Phoenix Wright (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hobologic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-05-11 08:04 pm
hobologic) wrote in towerofanimus2013-05-11 08:04 pm
The fundamental things apply
Characters: Phoenix Wright and YOU
Setting: Room 4-20; dormitory floors; elevator; floors 14, 28, 32, 37
Format: Starting with prose, will match any format
Summary: Phoenix arrives in the tower and goes exploring.
Warnings: None yet. Will update if necessary.
Room 4-20 and dormitories:
After reading the letters, Phoenix sits on the bed for a while, thinking. It's a lot to take in. It seems like a joke, or a dream. It is, quite frankly, mad. Worlds destroyed? Magical towers? (And just when he'd been looking forward to a spot of nice semi-normalcy.) The problem is, as mad as it is, it feels real. He pinches himself. That doesn't work. He frowns. He doesn't know what to think, but whatever he thinks, it isn't good. Suddenly, he gets up. He changes into his usual clothes, sliding his arms into his hoodie and zipping it up, then pushing his hat on over his spiky hair.
Sitting around feeling upset and confused isn't going to get things done or solve any mysteries. He heads out into the hallway and down the corridors of the dormitories. He has to find out more about this place, and there is no time like the present. He makes his way down the hallways at an unhurried pace, every now and then stopping to examine a wall or a door, or even a suspicious patch of floor. There isn't much to examine here, but he does his best.
The Elevator:
So, it seems you're stuck in the elevator during the long trip down to the first floor. With you is a man wearing a beanie, humming to himself. Off key. He seems quite determined to keep humming, too.
Floor Fourteen:
Phoenix has gone through a number of floors now, and he could use a break.
Violet lemonade isn't grape juice, but he couldn't find any grape juice anywhere, so violet lemonade it is. He'll have to make do. He's brought two whole bottles with him into the media room. With his precious beverages, Phoenix has sat himself down in one of the room's many beanbag chairs. The setting as a whole might be unpleasant, but he does appreciate a good beanbag chair. He's currently playing a car racing game and is doing his best to handle both the game controller and his lemonade bottle.
It's not going very well. Not only are his scores atrocious and his crashes near constant, but the beanbag chair is in imminent danger of being soaked with lemonade. Still, Phoenix continues to concentrate on the game, seemingly unaware of the peril both he and the chair are in. (Or is he?)
Floor Twenty-Eight:
A musician ought to feel right at home on this floor. However, Phoenix isn't entirely at ease, much as he isn't entirely a musician. He gives the organ at the center a wide berth, but manages to find an ordinary looking piano that's more his speed. With a deep breath, he sits down and begins to play. The resulting sound could be called a song if it weren't so garbled and bewilderingly played. As it is, it's just barely identifiable as this tune.
Floor Thirty-Two:
He's surprised to see the outside floors. They defy all rules of architecture and logic. He shouldn't be surprised, he knows, not after all he's seen, but he is, nonetheless.
He makes his way out onto the floating island warily, but nothing happens. Nothing dangerous appears. He makes his way across the island, thoughtfully. He has a lot to think about, here. Playing video games and playing the piano haven't done much to relax him, and his investigations have come to nothing so far. Nothing but more weirdness. He keeps walking. He doesn't stop until he stumbles upon a cluster of plants, bearing fruit.
He pauses to study them. Grapes. There's something alluring about them. He knows, right away, that he shouldn't risk eating them. Nonetheless, he leans down to pick one, curious. He turns it over in his fingers. They seem like perfectly normal grapes. They smell good, too. Phoenix sighs. Now, this is just cruel.
Setting: Room 4-20; dormitory floors; elevator; floors 14, 28, 32, 37
Format: Starting with prose, will match any format
Summary: Phoenix arrives in the tower and goes exploring.
Warnings: None yet. Will update if necessary.
Room 4-20 and dormitories:
After reading the letters, Phoenix sits on the bed for a while, thinking. It's a lot to take in. It seems like a joke, or a dream. It is, quite frankly, mad. Worlds destroyed? Magical towers? (And just when he'd been looking forward to a spot of nice semi-normalcy.) The problem is, as mad as it is, it feels real. He pinches himself. That doesn't work. He frowns. He doesn't know what to think, but whatever he thinks, it isn't good. Suddenly, he gets up. He changes into his usual clothes, sliding his arms into his hoodie and zipping it up, then pushing his hat on over his spiky hair.
Sitting around feeling upset and confused isn't going to get things done or solve any mysteries. He heads out into the hallway and down the corridors of the dormitories. He has to find out more about this place, and there is no time like the present. He makes his way down the hallways at an unhurried pace, every now and then stopping to examine a wall or a door, or even a suspicious patch of floor. There isn't much to examine here, but he does his best.
The Elevator:
So, it seems you're stuck in the elevator during the long trip down to the first floor. With you is a man wearing a beanie, humming to himself. Off key. He seems quite determined to keep humming, too.
Floor Fourteen:
Phoenix has gone through a number of floors now, and he could use a break.
