Place: Some Golden Space

[professeurdeloi]

When he'd found the set of rooms, he hadn't been thinking of anything in particular, that he was aware of. But the resemblance of them to his college rooms in the year he had spent at Cambridge was striking enough that he had occupied them almost at a whim.

The main door is heavy and slightly too low for modern comfort. It opens onto a room that is high-ceilinged and grand; large, but not too large to lose its cosiness. The walls are panelled, the wooden floor varnished and mostly bare, the ceiling painted plain white. On the wall, opposite the door, there's a tall, arched window that reaches almost to the ceiling, heavy burgundy tapestry drapes pulled back, to reveal a snowy scene. There's a cushioned window seat at its base, and it always seems to be winter outside.

The wall to the left of the window houses the centrepiece of the room - a large, tall stone fireplace with a small fire in the grate that is lit most of the time - a pile of small logs stacked on the hearth beside it. There is a large mirror over the mantlepiece and  a small wooden carving of a green man propped up against a few leatherbound books of poetry. In front is a deep rug, an armchair, a small low table and a large leather sofa. The latter has a grey wool blanket thrown over it and a few cushions piled up against one arm.

Either side of the fireplace are heavy oak doors. One leads to a surprisingly modern bathroom and the other to a small study, lined with bookshelves and with an antique oak desk under the small, deep window - which also looks out on the same scene as its larger counterpart. On the desk are papers, a fountain pen, and a small laptop.

To the right of the window in the main room is a large wooden bedstead - the bed itself neatly made with a feather comforter and white sheets, a cover matching the burgundy of the curtains folded partly back over those. On one side is a nightstand, on the other, a rug and the doors of a small walk-in closet. On the nightstand is a small  vase containing three dark pink, heavily scented roses.

On the same wall as the door is a bookcase and a long, low cupboard that houses some crockery and a small, built in refrigerator. On the counter top is an electric kettle and yesterday's copy of Le Monde. It is always there, and always the most recent copy. He has given up trying to understand how it happens.

The bookcase is filled with a mixture of law, history, philosophy and poetry books - some were here when he arrived, and some he has borrowed from the libraries he has found here. There is also a small stereo and a selection of CDs.

There are no personal belongings, save for the books and CDs, and a few things he has been given since he arrived. Woodsmoke, floor polish, coffee and tobacco mingle with the scent of the roses and the air in here is always slightly cool, as if winter is encroaching from the view outside.

"Still may Time hold some golden space
Where I'll unpack that scented store
Of song and flower and sky and face,
And count, and touch, and turn them o'er,
Musing upon them..."  - Rupert Brooke

Comments

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*He flinches when his arm is grabbed, and stops in his tracks, giving Edgeworth a confused and slightly pained look until he explains himself, then he stares sheepishly at the floor, and eventually nods.

He hesitates before doing anything else. He's not sure where Edgeworth will go after he sits back down, so this might be his only chance to ask him for a while... When he makes his decision, he fumbles with his turtle so that he's holding it only with his arms, while he gets out his PDA and scribbles down a question.*

"Have you seen Nick Nicholas?"

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*It's an effort not to release Wright's arm immediately when Miles feels him flinch under his grip, but he doesn't, not until he's sure the man is listening to him.

Even then, he remains in front of the door, his arms folded, waiting for Wright to move back towards the sofa.

When he takes out the PDA and starts to write, Miles raises an eyebrow, tapping the screen with a fingertip.*

I take it then, that you could not speak before you went into that room?

And by Nicholas, do you mean perhaps... Mr Anderson? He is the only Nicholas that I know of in this place.

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*Phoenix frowns when Edgeworth taps the screen, as that puts an unnecessary dot on his writing that he can't get rid of without just clearing it. On the other hand, he can just get rid of it by clearing it, so no matter.

He nods affirmatively to both of Edgeworth's questions and waits expectantly.*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*it's almost a relief to hear that the loss of speech is not related to immediate trauma, although it's tempered by the desire to know what could have caused it, and when.

But he can't bring himself to ask, any more than he could when he met the other Wright with no voice, so he settles for trying to establish the "when", risking a slight bluff in the process.*

I see. I take it then that you know sign language?

*And then he considers the question, frowning as he tries to remember the last time that he saw Anderson, then shakes his head.*

I have not seen him for a while, although the last time that I did, he was quite well.

*And then he folds his arms again, his voice quiet, but firm*

Regardless, I do not propose to allow you to accost him in your present state - unless you wish to cause both him and me unnecessary worry.

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*He stares solemnly at the floor, shuffling his feet for a moment before carefully tucking the PDA back in his pocket and shaking his head. He can feel the hanging question in the air, it was one of the first things Nicholas had asked after all, and he doesn't want to deal with that at all right now, so he just obeys Edgeworth request to sit down and curls up at the end of the sofa again.

He can't quite concentrate on the fire anymore, and keeps to subtly watching Edgeworth instead.*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He registers the response - or lack of one - his frown deepening slightly. But he does not comment, merely nods, watching Wright until he has returned to the sofa before he moves himself.

He's aware of the scrutiny as he makes the tea - measuring out the leaves and steeping them in water. There's tension in his movements, half-alert for any other sudden movements for the door.

