I've been writing this very slowly since late 2016. It's getting to a length where keeping it all on one document on my computer is getting a bit frustrating (for me at least), plus I hope to update more frequently if it's up on more places than the kinkmeme. ;)

Should be around four chapters by the end.

[DAY ONE: INVESTIGATION]

-xxx-

Miles suspected from the start that Franziska really did not need him to ride in and rescue her. He only did so in the end because she didn't have a car, and she was due to prosecute an important case in the morning. Still, it was disappointing in a way, when he arrived at the abandoned Gatewater Hotel, to find her not even locked in a dungeon or at least the laundry room, but instead sipping tea in the lobby as cool as you please.

"You're late, Miles Edgeworth," she scolded at the sight of him, standing up and smoothing her skirt. She held out a commanding hand: "Keys."

Miles sighed, and handed them over. He looked around the lobby. "I see the so-called Beast made little impression upon you. Not so fearsome, then, I take it?"

"Ha!" Franziska scoffed. "The Beast is nothing more than a pitiful fool!"

But she gripped her whip harder, and frowned slightly as she spoke.

"Franzi-"

"I will return for you once the trial is concluded, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska snapped, heading for the door. "In the meantime, do try the tea. ...And don't argue with the Beast."

Miles turned to ask her what she meant by that, but too late; the glass doors had already slid shut behind her, and when he stood in front of them the sensors did not detect him. He watched thoughtfully as Franziska got into his red sportscar and drove off, leaving him trapped alone with this mysterious Beast for probably at least two days.

He wasn't especially bothered by the prospect, except...

"What on earth would make Franziska unwilling to argue with someone?" Miles wondered aloud.

"I'm sure I don't know, sir," replied the teapot, in a snooty voice. It hopped a little closer as Miles yelped and jumped three feet into the air. "A cup of tea?"

-xxx-

It took Miles nearly two hours to locate the Beast. He supposed he could have just spent his time in the lobby, or in the suite the teapot had provided him (it claimed to have once been a bellboy; he was frankly too shaken to question further), but Franziska's warning had left him curious. So he took to wandering the halls of the hotel, and eventually paused outside the ballroom upon hearing a horrendous racket.

Sticking his head inside the door, Miles realized he must have found the famed Beast... and a well-deserved name it was, too. The man at the piano was sitting slouched, dressed in a ratty pair of sweatpants and a gray hoodie. Flip-flops hung off his feet where he propped them loosely against the pedals, and a blue beanie obscured his hair and forehead. As Miles approached, he noted that the Beast had apparently neglected to shave this morning, and possibly several mornings before that.

Most importantly, however, his piano playing was loud, enthusiastic, and utterly terrible.

Hands on his ears, Miles snapped, "Would you please stop that?!"

The Beast cut off his performance with one last tuneless plunk of keys, turning his head slightly to take Miles in without standing. He grinned, a sly, insincere sort of expression.

"Ah, you must be the replacement prosecutor," he muttered. "Don't worry, I have no plans to fall in love with you."

Miles sputtered.

"...Didn't know about that, did you?" the Beast asked wryly. "Well. I promise you don't have to hang out with me; know I'm not exactly pleasant company anymore. I'd make you leave completely if I could."

"F-fix the sensors on your front doors and I'd be able to," Miles said, still a bit flustered.

"Can't, magic," the Beast claimed airily.

"Magic doesn't exist," Miles snapped.

"...I thought you met the bellboy already." It wasn't quite a question. More of a semi-smug accusation, hidden under a faux-politeness that set Miles' teeth on edge. Beast indeed.

"That wasn't magic," he sniffed. "Merely a prank of some sort. Blackquill robotics, no doubt."

The Beast finally turned to look at him head-on. His smirk was still a sideways, unpleasant sort of thing, but his mismatched eyes held a gleam of real amusement that was... intriguing.

"Did you see a microphone?" he asked. "Or any kind of spring to allow it to hop around?"

"Just because I didn't see it doesn't mean it wasn't there," Miles parried. "Technology these days tends towards the minimalist, and visible gears and wires would ruin the aesthetic of the teapot in any case."

"But wouldn't the tea itself ruin the wiring?" the Beast responded, sitting a little straighter.

