Static

5. Hidden Memoirs

Ring Ring Ring

Click

"Hello?"

"Glad I could slip up to your phone."

"Tsk. What is your business, Phoenix Wright?"

"Well, if its Miles, then it wasn't that important?"

"Get to the point already."

"Um well... you see, he went out to the local pub, and knowing that you're much more closer to the pub, you know?"

"... This isn't one of his drinking charades again, ain't it?"

"I don't know. I just got a tip. The rest is for you to figure out, Franziska."

"Very well. I'll see to it that he will be treated with a handful of whipping when I meet him there."

"Thanks. I should be going too now."

Click

***

The Crow Bar
11:45 pm

The stench of strong alcoholic beverages and cigarrette smoke tainted the atmosphere. Vodkas, Champagnes, Martinis, and cancer sticks of all kinds, mushed up together to form a compact, pungent fog that permeated every inch of the bar itself. The added chatter and mindless, cheering hoots of drinkers did not help either.

Franziska hated going to this wretched place. The crowd density was doubled from what she expected, given that she knew this particular bar was a seedy one. It wasn't going to be easy.

The night time interval that she is in currently made the crowds of drinkers much more complicated. She had to push in narrow pathways, brushing her clean frame with the grime of the filthy, sweaty bodies along in the process. She didn't care much though, as her office shift was over already, but if she had a single smidge of grime on her clothing while on duty, she will diligently slash anyone with her whip.

... but to her dismay, she can't use her whip here either. It is a local area, and not a courtroom. Not to mention, it would only waste her time.

(If only I could use it this time... that would've saved me some time. They might confuse me for a foolish waitress of this foolish bar, anyway.)

She kept moving forward, until she saw the bar's serving table. Her eyes darted to the other corner of the table to find the familiar wine-colored suit. But she saw him that he is not in his former self. At least, that's what she had initially deciphered from his slouched posture.

(The nerve of this fool... going out completely defenseless whilst drinking the horrid elixirs this place would dare to serve! I was right the first time. I will make him eat leather later, but for now...)

Franziska went, with her steps stomping the floor slightly. When she reached him, she jabbed his shoulder sharply with her gloved finger for a good measure instead of the whiplash, because she considered a single hatchet like that could bring him the worse hangovers while wide awake.

Miles turned his eyes to look at her lazily. His expression alone shows that he was slightly drowned in the vile concoction's fantasy.

"F... Franziska...?"

"We'll talk about it later." She yanked his weak arm to get him up from his seat. She refused to get him something out in the open, so she had to shut the curtains of conversation for now.

(Being tipsy isn't going to help your explanation anyway.)

She gripped his wrist tighter as she pulled him with her lead against the dense crowd once more. She could hear him mutter something gibberish, but she ignored his complaints.