He places the mugs down on the table, next to the milk and the sugar, taking a seat in the armchair and returning his attention to Wright.*

How long have you been in this place?

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*He sits up a little when Edgeworth brings the tea over and frowns at it with some concentration. His first experience with tea had been a rather painful one that he doesn't want to repeat, and his Edgeworth isn't here to make sure he does it right.

He's distracted from those ponderings when Edgeworth asks his question, and makes a face. How long has he been here? That's too complicated. It would've been easier if he'd asked how long he hasn't been here, even though Edgeworth has no way of knowing that, of course.

He toys with one of the turtle's legs for a moment before he sighs and gets his PDA out again.*

"Which time?"

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He sits forward a little to add some milk to his tea, then stirs it, glancing up as he does and notiving the dubious look that Phoenix is giving his own mug. Despite the circumstances, a slight smile tugs at his lips as he remembers his own Wright's inexperience with any hot beverage save for bad coffee, and he picks up a teaspoon, holding it out.*

English Breakfast is quite strong. I recommend that you add a little milk - and perhaps sugar, if you prefer your coffee sweetened.

*And he turns his head slightly to look at the PDA screen, raising an eyebrow as his eyes meet Phoenix's again.*

You have been here more than once? How many times?

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*He thinks about Edgeworth's suggestion, then nods and very carefully, gingerly even, adds a good amount of milk and three sugar cubes to it and stirs, but doesn't drink yet.

As for 'how many times'...he starts counting off on one hand. One... He holds at one for a while, then keeps going. Two, three four... Five? Six? Five or six? Hmm... Maybe it was more than that? He kind of lost track somewhere along the line... Hopefully Edgeworth won't mind...right?*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He nods almost unconsciously at the amendments to the tea, a politely controlled smile at Wright as he adds three sugars - adding none to his own.

Then he watches keenly as Wright counts the time he has visited the Dressing Room, and there's a distinct look of disbelief when he reaches the sixth finger.*

You have suvcceeded in leaving only to be returned... that many times?

*He ponders that, having never managed to find an exit himself since he arrived. And now he wonders, even if he did, would he live in fear of opening any doors and being returned almost as soon as he left. Then he frowns suddenly, returning his attention to the other man.*

Then I am sorry to hear it, Wright. But I wonder that we have not encountered each other before now in that case.

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*He shrugs and starts to nod, then stops as he notices something about Edgeworth's wording which throws him off. "Succeeded"? He didn't "succeed" at anything. He got kicked out, unwillingly, just as Nicholas had warned him. Sure it's not a good thing, but doesn't Edgeworth have it backwards...?

Not only that, but he thinks they haven't met before... They have, haven't they? Should he tell him? ...Phoenix knows all too well the consequences of telling people what they don't want to, or aren't prepared to hear, and besides, he might stop being nice to him if he figures out who he is... On the other hand, would Edgeworth get mad if he figured it out later and realized that he didn't say so earlier? ...He could just pretend he didn't figure it out either, maybe. If that would even work... If he even figured it out...

At a complete loss for how to proceed now, he tries to stall for time by focusing his attentions on the tea. It's still hot, but not as hot, so it should be safe to drink, right? Right. It is, but it tastes different from normal... Not bad, just different...*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He sits back in the armchair, sipping his tea and watching Wright as the other man dithers, then picks up the mug in front of him.

He's almost amused by the parade of emotions that chase one another across Wright's face in response to his question, although they tell him very little on their own.

Strange how even here - even among alternate versions of the Phoneix Wright that he knew - that inability to conceal emotions behind those expressive eyes remained the same. He can't really help the slightly amused tone of his words despite their situation.*

Did I say something wrong, Wright?

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

Gk!



*At first he shakes his head quickly, then, on second thought, that's a lie and probably won't go over well, so he gives a hesitant nod too.

Maybe if he focuses really hard on this tea, he won't ask him to elaborate...*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

Yes and no?

*The amused tone has not completely disappeared, although he frowns a little into his mug, thinking back over his own words and wondering which were right and which were wrong. Had he met the man before? He had no recall of him if so - this was certainly not the Phoenix who could not speak that he met in the butterfly garden, and he had not knowingly met any others.

Then he looks up from his tea abruptly.*

I apologise if this is an upsetting question, Wright, but... were you ever able to speak during your stays here?

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*So, apparently, acting distracted is not enough to get the questions to stop... He could just start ignoring him...but...no.

Could he speak? Sure, but only stuff no one wanted to hear anyway. That hasn't changed...

Very, very reluctantly, he gives a small nod.*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He doesn't break eye contact, or look back at his
drink, but keeps his eyes on Wright for any signs of emotion.*

I see. Then should I suppose that we have, in fact, met before?

*And there's only briefest of pauses, not long enough for an answer, before he shrugs - his tone brisker as he nods to Wright's mug*

Drink your tea, Wright. You have yet to have that shower or dress those cuts.

