“Ooh, this looks like it’d be worth billions! Don’t you think, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Frankly,” Miles huffs, straightening his cravat as he follows Kay, right on her heels. “What I think is that it would be in our best interest to find seats before the concert begins.”

“What?” Pouting, Kay places a hand on her hip. Stubborn as ever. “But it doesn’t even start for another five hours! You wanna sit there for that long?!”

“No, but I would rather not sift through the personal belongings of people we don’t know.”

What is that thing she’s so fixated on, in the first place? Squinting, Miles peers over Kay’s shoulder. His nose scrunches a slight.

“What kind of hideous instrument is this?”

“The kind that’s worth a quintillion bucks, at least.”

Inhaling, Miles scarcely resists pointing out the contradiction in her financial estimates. There’s no use in trying; the number would just grow again. “I find it hard to imagine a price over five hundred. That face…”

It’s grotesque. Though, “gaudy” might be a more exact fit; it appears to be a guitar, sporting the face of a tormented crimson Badger with a two-pronged head and golden poms, lamenting its own cursed existence. Kay kneels and leans in closer to study it. “I feel bad for the lil’ guy. He’s crying under those sunglasses -- look, he’s got a little tear there. Wonder what’s got him down… this is a case worthy of the noble Yatagarasu! Fear not, little badger.” Kay points emphatically at its nose. Or where a nose should be, perhaps. “I shall uncover the truth behind your tears!”

“I would be crying as well if someone routinely plucked their fingers across my face.” Miles pauses, clearing his throat. “Regardless, you are not stealing it. And we are leaving this room at once… are you listening?”

“Huh?” Kay glances up from the very important task of plucking each individual string on the instrument. The tones are low, incredibly so; it must be a bass guitar, or at least a baritone. In her free hand, she holds a blue raspberry slushie she got in the park on the way here (a flavor completely inferior to the best kind, strawberry).

She takes a long slurp before speaking, looking Miles in the eye.

“Oh yeah, I’m listening. I’m just choosing to further our investigation, instead.”

“There is no ‘investigation’ to be had.” Miles sighs through his nose. “The badger is crying because it was painted that way.”

“I bet there’s deeper lore if we ask and look around.” Kay hops to her feet, stretching. The slushie extends far over her head. “That’s the whole point of a backstage pass, Mr. Edgeworth! It’s our personal ticket to access all The Gavinners’ secrets and gather intelligence.”

“I don’t think that’s quite-- be careful, Kay!”

It’s already too late -- Kay squeezes the plastic cup of raspberry slush a little too hard while stretching, and it slips from her grasp. Miles’ hand flies to snatch it before it hits the ground, and not only does he miss, but also manages to take a splash of frigid blue juice to the face.

A puddle of slosh soaks into the polished tiles of the floor. Kay looks down and stares.

“Whoops.”

“Don’t sweat it!”

A flash of red zooms into view, leaving Miles with little time to mourn his once-pristine cravat. He jumps, catching himself quickly. “Why are you shouting--”

With a wild flourish, the person standing in the doorway whips off their belt and holds it high over their head like a crack of bright yellow lightning. Miles staggers backward, his arm flinching to guard his face.

“Drop your weapon, creepskate!”

In a flurry of black scarf and malapropism, Kay yells and launches herself headfirst into the stranger’s torso and tackles them to the ground. They both hit the tile floor with a terrible clatter of elbows and plastic.

Miles’ expression flips from shock to a grimace in seconds. “Kay!”

“I’ve got you now!” Kay grips them by the tacky, popped orange collar of their shirt. “Hand it over!”

“Hey, hey -- I give!” Holding up both hands, they drop the belt. “I wasn’t tryin’ to start something! Just wanted to make sure nobody slipped on that spill there.”

When they drop the belt, Miles notices its bold yellow color, the ostentatious gold star buckle, and…

“Caution tape?” Kay blinks, staring. “On your belt?”

“Hey, you never know when it’ll be necessary. Nobody plans an emergency.” They snap their fingers from where they lay on the floor, shaping them like a pistol. “So I always keep some on me, just in case. Usually I just, y’know, whip it off and throw it at the scene of the crime. Keeps people away in a pinch.”

“Oh, huh.” She blinks, her tone almost impressed. “I guess that makes sense.”

