[video]

[glassinine]

[The thing about employing text is that when you start using it when all your broadcasts are in video, people tend to question why you've suddenly switched. So he makes the decision to instead compose himself as best as he can and use video instead.

Unfortunately, he always sort of overestimates his ability to compose himself. He certainly doesn't seem distraught, or panicked, or anything of the sort, but he's definitely shaky. This is definitely a far cry from his normal, slow, quiet, lengthy broadcasts.]

I'm leaving on a business trip abroad for...some length of time. I'm - not certain how long. Please don't try to contact me; I'll be far too busy to answer any messages.

Good day.

Comments

[glassinine]

[He takes a breath, then, unhappily, admits:]

Yes.

[mmiab]

Alright. [ alright. now they're getting somewhere. mental, emotional - it's promising. there's a chance, a chance he might be in a position to help more directly than he'd assumed, and for a second or two the Doctor actually smiles--

ah. but first, there's more to ask, isn't there? and he's hesitant in taking the step, expression reversing back into something on the cusp of apologetic as he asks: ] What is it? Your power.

[glassinine]

[It's good Edgeworth isn't looking; that smile would make him bristle. But he can't look the Doctor in the fact; his shame is too intense. He keeps his eyes closed.]

It...induces uncontrollable feelings of guilt in those I touch.

[mmiab]

[ — oh.

there is a long, long silence from him following that, the wind swept right out of his sails. oh. guilt. it's a double edged sword, really. not even double edged - it's a pen knife with no casing. because the Doctor can help with this. it's a thing of the mind, a power all up in Edgeworth's head, in the heads of others, the manipulation of emotion, and training it and tethering it will be all about finding that control, that mental connection with his ability, and that's something with which the Doctor is in a perfect position to help.

but it's funny, isn't it? because guilt. the one thing that wracks him, always, always. terrifies him. guilt. his plague, his own personal poltergeists. there are many of them. in reality, there are billions, and if only that were an overstatement. which, of course, is what makes him entirely too equipped to handle this exact power. there is no guilt anyone could wring out of him that he hasn't already forced upon himself a thousand fold over the span of centuries. guilt is an old friend he wishes he'd never made but would not be himself without.

the cherry to top it all off, touch is exactly what he requires to make the connection to access a mind in the first place. it would be funny if it weren't so damning.

after moments, long stretched moments: ]

I can help.

[glassinine]

[Edgeworth isn't a fool, though, when it comes down to it. He hears that long pause - marked, particularly in a man who previously had been so garrulous and quick - and he feels a sadistic (masochistic?) sort of satisfaction in it. There's something miserably gratifying in being so horrific that even this arrogant, enthusiastic, optimistic man hesitates before offering help again. It makes him feel vindicated in his self-loathing. It makes him feel more certain of his path, even in the face of those who made him doubt by scoffing at the agony of what he can do.

And so he asks, with a bit more confidence:]

And how would you do so?

[mmiab]

[ he senses the shift in atmosphere, the accidental concession, and plows on through it, in spite of it, mildly frustrated.

it doesn't touch his voice. his moment of feet-out-from-under-him is pushed aside in favor of answering as directly and thoroughly as he's able. ]

I've already explained that I'm physiologically different. My brain is structured in such a way as to promote direct and intricate communication with the minds of others. With your co-operation, I can help you to establish control at the source - without having examined your mind I can't tell you how, exactly, or how long it would take. The mind in most respects is a muscle that needs to be flexed of one's own accord before it starts to strengthen, but I can't say that's exactly how this will be. I don't know the nature of your power as it relates to you, not without encountering it... but I can tell you I would act as guide.

I'll be much better equipped to access and understand the ability's effects and placement in your mind than you yourself are without experimentation. My presence, hopefully, would act as a catalyst to your bringing your power to heel. An alternative to training it externally.

[glassinine]

[It's a good speech. The man sounds confident, coherent, and rational.

