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foxysquidalso) wrote2010-12-31 02:31 pm
foxysquidalso) wrote2010-12-31 02:31 pm
Entry tags:
Story: Ace Attorney, "What Magic Is" [Vera]
Title: What Magic Is
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Word count: 4,700
Characters: Vera, Trucy, Apollo, Klavier, Kristoph, Phoenix
Rating: PG
Warnings: Major spoilers for the final case of AJ
Summary: After her trial, Vera is forced to enter the world at last. In spite of her fears, she finds that life is full of magic.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
gyaku_flash, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yamikinoko. ♥
Vera used to imagine that she could fly. She'd close her eyes and picture herself rising from the floor, her feet hovering in midair. She rose slowly at first, but the higher she got, the faster she went, gathering speed as she passed through the ceiling like a ghost, then through the roof and up into the sky. Once she was free, flying through the open air, she could go anywhere, see anything. She didn't have to be afraid, because when she was flying, no one could see her or touch her. She could be a part of the world, but nothing could hurt her. From so high in the sky, everything was distant, but it was beautiful.
When Vera opened her eyes again, she would half-expect to see the city's streets and buildings laid out below her like a colorful, wild checkerboard, but all she saw were the gray walls with their cracked and peeling paint.
Imagining herself elsewhere was one of the few ways she could leave those walls behind. She would fill her sketchbooks with drawings of the landscapes she visited in her dreams and daydreams, with portraits of the people and animals she met there. Her father bought her as many sketchbooks as she needed. As far as she knew, he never looked through their pages, unless she asked him to look at something. He let her keep her secrets. Maybe he was right to do so, and maybe he wasn't.
If she wasn't dreaming or drawing, she could watch TV to escape. Her television was as private as her sketchbooks. She had a small set in her room, and she would sit in front of it, alone, while her father painted in the next room. She loved the programs about Europe and Asia and Africa. She saw people she didn't know travel to lands she would never visit. She would sketch statues, castles, skyscrapers, deserts, jungles, rivers.
As much as Vera liked travel programs, they weren't her favorite. There was nothing in the world she loved more than a magic show. The magicians were like she was in her dreams. They could go anywhere. They could do anything.
The magicians of Troupe Gramarye were the best ones. Everyone knew that. Vera never missed one of their shows. She only wished there were more to watch. There never seemed to be enough. She didn't have a favorite Gramarye; they were all her favorites. They weren't afraid of the world. They stood up on stage, in front of everyone. Their colors were bold, and if anyone had ever tried to hurt them, they would have flown away. They would have disappeared.
The day Vera first saw a commercial for their live performance, her heart started pounding. She brought her hand to her face, her teeth biting at her nails almost of their own accord. She'd never thought it would be possible to see them in person. When she asked her father if she could go, she honestly thought her heart was going to hammer its way out of her chest. Nervousness made her body ache all over, as it always did when she thought of leaving the house, but when her father asked her if she was sure, she said that she was.
She brought her sketchbook with her to the performance. She sat in her seat next to her father and drew. She sketched feverishly, barely glancing down at the page as she did so, drawing everything she saw. Up on the stage, under the bright lights. Shining like stars. What must it feel like to be so fearless? After that night, all Vera's sketchbooks were full of the Gramaryes: their swirling capes, their brilliant hats, their sleights of hand, the lights that made them shine.
Until the Devil came. That was when the Gramaryes had suddenly stopped performing, as if they'd known, somehow, that he had come. He had changed everything.
***
After her father died, after the trial, there was a hearing. Vera had done things that were wrong, although she hadn't meant to. Apollo and Trucy were very kind to her. They told her it was a formality, and she'd be fine. She wouldn't have to go to jail. "They shouldn't force you to appear in court," Apollo grumbled. "I can represent you in absentia."
She smiled to show him she didn't mind, although she was afraid, and she wished she didn't have to go.
Trucy held her hand during the hearing. Vera couldn't remember the last time anyone, except her father, had held her hand. No, she did remember. She remembered someone else touching her fingers, saying softly, You shouldn't bite your nails.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Trucy asked afterward.
Vera smiled at her. It was true. She'd have to perform some community service, but she wouldn't have to go to jail. She thought she could manage community service. Hopefully, she'd be able to volunteer somewhere quiet.
"Don't worry. Whatever volunteering you have to do, we'll do it with you. Right, Apollo?"
"If I have time," he said. "I mean, depending on my caseload. So--probably yes."
Trucy was still holding her hand. "Polly, I have to use the restroom," she said.
"That's fine. Go ahead." Apollo took a few steps away, as if to distance himself from the subject. "I'll wait here."
"Will you come with me, Vera?" Trucy asked.
"I will."
Once they were inside the women's restroom, Trucy released her hand at last. Her smile faded. It was the first time Vera had seen her look like that, so serious. "It's all right to be upset," she said, "if you're upset."
They were alone in the room, and Trucy's voice echoed oddly off the tiled walls, making her sound older than she was. Vera nodded. "I know."
Vera had her sketchbook with her, as always. Trucy reached for it, and Vera handed it to her without hesitation. Trucy didn't look through it. She opened it to a blank page and handed it back to Vera. "Show me. Draw me what you're feeling."
Vera understood. She took out her pencil. The blank page was empty, almost desolate in its whiteness. She began to draw, filling up that space with substance. She drew quickly, as she always did when she was sketching, feeling rather than thinking. Expressing. Her shoulders began to shake a little, but she hardly realized what she was doing until it was done.
She'd drawn a picture of her father.
Vera stared down at the portrait, startled. How much time passed as she studied that familiar face? She could hear low voices in the hallway outside, but no one opened the door and disturbed them. Nothing disturbed the silence within the room until she heard a low, broken cry, almost animal in its wordlessness. She realized that she herself had made the sound only when Trucy wrapped her arms around her. "It's okay. It's okay to cry."