Miles scoffed, and pulled his phone out of his pocket, brandishing it in the Beast's face. "Take that!"

As the Beast examined the top-of-the-line smartphone, Miles continued: "My cellphone is, as you can see, a masterwork of electronics, and would normally be quite vulnerable to liquid. However, it is safe inside a waterproof case, and thus could easily withstand hot tea or other beverages. No doubt the voicebox in the teapot was similarly protected."

The Beast hummed thoughtfully, poking at the phone like some... well, a lot like the Judge when confronted with technology, actually. Then he bent and retrieved a green bottle from beneath his seat, and promptly upended it over the phone.

"Would you look at that," he commented, as the purple liquid within spilled all over the phone and yet the screen did not change at all. "They've really done a lot with technology these days..."

He rose from his bench and tossed the phone at Miles, ignoring his squawk as the sticky liquid got all over his hands when he caught it. "Don't look at me like that, it's just grape juice," he said, and stepped around Miles entirely.

"Hey, h- HOLD IT!" Miles snapped, upon realizing that the Beast seriously intended to just walk right out of the room without even an apology. The man stiffened at his words, pausing with a hand on the doorknob. "Is - is that it?"

"...Yeah. It is." The Beast still did not turn around. "You were right about the phone case. I guess you win, it must've been a robot. I... certainly can't argue with you."

The Beast's voice was low and sad on these last words. There was a mournfulness there which stunned Miles; he sounded wistful in a way that reminded Miles of his childhood, long since lost forever. It caught Miles' voice in his throat and set his heart pounding in his chest and even - for a moment - had him considering reaching out, somehow –

"I mean, it definitely doesn't add up to me, that such an average-sized teapot would have enough room to hold both a concealed spring and waterproof voicebox, and still have enough room to provide full cups of tea for both Franziska and you especially since you drank two - but hey. What do I know." The Beast tilted his head back over his shoulder, eyes glinting with an infuriating sort of amusement, and smirked.

Miles' fingers (sticky with grape juice) clenched in reflexive irritation.

"Too bad I can't argue with you, or I really might do something with that," the Beast sighed, and then exited the room before Miles could retort.

He was left alone in the ballroom, fuming. What a smug, passive-aggressive, sarcastic asshole! Truly, a beast indeed!

...He needed to investigate the teapot matter further, then track him down and prove beyond all doubt that magic was not a factor.

Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, Miles wiped the grape juice from his phone and his hands with a grimace. Then he tucked both items back into his pockets, and set out for the lobby, burning with indignation.

-xxx-

He didn't make it very far. Just a few steps into the hallway, Miles was tackled by a hatstand.

"I've got him! I've got him! Polly, move in!" it shrieked in the voice of a young, excited girl.

"No," replied a clock sitting on the floor.

"Pollyyyyy," the hatstand complained, as Miles frantically wrestled it off himself and stumbled against the wall, panting. "You're no help at all. Don't you want to go back to normal already?"

"Yeah, somehow I think assaulting our only hope is pretty detrimental to that goal," the clock said sarcastically. It hopped a little closer, the hour hand wiggling back and forth. "Hi. Sorry about her. I'm Apollo, nice to meet you."

Miles opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the overeager hatstand jumping in front of him again.

"And I'm Trucy! Nice to meetcha!" It exclaimed, then without pause demanded: "So, what'd you think? Is he exactly what you've been dreaming of your whole life? Was it love at first sight?"

"…..He poured grape juice on my phone," Miles said. He felt like he was reaching something of a saturation point when it came all of this nonsense, at least enough to take it somewhat as it came. "So, not really."

Solid wood meant it should be impossible, but the hatstand appeared to droop.

"Daddy, why…" it mumbled. The clock hopped closer and used one of the decorative handles at its side to pat the hatstand's leg comfortingly.

"Yup, sounds about right for him," it said grimly. "But we're not gonna give up! Come on Trucy, say it with me!"

Then they started chanting determinedly about being just fine for a few minutes. Miles stared down at the pair, bemused.

"So," he said eventually, when they appeared to be finished, "Ms. Aura Blackquill's work, yes?"

They stared at him blankly. Well. Not emoting through movement, at any rate. The fact that they were furniture and had no faces meant that all their stares were rather blank when it came down to it.