Yet Edgeworth's response is brief and unambiguous. A bit less harsh than before, maybe, but no less firm despite that.

No.

[mmiab]

[ augh.

with a trace of exasperation: ]

Why.

[glassinine]

[And this is explained a little more rationally. A bit less haltingly than it has been for others.]

Sir, the ability activates outside of my control. If you were to attempt that, the possibility that it would activate against you is significant. I will not allow it.

[mmiab]

[ oh, that. and here the Doctor sighs, sharp and distant, face a veritable pout as if the concern is vaguely offensive rather than a noble placement of the well-being of others over oneself.

it's enough, in fact, to have him scoff. ]

Please. You're small fry.

[ i don't need a power like that to be infinitely better equipped to destroy myself from the inside out, and I haven't managed it yet.

(perhaps it's a little blase to be so sure of himself in this situation. but the reality is that regardless of how badly Miles' power might effect him, it makes sense for the Doctor to help him in this. it makes sense, and even as he reacts dismissively he's already preparing to lay down in no deniable manner the exact reasons why. ]

[glassinine]

[Edgeworth is completely taken aback by that statement. His gaze snaps back towards the Doctor, and his mouth opens in sheer, stunned disbelief. Then he closes it again, and grits his jaw, and snaps:]

I've said no. That's my answer. Any further discussion is wasting both your time and mine.

[mmiab]

I don't need your sheltering.

[ it's gone. all of it. any edge of compassion or contrary displeasure melts immediately into something stark and hard, some roiling depth behind it oddly reminiscent of magma beneath a crust.

his voice comes in slow to start, low, but it's unyielding, charged, and gathering dangerous momentum as the train of his thought hurtles towards its end of the line. the tone of it, from start to end, dares Edgeworth to interrupt, dares him - you try it, you speak, you just try. ]

You're walking away to protect. Your plan is to remove yourself as far from the path of anyone you might inflict further pain on as possible, quarantine the danger, isolate the cause. Which is fine, good, yes, except there's nowhere on this planet you can go where the chance of human contact is reduced to an 100% impossibility. There is always a chance. Hide in a cave, disappear into a cabin in the forest, climb a mountain and bury your head in the snow. There's nowhere on this earth you can guarantee someone won't stumble on you, and you cannot guarantee you'll be able to stop yourself from bringing their guilt to the surface if they do. Up until two minutes ago that was the best option of a bad lot, and you were taking it because it was the only right thing you could think to do.

[ he doesn't bother to minimise the stresses of guilt. this isn't about the size and scope and weight of what Miles can do, this is about how it sits in him, how he responds to it, and trying to shrink that and base a point around it's size as defined by any other parameters than the man's own relationship with it would be like trying to persuade a man who hates tennis to watch a match with an argument based on the premise that tennis is the best game known to man.

so instead, he takes Miles' repulsion at what it is he can do and accepts it as the foundation. because it is, after all. it's the entire point. ]

I am offering you a solution. I'm offering you the chance to, at very worst and if at all, hurt one man. One man. A man who is incidentally capable beyond your wildest imagining of bearing any damage you might do to him. And for that, in exchange for the potential of that one, voluntary suffering, you will receive the certainty that you will never inflict that pain unwillingly on another again.

And you are turning it down. Why? Because you're afraid.

[ afraid of what you do. afraid of what you've done. terrified to do it again.

there's a pause here, a space for challenge, for tell me I'm wrong-- only he doesn't actually wait long enough to allow for any protest, if there is indeed one forthcoming, because he isn't finished, not quite, not yet. ]

It's your choice. No is your choice, and you've every right to make it. But if you do, don't delude yourself into thinking that you're making it because it's what's best for everyone. If you go, the choice you're making is best for you and you alone.