She leaned on the other girl's shoulder, getting her pretty cape wet, but Trucy didn't mind. "You can cry as much as you want in here. I won't tell anyone, I promise." Trucy's words and tone were somber, but somehow, her voice was still bright. "Anyone would cry," she said.
Her father had done things he shouldn't have done, but he had loved her.
"I know how you feel," Trucy whispered.
Once her tears had stopped and she had washed her face, they walked out into the hall together. Apollo rose from the nearby bench where he'd been waiting for them. If he knew or suspected that Vera had been crying, he didn't mention it.
***
She went to live in a halfway house, which was so frightening, sometimes she almost couldn't breathe. They said she wasn't ready to live on her own yet, and that was probably true. She didn't want to live on her own, but she didn't want to be surrounded by strangers, either. She stayed in her room as much as she could.
Her therapist was kind. Vera told her that sometimes she didn't feel like she was real. She didn't exist. She was watching the world, but she wasn't part of it.
"Is there any time you don't feel that way?" the woman asked.
"When Trucy comes to visit."
Trucy came to visit almost every day, after school. Some days she brought Apollo with her, but more often, she came alone. She never acted as if it was strange that Vera was living in a place that wasn't really a home. She never seemed uncomfortable. She had no trouble talking to the other people who lived in the home. Vera suspected that Trucy even liked talking to them. It helped her feel less nervous of them. Usually, they didn't stay in the home. They went on walks together, to the park or to the shops or just around town. They could go anywhere.
It was difficult for her to remember that Trucy was younger than she was. It felt like they were the same age. They liked the same things. They always had fun together, more fun than Vera had ever had before. Trucy would tell her stories about her day at school, about her father, about her magic shows. She would show Vera tricks she'd been working on, conjuring gold coins and ribbons out of the air, turning paper into smoke, or making her gloves disappear, then reappear again. She'd even taught Mr. Hat to do magic tricks. He'd ask Vera to pick a card; then he would tell her what the card was. He was never wrong.
Vera carried her sketchbook with her during most of their walks, but she tried to make herself leave it behind at least one or two days out of the week. Her therapist was worried that she was using it as a crutch and said she should try to do without it as often as she could, to get used to relating with people directly. When she did bring it, she would draw things for Trucy, but when she left it in her room, Trucy didn't mention it.
When the time came for her to leave the halfway home, Vera didn't know where she was going to live. She didn't want to return to her house. It was funny, she used to be terrified of leaving it, but after her time away, she'd grown afraid of going back. Her father had died there. She didn't want to see the place where he'd lain, the last time, before they'd taken him away.
"I'll go with you," Trucy said. "We can have a sleepover there. It'll be fun. And you can go through everything, and my daddy will help you sell whatever you don't want. So it'll all be okay."
Vera nodded. Trucy made it sound so reasonable and simple.
"Daddy said you can stay with us, too, until you find a place of your own."
"Thank you," said Vera. It was still hard for her to understand how people could be so kind, for no reason at all, except for the fact that they wanted to be.
All her old sketchbooks were still inside the house. She'd never thrown any of them out, and they had stayed there, waiting for her. Some of them were in boxes in storage, but there were so many more, on her shelves or neatly stacked against the wall. Together, they told the history of her life, the life she had lived in that house.
"Can I look through them?" Trucy asked.
Vera shook her head.
Trucy didn't act disappointed. She nodded cheerfully. "All right, if you don't want me to."
"I don't think you'll like them," Vera said.
"I like all your drawings."
"These are different."
Seated next to a stack of sketchbooks, Trucy considered these words, pressing her lips together as she thought them over. "Are you sure? It might make you feel better if you show someone."
Vera hesitated, then picked up the sketchbook on top of the nearest pile and handed it to Trucy. "Don't laugh," she said.
"I won't, I promise." Trucy opened the book and flipped through it. She didn't laugh. She studied every page, and when she was done, she looked up and said, "They're beautiful drawings."
"You really like them?"
"I told you, I like everything you draw." Trucy closed the book, then grew thoughtful again. "You drew him a lot," she said.
Vera flushed and looked away. She had drawn him so many times after he had visited. She felt she should explain herself. She didn't want Trucy to think things about her that weren't true. "He was my imaginary friend," she said. "I made up stories about him. None of them were real."
"There's nothing wrong with that. Lots of people have imaginary friends."
Vera bit her lip. She felt guilty, remembering. She used to imagine that he was her real father, that he'd take her away to someplace else, a place where she didn't have to be afraid. The frightening part was that that dream had come true, but not in the way she had dreamed it. It had been so much more terrible than that.
Eager to change the subject, Vera picked up another sketchbook. She could tell by its cover that it was an older one. "Here," she said. "This one's better."
"Oh, look! It's Daddy, and Uncle Valant!" Trucy's voice rose in excitement, then fell again as she turned a page. "And my mother."
"You can keep that one, if you like it."
"I can? Thanks so much, Vera. I love it." Trucy beamed and held the book to her chest. "Once you start really painting your own stuff, I bet you'll be a famous artist, and everyone in the whole world will want to buy your paintings."
"I don't know," said Vera, but as usual, incredible things seemed plausible when Trucy said them. "I hope so."
"I know so."
Vera drew closer to Trucy, kneeling beside her on the floor. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Yes. I want to know a secret."
"I don't know what to paint, for myself. It's easy sketching things, but when I think about making a real painting, I don't know what to do." She had tried, once or twice, while at the halfway home. She'd prepped her canvas and prepared her paints, but when she'd stood before that empty square that she was supposed to fill with something, she'd frozen. "Maybe I'll never be able to make a real painting. Maybe I should keep copying things. I can make legal ones this time, instead."
"There's nothing wrong with making copies, if that's what you want to do," said Trucy. "But is it?"
It wasn't. Vera shook her head.
"Let me try to help," said Trucy. "Close your eyes."
