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edgeworth be pimpin'
Prompt: Anyone Wendy Oldbag likes dies well before they should have. Juan died at 21, and Jack Hammer died at 37.
Desperate to escape the curse, Miles Edgeworth sets out to make himself as unlikable as possible to her.
Bonus points if it backfires.
Summary: ;A;
Edgeworth had a certain female on his mind.
By his distracted look, the people around the office were exchanging smug glances, as if Edgeworth was their precious son and he had finally hit the age of puberty. Finally, they said, he probably had a woman on his mind. A fresh-looking young model, perhaps, pictured in a magazine. Or even better, a young lady who served coffee with a blush and a smile. A fangirl who had finally caught his attention, braving the crowds for a fairy-tale romance. Actually, Edgeworth could care less about any of the above.
He was thinking about Wendy Oldbag.
Shuffling through his old files, his eye caught on the one about Juan Corrida. Then, ruffling through the papers, there was Jack Hammer. Absently, he remembered that the old lady—the one who batted her eyelashes rather disturbingly—hadn’t she liked them? Yes, he thought, glancing down once more. These were the ones. But then their death dates caught his eye.
Juan Corrida. At the age of 21.
Jack Hammer. 37.
A cold sweat broke across his forehead.
“Nonsense,” he told himself in his office. “That old lady isn’t a curse. Merely because she crushes on a few people who have died is simply unlucky.” To prove his own assertiveness, he threw the files back into the cabinet and walked out of the room. A few seconds later, he was back, digging through the papers frantically. Shuddering, he looked desperately at the poor few who had been cursed to their deaths.
He wasn’t superstitious, he told himself. He was not about to fall victim to this—this—thing. But, still, he thought, it was better safe than sorry. After all, he was still young. He had much to live for. And it was better safe than sorry. With these facts fixed to his mind, he decided to Do Something About It.
Dialing the phone, he leaned back on his chair and stared outside. “Yes,” he said to his secretary. “I need you to place an order for me. Rather, several orders.”
“For an important case, Mr. Edgeworth?”
“For my personal safety,” he said affirmatively. Watch out, Wendy Oldbag, he thought through gritted teeth. He would sway this curse, even if it killed him! “I wish to request two scantily clad women in my room in a matter of hours. Also . . . “
--
Wendy Oldbag dabbed on her favorite perfume, slipped on her favorite uniform, and spruced up her hair. After that, she carefully did her eyelashes, put on her make-up, and applied her lipstick as a matter of an exact form. Looking in her mirror, she had to smile at herself. Oh yes, she did indeed still have it in her. She was still an extremely attractive lady. So after popping in her dentures, she matter-of-factly set off to Prosecutor Edgeworth’s office.
It wasn’t everyday she received a call from him! He must have been bamboozled with her loveliness. Blushing, she cackled in thought about her favorite young man. So handsome! So suave! So kept under her charms! The frills, the pink, and that glint in his eye! So sturdy! Yes, yes, she thought, entering the building, she did indeed have it in her. Ah, he even reminded her of Juan Corrida, and that other fellow, Jack Hammer.
“Ah, Ms. Oldbag?” The secretary looked rather nervous. “Please enter. Mr. Edgeworth is . . . waiting . . . for you above.” Wendy Oldbag took no notice of the strange pause. She was in such a good mood, she only gave the secretary a light scolding about youth of these days before she lovingly walked up the stairs and opened the door.
Edgeworth, decked out in sunglasses, gold necklaces, and a shabby suit, sat behind his desk, two women in bikinis on either side of him.
“Mr—Mr. Edgeworth!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Am I interrupting something?”
Edgeworth awkwardly adjusted his sunglasses. It seemed silly to wear them under the office. Sunglasses were for sunlight! But though it offended him, the young boy behind the counter assured him that it was indeed hip, and even offered him some ‘bling’ to wear. Edgeworth did indeed sling them around his neck, though they were rather distasteful and gaudy. (The frills worked so much better.)
“No,” he said. “You’re right on time. Please come in, Ms. Oldbag. Take a seat.”
She did, and he felt a small satisfaction from her worried look. He did indeed still have that offensive air in him. There was nothing more offensive in the world than teenagers! Their sheer impudence would have adults in a matter of nerves in a second. Though, he himself as a teenager merely attended law school.
“Let me introduce you,” he said, “This is Miss ‘Candy.’ The other young lady is Miss ‘Lollipop.’ Say hello to Ms. Oldbag.”
“Good morning,” Candy tittered, drooping herself over Edgeworth. He felt rather smug. Yes, once that Oldbag saw that he much preferred youth to age, she would certainly leave him alone. And in such a state, as well!
“Oh, Mr. Edgeworth,” Ms. Oldbag said, and Edgeworth felt morally repulsed when he saw that her eyes were still glittering and shining in admiration. “You’re still so youthful!”
There were no words to describe his sheer disappointment.
“Oh, yes, Ms. Oldbag. I called you here to tell you something,” he said, changing tactics. Tactfully withdrawing from the young women, he leaned forward in his shabby suit. “I have decided to become a defense attorney. Yes. Like Phoenix Wright.” Smugly, he adjusted his sunglasses. There was no better trick than his old friend, Phoenix Wright, the ultimate loser of losers. He who had never gotten girl surely repulsed them even before he got them.
“I see, Mr. Edgeworth!” Her eyes still twinkled, and now she moved into a more girlish pose. “You want to beat that dirty Mr. Wright at his own game! How wonderful!”
Edgeworth stared. And then he reclined. “Oh, no, I will most assuredly be most loser-like at this job,” he said. “In fact, I will then become extremely poor. Yes, my house shall be a cardboard box. I will spend my days begging door-to-door for cases, much like Phoenix Wright.”
“Poor dear,” she said, her eyes shining. She reached forward and touched his hand. He recoiled immediately. “Don’t worry, Mr. Edgeworth! I will support you throughout for your noble ideals!”
This was obviously not working. He kneaded his forehead as the girls giggled behind him, talking about something or other. There was no other choice, then, to channel Larry Butz. He pitied Ms. Oldbag briefly. Nobody should have to handle the one who was Larry Butz. But for once, his slackish ways would come in handy.
“Oh dude,” Edgeworth said in a deadpan. “I had completely forgotten. I believe I will need to borrow large amounts of money from you and never return them.”
“Anything you want, Edgey-dear!”
“Du-u-u-ude. I will then commence to live at your house and eat all your food.”
“I’ll buy macaroni and cheese, just for you!”
“Oh no. I have suddenly decided to do an annoying job change. I will not be a security guard. And spend my time calling for pizza instead of actually working. But still whine to you about working too hard.”
“I understand, I understand!” Wendy Oldbag’s eyes brimmed with tears as she patted Edgeworth’s hand. “A security guard’s life is hard, but anything to reprieve the boredom is better! I do that all too often!” Note to self, Edgeworth thought, never hire Wendy Oldbag as a security guard.
“Excuse me as I shall now commence to call you an annoying nickname.” Edgeworth struggled for a moment. “. . . Old. Oldy. Yes. Oldy.”
“Nicknames?” Her eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, Mr. Edgeworth, sir! We’ve finally reached that point in our relationship!”
He gritted his teeth. If even Larry-isms did not work on her, then she surely was a worthy opponent. Even more difficult than an armored foe. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and he wiped them away daintily with a handkerchief. Clutching at his arm, he paced up and down. He only had one final weapon left. He would be forced to put everything into it. With an exaggerated movement, he threw open his drawer and fished around.
Finally, he gingerly picked up a strange device from his desk. He was not quite sure what it was, though the young boy at the counter had assured him that it was used in the action of intercourse, and that it would scare all the old ladies. Keeping his face away, he gently put it at the desk in a position that faced Oldbag. He held it with a napkin, and disposed of the napkin afterward.
“Oh dear,” he said out loud, “It seems that I have dropped something. I am very embarrassed.”
Oldbag had an expression on her face. Edgeworth held his breath. This might be it, he thought. He had not wanted to reach into such measures, but it seemed inevitable. Looking away, he allowed fate to take his course.
But with the prolonged silence, he sneaked another glance back at Oldbag.
She was blushing. “O-oh, Mr. Edgeworth. If-if you insist, then—then I can’t refuse—“ She fluttered her eyelashes at him, blushed girlishly again, and looked away while fanning herself.
Edgeworth was completely repulsed. Even he did not know what that thing was! How did she know?! Finally, choking, admitting defeat, he muttered something about an urgent matter, please excuse him, and then collapsed on the couch.
--
Edgeworth had a clear mind as he cleared his desk, leaving only the articles about Juan Corrida and Jack Hammer lying to the side, along with Wendy Oldbag’s invitation to tea. He hesitated over the paper for another moment, but felt the curse already begin to consume him.
He apologized to Wright, in his head. But it was simply too late. Edgeworth had failed. But one last laugh, he thought, one last laugh to that Oldbag. Though the curse had been placed upon him, there was still one defiance he could commit, one last act of his own personal freedom, away from her vulture-like grasp.
Surprisingly, his hand held sturdy as he wrote on the paper.