"I suppose a man rich enough to live in a hotel could certainly afford several robots," he mused aloud. "Though I have to admit I don't get his taste."

"Hey!" said the clock in an offended voice.

"We're not robots!" The hatstand joined in. "I'm a magician!"

Miles snorted, and reached out to grab the hatstand. The voice seemed to be coming from the top, so if he could just examine that area for speakers then he would be able to show that Beast definitive evidence of –

"OW!"

The hatstand shuffled backwards, waggling the arm it had just smacked him with. "Don't grab my face! That's really rude!"

Miles frowned, and stepped forward to look again – and was promptly tripped by a furious clock.

"TAKE THAT!" it shouted at deafening volume, directly into his ear. Miles made a grab for it, but it hopped back out of reach. The hatstand swung in threateningly…

"Alright! Alright, I'm stopping!" Miles put his hands up in surrender. The hatstand and clock retreated warily across the hallway, grumbling to one another.

"First crazy whip lady, and now this guy… ugh, prosecutors suck."

"I'm glad Daddy poured grape juice on his phone. Serves him right."

Sitting up slowly, Miles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He'd just gotten into fight with some furniture, for heaven's sake. He was definitely better than that, whether they admitted to being robots or not.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was… eager to gather some evidence for a disagreement with, um, the Beast." It occurred to him that neither he nor the Beast had introduced themselves at any point. "My name is Miles Edgeworth."

The clock ticked in a resentful sort of way, but at least the hatstand forgave easily enough.

"Hi Mr. Edgeworth," it said, voice back to chirpy. "Um, Daddy's name is Ph- Ph- Fffff – ugh! Stupid curse!"

"'Wright' should be okay," said the clock, "There's a lot of those. Oh, yep, it works. His name is Mr. Wright. Sorry he pulled that whole cryptic act on you. He's really not that bad a guy."

"Daddy is awesome," the hatstand claimed loyally.

Miles peered at it quizzically. He saw neither any kind of speaker or any resemblance to being related to a human being.

"Right," he said doubtfully.

"...Hey, what time is it?" The clock asked, breaking the awkward silence that followed. "–I can't see myself so don't even start."

"Nearly six," Miles said mildly. He had no desire to get into another fight, and the clock sounded touchy about this.

"Crap, I'd better go help the bellboy get dinner started. Truce, you wanna introduce the others while we're busy?"

"…Others?"

-xxx-

A robotic teapot was odd enough. Still, at least it appeared to serve some function, and it was even programmed to fit the hotel theme. A robotic clock was a little less thematic, but still, not so crazy. Giving it a full artificial personality was taking matters a bit further than most, granted, but not beyond an accomplished roboticist like Blackquill.

The hatstand – Miles just really didn't get that one. Especially giving it the ability to wander around. Still. If it were just that one, he could have managed.

But this? This had to be the strangest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

–And, dammit, he couldn't even imagine how they were supposed to be robots!

The ladder and bouncy ball introduced themselves as Maya and Pearl respectively, and at this point Miles didn't even see the point anymore in avoiding names or gendered pronouns. Standing before him was a friendly female ladder, her younger cousin the rubber bouncy ball, and a hatstand that was the daughter of the man publicly known only as 'the Beast'. That was it.

…Stick a fork in me. I'm done.

"Hey, you look pretty tired," Maya said, joints creaking as she shuffled closer. "Want me to show you to your room?"

"No, no, he has to eat dinner with Mr. NrrwWright!" Pearl insisted. "Oh, geez, that's weird. It never happened before."

"Well, we all know who Daddy is so there'd be no reason for it to," Trucy said reasonably. "But yeah, a romantic dinner is definitely a must!"

"Guys, Mr. Edgeworth has had a long day! He probably wants to go at least put his briefcase away and freshen up. We should probably take him to Room 303 so he can do that!"

"Ohhhh," Trucy and Pearl said in unsubtle tones of dawning comprehension. Miles surreptitiously slid the edge of the keycard the bellboy had given him out of his pocket. As he suspected, it was assigned to Room 217.

Tucking his key back into his pocket, he followed the girls anyway. Might as well see what they intended… and should it be in any way sinister, he was fairly certain he could outrun all of them.

