Chapter Text
The seat of the armchair was a good hiding place. She could stand there, hands resting palm-flat on the smooth upholstery, and watch Papa talk to the strange boy without being seen by Papa at all. The boy could could see her, though, if he looked past Papa.
He did that now, his eyes meeting hers briefly, and she giggled silently and ducked down behind the back of the chair. A moment later she peeked back up, only to duck down again when the boy looked her way once more.
Papa kept talking to the boy, having no idea of the game taking place across the room. It was odd, though, because he was talking like Mama did, his words staccato instead of the usual rumbling consonants and deep vowels.
“...learn German. I will make arrangements for you to attend boarding school in Britain so that you may study mathematics and history in English until then. Once I am convinced of your-”
She stopped listening, staying crouched on the chair as she traced the raised outline of a flower on the seat’s fabric. The novelty of Papa talking in Mama’s words had quickly worn off.
“Franziska! Come here so I can introduce you.”
Ah, now Papa was talking properly. She scooted back and slid off the chair, her skirt riding up as her feet hit the ground unsteadily, and she hurried to her Papa’s side. Once there, though. the strange boy seemed much bigger than he had from across the room, and he was new. She ducked behind her father’s legs, wrapping small arms around his knee.
“Franziska,” he said sternly in Papa-words, leaning down to unwrap her grip and tug her skirt back into place. “Stop hiding.”
She let him walk her forward, hanging on his right hand. She didn't notice his wince as she hung heavily in his arm, or that his face went a little white -- she was too busy staring at the stranger. The boy stared back at her, his eyes dark under the pale fringe of his hair.
Papa spoke to her in his familiar rumble. “This is Miles Edgeworth. He is to live with us. He is a stupid boy but we will do our best to teach him to be better.” Then he looked up at the boy and changed back to Mama-words, letting go of her hand. “Miles, this is my beautiful daughter Franziska. She is two years and nine months old.” He switched words once more. “Franziska, greet him.”
Franziska stepped forward and made a quick curtsy. The boy blinked, then bowed back. His eyes didn't meet hers, though, and he immediately looked back at Papa.
“Although I have spoken German to her, rest assured she understands English as well. She is a genius.” Franziska grinned and went to hug Papa’s leg again. Even if he was talking Mama-words again she knew he was pleased with her. He went on, his tone stern. “Miles, you are not to corrupt her learning by speaking to her in either language until I am convinced your grammar is correct and that your accent will not contaminate hers.”
“I can't talk to her at all?” The boy was surprised, then resentful. “But sir, that’s not fair!”
Papa waved a scolding finger at the boy. “You will never win a case by arguing the rules should not apply to you. In the courtroom, you must work with the rules, or make the rules work for you.”
They didn’t seem to be talking about her any more, and they were using words she didn’t know. Bored, Franziska started to leave.
“In the courtroom? But this is your living room. Sir.”
“While you are my student and living under my roof, you will abide by my rules. They are the rules of the courtroom!” Papa thundered.
Franziska stopped, fascinated, as Papa extended his arm, finger pointing. “The rules of the courtroom!” he repeated, emphatically.
Franziska pointed her own arm. “Rules of the courtroom! Miles Edgeworth!”
Miles Edgeworth stared down at her. “She really does speak English.” He sounded surprised, and there was a look in his eyes she liked, like he was actually seeing her again.
“In this house! Rules of the courtroom!” Franziska told him again, and pointed her other arm, so both were towards the boy.
“I did tell you she was a genius,” Papa said smugly. “So, boy. Even a toddler knows that complaining about fairness is the resort of a fool. What is your response to that?”
“The courtroom.” The boy seemed to be thinking. “What matters in the courtroom… oh! Of course!” He cleared his throat. “Well, sir… I got- I received perfect scores on every English quiz and worksheet at school this year. And I haven’t missed a spelling word since second grade. I am also a native speaker of English and all my teachers say I have very proper diction. That means accent, right? I mean, correct? So there you are, sir. Evidence for why I can be trusted to speak with your daughter. In English, at least.” He paused. “Evidence is everything in the courtroom.”
Papa stiffened slightly, but his voice was warm as he spoke. “Very well. German is still forbidden. If she speaks to you in German, you must reply in English.”
“Understood, sir!” He sounded happy.
Neither of them were paying attention to her. “Evidence in the courtroom!” Fraziska said, to make them look at her again.