe her cheek off on one of her shoulders.]}

Sorry... didn't mean to add to the holiday stress...

_{[She doesn't feel ashamed of having needed a shoulder to cry on-- she knows it's only human. But being a little embarrassed about it is human, too, and she ain't immune to it. Especially since Phoenix had probably seen her like this a lot more than she really cared to display to any one person.]}

I promise, I w-won't make a habit of this... d-despite evidence to the contrary, I don't actually freak out and cry buckets all over people like a depressed Looney Tune often...

_{[That self-deprecating tone that always lay in her voice (even when she was bragging, half the time) was back. At the very least, maybe it would be a relief to Phoenix to see that despite the obvious hurting that she was still going through, she hadn't lost her snark.]}

[He's relieved to see her more calm, but he doesn't move his hand from her shoulder.] Don't worry about it.

[He has to chuckle again at that, and this time, the relief is obvious in his voice when he adds;] It's fine. Just do whatever you need to do to feel better.

...aside from punching walls.

_{[As emotional as she can get (and still is...), Heather rarely breaks down for long. It's not a trait that's particularly conducive to survival in Silent Hill; she had grown out of it in a hurry back then. Even now, she's not dry-eyed-- or even completely relaxed (the occasional deep, shivery tremor still runs through her body, probably not visible but Phoenix can feel it under his arm)-- but she's visibly pushing down the hysterics, forcing herself back into composure.]

[She sits up straight (although she does nothing to shrug out from under Phoenix's hand) and lets out a wet cough, shaking her head like a horse shaking flies from its ears.]

[His remark gets a quiet laugh that's a little like a sob (but nearing the territory of a chuckle), and the corners of her mouth fight their way upwards a little bit from the tugged-downwards position they'd been forced into.]}

Hheheh... I uh, I don't do that often, either. Promise.

_{[She inhales deeply, before finally withdrawing one of her hands from the bundle with a wince. It... doesn't look much better than before, but-- ... well, at least the bleeding's started to stop...]}

I should, uh.... I should put some disinfect and on these, and um-- ... _{[She trailed off there, staring straight ahead for a second, her mouth dipping briefly back into grimace territory before simply turning into a straight line, her lips sucked inward.]}

.... I think I totally tracked dirty snow on your couch with my boots.

[Of course, hypersensitive that he is, he can tell that's she's trying hard to keep herself calm -- which is why he doesn't plan on letting go of her anytime soon.]

I hope not. I don't think your hands could take it. [Speaking of which...he gives her hand a worried look when she withdraws it from the blanket, shrinking away instictively. It looked even more painful than it did before, if that was even possible. He shivers.]

E-er-- [Leaning over from behind Heather, Phoenix gropes around for the bottle of disinfectant in the first aid kit, grabbing it and a swab of bandages and...eying them apprehensively.]

...I can help, at least. [No, you're not going to dissuade him this time, Heather. He does not like the idea of letting an injured girl patch herself up.

At the snow comment, he...glances at the couch and, indeed, there's snow caked on the fabric. His germaphobic instincts ping, but he shakes his head, deciding that he'll worry about some other time.] I'll clean it up later.

_{[She appreciates that. As much of a loner as she is, she likes hugs. Hugs are nice. And to be entirely honest, the only person she got them from back home now was Douglas. She appreciated those, too, but-- it was really nice, having more than just one friend to get them from.]}

I can take care of it, really...

[She bends her fingers experimentally, wincing as it sends twangs of pain through the raw flesh.]

... Or, I... I guess a little help wouldn't hurt.

_{[She awkwardly bundles up the towel, holding her hands stiffly in front of her like the fingers were fused together, trying not to jostle them too much. The open air on the wounds hurt. As she does this, she also sheepishly lets her leg slide back down to rest on the floor, where... the boots will just melt more snow into the carpet. Nice.]}

Edited 2010-12-14 23:34 (UTC)

[Phoenix...is actually far more used to being on the recieving ends of hugs, rather than being the one giving them. Maya's constant tackling from the behind included. He has to finally pull his arm back, though, when she asks for his assistance. He manages to restrain his "I told you so" look, at least.]

Alright. [He nods, swallowing a bit.] What can I do?

_{[ooc; YEAAAHH SHORTEST REPLY YET]}

_{[Heather's more or less used to being the giver of them, as well, so-- ROLE REVERSAL?!]

[She gives him a grateful nod.]}

Just-- uh... if there's disinfectant...

_{[She sounds drained, but she's there enough to at least walk him through what needs to happen-- although chances are that she'll just interrupt him at times and do it herself because her impatience and stubbornness didn't go away just because reality had hit her like a ton of bricks tonight.]}

[SO IT WOULD SEEM! Wow, Heather, way to create a chain emotional reaction with this guy. Seriously, he is going to be drained as all hell tomorrow, just you wait.

He nods, holding up the bottle for Heather to see.] Yeah, right here...

[He hesitates a bit before un-capping the bottle, folding a square of bandages and pressing them to the top. He sort of knew how to disinfect wounds, but...]

So I just...press this to the wound, right? [He holds the now-damp bandage as if it might bite him, shifting slighly on the couch so that he wasn't in an uncomfortable position.]

_{[She'll feel baaaaad. Not that she doesn't already...]

[She nods as well.]}

That's the gist of it...

_{[Holding up one of the pulverized hands, she shrugs and offers him an awkward, sort of forced smile.]}

Don't pull it away if I flinch, I'm manly and I can handle it.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject