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As Franziska strides out of the courthouse, blood thrumming, all she can think about is how badly she needs a cigarette. Just one, and then she'll calm down.
It's true that the last seven times she had indulged in her vice had given her little more than stale breath and a sore throat from hacking out half a lung. But this time it will work, she can tell. She feels it, a deep-seated itch where her claws can't reach.
That foolish fool, otherwise known as Phoenix Wright, had called for a court recess so that he could look over some newly uncovered evidence that scruffy detective had found at the crime scene; in his foolishness the Judge had agreed. This only serves to delay Franziska’s inevitable guilty verdict and throws off her time table for her whole day. If one more fool tries to talk out of turn, she can't be held liable for whipping his head off.
If Miles Edgeworth were here, he'd scold Franziska for giving in to her baser urges. But he's not here, and so no one stops her as she stomps down the courthouse steps and stalks across the street towards the dingy patch of dead grass and paltry trees that constitutes a city park in this despicable urban hellscape. These Americans can't even cultivate a proper park, because they are obsessed with depriving Franziska of joy at every turn. In Berlin, she would have been allowed to smoke right outside the courthouse, but this pitiful excuse for an American city has foolish laws that prevent her from smoking no fewer than twenty feet from municipal buildings, and so she must cross the street like she’s some common mutt out taking herself out on a walk.
The angry stomp of her heels transitions into a much less satisfying clomp as she navigates across the grassy stretch towards the worse of the two picnic benches, but she pulls up to a halt quite abruptly as she stumbles across yet another roadblock: there is someone else lurking in her spot. A familiar someone, with long black hair pulled up into a topknot, wearing a bright purple kimono and clunky statement jewelry. She squats down with her back to Franziska, heels lifting off the ground, hand shading her eyes from the sun as she peers across the lawn.
Franziska had chosen this as her designated smoking spot specifically because it’s secluded and no one else bothers her here. Not bailiffs, not that scruffy detective, and certainly not Maya Fey, assistant to that fool Phoenix Wright.
What does she think she’s doing? She’s not even smoking!
Scowling, Franziska storms up and waits with her hand on her whip for Maya to notice her presence and flee the scene. When that doesn’t work she clears her throat, and Maya finally seems to realize she’s not alone. She leaps to her feet, but instead of the wary expression most people put on when talking to the fearsome prosecutor, her eyes sparkle and her hands flap around in unbridled joy.
"Prosecutor von Karma!" Maya greets her, and points out over the grassy lawn. "I found something awesome! Look!"
Franziska decides to humor her, if only because she needs to know how absurd this trespass is before she can meter out an appropriate punishment. But she doesn't see anything besides brownish grass and scraggly trees, and doesn’t hear anything besides the usual drone of traffic. She turns back, already bristling as she anticipates Maya’s laughter for being so gullible as to fall for this foolish prank.
But Maya’s gaze is focused not towards Franziska’s shortcomings but out over the lawn, with a victorious glint in her eye much like Phoenix Wright’s when he thinks he’s caught on to some turnabout. "Isn't she gorgeous?"
Franziska wishes they were standing on concrete pavement so she could would tap her shoe passive aggressively on a hard surface instead of thudding it uselessly on the grass. "I don't see anything."
The only thing of the ordinary, besides Maya Fey’s unauthorized entry onto Franziska’s sacred break spot, is a woman walking down the path with a scruffy black dog yanking hard enough to dislocate its owner's shoulder, but she doubts this is what Maya Fey is so excited about. Unless she is one of those notorious ‘dog spotters,’ in which case maybe this dog is an über rare Irish Double Decker Charles Spaniel, and she has just earned one thousand points towards her dog spotting total.
She immediately banishes the thought. Maya Fey would never stoop so low as to assign numerical values to every dog she sees. She’s not Miles Edgeworth.
When Maya points again, she’s gesturing not towards the dog but towards the base of a nearby tree. "Look towards the ground. See the little guy with the spots?"
Unsure why she’s even humoring this, Franziska tries again, but she keeps her hand on her whip just in case. Just when she's about to ask exactly how little is a ‘little guy,’ she finally sees it: an animal smaller than a squirrel bounces across the grass, pecking at the ground. It is spotted, she supposes, on its breast and stomach, though most of it is a rather drab grayish-brown. Every now and then it lifts its head, and she can see its protruding dark beak, surprisingly large for a creature of its size.
Franziska’s first instinct is to scoff. "You got this excited over a pigeon?"
"The beak’s too big for a pigeon," Maya says, too excited to admonish Franziska for her mistake. "Pigeons are darker and less spotty, and they're normally found in flocks."
“It’s still just a bird.”
“Not just a bird. A very good bird. A birb, even!”
Franziska hates cutesy nicknames for animals. It’s not like ‘birb’ is any easier to say or spell than ‘bird’. “So? What kind of bird is it?”
“I’m not sure.” Maya flaps a hand as she thinks, rocking back on her heels. “Maybe a juvenile starling? Though they're also usually in flocks...” She tilts her head to the side, as if looking from a different angle will give her answers.
Across the park, there’s a sound of a scuffle, and the woman shrieks as her dog yanks its leash out of her grasp, lunging forward at the bird. The dog barks shrilly as it barrels forward, black tail whipping back and forth and paws flying akimbo. With a rousing ‘kyeer!’ the bird takes off, soaring overhead and out of the park.
Maya gasps and grabs onto Franziska's hand. "Did you see that flash of white above its tail? That means she's a northern flicker! That's the only woodpecker in this area that forages on the ground. Pretty cool, right?"
Franziska is too shocked at the sudden contact to be mad about it. Her heart rushes; her ears ring. "I see."
But Maya’s joy is short-lived as the dog careens forward, leash fluttering behind it uselessly. It lunges after the bird, and its owner follows behind, face beet red with exertion or embarrassment — Franziska doesn’t know or care. As it gets closer its barks only grow in fervor, and Franziska can feel Maya's grip on her hand tighten with every yip, shoulders creeping up around her ears.
“Bella! Bad dog! Stay!” the woman yells. The woman grabs the dog by the collar, and it makes a strangled noise as it tries jumping after the retreating bird. They both have the same curly dark hair and too-wide mouths, Franziska notes with distaste. The dog lets out one last strangled yelp, causing Maya to flinch again.
Well, that does it. Franziska storms forward, and the dog has the audacity to lunge at her, too. Instinctively Franziska puts herself between the dog and Maya, which is when she realizes she’s still holding on to Maya, or maybe Maya is holding on to her; in either case her face looks as flushed as Franziska feels.
“What are you doing!” the woman yells again.
Franziska doesn’t need to look to know that Maya Fey is tensing up again at the loud noises coming out of this stranger’s mouth, which is the only reason she keeps her voice level as she says, “You should have better control over your dog.”
“Oh, is that what all of the fuss is about?” The woman has picked up the leash and wound it around her hand, which only ensures that if her dog runs away again it will drag her along with it. Even when she's not yelling, she seems to lack the ability to speak at a normal volume for polite conversation. “No one got hurt. Relax.”
"You could have hurt that bird." Franziska scowls and tightens her free hand on her whip.
The woman laughs. "Who cares about that? Besides, it flew away alright, didn't it?"
Franziska is ready to spout off the starting fine for out-of-control dogs in leash-only areas, but Maya squeezes her hand with an unspoken warning. At that moment Franziska’s watch beeps, signalling that they only have five minutes left until the trial resumes. Properly shaming this woman would take at least fifteen, and it’s better not to start at all than do a hack job. She glares as the woman gathers her dog and leaves without so much as an apology.
Maya deflates, sadly watching as both woman and dog retreat, and for the first time Franziska is shocked by how young she looks. They're only a few months apart in age. Surely Franziska never looked as tiny or relieved after someone stood up for her?
But she can’t remember the last time anyone tried. It feels like ever since she passed the bar at thirteen years old, no one has ever done anything for her at all.
If Maya resents her for the help, she does an excellent job of hiding it, as she turns to her with a small smile. "Thanks, Prosecutor von Karma. I always get mad when people let their half-trained dogs run around. They tear up the parks and scare away all the birds."
“Think nothing of it. There is nothing I hate more than a person that thinks she is above the law.” At this moment they both seem to realize they’re still holding hands, and pull apart quite suddenly. Franziska rests her hand on her hip and tries not to think about how warm and soft Maya Fey had been. Refusing to acknowledge the flush creeping into her cheeks, she casts about for anything else she could talk about. "These northern flickers... Are they rare?"
Maya shrugs. "Not really. But I always love seeing them. They make funny noises, and they make me want to dress more boldly. Do you think I'd look good in spots?"
Frankly, Maya would look ridiculous, but it's no more ridiculous than when she had grabbed at the hand of the woman who attempted to prosecute her for murder. And all because she had gotten excited at the sight of a simple bird, of all things!
Franziska opens her mouth and nothing comes out. Maya interprets her silence as endorsement, and she laughs. "Nick was speechless when I told him about my plans to embrace bold prints, too! But he refused to take me shopping last weekend, so I guess my new wardrobe reveal will have to wait."
She really needs to stop picturing Maya Fey — the enemy — in vibrant colors and stark patterns. She really needs to think about literally anything else.
Franziska clears her throat. “Speaking of that fool, Phoenix Wright... Why are you here taking fashion advice from birds instead of helping him? Surely he is not so foolish as to dismiss you?”
Maya pouts, puffing out her cheeks. "As if! Nick would be bankrupt within a week without me. I tried to help, but he claimed that bringing up how we don’t have any evidence we haven’t already presented was making the client, and I quote, ‘more nervous.’ I can’t imagine why. So he banished me from the lobby and I came out here to look at the birds." She looks out at the park again and sighs. Her voice is gentle and wistful as she adds, "There aren't as many birds here as there are back in Kurain, but it's still nice to see them. When I was little and annoying the elders, Mia would take me outside to compete to see who could find the most birds." She laughs, with that same warm smile as before. “She’d always beat me. I used to think she cheated, but now I’m not so sure. She just had a way of seeing things that no one else could, you know?”
Maya Fey is too soft to admit to such frivolities, and Franziska is too hard to admit that it makes her heart ache to hear about them. Before she had gotten big enough to learn when not to badger her papa with incessant questions, Miles had distracted her by reenacting episodes of their favorite shows with her Breyer horse models. Of course, he was terrible at doing the voices, and Franziska would scold him endlessly for it. But it was one of the few times he would talk to her about something other than their schoolwork, or their inevitable legacies as prosecutors.
She’s jolted out of her reminiscence when Maya says, "Come on, let's head back. If I’m with you, then Nick can't get mad at me for being late."
"He might be mad at you regardless, for consorting with the enemy," Franziska says drily.
“It’s not consorting unless I’m giving you our strategy, but you already know Nick never has one,” Maya says with a wink, “Unless you want to throw us a bone and tell the Judge you admit defeat?” When Franziska bristles, Maya laughs and leads her back across the street and towards the courthouse. “Relax, Prosecutor; it’s a joke. Besides, all we did was talk about some birds."
Franziska thinks about how Maya’s face had lit up over ‘just’ a bird. Franziska wonders when the last time she felt a rush over anything, besides a momentary satisfaction when the defendant cries out in despair as the Judge announces his guilty verdict. Franziska wonders if she could ask Maya to tell her more about these birds she loves so much, and she wonders what Maya would tell her if she agreed.
But instead she says, "Very well."
After all that, it isn’t until she gets back to the courtroom and behind the bench that she realizes she never even got her smoke break.
But somehow she finds it hard to resent Maya too much.