Vera widened her eyes instead.
Trucy laughed. "I mean it. Right now. Close them."
"All right." Vera did as she requested. She shut her eyes tight.
"What's the first thing you see? Don't tell me, just picture it. Do you see something?"
"I do," said Vera.
"Then paint that."
The first thing Vera saw when she opened her eyes again was Trucy, smiling at her. Suddenly, she felt like she could do it. She could make a painting that meant something, all by herself.
"But don't do it because I told you to," added Trucy. "Do it because you want to."
"I will. I do."
***
"Mr. Gavin?" Her voice sounded too soft, even in her own ears, so she tried to make it louder. She could do this. She didn't need to be afraid. "Hello. This is Vera Misham."
"Fräulein Misham." She could hear the surprise in Prosecutor Gavin's voice, but he didn't sound displeased. He sounded very nice, which gave her the courage to stay on the line. "It's so wonderful to hear from you. How have you been?"
"I'm doing well, thank you very much."
"And to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Vera took a breath. This was hard to say, but everything was hard to say. When she got better at saying one thing, all the other things came a little easier. She didn't say that she was sorry first, or hesitate too long. She made herself go directly to the point of her call. "I need to ask you a favor. I'd like to see your brother. Will you take me to see him?"
Prosecutor Gavin was silent.
"Mr. Gavin, are you still there?"
"Ja, I am here, Fräulein. Unfortunately, I don't know if that's a good idea. My brother isn't up to receiving company. He's not well, and I wouldn't want you to be upset by seeing him that way."
She felt the urge to chew her nails, but she gripped the phone more tightly and curled her free hand into a fist. "I don't want to upset him, but I think it might help me to see him again."
"You don't want to upset him," said Prosecutor Gavin slowly.
"Yes, that's right. You said he isn't well. Is he sick?"
"I'm afraid he is sick." He paused. "It's very important to you to see him?"
"I think so."
"Then--we will see him."
The prison was imposing, cold and gray. Only the presence of the prosecutor beside her made Vera able to walk through the tall doors. She hadn't told Trucy that she was coming here. Trucy had told her to do things for herself, not for Trucy, and her therapist had told her that it wasn't a good idea to depend on anyone too much. They were right. She had depended on other people too much in the past. She had to do things on her own. Although the prosecutor was accompanying her, she thought it still counted as doing something on her own, because she found him a little scary, too.
No, more intimidating than scary. He was too nice to be really scary. He kept making jokes to put her at ease, criticizing the prison's interior decorating and teasing the guards.
"You know," he said, stopping suddenly in the hallway and leaning in close, "you can still change your mind, if you want to."
"I know," said Vera.
"I told him you were coming."
"What did he say?" she asked, a thrill of nervousness making her stomach feel oddly light.
"He didn't say anything." Prosecutor Gavin had a bright but brittle smile. When she'd first met him, she'd thought he looked so much like his brother, but now she saw that he didn't, not really. Vera thought she would like to draw him someday. "I'm afraid he doesn't say much these days. He probably won't talk to us." He ran a hand through his hair, and she wondered: was he nervous, too? Could someone so confident feel like she did?
"That's fine. I don't need to talk to him. I only want to see him." She held up her sketchbook. She looked at her hands. They were almost white. She was gripping the edges of the book so tightly, as if it could protect her.
When they reached his cell, Kristoph Gavin was sitting in his chair, reading a book. He raised his head. Their gazes met. As Prosecutor Gavin had predicted, he didn't say anything. He simply looked at her, then away. His expression was neutral, nothing but the ghost of a vanished smile on his face.
"Hello, Kristoph," said Prosecutor Gavin. "You remember Miss Misham."
Kristoph returned his attention to the pages of his book.
Prosecutor Gavin gave her an apologetic look. "I'll stay here with you."
"Thank you, Mr. Gavin."
Prosecutor Gavin had had the guards bring a chair for her to sit in, in the hall outside his cell. It was a metal folding chair, its surface cold beneath her when she sat down in it. She had brought her pencils with her, but she didn't take them out right away. First, she watched him. She saw him, not as she had seen him as a child, but as he truly was.
Her heart beat quickly, and her breathing was so quick and sounded so loud, he must have been able to hear it. He must have known how she felt, but she had to do this. He was what she had seen first when she'd closed her eyes, because he was everything she was terrified of, when she was alone, in the dark. She was afraid that he would look up again and say something, but at the same time, she was half-hoping he would.
"Do you mind if we stay?" Prosecutor Gavin asked his brother.
Kristoph looked up again. This time, he frowned. She saw a muscle twitch on one side of his mouth, and she was almost certain he was going to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. This done, he began to read again.
The prosecutor smiled at her. "It's all right," he said.
Finally, Vera's body relaxed. She began to breathe evenly, and her hands felt steady enough for her to hold a pencil. She opened her sketchbook. She watched her subject. She wanted to understand him, how he could be so horrible and so beautiful.
She feared him, but she drew him.
***
"That is quite the painting," said Trucy's father, when she had finished. She had painted it in his house, so he had seen it as it had progressed from rough sketch to finished painting, but he had refrained from saying anything about it until it was done.
"Do you like it?"
Mr. Wright took a step back, to view the painting from farther away. He turned his head a little to one side and scrunched up his lips as he studied it. When he'd made up his mind, he straightened and turned to her. "Honestly? It scares the pants off me. But I mean that in the nicest possible way."
Vera smiled. "I'm glad."
Mr. Wright laughed. "I'm pleased I could be suitably alarmed. What do you think you're going to do with it now?"
"I already have a buyer," said Vera.
He didn't ask who the buyer was, and Vera wondered if he'd guessed. "Hm, I see. Well, that's probably for the best. As wonderful as it is from an aesthetic standpoint, I'd prefer not to keep it in the house, for personal reasons."
"Don't worry. I told him it was done, and he'll come to take it away soon."