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*He blinks at the sudden change in tone, wondering if he got mad anyway, but he can't really tell, and he does have a point, so he remains focused on the tea and not much else. When he's done, he sets it down, takes a deep breath, and then carefully looks around the room again. It takes a moment for him to locate the bathroom, and when he does, he glances at Edgeworth again, just to be safe.*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He frowns at the determined concentration on the tea, although it is, for him, only a passing irritation.

When Wright glances at the slightly open bathroom door and then back at him he raises an eyebrow in response.*

You don't need my permission, Wright - you are a guest.

... There are clean towels and you may help yourself to anything in there that you need.

The first aid kit is in the cupboard above the sink - when you are finished showering, please bring it with you.

*And he puts down his mug with a further frown as he looks over Wright's clothes again, stained with dried blood and filth.*

I will find you something to wear after you have showered. You can't put those back on, particularly not when you have healing cuts.

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*Admonished again... Story of his life. He grins sheepishly and stands up slowly. ...His PDA he can leave here, but the turtle... He deliberates for a moment, but ends up taking it with him.*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

The bathroom door clicks closed in Wright's wake, and he remains where he is for a while, sipping his tea and staring into the fire, only half-registering the muffled sound of running water as the shower is switched on.

He puzzles over which Wright this might be, casting his mind back to the people he knows, or knows of, who have left this place only to be returned, but he can recall none who match the Wright he had just met. Nor can he recall hearing of any incidents severe enough to cause loss of speech, save that is for the unsolved murders - and he did not recall ever meeting the Wright who became a victim.

The sudden cessation of noise breaks into his thoughts and he puts the tea down hurriedly, with a frown at his own absentmindednss.

Pushing himself to his feet, he crosses the room, pulling open the closet door and surveying the contents for a while, arms crossed. He pulls out a few items, examining them critically before either putting them aside or replacing them on the rail, a slightly wry smile as a grey long sleeved t-shirt joins the pair of jeans draped over his arm.

That done, he lays the clothes over the back of the sofa, and resumes his seat.*

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*It's a nicer bathroom than any he's ever owned, and certainly a lot better than that one in his room that barely even poured water. ...Come to think of it, he's never seen another one that bad, before or since. Then again, everything in that room was broken, so it's not that strange... Nothing in this room looked broken, same with Nick's... Just his, huh...?

When he's done, he keeps a big towel and grabs his clothes (Edgeworth would be mad if he lost them), his turtle, and after some rummaging, the first aid kit. It's a lot to hold on to, but he manages somehow. The door is trickier. He has to put some of it down first and then pick it back up again once it's open, then scoot through.*

((I feel like this tag sucks. I dunno. INSECURITIES WHEE.))

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He waits until Wright has had a moment to adjust to being back in the main room, then coughs lightly before rising from his chair and crossing to the sofa.*

Put these on.

*And he holds out the jeans, reaching to take the first aid kit and Phoenix's clothes in return. He makes no move to touch the turtle, having realised by now that for some reason it seems to have a special significance for the man. He looks Wright up and down a little critically, noting again that he seems thinner than the one he knew, and there's a slight frown as his gaze flickers to the jeans.

Wright is well wrapped in a towel, but he averts his eyes a little all the same, for the sake of the man's modesty.*

You may need to belt them in a little, but the length should be fine.

I have a shirt for you too, but I want to treat those first.

*And he nods towards a rather obvious opened cut on Wright's arm - although it hasn't escaped his observation that all the cuts Wright has sustained seem confined to his upper body - the worst around his neck and wrists and hands, some on his face. But it's a relief to note no further injuries - given the state of the man's clothes he'd been concerned, at the least.*

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*He remains impassive during the exchange, though he does inspect the jeans once he has them. They seem normal enough. Not that he was expecting there to be a trick or anything. ...Well, pants are pants anyway. He tucks his turtle under his chin and puts them on, frowning a little when he realizes Edgeworth was right about the size. ...Well, pants are still pants.

He does some have bruises from his falls in addition to the cuts, but none of them are really bothering him anymore. Well, the one Edgeworth pointed out does when Phoenix decides to poke at it, so maybe he's still got the right idea.

He's also still wearing his medical bracelet. It's too tight to take on and off easily, so he just keeps in on at all times. If Edgeworth were to bother to read it, he'd see that on the front it list's Phoenix's name, Edgeworth's cell phone number, and a brief note of his conditions, namely dementia and memory loss and mutism.*

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He unthreads Wright's belt from the loops of the bloodstained jeans and hands it back to him, putting the jeans and sweatshirt on the floor next to the fire afterwards. Then he makes a more careful inspection of the open cuts, frowning up at the light.

His gazes settles on the medical bracelet briefly, then meets Wright's eyes immediately after, but he doesn't ask, instead looking around the room for the best lit area.

Abruptly, he crosses to the window, putting the first aid kit down on the folding stool that often acts as a makesift table, then extracting a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of cotton wool from the small green box.

He gestures to Wright to follow him, pointing at the cushioned window seat firmly.*

Sit.

[lost-turnabout.livejournal.com]

*It takes some effort to get the belt on without dropping the turtle, and he frowns slightly when Edgeworth gestures to the window seat, but he shrugs it off and sits down, looking warily at the antiseptic. That's...going to hurt, isn't it...?*