No, it most certainly does not. Miles briskly steps forward and tugs Kay’s arm with careful urgency, prompting her to get off of the crimson clown. Regaining her wits, she jumps up on her feet and jabs a finger at her victim. “You better watch where you swing that belt! You could’ve hit Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Kay, I assure you, I need no protection.” Miles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for the, er… the thought. But you.” He fixes their visitor with a confused stare. “Who are you? And why would you wear a strip of caution tape ‘in case of emergencies’ when wet floor signs accomplish the same thing?” With significantly less risk of “dropping one’s drawers”, as it were.

“Oh yeah, hey. I didn’t even introduce myself.”

In a single motion, they leap to their feet, snag the hideous bass resting against the wall, and strike a chord as bold as their wide-legged power stance. “Alexi Plectra, your one and only bassist tonight! Nice to meetcha.” He adjusts his crooked sunglasses. “And as for your second question, my dude -- there’s not always a sign around to be used.” Mr. Plectra’s hair flips dramatically when he turns his head, strumming a contemplative note. “Sometimes, you gotta make your own way in life.”

Miles frowns as his dreaded worst case scenario becomes reality. Wonderful job, Kay; mugging performers is, undoubtedly, the best way to show appreciation for their work. “I see. Well, Mr. Plectra, I apologize for--”

“Ooh!” Kay grins, putting her hands on her hips. “When you put it like that, it sounds pretty useful.” She points, turning to Miles. That enormous gold star buckle is all too glimmerous for its own good. “You should get one too, Mr. Edgeworth -- we can rope off our own crime scenes!”

“N-no! I’m quite comfortable with the belt I have, thank you.”

“Honestly, I bet you could rock it.” Mr. Plectra smiles, giving a nod of encouragement. “But yeah, uh, who’re you guys? And no offense, but.” He brushes his wild red hair out of his face, supporting the bass with his free hand. “How’d you end up in our dressing room?”

“Thank you, but I have no interest in ‘rocking it’.” Miles folds his arms, tapping a finger against his elbow. “We were given backstage passes by Prosecutor Gavin, and Kay was interested in seeing your…” Giving the room a cursory look, Miles manages to hold his tongue about the discordant chains, police uniforms, and the rack of bug-eyed badger costumes in the corner. He can’t help but shudder at the sight of them. “Your quarters.”

“Our ‘quarters’? Huh. I like that. Sounds like we’re the renegades in some kinda dark kingdom, ruled by an evil king… and this sacred dressing room is our only sanctuary. The stronghold of the rebellion.” As he speaks, Mr. Plectra plucks a somber progression of notes that hangs like smoke in the air. “But with the powers of music and justice, the ragtag heroes overcome tyranny! Man, I wonder if Klavier’s into making a concept album.”

“Oh, oh! I’ve got a title for you.” Kay enters a combat stance, performing what appears to be a ninja hand sign. “Assassins of Darkness: The Musical! Featuring the Great Thief Yatagarasu!”

This, surely, is what hell sounds like. Miles rubs his temples as Mr. Plectra laughs. “Yatagarasu... what a cool name. And I’m guessing,” he points emphatically at Miles, “you’re ‘Mr. Edgeworth’, huh?”

“Ghrk -- watch where you point, Mr. Plectra.” Miles leans back, away from his imposing finger. “You could take someone’s eye out.”

“Ah, sorry! Force of habit, y’know? Comes with the job.”

“Are you a prosecutor, too?” Kay laughs. “I’ve only seen Mr. Edgeworth point at people for a living.”

“I do not ‘point at people for a living’, Kay.” Does it really look that way?

“The hell is all the noise in here?”

A vague, bullet-like mass of white and black wobbles through the doorway -- Miles realizes in horror that it is attached to a person, one who glowers and slaps a hand against the doorframe. Mr. Plectra whips around, hitting a chord that crunches in the air. “Dari! Geez, you’re gonna gimme a heart attack.”

Kay readies herself for combat once more, fists and hackles raised. This time, Miles manages to put an arm in front of her before she lunges. She stares down the new intruder, and for a tense second their glares are mutual. Mr. Plectra holds up both hands, laughing.

“Hold up, it’s okay -- this is Daryan Crescend, second guitarist. He doesn’t bite, even if he looks the part.”

Daryan Crescend. The name is familiar, but Miles can’t quite place where. Detective Gumshoe may have mentioned it before. As he ponders, Daryan fixes him with a look that could freeze him solid.

Kay folds her arms, and when he notices this, Mr. Crescend barks a rather condescending laugh. “Can it, Lex. Why’d you let these two back here?”