[ it's important. it's important, for the Doctor, that he knows that.

finally, all the words wrung out of him, his storm recedes back until it's just a silence, just the unflinching challenge of his stare. ]

[glassinine]

[Edgeworth is willful. It might be a bit hard to tell just at the moment, given the way he stumbles over his words, given the way he refuses to look at the Doctor throughout that whole speech. But he is willful, and he's brave in his way; that speech hits hard, but he doesn't flinch from it.

And when it comes to it, he is soft-hearted, kind in his way - but he knows, too, how to use words cruelly. He's not cruel by nature, but...Well, he's cornered, and cornered things fight with all the weapons they have available to him.]

Or maybe I just don't trust you.

[mmiab]

[ it doesn't sting. it doesn't even start to sting, sits uncomfortably perhaps because trust is his most closely wielded tool and without it he's forced to play with much more dangerous resources, things with risk of a dangerous backlash (and better, better for everyone except him, really, but he's a selfish creature at heart)... but barely, barely because he can recognise the intent.

the slight edge of a smile from him, not kind, not yet, but not brutal either. knowing. ]

Wise. Why should you? Also not incredibly relevant. You don't trust yourself with this either and the fact remains, trust me or not, that I'm one of two options.

[glassinine]

And an option I reject.

[He still doesn't look over. He keeps his face averted; it's part discomfort with the simple act of making eye contact, part knowledge that his face is unfortunately easy to read.]

I don't see why I'd allow some egotistical idiot in a bow tie unfettered access to my mind. Do you take me for a fool?

[mmiab]

[ and a laugh, soft and small and accepting of the words coming his way, self-deprecatory in a sense if it weren't for the fact the point raised is perfectly valid.

instead of an answer (yes, no, that depends on the context of the question), the Doctor offers up something else. ]

I'll tell you about it, if you like. My guilt.

[glassinine]

[Edgeworth's response is immediate and harsh.]

I would not like that.

[mmiab]

[ so, of course, in necessarily contrary fashion: ]

As a deposit. I can explain to you exactly why it is that I won't be afraid. Not any more than I usually am.

[ don't think he didn't notice that reaction to his earlier flippancy regarding the topic. he did. he's also giving out little drops of honesty here, just small drops, because it matters. it matters that this end well. ]

On a level to you, if nothing else.

[glassinine]

[But Edgeworth draws himself up and actually looks directly at the Doctor. For once.]

I said no. For God's sake, what would ever make you think that I would want to have more of this piled upon me? After the day I've had? I want no part of your emotions.

[mmiab]

[ ah - immediate: ]

Sorry.

[ meeting that gaze as best he can through the communicator is actually harder than it might have been moments ago. he's miscalculated. the honesty was intended as insurance, reassurance - but without that, without that buffer... and he's once again apologetic, soft in his response. ]

That's what it will take. If you want to keep them safe, that's what it will take.

[glassinine]

[He looks away again. His mouth twists bitterly; he scoffs. He's tired, and spent, and scared, and miserable.]

I'm starting to think that what it will take is going out and drowning myself in the sea. That would be the cleanest solution.

[mmiab]

And temporary, from what I understand.

[ and if the Doctor's failure to leap at the mention of suicidal ideation has anything to say, it's only that Edgeworth's rock and hard place are such that he can understand it entirely. the hidden third option, ultimately the most useless of them all. ]

[glassinine]

So they say. That's not been proven yet.

[He says that quietly, unhappily. At the moment...It nearly does seem like a solution. But, God, with Wright here, and Trucy, and the others, he...couldn't. He couldn't do that to them. But he's just feeling more and more trapped, more and more frightened.]

[mmiab]

[ he lets it sit for a while. just a few drawn seconds to let that hang, process, sink in. contemplating the validity of suicide as a solution to the situation - and it's not a jest. there's no humour in the grim difficulty of the knots Edgeworth's tied himself into.

so, again, with feeling, after moments offered for the settling of thoughts: ] I can help you.

[glassinine]

[But still, no matter his desperation:]

No.