All Work And No Play

Franziska von Karma finally had an office of her own. Her INTERPOL assignment had been extended indefinitely, so she'd finally been given a permanent office in the local INTERPOL headquarters. But that also removed her excuse to dodge work of, "I can't access my papers, Edgeworth is hogging the office." So now, she was elbow deep in importation documentation, scanning reports of every item entering America from the newly reunified Cohdopia through the city's airport. Intelligence reported that the smuggling ring's new leader was also Cohdopian - something about that country attracted the black market - so the country was under harsh scrutiny. Which was probably why there was nothing suspicious at all that had been shipped for the past several weeks. The ring would have to be truly foolish to send contraband into the city housing two thirds of the team that nearly destroyed them before.

Sighing, Franziska leaned back and pinched the bridge of her nose. The work had been giving her headaches, so she attempted to counteract them by wearing reading glasses. The hope was that the headaches were only eyestrain, but it was becoming clear that that was only wishful thinking. And on top of that, her ribs were hurting more than ever. The previous week's events in Hazakurain had done no good for her injuries, and her doctor had given her a stern lecture about exerting herself with broken ribs, but the only option to follow the doctor's orders would be to take sick leave and lock herself in her apartment for several months. And that wasn't happening. Deftly, she popped the cap on her painkiller bottle and dry swallowed her dose. At least she was being good and following the dosage guidelines.

Shi-Long Lang had too many vacation days he hadn't used. Almost a year's worth. He just didn't see the value in spending several weeks per year not working. And INTERPOL couldn't exactly force him to take all of his vacation days at once. So they'd come up with a compromise that pleased on them. They gave Lang a silver bullet assignment. Something easy in an exotic locale where he could relax and take it easy for a while until they could get him back on a normal vacation schedule. Unfortunately, to Lang, that translated as boring and useless.

But there wasn't much he could do against the powers that be as they shipped him off to America, and one long flight later, he found himself in a city he was rather familiar with, reporting to the INTERPOL headquarters to receive his briefing on his assignment monitoring Cohdopia's exports. It seemed that the only bright side of the whole situation was his partnership with Franziska von Karma who, by the way, hadn't yet been informed of the assignment. That would be a fun talk. Like a man walking to the gallows, he headed up to the office they would be sharing and knocked on the door.

Franziska had been about ready to sweep the papers off her desk in a fit of frustration when she heard the knock on the door. On the one hand, it was a welcome distraction. But on the other, the interruption only aggravated her further. This assignment would be the death of her sanity...

Composing herself, she removed her readers and tucked them away, calling out, "Enter."

Lang couldn't help but chuckle at the authority in her voice, even with an assignment like this. Opening the door, he jokingly announced, "Shi-Long Lang reporting for duty, Ms. von Karma." He closed the door behind him. He wasn't sure how she'd react, and if she started yelling, he didn't want to disturb the other agents.

What new nonsense was this? Franziska leaned her elbows on her desk, lacing her fingers, and narrowed her eyes. "Reporting for duty, Mr. Lang...?" Truthfully, though, she was glad to see a familiar face in the midst of the monotony.

Lang dropped himself into one of the chairs opposite her desk, sighing heavily. "I've worked too hard for too long," he explained, "so INTERPOL's seen fit to give me a 'vacation' assisting you here. Please tell me it isn't as boring as they made this seem."

Franziska shook her head. "It's worse. Nothing at all is happening with this assignment. It certainly doesn't merit tying up two agents."

Lang groaned, rolling his head back. After a moment of making sure he was calm, he looked at the clock. "Isn't it about quitting time, anyway? You definitely seem like you need a break, sis, and I need to do something to distract me from this mess. Why don't we go out on the town tonight? Are there any good clubs?"

Lang's words were innocent enough, but Franziska felt a flurry of emotion upon hearing them. She was glad for the suggestion. She was hopeful that he meant a date. Confused that she would want to date the older man - she hadn't seen him for some time, and their relationship before had been entirely professional. Suspicious that he was toying with her as Diego had. And irked with him for confusing her like this. But she hid it well. "There is a club nearby, actually, and tonight's their EuroPop night, but I'm afraid if I were to go dancing, it would give my doctor grounds for murder."

Lang saw the mix of emotions flash across Franziska's face, and his curiosity was piqued. What was the story behind all that, he wondered. But he would have to figure that out later because she had just said something rather unsettling. "Wait, wait. Doctor? Are you sick?"

"Don't be foolish," Franziska laughed dismissively, her pride manifesting as ridiculous bravado. "I broke a rib and fractured another a few weeks ago. And, well, let's just say that I've been less than careful about them. I've been to doctor a few times now because I've rebroken them, and I'm not keen on facing him again only a week after the last appointment. So I'm afraid clubbing is out of the question, though perhaps we could go drinking?" She'd have to skip a few doses of her medication, but with enough alcohol in her system, it shouldn't be a problem.

Lang didn't understand. Franziska hadn't come to this city as a field agent, she'd had desk work the entire time. "How did you...? No, you know what, never mind. I guess I was right before when I thought that interesting things seem to find you and Edgeworth. But I don't do much drinking. That club you know has a bar right? We can go there so you can drink and we can both enjoy the music."