“Hey, don’t look at me, my guy. Mr. Edgeworth here says Klavier gave ‘em backstage passes for the show tonight. They’re real nice -- no harm, no foul.” With a smile, Mr. Plectra strums a cheery chord. “We’re buds now.”

“You hear that, Mr. Edgeworth?” Kay whispers intensely. “We’re officially buds! Our infiltration was a resounding success.”

“Right.” If only this were an espionage mission.

“Oh, great.” With a heavy sigh, Mr. Crescend runs a hand along the length of his… hair? No, that’s ghastly. It can’t be. The longer Miles watches it bounce, the more his stomach churns. “Sure would be nice if he bothered to tell us. He just hands stuff out like it’s candy and expects us to roll with it at the drop of a hat--”

The first step Mr. Crescend takes into the room is his last. The heel of his shoe slips and skids right over the aftermath of Kay’s slushie mishap, and he flies backwards with a thump and a slew of curses. Kay stifles laughter as Mr. Plectra winces, shoulders flinching. He scrambles to take off his bass, set it back against the wall, and scoot over to Mr. Crescend, offering him a hand. “Dude, didn’t you see the belt?! Be careful!”

“Oh, shut up!” Mr. Crescend ignores the hand offered to him and crawls onto his knees. His eyes lock onto Miles and Kay. The low growl rising between his teeth compels Miles to take a step back and brace for the inevitable rage.

“Ah, you’re all in here? Without me?”

Like a shimmering beacon of bling, Klavier Gavin walks into the dressing room at the most opportune moment, stepping over Mr. Plectra and Mr. Crescend without hesitation. He makes even strides across the room to shake Miles’ hand. Cordial as ever. “I was wondering if you had gotten here yet.” Casting a playful look over his shoulder, he laughs. “Are the boys bothering you?”

“No.” Miles glances at Mr. Crescend briefly. “Of course not. Thank you again for the invitation, Prosecutor Gavin.”

“Kein problem, Herr Edgeworth. Anything for my fans… I hear it was you who wanted to see the performance tonight, ja?” He waves to Kay. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fraulein.”

Kay sizes him up, eyes narrowed like a hawk’s. “So you’re the leader of the gang… but you’re not the tallest. That’s weird.”

When has height ever been a qualifying factor in leadership?

“Haha, you are correct -- Lexi has a few inches on the rest of us.”

“And that’s without my boots,” he calls proudly from the other side of the room, helping Mr. Crescend to his feet. Kay, unconvinced, squints harder at Prosecutor Gavin. He pushes up his sunglasses.

“Achtung! What sharp eyes you have, Fraulein. They pierce straight through to my core.” Holding a hand over his chest, he laughs. “You really do take after Herr Gloomy.”

“Pardon me?” Miles sputters, but Kay commands his attention once more, already on the move. On swift feet she zooms back to Mr. Plectra, who stumbles back slightly at the sheer force of her approach.

“Hey, I wanna see the stage! Let’s go!” With a running start she springs up through the air and grabs onto Mr. Plectra’s back, nearly throwing him to the ground. “I must find the secrets it holds… the truth awaits!”

He manages to catch himself and laughs, wheezing. “You got it, kiddo. Let’s move!” Waving once to Miles and Gavin, he sprints off toward the stage like a dutiful steed, with Kay pulling the reins.

“Hey! You break anything, we’re screwed! Get back here!” Mr. Crescend follows close behind with a snarl, his protests fading into the hall.

“She’ll be fine,” Gavin slips off his sunglasses, responding preemptively to Miles’ unspoken dread. “Lexi is a lot of things, but he’s responsible. Especially with kids.”

“I would like to find that reassuring.”

“You worry so much! Let her have fun. It’s no good to be an overly doting father, ja?”

“Prosecutor Gavin,” Miles clears his throat, “need I remind you that I am your superior? You had best wash these baseless rumors from your mouth before they impact your employment.”

“Ach, there’s no point in lying, Herr Gloomy. Why do you deny it?” Gavin folds his sunglasses and tucks them away in his pocket, sliding his hands into both. “From what I’ve heard, she needs someone like you. What you do for her… it’s admirable.”

“If you invited me here solely to pry into my personal matters, I will be going now.”

“Alright, alright. No more teasing.”

Crossing the room once more, Gavin sweeps a hand through the doorway.

“Shall we join them onstage?”