“Prosecutor Edgeworth,” he wrote, “chooses death.”
Desperate to escape the curse, Miles Edgeworth sets out to make himself as unlikable as possible to her.
Bonus points if it backfires.
Summary: ;A;
Edgeworth had a certain female on his mind.
By his distracted look, the people around the office were exchanging smug glances, as if Edgeworth was their precious son and he had finally hit the age of puberty. Finally, they said, he probably had a woman on his mind. A fresh-looking young model, perhaps, pictured in a magazine. Or even better, a young lady who served coffee with a blush and a smile. A fangirl who had finally caught his attention, braving the crowds for a fairy-tale romance. Actually, Edgeworth could care less about any of the above.
He was thinking about Wendy Oldbag.
Shuffling through his old files, his eye caught on the one about Juan Corrida. Then, ruffling through the papers, there was Jack Hammer. Absently, he remembered that the old lady—the one who batted her eyelashes rather disturbingly—hadn’t she liked them? Yes, he thought, glancing down once more. These were the ones. But then their death dates caught his eye.
Juan Corrida. At the age of 21.
Jack Hammer. 37.
A cold sweat broke across his forehead.
“Nonsense,” he told himself in his office. “That old lady isn’t a curse. Merely because she crushes on a few people who have died is simply unlucky.” To prove his own assertiveness, he threw the files back into the cabinet and walked out of the room. A few seconds later, he was back, digging through the papers frantically. Shuddering, he looked desperately at the poor few who had been cursed to their deaths.
He wasn’t superstitious, he told himself. He was not about to fall victim to this—this—thing. But, still, he thought, it was better safe than sorry. After all, he was still young. He had much to live for. And it was better safe than sorry. With these facts fixed to his mind, he decided to Do Something About It.
Dialing the phone, he leaned back on his chair and stared outside. “Yes,” he said to his secretary. “I need you to place an order for me. Rather, several orders.”
“For an important case, Mr. Edgeworth?”
“For my personal safety,” he said affirmatively. Watch out, Wendy Oldbag, he thought through gritted teeth. He would sway this curse, even if it killed him! “I wish to request two scantily clad women in my room in a matter of hours. Also . . . “
--
Wendy Oldbag dabbed on her favorite perfume, slipped on her favorite uniform, and spruced up her hair. After that, she carefully did her eyelashes, put on her make-up, and applied her lipstick as a matter of an exact form. Looking in her mirror, she had to smile at herself. Oh yes, she did indeed still have it in her. She was still an extremely attractive lady. So after popping in her dentures, she matter-of-factly set off to Prosecutor Edgeworth’s office.
It wasn’t everyday she received a call from him! He must have been bamboozled with her loveliness. Blushing, she cackled in thought about her favorite young man. So handsome! So suave! So kept under her charms! The frills, the pink, and that glint in his eye! So sturdy! Yes, yes, she thought, entering the building, she did indeed have it in her. Ah, he even reminded her of Juan Corrida, and that other fellow, Jack Hammer.
“Ah, Ms. Oldbag?” The secretary looked rather nervous. “Please enter. Mr. Edgeworth is . . . waiting . . . for you above.” Wendy Oldbag took no notice of the strange pause. She was in such a good mood, she only gave the secretary a light scolding about youth of these days before she lovingly walked up the stairs and opened the door.
Edgeworth, decked out in sunglasses, gold necklaces, and a shabby suit, sat behind his desk, two women in bikinis on either side of him.
“Mr—Mr. Edgeworth!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Am I interrupting something?”
Edgeworth awkwardly adjusted his sunglasses. It seemed silly to wear them under the office. Sunglasses were for sunlight! But though it offended him, the young boy behind the counter assured him that it was indeed hip, and even offered him some ‘bling’ to wear. Edgeworth did indeed sling them around his neck, though they were rather distasteful and gaudy. (The frills worked so much better.)
“No,” he said. “You’re right on time. Please come in, Ms. Oldbag. Take a seat.”
She did, and he felt a small satisfaction from her worried look. He did indeed still have that offensive air in him. There was nothing more offensive in the world than teenagers! Their sheer impudence would have adults in a matter of nerves in a second. Though, he himself as a teenager merely attended law school.
“Let me introduce you,” he said, “This is Miss ‘Candy.’ The other young lady is Miss ‘Lollipop.’ Say hello to Ms. Oldbag.”
“Good morning,” Candy tittered, drooping herself over Edgeworth. He felt rather smug. Yes, once that Oldbag saw that he much preferred youth to age, she would certainly leave him alone. And in such a state, as well!