Pleased by this news, Mr. Wright examined the painting again, with a new and more cheerful appreciation. "So, your first sale. That's exciting. What do you think you'll paint next? Any ideas?"
Vera closed her eyes, to discover what she saw there, in the darkness. "I have lots of ideas," she said.
Now that she had painted that painting, she found that she could paint so many other things. There had been a shadow hanging over her, but she had made it leave, all by herself. Her next paintings didn't scare Mr. Wright at all. She sold them, and soon she was able to buy herself a little apartment, not far from the Wrights' house.
***
Trucy invented the most wonderful trick. She called it the Magical Frame of Wonder. She would place a magnificent, golden painting frame up on stage, one that held a blank canvas. She covered it with a beautiful red cloth, then called a volunteer from the audience up onto the stage and asked them for a subject. It could be anything in the world, Trucy said, as long as she knew what it looked like, because she would be using the power of her magic to paint the canvas, beneath the cloth.
Of course, it would really be Vera who painted it. She was hidden beneath the stage, and once the volunteer selected the subject, she'd start to paint, furiously. She only had a short time, though it was lengthened by Trucy's stage patter and showmanship. She would make jokes with the audience and then pretend to concentrate, making motions as if she was painting in the air.
When Vera finished painting, once of the stagehands did what was necessary to secretly switch her canvas with the blank one, then gave a signal that only Trucy noticed. Once she saw the signal, she'd pull the canvas away, and there would be the painting, as requested by the audience member.
No one else had a trick like that. Vera was the only one who could do it.
The first night she performed the Magical Frame of Wonder, not in rehearsal, but during a real show, the volunteer from the audience, perhaps inspired by Trucy's previous trick, asked for a painting of a rabbit. Vera froze. There should have been nothing easier for her to paint, but suddenly, she'd forgotten all the rabbits in the world. She couldn't see anything but her hand, gripping the paintbrush.
She'd done the trick so many times, with Mr. Wright or Apollo playing the part of the volunteer and thinking up silly things to ask for. She'd never had a problem then, but now she was conscious of the audience, seated in the darkness of the theater. She heard the low murmurs of their voices. A cough. A cleared throat. The seconds passed.
Then she heard Trucy's bright voice, raised in laughter, rising above all the other sounds, coming to her out of the darkness. If Vera didn't paint her picture, Trucy's trick wouldn't work. She couldn't let Trucy down. She took a deep breath, touched brush to canvas, then pulled a rabbit out of it.
After the show, in the dressing room, Trucy hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. "I knew you could do it. You're the best." When Trucy released her and stepped back, Mr. Hat conjured a bouquet of flowers and handed it to her.
Vera took the flowers in her arms, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to receive a bouquet of roses from a wooden man. She glimpsed herself in the dressing room mirror. Even though she didn't appear on stage for her trick, Trucy had insisted on having a pretty dress made for her. It was purple and gold, and it sparkled. She looked different in it, or maybe she was different. Somehow, she had become a magician.
"This is going to be so much fun," said Trucy. "I'll have to think of more tricks you can help me with. And we'll get you a cape. We'll be Troupe Wright, or maybe The Wright Troupe. Or the Wonderful Wrights. We'll travel all over the world!"
Vera held her flowers as she sometimes held her sketchbook. It was hard for her to disagree with her friend, but she could do it. "I don't think I'm ready for all that, Trucy. I'd rather stay beneath the stage for now."
Trucy didn't mind. She laughed. "You're right. I'm getting ahead of myself. But someday. Maybe. If you wanted to. We'd be the best magicians ever."
Vera shook her head, but not because she was disagreeing. She still had trouble believing her life was real, sometimes. Adults weren't supposed to believe in magic, but it was magic that had saved her life. When she'd been a little girl, she'd loved the Gramaryes so much that she hadn't been able to bear the thought of sending away a stamp bearing an image of them. Because of that, she hadn't died, and her father had lived for seven years, years they wouldn't have had together otherwise. Now, magic had transformed her life. It had made her into a new person. "When I was little," she confessed, "I used to wish I was magic. Like you are."
"What do you mean?" asked Trucy, as innocent yet mischievous as only she could be. "You've been magic all along."
"I have?"
"Sure! You've always done amazing things. And that's what magic is."
Vera smiled. Now that she was all grown up, she didn't have to close her eyes to feel like she was flying.
And, as a bonus, an illustration I made to go with it, for fun.
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Word count: 4,700
Characters: Vera, Trucy, Apollo, Klavier, Kristoph, Phoenix
Rating: PG
Warnings: Major spoilers for the final case of AJ
Summary: After her trial, Vera is forced to enter the world at last. In spite of her fears, she finds that life is full of magic.
Notes: Written for
gyaku_flash, for yamikinoko. ♥Vera used to imagine that she could fly. She'd close her eyes and picture herself rising from the floor, her feet hovering in midair. She rose slowly at first, but the higher she got, the faster she went, gathering speed as she passed through the ceiling like a ghost, then through the roof and up into the sky. Once she was free, flying through the open air, she could go anywhere, see anything. She didn't have to be afraid, because when she was flying, no one could see her or touch her. She could be a part of the world, but nothing could hurt her. From so high in the sky, everything was distant, but it was beautiful.
When Vera opened her eyes again, she would half-expect to see the city's streets and buildings laid out below her like a colorful, wild checkerboard, but all she saw were the gray walls with their cracked and peeling paint.
Imagining herself elsewhere was one of the few ways she could leave those walls behind. She would fill her sketchbooks with drawings of the landscapes she visited in her dreams and daydreams, with portraits of the people and animals she met there. Her father bought her as many sketchbooks as she needed. As far as she knew, he never looked through their pages, unless she asked him to look at something. He let her keep her secrets. Maybe he was right to do so, and maybe he wasn't.
