songerein | [Open]

Entry tags:

[Open]

Who: Yujin Mikotoba, OTA
Which: Open log
Where: The greenhouse, the clinic, the Wild Harvest
When: Throughout the first three weeks of June
What: A catch-all!
Warnings: Spoilers for The Great Ace Attorney very probable.

[Catch-all]

[Despite this being a dream world with very little currency or obligations, Yujin Mikotoba is a busy man! He's not one to sit still, and so, he doesn't. Throughout the month, at least up until the moon incident, he can be found in several locations.

The Communal Clinic is a favorite, as he feels it's his responsibility as one of the few doctors around Reverein to be present in case of an emergency. Still, as there aren't many patients, he can often be found cleaning, reading or writing. The clinic has several patient rooms, a cafeteria and Yujin even has his own office. The research department on the second floor is quiet at the moment, as there aren't too many ongoing projects.

The Greenhouse outside the Mikotoba household is another spot he can frequently be encountered. When he's not tending to the flowers, sleeves rolled up to the elbow to ensure they won't get dirty, he'll be dozing in a lounge chair near one of the glass walls. It's very warm and humid in there; he just can't resist the lure of afternoon naps.

In the evenings, he often visits the Wild Harvest for a meal and a drink. With his kids basically running the place, he's always sure to be served a dish to his liking. Though he tends to stick to a corner table by himself, anyone's free to join him.]

[Wildcard]

[[Hit me up if you have something specific in mind!]]

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[A romantic mastermind? Oh dear... And what are these novels Sholmes borrowed from her? Part of him wants to know and part of him thinks he may be better off in blissful ignorance.

The arm over his shoulder is a welcome gesture, though. Nothing particularly new, but it has gained a different meaning over the past month. Romantic affection is a sentiment that's been worn down over seventeen years of disuse, but Yujin's willing to do his best to polish it back to its usual shine.

Sure enough, he lets Sholmes take his coat without complaint. A mischievous smile dawns.]

Naturally. I feel as if we're in for a very... pheasant evening. [The opening was right there, he had to say it.]

[ Their outerwear is hung on hooks next to the greenhouse's work aprons. Sholmes plucks the smaller starfish from his coat and hat, depositing them in a watering can with a series of wet plunks as he makes his way back to the table. Fresh water is better than no water, surely.

He rolls up his sleeves and takes up one of the bottles of wine. Did someone already uncork it for them? Maybe Susato anticipated exactly how clumsy Sholmes can be. Just like her to remove any barriers to a perfect evening.

As he pours two generous glasses, he smirks and declares: ]

And I suspect—beyond a raisin-able doubt—this wine will be di-vine.

[ He sees your pun, Mikotoba, and raises you a worse one. ]

[Oh good, at least the small starfish are saved. ...He thinks. He hopes. Starfish usually only survive in salt water, but these are magical dream starfish which rained down from the sky, so none of those facts from back home are a guarantee here. He'll have to check in on them later.

Not now, though. Now, he laughs under his breath and takes hold of one of the wine glasses. It's raised for a toast.]

Then... To most treasured partnerships, to daughters of the romantic mastermind sort and to a pleasant evening of unwine-ding.

[ As he smiles and gives Mikotoba's raised glass a gentle tap, he almost says a reflexive "cheers" but changes course with a wink and a: ] Kanpai!

[ After a sip of wine, Sholmes settles back in his chair with a contented sigh, spreads his napkin on his lap, and waits—all but salivating like a starving dog—until Mikotoba is settled before he removes the cover from his plate.

... A gasp, and a hand clutches against his chest at the sight of it: pheasant, lightly browned, resting in a bed of roasted vegetables, wrapped in the fresh fragrance of rosemary and thyme. ]

Mikotoba, have you ever seen anything so—? Ah! [ He pauses to swoon again, that hand now moved to his forehead. ] I can scarcely find the words, much less an adequately reprehensible pun.

[Thankfully, Sholmes won't have to wait too long. Once he's had his first sip of wine, Yujin slips into his seat and carefully sets his glass down beside the dinner plate. While he's not as eager as his partner, nor as ready to swoon, he is hungry. When his own cover is lifted and the smell reaches his nose, his stomach rumbles without delay.]