-xxx-

Room 303 was fairly average, as hotel rooms went. A single room, it held a queen-sized bed with bland brown covers, one table with two chairs, a bathroom, and a dresser with a very large floral arrangement. The bed wasn't made, and there was an empty bottle of grape juice leaving a sticky ring on the table, but all in all the room was actually rather tidy. Frankly, it was a little disappointing, both as a mystery destination and as the lair of the Beast.

For it obviously was the Beast's room; the only question was, why had Maya been so eager to show it to him?

"Here you go, Mr. Edgeworth!" she said cheerfully. "Go ahead, take a reeeeal good look around! We want to be sure we meet your high standards, after all."

Miles played along, advancing into the room and placing his suitcase on the bed. "I'm not a snob. …But at least making the bed is surely the very basics."

"'I'm not a snob,'" Trucy mocked in a snotty, subdued voice that led Miles to believe she was by nature extremely messy.

Pearl squeaked in a sort of apologetic way, but Maya remained unperturbed.

"You try making a bed without any hands, then we'll talk."

Miles hummed thoughtfully, peering into the small closet alcove next to the bathroom. To his surprise, a blue suit was hanging inside a plastic cover. It was an old suit, cheap and shabby, but still far more formal than the Beast's current attire, and he couldn't really picture the man he'd seen wearing it. Furthermore, the dust along the plastic sleeve suggested that the suit hadn't been worn for some time… still, Wright had apparently valued it enough to keep safely tucked away. Interesting.

He proceeded into the bathroom, but the contents were unremarkable, outside of a tube of strong hairgel. Apparently, under that grubby beanie the Beast was carefully coiffed… or, perhaps not. Upon further examination, the tube was still sealed. There was also a shaving kit next to it, obviously equally unused.

Miles turned around to go back into the main part of the room, only to be stopped by all of the furniture crowding up the doorway, whispering eagerly to one another. He cleared his throat, and they all jumped (Pearl, in particular, started to bounce in place in a jittery sort of caught-out fashion).

"Uh! So! A-aren't you gonna rifle through the drawers anytime soon?" Trucy demanded, shifting swiftly from off-guard to aggressive. It was a transition worthy of any prosecutor whose witness had been caught out in a lie; Miles couldn't help but smile.

"Is that what you want me to do?" he asked mildly. Pearl's next bounce hit the ceiling.

"Well, yeah, I thought that was pretty standard!" Maya covered, and nudged the other girls out of the way so that they could all go to the main room. "I mean, how else are you gonna know if there's a big wad of cash left behind by the previous occupant?"

"I think the maids would find such a thing first," Miles commented, as he approached the bedside table. "Though, given the state of the bed in this particular room…"

"Har har," the ladder said. If she had eyes, Miles suspected she'd be rolling them. He smirked slightly as he finally pulled back the drawer in front of him – and stopped still.

"Hmm," he said, quietly, and reached inside. There was a soft chorus of gasps behind him as his fingers closed around the defense attorney's badge and lifted it up to the light.

It was the first time he'd ever held one in his hand since childhood; perhaps for that reason, the small pin seemed heavier than the metal it was made of. The sunflower shape was more rounded than the sharpness of his prosecutor's badge, but perhaps that was to be expected. Still… Miles rubbed his thumb across the cool metal, and nodded to himself. It felt worn, well-used. Despite being left to rattle around in a drawer, the actual surface of the badge itself was more dinged up than that alone could account for. Clearly, this thing had seen some action at one point – perhaps while pinned to the lapel of that blue suit.

He flipped the badge over and read the numbers on the back out loud.

"26381… What's your story?"

"A closed book," a sharp voice cut in from behind him. Miles whirled around, heart racing – sure enough, the Beast himself loomed in the doorway, a fierce scowl on his face. He filled the tiny entryway; Miles was fairly certain that he was actually a little taller than the other man, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment. Wright's shoulders were broad and, even through the hoodie he wore, his movements as he stepped further into the room spoke of pure power. And not only that: rage, just barely restrained. For a frantic second, Miles tried to remember whether the thumb went inside or outside a fist; glancing down at the Beast's hands, he swallowed as his question was answered.