If she wasn't dreaming or drawing, she could watch TV to escape. Her television was as private as her sketchbooks. She had a small set in her room, and she would sit in front of it, alone, while her father painted in the next room. She loved the programs about Europe and Asia and Africa. She saw people she didn't know travel to lands she would never visit. She would sketch statues, castles, skyscrapers, deserts, jungles, rivers.
As much as Vera liked travel programs, they weren't her favorite. There was nothing in the world she loved more than a magic show. The magicians were like she was in her dreams. They could go anywhere. They could do anything.
The magicians of Troupe Gramarye were the best ones. Everyone knew that. Vera never missed one of their shows. She only wished there were more to watch. There never seemed to be enough. She didn't have a favorite Gramarye; they were all her favorites. They weren't afraid of the world. They stood up on stage, in front of everyone. Their colors were bold, and if anyone had ever tried to hurt them, they would have flown away. They would have disappeared.
The day Vera first saw a commercial for their live performance, her heart started pounding. She brought her hand to her face, her teeth biting at her nails almost of their own accord. She'd never thought it would be possible to see them in person. When she asked her father if she could go, she honestly thought her heart was going to hammer its way out of her chest. Nervousness made her body ache all over, as it always did when she thought of leaving the house, but when her father asked her if she was sure, she said that she was.
She brought her sketchbook with her to the performance. She sat in her seat next to her father and drew. She sketched feverishly, barely glancing down at the page as she did so, drawing everything she saw. Up on the stage, under the bright lights. Shining like stars. What must it feel like to be so fearless? After that night, all Vera's sketchbooks were full of the Gramaryes: their swirling capes, their brilliant hats, their sleights of hand, the lights that made them shine.
Until the Devil came. That was when the Gramaryes had suddenly stopped performing, as if they'd known, somehow, that he had come. He had changed everything.
After her father died, after the trial, there was a hearing. Vera had done things that were wrong, although she hadn't meant to. Apollo and Trucy were very kind to her. They told her it was a formality, and she'd be fine. She wouldn't have to go to jail. "They shouldn't force you to appear in court," Apollo grumbled. "I can represent you in absentia."
She smiled to show him she didn't mind, although she was afraid, and she wished she didn't have to go.
Trucy held her hand during the hearing. Vera couldn't remember the last time anyone, except her father, had held her hand. No, she did remember. She remembered someone else touching her fingers, saying softly, You shouldn't bite your nails.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Trucy asked afterward.
Vera smiled at her. It was true. She'd have to perform some community service, but she wouldn't have to go to jail. She thought she could manage community service. Hopefully, she'd be able to volunteer somewhere quiet.
"Don't worry. Whatever volunteering you have to do, we'll do it with you. Right, Apollo?"
"If I have time," he said. "I mean, depending on my caseload. So--probably yes."
Trucy was still holding her hand. "Polly, I have to use the restroom," she said.
"That's fine. Go ahead." Apollo took a few steps away, as if to distance himself from the subject. "I'll wait here."
"Will you come with me, Vera?" Trucy asked.
"I will."
Once they were inside the women's restroom, Trucy released her hand at last. Her smile faded. It was the first time Vera had seen her look like that, so serious. "It's all right to be upset," she said, "if you're upset."
They were alone in the room, and Trucy's voice echoed oddly off the tiled walls, making her sound older than she was. Vera nodded. "I know."
Vera had her sketchbook with her, as always. Trucy reached for it, and Vera handed it to her without hesitation. Trucy didn't look through it. She opened it to a blank page and handed it back to Vera. "Show me. Draw me what you're feeling."
Vera understood. She took out her pencil. The blank page was empty, almost desolate in its whiteness. She began to draw, filling up that space with substance. She drew quickly, as she always did when she was sketching, feeling rather than thinking. Expressing. Her shoulders began to shake a little, but she hardly realized what she was doing until it was done.
She'd drawn a picture of her father.
Vera stared down at the portrait, startled. How much time passed as she studied that familiar face? She could hear low voices in the hallway outside, but no one opened the door and disturbed them. Nothing disturbed the silence within the room until she heard a low, broken cry, almost animal in its wordlessness. She realized that she herself had made the sound only when Trucy wrapped her arms around her. "It's okay. It's okay to cry."
She leaned on the other girl's shoulder, getting her pretty cape wet, but Trucy didn't mind. "You can cry as much as you want in here. I won't tell anyone, I promise." Trucy's words and tone were somber, but somehow, her voice was still bright. "Anyone would cry," she said.
Her father had done things he shouldn't have done, but he had loved her.
"I know how you feel," Trucy whispered.
Once her tears had stopped and she had washed her face, they walked out into the hall together. Apollo rose from the nearby bench where he'd been waiting for them. If he knew or suspected that Vera had been crying, he didn't mention it.
She went to live in a halfway house, which was so frightening, sometimes she almost couldn't breathe. They said she wasn't ready to live on her own yet, and that was probably true. She didn't want to live on her own, but she didn't want to be surrounded by strangers, either. She stayed in her room as much as she could.
Her therapist was kind. Vera told her that sometimes she didn't feel like she was real. She didn't exist. She was watching the world, but she wasn't part of it.
"Is there any time you don't feel that way?" the woman asked.
"When Trucy comes to visit."
Trucy came to visit almost every day, after school. Some days she brought Apollo with her, but more often, she came alone. She never acted as if it was strange that Vera was living in a place that wasn't really a home. She never seemed uncomfortable. She had no trouble talking to the other people who lived in the home. Vera suspected that Trucy even liked talking to them. It helped her feel less nervous of them. Usually, they didn't stay in the home. They went on walks together, to the park or to the shops or just around town. They could go anywhere.