Reprehensible pun? I believe you mean to say... a fowl pun? [He shoots a quick smirk of his own Sholmes's way. Last one, he promises.] Ah, but enough of that. If we allow our food to grow cold, Susato will have our heads. Itadakimasu.

How dare you. [ He says this with feigned disgust as he takes up knife and fork to begin slicing into the pheasant. For a moment, Sholmes lapses into silence with nothing but appreciative sounds and monosyllables that, taken out of context, might be mistaken for a different act of hedonism.

But after the first few bites, he slows down, pacing himself. He needs to savor this. Much like the scent, the nostalgic flavors take him back to London. He swirls his wine thoughtfully, takes a drink, and asks: ]

It's been a long while since we plied our respective trades, hasn't it? [ He saws off a drumstick, knife grinding against gristle. ] Do you miss conducting autopsies? Or have you come to prefer live patients—with all their squirming and complaining?

[Oh, he dared and he will continue to do so in the future.

But just as Sholmes, he turns his attention to the food for a while. While he's calmer as he slices into it, his following bites modest and slow, he's still quite eager to, well, eat. It truly is a wonderful mimic of the food they had in London, as well as their Christmas feast here in Reverein.]

It's hard to say which I prefer. There's no true comparison. [His fork, with a small sliver of pheasant pinned to it, is waved in a light, idle manner as he speaks.] For all their complaining, as you put it, the live patients may still be saved. The moment an autopsy is needed, it's already too late. In the case of a detective, it would be the difference between, say, a kidnapping and murder.

I do enjoy a good kidnapping. [ It's an odd phrase to say in such a bright tone. He nods in agreement, mulling over that comparison as he pulls meat from the drumstick. ] Not only for the prospect of a positive outcome, but—there's a distinct thrill about it. The hunt, the race against time. A crime underway ...

[ He gives a longing sigh and a wave of the half-stripped bone. ] But! As you say, there's no comparing it to the meticulous dissection of a murder: painstakingly assembling every detail into the sordid events that culminated in such unpardonable violence.

[ He takes a moment to top off both glasses of wine, settles back into his chair, and quips: ] However, I simply must say: inimitable as you are as a forensic pathologist, Doctor, your gentle bedside manner went entirely unappreciated by the deceased.

But teaching! Now, was that not a welcome middle-ground? Surrounded by young pupils—still full of blood and vigorous potential—eager to understand all the macabre ways a life can be undone?

[Yujin chuckles quietly at that presentation of that statement. Sholmes always did have a very unique way with words. He understands the sentiment perfectly, though.]

Indeed, I quite enjoyed that career. At times, it rather felt as if I was guiding the next generation of great detectives. [He sets down his knife for a moment.] My students have always been... timid, I suppose one might call it. Eager to view everything between the lines which have been presented to them, and unable to consider that some answers may lie beyond those lines. I was the same way when I first set foot in Great Britain all those years ago. So now, I've been teaching them to view mysteries from unconventional angles, just as you once taught me.

[His free hand reaches for the wine glass and raises it to his mouth. That won't do much to hide his fond smile, though.]

[ Sholmes enjoys plenty of adulation from his fans, but their conception of the Great Detective is at least partly fictitious; Iris' retellings grant him a shiny veneer of impeccable genius. The compliments feel hollow.

It's much more potent to hear such gratitude from one of the few people who knows him as a fallible human being—and still appreciates him in spite of it. The warm smile crinkling the corners of Mikotoba's eyes doesn't help; the sight of it tugs the breath from his chest in a soft sigh.

His hand reaches for his glass, and he notes his own instinctive urge to mirror his partner. Like the steps of a dance, he thinks. After he takes a long sip, he sets the glass down, fingers still pinched at the base of the stem. ]

Hah! Teaching all the spirited steps in our Dance of Deduction? I'm flattered. [ He chuckles, then exhales again, deflating to rest his tilted head on his fist. The wine swirling in his glass is already making him melt. ]

Had you stayed in Japan, I've no doubt you would have arrived at the technique yourself. You are endowed with much more insight and imagination than you give yourself credit for, my dear friend.