"Hello," he answered, attempting to sound nonchalant. "I was just settling into my room–"

"Put that badge back," the Beast ordered forcefully. His voice was low, controlled. But full of tension, too, and in a moment the scowl was gone from his lips, replaced by a cold smile somehow more menacing. "And get the hell out of here."

"Hey, Nnn- you," the ladder attempted to interject. "Don't talk like that around –"

"Shut up, stepladder," the Beast hissed, and Maya flinched with a metallic creak. "I can't believe you'd do this. I've – I've told you, so many times…"

He fell silent; heavy, it filled the room. Miles watched with narrowed eyes as the Beast went from furious to weary in a slow slide of shifting tension. He lifted a hand up as if to rub across his head, only to pause upon touching his beanie. Turning slightly, he glanced at Trucy and Pearl, both sitting very still and quiet next to the bed.

For a moment, Miles almost expected an apology… but the Beast only sighed.

"Get out of here," he said softly. "Can you ask the bellboy to bring my dinner up here?"

Pearl rolled meekly out of the room without a sound. The hatstand followed her, but paused in the doorway.

"Daddy," Trucy said, and it shouldn't have been possible, but her voice sounded on the edge of tears. "Sometimes you really suck."

Wright didn't wince so much as he went very still.

"I know," he said, in a miserable sotto voce. Miles was fairly certain the girl outside hadn't heard, but he must have reacted somehow, as a moment later, the Beast's head jerked up, and their eyes locked.

"You're still holding that badge," he noted emotionlessly.

"Ah, yes. My apologies," Miles said, and held it out in front of himself. "I believe this is yours."

Wright stared down at the badge Miles held for a long moment; then, deliberately, he placed his hands inside his pockets.

"You can put it back in the nightstand, thanks," he said, with a wry smile that felt like a lock slamming shut.

Irritated, Miles did so. He slid the drawer shut, then crossed his arms over his chest, standing up straighter and raising an eyebrow at the man before him. In response, the Beast's shoulders slumped further, his stance relaxing to something indolent and a little smug.

He lifted his chin a bit, and smiled blandly. "Feel free to leave anytime."

Miles smiled back, tightly, and stepped forward. The Beast didn't bother to move out of his way, so he was forced to brush his shoulder past the other man. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a smirk, and fought not to respond, despite the hot flare of anger it provoked. He really, really did not like this Beast's attitude.

Much like Trucy had, Miles paused in the doorway.

"Miss Maya," he asked. "Will you be joining me?"

"No, that's okay," she said. Her voice was solemn. "You go ahead. I'm going to stay here and have a chat with the Boss."

Miles inclined his head, and exited the room. He paused outside the door after it had swung shut behind him, but he didn't hear any voices immediately and he wasn't going to sink to eavesdropping. Snooping had been bad enough, no matter how clearly sanctioned it had been. Still, at least it had proved informative…

He made his way downstairs slowly, lost in thought. The pieces were not that hard to fit together, honestly: the suit, the unused products in the bathroom, the badge, even the Beast's claim that he 'couldn't argue' – it all painted a clear picture. The Beast, this Mr. Wright, had once been a lawyer. Furthermore, whatever had torn him from that profession had almost certainly been against his will. The way he'd lashed out, his quiet admission of self-castigation, the longing in his eyes as he stared at the badge in Miles' hand… they were all edges of some huge scar, the full form of which Miles couldn't yet see.

But he wanted to. Perhaps against his better judgement, Miles was intrigued now by the mystery that was Mr. Wright. The man's voice had gone so soft when he'd spoken to Trucy, and there had been something in his eyes before he locked it away… Miles felt drawn to it, despite how aggravated the man's more Beastly behaviors made him. He wanted to know the full story – why the Beast was so closed-off and yet seemingly wistful, what had led him to this, playing terrible piano in an empty hotel and blaming curses for his bitterness. He suspected there was still something remaining of the person Wright had once been; at least, all the robots seemed to like him far more than his current behavior warranted.

The Beast himself clearly didn't feel inclined to tell him anything. But that was all right; he had other options.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket as he approached the restaurant, Miles typed out a quick message before slipping it back away.

[to: Detective Gumshoe

Look up former defense attorney registered to badge #26381. Report back with all available information ASAP.]