It was difficult for her to remember that Trucy was younger than she was. It felt like they were the same age. They liked the same things. They always had fun together, more fun than Vera had ever had before. Trucy would tell her stories about her day at school, about her father, about her magic shows. She would show Vera tricks she'd been working on, conjuring gold coins and ribbons out of the air, turning paper into smoke, or making her gloves disappear, then reappear again. She'd even taught Mr. Hat to do magic tricks. He'd ask Vera to pick a card; then he would tell her what the card was. He was never wrong.
Vera carried her sketchbook with her during most of their walks, but she tried to make herself leave it behind at least one or two days out of the week. Her therapist was worried that she was using it as a crutch and said she should try to do without it as often as she could, to get used to relating with people directly. When she did bring it, she would draw things for Trucy, but when she left it in her room, Trucy didn't mention it.
When the time came for her to leave the halfway home, Vera didn't know where she was going to live. She didn't want to return to her house. It was funny, she used to be terrified of leaving it, but after her time away, she'd grown afraid of going back. Her father had died there. She didn't want to see the place where he'd lain, the last time, before they'd taken him away.
"I'll go with you," Trucy said. "We can have a sleepover there. It'll be fun. And you can go through everything, and my daddy will help you sell whatever you don't want. So it'll all be okay."
Vera nodded. Trucy made it sound so reasonable and simple.
"Daddy said you can stay with us, too, until you find a place of your own."
"Thank you," said Vera. It was still hard for her to understand how people could be so kind, for no reason at all, except for the fact that they wanted to be.
All her old sketchbooks were still inside the house. She'd never thrown any of them out, and they had stayed there, waiting for her. Some of them were in boxes in storage, but there were so many more, on her shelves or neatly stacked against the wall. Together, they told the history of her life, the life she had lived in that house.
"Can I look through them?" Trucy asked.
Vera shook her head.
Trucy didn't act disappointed. She nodded cheerfully. "All right, if you don't want me to."
"I don't think you'll like them," Vera said.
"I like all your drawings."
"These are different."
Seated next to a stack of sketchbooks, Trucy considered these words, pressing her lips together as she thought them over. "Are you sure? It might make you feel better if you show someone."
Vera hesitated, then picked up the sketchbook on top of the nearest pile and handed it to Trucy. "Don't laugh," she said.
"I won't, I promise." Trucy opened the book and flipped through it. She didn't laugh. She studied every page, and when she was done, she looked up and said, "They're beautiful drawings."
"You really like them?"
"I told you, I like everything you draw." Trucy closed the book, then grew thoughtful again. "You drew him a lot," she said.
Vera flushed and looked away. She had drawn him so many times after he had visited. She felt she should explain herself. She didn't want Trucy to think things about her that weren't true. "He was my imaginary friend," she said. "I made up stories about him. None of them were real."
"There's nothing wrong with that. Lots of people have imaginary friends."
Vera bit her lip. She felt guilty, remembering. She used to imagine that he was her real father, that he'd take her away to someplace else, a place where she didn't have to be afraid. The frightening part was that that dream had come true, but not in the way she had dreamed it. It had been so much more terrible than that.
Eager to change the subject, Vera picked up another sketchbook. She could tell by its cover that it was an older one. "Here," she said. "This one's better."
"Oh, look! It's Daddy, and Uncle Valant!" Trucy's voice rose in excitement, then fell again as she turned a page. "And my mother."
"You can keep that one, if you like it."
"I can? Thanks so much, Vera. I love it." Trucy beamed and held the book to her chest. "Once you start really painting your own stuff, I bet you'll be a famous artist, and everyone in the whole world will want to buy your paintings."
"I don't know," said Vera, but as usual, incredible things seemed plausible when Trucy said them. "I hope so."
"I know so."
Vera drew closer to Trucy, kneeling beside her on the floor. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Yes. I want to know a secret."
"I don't know what to paint, for myself. It's easy sketching things, but when I think about making a real painting, I don't know what to do." She had tried, once or twice, while at the halfway home. She'd prepped her canvas and prepared her paints, but when she'd stood before that empty square that she was supposed to fill with something, she'd frozen. "Maybe I'll never be able to make a real painting. Maybe I should keep copying things. I can make legal ones this time, instead."
"There's nothing wrong with making copies, if that's what you want to do," said Trucy. "But is it?"
It wasn't. Vera shook her head.
"Let me try to help," said Trucy. "Close your eyes."
Vera widened her eyes instead.
Trucy laughed. "I mean it. Right now. Close them."
"All right." Vera did as she requested. She shut her eyes tight.
"What's the first thing you see? Don't tell me, just picture it. Do you see something?"
"I do," said Vera.
"Then paint that."
The first thing Vera saw when she opened her eyes again was Trucy, smiling at her. Suddenly, she felt like she could do it. She could make a painting that meant something, all by herself.
"But don't do it because I told you to," added Trucy. "Do it because you want to."
"I will. I do."
"Mr. Gavin?" Her voice sounded too soft, even in her own ears, so she tried to make it louder. She could do this. She didn't need to be afraid. "Hello. This is Vera Misham."
"Fräulein Misham." She could hear the surprise in Prosecutor Gavin's voice, but he didn't sound displeased. He sounded very nice, which gave her the courage to stay on the line. "It's so wonderful to hear from you. How have you been?"
"I'm doing well, thank you very much."
"And to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Vera took a breath. This was hard to say, but everything was hard to say. When she got better at saying one thing, all the other things came a little easier. She didn't say that she was sorry first, or hesitate too long. She made herself go directly to the point of her call. "I need to ask you a favor. I'd like to see your brother. Will you take me to see him?"
Prosecutor Gavin was silent.
"Mr. Gavin, are you still there?"
"Ja, I am here, Fräulein. Unfortunately, I don't know if that's a good idea. My brother isn't up to receiving company. He's not well, and I wouldn't want you to be upset by seeing him that way."
She felt the urge to chew her nails, but she gripped the phone more tightly and curled her free hand into a fist. "I don't want to upset him, but I think it might help me to see him again."
