Okay I’ve talked to enough people that I can’t tell if this is genuinely super common or my social circles are a little bit bizarre, SO (poll incoming)
As always stories are appreciated in the tags
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I have created a new storytelling principle, I am calling it Phoenix Wright’s Ladel:
If there is a simple, direct explanation for an event to occur in your story, but a more complicated explanation would be funnier, more interesting, and/or would create better opportunities in the narrative, then go with the more complicated one
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Franziska being Nick's weird little girl in Bridge to the Turnabout lives rent-free in my mind at all times
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The two of them are sitting on the snowy bench watching Phoenix for at least five minutes before Franziska finally says something.
“He is depressed,” she announces matter-of-factly. Gumshoe can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.
“Finally, people are making SENSE around here, sir!”
Franziska continues without acknowledging him. “He misses his vierd little girl.”
Gumshoe’s face falls. “The spirit medium, you mean? That’s not a good way to describe her.”
Franziska twirls a hand in the air like that will untangle the words in her mind. “No, Phoenix, he… hm. He is always… he has those vierd little girls following him around always. Maya, but also the little one. I have seen it many times.”
Gumshoe thinks about it, and realizes Franziska isn’t exactly wrong. Phoenix does always seem to have some kinda buddy with him all the time— one of the Feys, usually, but even his Maggey stood beside him during her trials.
“You think it helps him focus? Like a little rubber ducky you talk to when you gotta get the words out right?” he says.
Franziska glares at him coldly. “You are the only fool who would do something so foolish.”
Gumshoe slumps a little, and Franziska twists her whip around in her hands.
“However. You may not be incorrect. Phoenix Wright is a foolish fool, and his foolish tendencies are somewhat mitigated by the presence of his… strange female companions.”
“His… do you mean friends?”
“Silence,” Franziska commands.
The two of them sit there in silence again before Franziska, eyes locked like searchlights on the back of Phoenix’s head, stands up suddenly with her mouth set into a hard line. She cracks the whip in the snow and strides towards him, her heels crunching in the powder.
“PHOENIX WRIGHT,” she commands, and he jumps with less of a start than normal. He really IS depressed, it seems. “I will be assisting with your investigation.”
Phoenix looks less than thrilled, sputtering protests as Franziska stares coldly up at him, and it is at that moment that Gumshoe decides he could use a little cocoa right about now.
By the time he returns, Phoenix seems strangely back to normal, muttering over seemingly random knickknacks he insists are “evidence” and shuffling through his chickenscratch notes like there’s anyone capable of reading it. He taps one of the pages and looks up expectantly. Though Franziska does nothing but offer him the same steely gaze, Phoenix seems satisfied enough, smiling to himself and scribbling furiously in the margins. Franziska catches Gumshoe’s eyes, notices his smile, and quickly turns her head, fingers curling around the handle of her whip. Taking a sip of his cocoa to hide his grin, Gumshoe pretends to be busy with investigating.
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