“Oh, Mr. Edgeworth,” Ms. Oldbag said, and Edgeworth felt morally repulsed when he saw that her eyes were still glittering and shining in admiration. “You’re still so youthful!”
There were no words to describe his sheer disappointment.
“Oh, yes, Ms. Oldbag. I called you here to tell you something,” he said, changing tactics. Tactfully withdrawing from the young women, he leaned forward in his shabby suit. “I have decided to become a defense attorney. Yes. Like Phoenix Wright.” Smugly, he adjusted his sunglasses. There was no better trick than his old friend, Phoenix Wright, the ultimate loser of losers. He who had never gotten girl surely repulsed them even before he got them.
“I see, Mr. Edgeworth!” Her eyes still twinkled, and now she moved into a more girlish pose. “You want to beat that dirty Mr. Wright at his own game! How wonderful!”
Edgeworth stared. And then he reclined. “Oh, no, I will most assuredly be most loser-like at this job,” he said. “In fact, I will then become extremely poor. Yes, my house shall be a cardboard box. I will spend my days begging door-to-door for cases, much like Phoenix Wright.”
“Poor dear,” she said, her eyes shining. She reached forward and touched his hand. He recoiled immediately. “Don’t worry, Mr. Edgeworth! I will support you throughout for your noble ideals!”
This was obviously not working. He kneaded his forehead as the girls giggled behind him, talking about something or other. There was no other choice, then, to channel Larry Butz. He pitied Ms. Oldbag briefly. Nobody should have to handle the one who was Larry Butz. But for once, his slackish ways would come in handy.
“Oh dude,” Edgeworth said in a deadpan. “I had completely forgotten. I believe I will need to borrow large amounts of money from you and never return them.”
“Anything you want, Edgey-dear!”
“Du-u-u-ude. I will then commence to live at your house and eat all your food.”
“I’ll buy macaroni and cheese, just for you!”
“Oh no. I have suddenly decided to do an annoying job change. I will not be a security guard. And spend my time calling for pizza instead of actually working. But still whine to you about working too hard.”
“I understand, I understand!” Wendy Oldbag’s eyes brimmed with tears as she patted Edgeworth’s hand. “A security guard’s life is hard, but anything to reprieve the boredom is better! I do that all too often!” Note to self, Edgeworth thought, never hire Wendy Oldbag as a security guard.
“Excuse me as I shall now commence to call you an annoying nickname.” Edgeworth struggled for a moment. “. . . Old. Oldy. Yes. Oldy.”
“Nicknames?” Her eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, Mr. Edgeworth, sir! We’ve finally reached that point in our relationship!”
He gritted his teeth. If even Larry-isms did not work on her, then she surely was a worthy opponent. Even more difficult than an armored foe. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and he wiped them away daintily with a handkerchief. Clutching at his arm, he paced up and down. He only had one final weapon left. He would be forced to put everything into it. With an exaggerated movement, he threw open his drawer and fished around.
Finally, he gingerly picked up a strange device from his desk. He was not quite sure what it was, though the young boy at the counter had assured him that it was used in the action of intercourse, and that it would scare all the old ladies. Keeping his face away, he gently put it at the desk in a position that faced Oldbag. He held it with a napkin, and disposed of the napkin afterward.
“Oh dear,” he said out loud, “It seems that I have dropped something. I am very embarrassed.”
Oldbag had an expression on her face. Edgeworth held his breath. This might be it, he thought. He had not wanted to reach into such measures, but it seemed inevitable. Looking away, he allowed fate to take his course.
But with the prolonged silence, he sneaked another glance back at Oldbag.
She was blushing. “O-oh, Mr. Edgeworth. If-if you insist, then—then I can’t refuse—“ She fluttered her eyelashes at him, blushed girlishly again, and looked away while fanning herself.
Edgeworth was completely repulsed. Even he did not know what that thing was! How did she know?! Finally, choking, admitting defeat, he muttered something about an urgent matter, please excuse him, and then collapsed on the couch.
--
Edgeworth had a clear mind as he cleared his desk, leaving only the articles about Juan Corrida and Jack Hammer lying to the side, along with Wendy Oldbag’s invitation to tea. He hesitated over the paper for another moment, but felt the curse already begin to consume him.
He apologized to Wright, in his head. But it was simply too late. Edgeworth had failed. But one last laugh, he thought, one last laugh to that Oldbag. Though the curse had been placed upon him, there was still one defiance he could commit, one last act of his own personal freedom, away from her vulture-like grasp.
Surprisingly, his hand held sturdy as he wrote on the paper.
“Prosecutor Edgeworth,” he wrote, “chooses death.”