"You don't want to upset him," said Prosecutor Gavin slowly.
"Yes, that's right. You said he isn't well. Is he sick?"
"I'm afraid he is sick." He paused. "It's very important to you to see him?"
"I think so."
"Then--we will see him."
The prison was imposing, cold and gray. Only the presence of the prosecutor beside her made Vera able to walk through the tall doors. She hadn't told Trucy that she was coming here. Trucy had told her to do things for herself, not for Trucy, and her therapist had told her that it wasn't a good idea to depend on anyone too much. They were right. She had depended on other people too much in the past. She had to do things on her own. Although the prosecutor was accompanying her, she thought it still counted as doing something on her own, because she found him a little scary, too.
No, more intimidating than scary. He was too nice to be really scary. He kept making jokes to put her at ease, criticizing the prison's interior decorating and teasing the guards.
"You know," he said, stopping suddenly in the hallway and leaning in close, "you can still change your mind, if you want to."
"I know," said Vera.
"I told him you were coming."
"What did he say?" she asked, a thrill of nervousness making her stomach feel oddly light.
"He didn't say anything." Prosecutor Gavin had a bright but brittle smile. When she'd first met him, she'd thought he looked so much like his brother, but now she saw that he didn't, not really. Vera thought she would like to draw him someday. "I'm afraid he doesn't say much these days. He probably won't talk to us." He ran a hand through his hair, and she wondered: was he nervous, too? Could someone so confident feel like she did?
"That's fine. I don't need to talk to him. I only want to see him." She held up her sketchbook. She looked at her hands. They were almost white. She was gripping the edges of the book so tightly, as if it could protect her.
When they reached his cell, Kristoph Gavin was sitting in his chair, reading a book. He raised his head. Their gazes met. As Prosecutor Gavin had predicted, he didn't say anything. He simply looked at her, then away. His expression was neutral, nothing but the ghost of a vanished smile on his face.
"Hello, Kristoph," said Prosecutor Gavin. "You remember Miss Misham."
Kristoph returned his attention to the pages of his book.
Prosecutor Gavin gave her an apologetic look. "I'll stay here with you."
"Thank you, Mr. Gavin."
Prosecutor Gavin had had the guards bring a chair for her to sit in, in the hall outside his cell. It was a metal folding chair, its surface cold beneath her when she sat down in it. She had brought her pencils with her, but she didn't take them out right away. First, she watched him. She saw him, not as she had seen him as a child, but as he truly was.
Her heart beat quickly, and her breathing was so quick and sounded so loud, he must have been able to hear it. He must have known how she felt, but she had to do this. He was what she had seen first when she'd closed her eyes, because he was everything she was terrified of, when she was alone, in the dark. She was afraid that he would look up again and say something, but at the same time, she was half-hoping he would.
"Do you mind if we stay?" Prosecutor Gavin asked his brother.
Kristoph looked up again. This time, he frowned. She saw a muscle twitch on one side of his mouth, and she was almost certain he was going to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. This done, he began to read again.
The prosecutor smiled at her. "It's all right," he said.
Finally, Vera's body relaxed. She began to breathe evenly, and her hands felt steady enough for her to hold a pencil. She opened her sketchbook. She watched her subject. She wanted to understand him, how he could be so horrible and so beautiful.
She feared him, but she drew him.
"That is quite the painting," said Trucy's father, when she had finished. She had painted it in his house, so he had seen it as it had progressed from rough sketch to finished painting, but he had refrained from saying anything about it until it was done.
"Do you like it?"
Mr. Wright took a step back, to view the painting from farther away. He turned his head a little to one side and scrunched up his lips as he studied it. When he'd made up his mind, he straightened and turned to her. "Honestly? It scares the pants off me. But I mean that in the nicest possible way."
Vera smiled. "I'm glad."
Mr. Wright laughed. "I'm pleased I could be suitably alarmed. What do you think you're going to do with it now?"
"I already have a buyer," said Vera.
He didn't ask who the buyer was, and Vera wondered if he'd guessed. "Hm, I see. Well, that's probably for the best. As wonderful as it is from an aesthetic standpoint, I'd prefer not to keep it in the house, for personal reasons."
"Don't worry. I told him it was done, and he'll come to take it away soon."
Pleased by this news, Mr. Wright examined the painting again, with a new and more cheerful appreciation. "So, your first sale. That's exciting. What do you think you'll paint next? Any ideas?"
Vera closed her eyes, to discover what she saw there, in the darkness. "I have lots of ideas," she said.
Now that she had painted that painting, she found that she could paint so many other things. There had been a shadow hanging over her, but she had made it leave, all by herself. Her next paintings didn't scare Mr. Wright at all. She sold them, and soon she was able to buy herself a little apartment, not far from the Wrights' house.
Trucy invented the most wonderful trick. She called it the Magical Frame of Wonder. She would place a magnificent, golden painting frame up on stage, one that held a blank canvas. She covered it with a beautiful red cloth, then called a volunteer from the audience up onto the stage and asked them for a subject. It could be anything in the world, Trucy said, as long as she knew what it looked like, because she would be using the power of her magic to paint the canvas, beneath the cloth.
Of course, it would really be Vera who painted it. She was hidden beneath the stage, and once the volunteer selected the subject, she'd start to paint, furiously. She only had a short time, though it was lengthened by Trucy's stage patter and showmanship. She would make jokes with the audience and then pretend to concentrate, making motions as if she was painting in the air.
When Vera finished painting, once of the stagehands did what was necessary to secretly switch her canvas with the blank one, then gave a signal that only Trucy noticed. Once she saw the signal, she'd pull the canvas away, and there would be the painting, as requested by the audience member.
No one else had a trick like that. Vera was the only one who could do it.