Violet lemonade isn't grape juice, but he couldn't find any grape juice anywhere, so violet lemonade it is. He'll have to make do. He's brought two whole bottles with him into the media room. With his precious beverages, Phoenix has sat himself down in one of the room's many beanbag chairs. The setting as a whole might be unpleasant, but he does appreciate a good beanbag chair. He's currently playing a car racing game and is doing his best to handle both the game controller and his lemonade bottle.
It's not going very well. Not only are his scores atrocious and his crashes near constant, but the beanbag chair is in imminent danger of being soaked with lemonade. Still, Phoenix continues to concentrate on the game, seemingly unaware of the peril both he and the chair are in. (Or is he?)
Floor Twenty-Eight:
A musician ought to feel right at home on this floor. However, Phoenix isn't entirely at ease, much as he isn't entirely a musician. He gives the organ at the center a wide berth, but manages to find an ordinary looking piano that's more his speed. With a deep breath, he sits down and begins to play. The resulting sound could be called a song if it weren't so garbled and bewilderingly played. As it is, it's just barely identifiable as this tune.
Floor Thirty-Two:
He's surprised to see the outside floors. They defy all rules of architecture and logic. He shouldn't be surprised, he knows, not after all he's seen, but he is, nonetheless.
He makes his way out onto the floating island warily, but nothing happens. Nothing dangerous appears. He makes his way across the island, thoughtfully. He has a lot to think about, here. Playing video games and playing the piano haven't done much to relax him, and his investigations have come to nothing so far. Nothing but more weirdness. He keeps walking. He doesn't stop until he stumbles upon a cluster of plants, bearing fruit.
He pauses to study them. Grapes. There's something alluring about them. He knows, right away, that he shouldn't risk eating them. Nonetheless, he leans down to pick one, curious. He turns it over in his fingers. They seem like perfectly normal grapes. They smell good, too. Phoenix sighs. Now, this is just cruel.
what a bad idea, two guys afraid of heights in a huge tower
It's too much to think about. Right now he has bigger problems to deal with. "Y-Yeah, we're the-- the finest." They're ridiculous words coming out of his mouth, but he doesn't really care - his eyes are trained on the steps that Wright's stepping on, hoping that they don't give out.
He's awfully tempted to keep a hold on Wright. Seeing him is one thing, but a physical reminder might help him keep a level head for a bit longer - every time Wright touches him, he's brought back to earth. His hand lingers, but eventually he pulls back. It's a childish thought. "Yeah, o-okay... Thanks."
When they reach the bottom of the stairs, the next floor looks similar to the one they were just on. Apollo looks over Wright's shoulder, standing on his toes.
what could possibly go wrong???
"That's the spirit. The most fine there ever were. And dandy. Fine and dandy." Phoenix is used to saying ridiculous things, so that doesn't bother him much either.
"If you fall, just fall on me. I'm soft. Like a pillow." However much he's starting to get a feeling of vertigo from looking down into that darkness, he feels obligated to be the one to go first and test out the possibly treacherous steps. He couldn't forgive himself if he let something happen to Apollo.
Phoenix gives the next floor a look once they arrive. There's nothing new here. It's the same as the floor before. More identical doors with nameplates. Is every floor going to be like this? It's hard to tell when they've only seen two so far. "You want to look around here? Or should we keep going?" It's not as if he wants to head back into the dark, creepy stairwell, but it's looking as if that's what's going to happen.
no subject
It's some wishful thinking. But he'll take that over pessimism right now. However, the ridiculousness of their back and forth is finally starting to hit him, and he manages a small smile. "The finest and dandiest? We're starting to sound like a pair of real gentlemen, Mr. Wright."
Apollo wouldn't forgive himself if he let something happen to Wright, either, especially for his sake. "I bet you're not that soft. I don't think I'd be comfortable using you to cushion my fall, in any case." A pause. "But, uh-- thanks for... offering."
From his position, Apollo can see at least one door with a set of nameplates. "Seeing as it looks identical to the last floor, we're probably better off going to the next floor." He gives the stairs a wary look. "I don't think I need to tell you to be careful."
no subject
"I don't know about you, but I'll have you know I'm a certified gentleman. I'm not sure if you're certified, but I'm willing to vouch for you." He nods. Looking back, he's glad to see Apollo can at least manage a smile.
"What? How can you say that? I'm extremely soft. Just wait and see." He nods, sagely, as if Apollo is sure to find out that this is the case sooner or later. (Actually, he is not particularly soft in any way, except maybe due to the padding provided by his sweatshirt.)
"Down again it is, then." He tries to sound optimistic, gives the stairs his own wary look. "Nope, I haven't forgotten." He doesn't think this place is going to let him forget to be careful. "My memory's not that bad yet."
no subject
And while Apollo doesn't miss the nod, he won't try to accept it any time soon. "I hope I won't have to verify that in the near future. At least... the nearest future." Even with the padding of the sweater, Apollo did see some... things earlier. What with the skin tight suit and all. He can come to his own conclusions about how soft Wright is. But his brain rejects the thought for now.
He can feel sweat starting to bead on his broad brow. As the stairs twist and turn, they finally give way to... Well, a butt load of nothing, it seems. There are plants down there, maybe? Are Apollo's eyes tricking him? In any case, the stairs stop just a few steps below him. The height is starting to drill into Apollo's brain - screw dignity. He reaches for Wright's sleeve immediately.