[ Sholmes' eyes drift from his wine glass to settle languidly on Mikotoba. ] But I'm glad you didn't—stay in Japan, that is. And that fate conspired for the two of us, against rather impossible odds, to meet.

[If anyone's flattered, it's Yujin. He does have doubt he would have arrived at the technique himself, and it has nothing to do with a lack of insight or imagination. It has to do with the courage to venture outside comfort zones and societal norms. There's a certain brashness to Sholmes's investigation techniques that can only be absorbed through meeting Sholmes himself. It's that brashness that Yujin was trying to pass on to his students.]

Indeed, that fateful encounter changed both of our lives for the better, I should think. And through the solution of our cases, the pair of us have changed other lives as well. It's rather like a domino effect, isn't it?

I suppose we have done some good, haven't we?

[ In the thick of a case, Sholmes has trained himself to view it as a problem to be solved. To hold himself eccentrically aloof from the flurry of tragedy and emotion. Afterwards, he might be briefly buoyed by their client’s gratitude, but he inevitably begins to brood: mulling over the trajectory of the case, how they might have solved it faster, perhaps improved the outcome.

He resumes appreciative bites of his dinner and can’t help but find his thoughts returning to Susato. All her careful touches make it feel as if she’s sitting quietly in a corner, presiding over the evening. And it’s not at all difficult to imagine her wearing some thinly-veiled concern. I’m counting on you, Mr. Sholmes. ]

Do you think I would ever hurt you, Mikotoba? [ He blinks when he hears himself say it aloud—his lips apparently loosened by the wine—but makes no move to withdraw the question. ]

[In contrast to Sholmes's very practical, distant approach to a case, Yujin had always been the more sociable one. The people person. And sure, some clients had treated him with less respect due to his status as an exchange student- a foreigner, but such prejudice had usually been abandoned by the time a case came to its conclusion. Yujin had always noted the gratitude and had all but framed those sentiments as if they were a painting displayed in a museum of his most precious memories.

It had justified his time in England to some degree.

Yujin had just slipped his knife back into the pheasant when the question is raised. It startles him so badly, the cutlery all but slips and the resulting cut of meat is not quite as clean as it ought to be. A single confused blink, then he looks back up towards his partner.]

Hurt me...? [He repeats the query in a soft, baffled tone.] My dear Sholmes, where has this come from?

Not physically, of course. [ He flaps a hand and sits back, as if trying to dispel Mikotoba's shock. ] You know what I mean to say—

This. [ He taps his temple, then immediately frowns as if that isn't quite right. ]

Or rather, this. [ Sholmes' hand lowers to rest over his heart, the more poetic seat of emotion. ] The sort of wounds that can't be mended with a plaster.

[ The where in Mikotoba's question goes entirely unaddressed; he's not about to lay any blame on Susato. Besides, she hadn't sown that seed in the first place—only unearthed the existing, gnarly roots of Sholmes' own self-doubt. ]

[He did know what Sholmes meant to say. Or rather, he suspected it. Hearing it from the man's own mouth serves as vindication for that. Even so, knowing what Sholmes meant to ask and agreeing with the sentiment are two very different things, since he doesn't agree.

His fork is lowered in an absentminded manner, and as for the knife, it's put down entirely. He frowns across the table for a few seconds, then shakes his head.]

No. Certainly not in a purposeful manner, but when it comes to your reckless nature... Well, I'm prepared for that, aren't I? I've had more than enough years to grow accustomed to that sort of thing.

There. [ He wags a finger. ] There's the rub, my friend. Why should you be made to "grow accustomed" at all?

[ Maybe the acute pain is rare enough, but what about the cumulative aches he might inflict with his "reckless" ways? Sholmes sits forward again, forearms to either side of his half-finished plate. ] Would you walk across London with a stone in your shoe?

[ He swallows, and his hand reaches across to find Mikotoba's—the one that's relinquished the knife. ] If we but stopped and removed it, wouldn't you better enjoy the journey?

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