The first night she performed the Magical Frame of Wonder, not in rehearsal, but during a real show, the volunteer from the audience, perhaps inspired by Trucy's previous trick, asked for a painting of a rabbit. Vera froze. There should have been nothing easier for her to paint, but suddenly, she'd forgotten all the rabbits in the world. She couldn't see anything but her hand, gripping the paintbrush.
She'd done the trick so many times, with Mr. Wright or Apollo playing the part of the volunteer and thinking up silly things to ask for. She'd never had a problem then, but now she was conscious of the audience, seated in the darkness of the theater. She heard the low murmurs of their voices. A cough. A cleared throat. The seconds passed.
Then she heard Trucy's bright voice, raised in laughter, rising above all the other sounds, coming to her out of the darkness. If Vera didn't paint her picture, Trucy's trick wouldn't work. She couldn't let Trucy down. She took a deep breath, touched brush to canvas, then pulled a rabbit out of it.
After the show, in the dressing room, Trucy hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. "I knew you could do it. You're the best." When Trucy released her and stepped back, Mr. Hat conjured a bouquet of flowers and handed it to her.
Vera took the flowers in her arms, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to receive a bouquet of roses from a wooden man. She glimpsed herself in the dressing room mirror. Even though she didn't appear on stage for her trick, Trucy had insisted on having a pretty dress made for her. It was purple and gold, and it sparkled. She looked different in it, or maybe she was different. Somehow, she had become a magician.
"This is going to be so much fun," said Trucy. "I'll have to think of more tricks you can help me with. And we'll get you a cape. We'll be Troupe Wright, or maybe The Wright Troupe. Or the Wonderful Wrights. We'll travel all over the world!"
Vera held her flowers as she sometimes held her sketchbook. It was hard for her to disagree with her friend, but she could do it. "I don't think I'm ready for all that, Trucy. I'd rather stay beneath the stage for now."
Trucy didn't mind. She laughed. "You're right. I'm getting ahead of myself. But someday. Maybe. If you wanted to. We'd be the best magicians ever."
Vera shook her head, but not because she was disagreeing. She still had trouble believing her life was real, sometimes. Adults weren't supposed to believe in magic, but it was magic that had saved her life. When she'd been a little girl, she'd loved the Gramaryes so much that she hadn't been able to bear the thought of sending away a stamp bearing an image of them. Because of that, she hadn't died, and her father had lived for seven years, years they wouldn't have had together otherwise. Now, magic had transformed her life. It had made her into a new person. "When I was little," she confessed, "I used to wish I was magic. Like you are."
"What do you mean?" asked Trucy, as innocent yet mischievous as only she could be. "You've been magic all along."
"I have?"
"Sure! You've always done amazing things. And that's what magic is."
Vera smiled. Now that she was all grown up, she didn't have to close her eyes to feel like she was flying.
And, as a bonus, an illustration I made to go with it, for fun.
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Somehow I didn't expect it, but maybe I should have. The whole story was beautiful, but more than that it truly worked for Vera. She's a character I haven't really seen you explore in writing before, yet you got into her head perfectly and managed to portray her feelings so fittingly. Especially towards Kristoph and her dependance. Oh, and the nail biting to. This might be a bit to much information but I also have a nail biting issue for various reasons and it isn't something you can just tell someone to stop and expect results. You really got that with her. hearing someone asking you not to does have a pretty big effect though, so highlighting that piece of him telling her not to worked. But, I'm rambling about a little thing - the story as a whole was wonderful. It was nice to see Vera get a happy ending, as well as sort of filling her dream to meet one of the Gramaryes - Vera & Trucy forever, man. :3
The finished picture looks beautiful as well, lovely to see the outfits in colour. And Trucy's smiling face really looks great - you've got that expression looking so nautral.
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I must also confess: I had a terrible problem with nail biting as a child. And it still resurfaces when I'm really stressed. So I can very much relate to nail-biters, too. It's true, someone just telling you to stop doesn't really help at all, and it can even make things worse, if it makes you more nervous about it. (Which I'm sure Kristoph realized.)
I do love thinking about what might happen to Vera after her trial, so it was a lot of fun exploring that in this story. And giving her a happy ending, of course. I'm really glad you think I did a good job with it. And yes, Vera & Trucy forever! ♥
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(And also, thank you for using your handsome icon so I get to look at it.)
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Oh, such a perfectly lovely, hopeful story for today! It's wonderful to see Vera bloom, and to have grown with her. Haha, and of course to see grumbling, good-natured Apollo, beautiful, burdened Klavier, and kind, wry Phoenix. ♥
ETA: And of course that terrible, twitchy Kristoph!
Also, you now how I feel about your narrative collages! This one is no exception! Kristoph needs to keep his dirty looks to himself, but Trucy laughing has got to be one of the most charming things I've ever seen! Lovely colors, too.
Trucy gets her own mention, because she's just that magic. ♥
I got a little choked-up, I admit! Now I'm feeling a bit magical myself! Thank you for sharing, baby.♥
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I did enjoy including all the other characters, too. Well, you know I can't get enough Apollo, Phoenix, or Gavin Bros.
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Also, your icon is really beautiful.
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Wonderful!
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I relate to Vera a lot, too, for those same reasons, so I enjoyed writing about her. Her friendship with Trucy at the end of the game was one of my favorite relationships in AJ, so it was really fun to explore and imagine how it might progress after the events in the game. I'm so pleased you think I did a good job with it.
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And the Magical Frame of Wonder! That's so Trucy, and so charming. You're so good at those little details, at bringing that sense of yes, that is who this character is. Love it.
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Haha, and I have such a huge weakness for Hobo Nick, I can't deny it, so I'm really pleased that you like the way I write him. ♥
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Just.
Wow.
I was clicking around on the Internet today, and found something here that was truly beautiful that has given back to me some measure of faith in the world.
I don't know how else to describe this, and it's vague, and you don't even know me.
But thank you. Really.
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And though I don't know you, I really hope things are going well for you.
♥