madra_liath: (Godot)
[personal profile] madra_liath
Summary: Someone from the Wright Anything Agency has been prank-calling the Prosecutors' Office, but Apollo and Athena won't own up to it. Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme.

***
"But Mr. Wright, it wasn't us!" Athena protested earnestly. The noise coming from their boss's heart was a mixture of annoyance and disappointment, and it was making her nervous. "We've been out all morning chasing witnesses!"

"Mr. Edgeworth was very sure it was you," Phoenix answered sternly. He frowned at Apollo. "Both of you."

"Objection!" Apollo shouted. "If we were lying about this, you'd be seeing Psyche-locks!”

“I’ve put the Magatama away,” Phoenix countered. “For now.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think I’d need to use it on you two.”

Athena winced – the disappointment in Phoenix’s heart had grown louder.

“We really didn’t do it,” she insisted, slamming her hands down on Phoenix’s desk for emphasis. “Please, Boss. We have better things to do than call the Chief Prosecutor and yell ‘Objection’ down the phone at him every five minutes for an hour!”

Phoenix seemed to consider this for a few moments, and Athena let herself relax slightly.

“All right,” he said reluctantly. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “If it wasn’t you, who’s the real prank caller?”

Athena almost said “Trucy”, but thought better of it at the last minute. Mr. Wright was already convinced that she and Apollo had been acting like dumb teenagers while on the clock. He’d be even more angry and disgusted with them if he thought they were trying to pin it on his daughter.

Luckily, her co-accused had a theory.

“It’s that homeless guy who’s living in the parking garage!” Apollo declared, clenching his fists.

“Let me guess,” Phoenix interrupted, resting his chin in his hand. “The same homeless guy who leaves the kitchenette a mess and steals all the toilet paper?”

“He’s real!” Apollo insisted, as Athena hid her face in her hand. “He’s been sleeping in that hunk of ju-” He broke off as Phoenix’s frown deepened, and quickly amended, “Ms. Fey’s old car.”

Phoenix shook his head, the disappointment in his heart reaching a crescendo. “Apollo –”

He’s making a nest!” Apollo shouted.

Phoenix heaved a sigh and stood up.

“Both of you… go clean the toilet,” he said tersely. He glanced from one to the other disapprovingly. “Till you’re ready to tell me the truth.” He stalked past them, grabbing his coat on the way, and headed out the door.

Athena gazed after him, then punched Apollo in the arm.

“Ow!” Apollo scowled at her, and Athena glowered right back.

“The phantom homeless guy?” she snapped. “Really?

Apollo glared after her as she turned on her heel and marched towards the bathroom. “Why won’t anyone believe me?!”

***

Phoenix finished the last of the day’s paperwork and switched off his desk lamp. With a start, he realised he hadn’t seen Apollo or Athena since he’d last shooed them out of the bathroom so he could use the facilities. They couldn’t still be…

He left his desk and glanced into the bathroom. Both of his employees were slumped over the toilet bowl, fast asleep, sponges and scrub brushes on the floor beside them. Phoenix had to admit, he was impressed by their stubbornness. It would go a long way in court. He was still annoyed that they hadn’t owned up to their phone shenanigans, but a few hours sleeping on the bathroom floor would be enough of a punishment. He padded quietly towards the office door and left for the day.

About thirty minutes later, Apollo’s phantom homeless guy crept into the office. He smirked at the two junior attorneys snoozing away in the shadow of the porcelain throne, then stepped around them to the cupboard where the toilet paper was kept. A brand new twelve-pack, all his for the taking. Silent as a cat, he slunk into the kitchenette with his purloined paper and put on a fresh pot of coffee. He glanced up at the office clock. It had been about seven hours; Miles Edgeworth would probably have stopped screening his calls by now.

The man poured himself a mug of coffee, tossed the scalding bitter darkness back in one swallow, and poured himself another before padding over to the desk. He cleared his throat and dialled the number. This time, he’d impersonate Trite himself.
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September 2015

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