"Sounds fair," Franziska smiled. "Help me clean up here, then we need to stop by my place so I can change. Will you want to change into something or...?" Now that she looked at Lang in the context of clubbing, she realized that he was already dressed acceptably for it.

Lang knew how he dressed. "Heh, no, I'll just drop my coat in my apartment." About twenty minutes later, the two of them, having organized and stacked and boxed far too many customs reports, they stood in the hall of the INTERPOL housing building between their apartment doors. "Well, that's convenient," Lang laughed, experimenting and finding that the hall was narrow enough for him to hold himself horizontally a few feet off the ground with his feet on his door and his hands on Franziska's.

"It's as if they want us to never stop working," Franziska frowned. "As if the assignment is actually accomplishing something." Impatiently, she tapped her foot until Lang got down off her door so that she could unlock it. "I'll leave the door open," she called over her shoulder. "Come on in when you're ready and make yourself at home. It would be more comfortable for you than waiting out in the hall."

Lang watched her go for a moment before going into his own apartment. The young woman was something else. Strong, capable, brilliant. And he'd seen her in court as a prosecutor, as well. She and her brother had done wonders for his opinion of prosecutors, though he still didn't like them.

He headed for his bathroom, tossing his coat on a chair on the way, and grabbed some mouthwash for a quick rinse. He hadn't asked Franziska on a date, per se, but who knew where the night might lead?

After freshening up, he locked up his apartment and crossed the hall into Franziska's. It was identical to his, the only difference that she'd had time to decorate. "Franziska?" he called, not seeing her in the main living room. "'Bout ready?"

Franziska came out wearing silver heels and a short sleeveless sheath dress, black with horizontal stripes of royal blue sequins. "This doesn't make my bandages look strange, does it?" she fretted.

That dress... had one hell of a neckline. And it made Franziska's legs look a mile long. But neither of those comments would answer her question. "Can't even notice them," Lang grinned. The answer kind of said what he was thinking, but not so straightforwardly as to get him possibly whipped.

Franziska narrowed her eyes. Lang's gaze had certainly lingered in two areas that were not her ribs, but Franziska let it slide. Hold on, what? Any other fool would taste my whip for that. Why is he getting off scot free?

"So let's get going," Lang suggested, wary of the soul piercing look in her eye. He led the way out the door. "Where's this EuroPop club?"

"Just a few blocks from here, we can walk." She grabbed her pocket book on the way out, double checking to make sure she had her pills. It really was a short walk from the apartment to the club, but Franziska took it slowly. The night wouldn't be any fun if she overexerted herself now. The club wasn't as full as it usually was. Americans tended to look down on EuroPop, but the night brought out an entire niche crowd of regulars. Franziska knew their faces, but she'd never felt the need to socialize. She knew the DJ, though, and as the song playing ended, he said over the mic, "And now, for our favorite Ankläger, how about some "Anti-Crisis Girl"?!" Franziska smirked as she and Lang crossed to the bar.

"Ankläger?" Lang asked, bemused. He sat next to Franziska at the bar and waited for her to order. He wasn't sure what kind of drinker she was, and he knew some would pick fights with others, as if preferring beer or liquor determined one's worth.

Baby, I can save your world!
I'm your Anti-Crisis Girl!

"Sounds like the DJ's got some hero worship for you," he remarked, tapping his foot to the Ukrainian song.

Franziska ordered two eisbocks for Lang and herself. "I always lead with something from the Fatherland," she told him fondly, a distant look in her eye as she ran a finger around the rim of the glass. But she quickly returned to the present. "Ankläger is German for prosecutor," she told Lang. "And I used to be something of a celebrity. Passed the bar exam at the age of thirteen, never lost a case for five years. In fact, the only two attorneys I lost against were my brother and a man named Phoenix Wright." She took a sip of her beer and shook her head. "But I was too much my father's daughter. Until I met Phoenix Wright, I was the kind of prosecutor you hate, the kind who cares only for winning. Once I realized that, that's when I joined INTERPOL. I realized that I wanted to catch and prove criminals guilty, and the root of that wasn't in the courtroom, it was in the investigation." Another swig of beer. "Though, to be fair, this country allows me to do both, the way the legal system pairs prosecutors with detectives."

Franziska really opened up with a beer in her hand, Lang noted. Which begged the question, did alcohol make her talkative, or make her drop an act? Lang suspected it was probably a mix of the two.

"To the Fatherland," he toasted before drinking. That look on her face was odd, but probably to be expected from someone who lived most of their life abroad.

As he listened to her tale, he thought of Manfred von Karma. The man had been infamous, though Lang had never been able to quite line up Franziska with him. They had the same work ethic and fixation with "perfection" but very different ideas of what "perfection" was. But he hadn't known her in the early days of her career.

But something struck him. "No offense to you, but I've seen more corrupt prosecutors from this country than any other."

Franziska finished her beer and ordered two rusty nails on the rocks. She knew the prosecutors Lang was referring to. "But how do you know they're corrupt?" she asked him, then answered her own question. "Through the investigative efforts of their collegues, prosecutors who actually try to end crime."