PARADISA

[There's a man in a cheap blue suit quietly losing his cool in the castle's lobby this evening. To the passer-by, it may seem as though he is compulsively pulling cushions from chairs, removing drawers from decorative end tables, and generally making a mess of things for no reason.

In reality, he is looking for something.

He hasn't been here long; upon arriving in his room and realizing he was missing something very important, he has been slowly searching every open room he can find.

Periodically, he takes a seat on the lobby floor, cracks open his journal, and studies it for a few moments before getting back to his search. During one such break, he mutters to the pages.]

Bad enough I don't know where I am or how I got here, but how could I lose that, too?

[It's late morning, the air is frigid, and there's a lawyer making a fool out of himself in the snow outside the castle.

Standing near what looks like it might have once been intended to be the base of a snowman (and is now little more than a hill of snow), he's cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting--both at anyone who might be around, and into his nearby open journal, too.]

Heyyyy! Anybody want to join a snowman-making contest?? I have supplies!

[Because heck if he's going to do this alone!]

[In the early morning hours of Sunday, there are some smudged words appearing in the journals, written in blue ink and a sloppy hand. For once, he's heeding the possibility that most of the castle residents are likely still sleeping--and he's trying to be quiet.]

It's November 11.

I've been here for a year today.

[He pauses, considering how far he's come in that past year, contemplating what he does and doesn't want to list out for the whole castle to see. In the end, he settles on a very brief little written list, more for the benefit of his own memory than anything else.]

( Cut for length )

[And then, because it's been far too long coming, he scribbles in a filter.]

( Maya Fey )

[Thanks to Larry not knowing how to operate a stepladder correctly, Phoenix is currently laid up in bed, blue cast on his right leg, and an endless stream of whining ever at the ready.

He's also incredibly bored. Painting and drawing got old long ago, and he can't seem to stay focused on anything he tries to read. Never mind that he could probably pretty easily get out of bed and actually do something despite his (not very severely) broken leg...

He whines, over-dramatic, into the journal.]

Don't trust Larry Butz, everybody... he'll just break your bones and make you miserable...

...on a related note, come and sign my cast.

[With a bit of apprehension, he adds a filter.]

( Trucy Wright )

[Phoenix is enjoying the cooler air outdoors now, curled up beneath a tree out on the castle grounds; he poses a question to the castle at large.]

Let's say I hypothetically want to cook a really great meal to impress someone--any suggestions? What's the most impressive dish you can think of?

[And, in a few minutes, he adds some filters.]


( Larry Butz )


( Maya Fey )


( People who remember Trucy )

[Have an elaborate flowering vine border doodled in blue ink pen around the margins of a page in the journals.]

So, hey. Later on this month, I'm going to host an art group thing. I've been talking to a few people about it for a while, now, and maybe the castle will settle down long enough to give me a chance...!

[He laughs shakily; this little plan of his has been put on hold a handful of times already thanks to camp and family reunions and babies and whatnot.]

Any kind of art is okay by me. I'll be painting, but feel free to come and draw, sculpt, write, or whatever. Make paperclip statues if you want. I just want to get people together and get some creative juices flowing.

So if you have any questions, feel free to ask me. And otherwise, I hope to see a bunch of you there.

[For the sake of reference, he writes down the details in the journal, too.]

Group Art Session
Outside on the castle grounds
Noon on August 24
Questions? Contact Phoenix Wright
Bring your own supplies!

[There's no chill in the morning air today, but Phoenix is still buried under blankets--and an Eevee asleep on his legs--on his futon in his room. Having awoken with a rather unpleasant headcold and low-grade fever, he promptly wished for some hot water with lemon and many extra blankets.

Now, his fever has escalated, his throat is sore and his muscles ache; when he speaks into the journal, it's with a weak whine.]

I'm definitely dyinnng....

[He's very much not, but he does have, for all intents and purposes, a bad case of the flu.]

And my... my wall thing is gone!

[High fevers don't do much for elocution. He takes a deep breath and tries desperately to think of the word.]

The thing--it was hanging on my wall. Big picture, really pretty....

[With a groan, he gives up and wishes for more lemon water. Strange, he seems to be getting a stomach ache now....

Hope that multitude of fireworks was worth it.]