westerntrick | June 22nd, 1894

June 22nd, 1894

It was a particularly dark evening, one without any moon to cast its glow. The streets downtown at least were lit well enough for pedestrians still straggling home but it was of no concern to the man in the overcoat. Not when a simple slip into the world of the dead would negate the need for light at all.

Nor is he on his way to any particular place. For the moment, he's contented himself with leaning back against a wall, watching the occasional person stroll down the street. To them he might as well not be there at all. Today would have been just as uneventful as any other were it not for his earlier meeting with a couple acquaintances of the blue-skinned variety. Weren't many of them around here and they sure stuck out like a sore thumb but the influx of immigrants lately brings many surprises to this land of opportunity. The thought alone would make him smirk had he less motor control.

It was business as usual, more discussions, more requests of proof. Yomiel was happy to oblige but it was starting to feel like they were making him go through the mill for this. It was going to take them a heck of a lot longer to make arrangements at this pace but the truth was...he could wait, if he had to. It'd all pan out in the end.

The thought strikes him that he should probably head home soon but there isn't much reason for it. There's no urgency to his existence, hardly a reason for any adherence to time save for a horse who might need him. The queerness of that thought immediately turns his mood for worse. Maybe he'll drop his body and possess some sap tonight for fun.

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It was mind-boggling to consider just how fast everything could go wrong.

Yesterday night, a man had been murdered at that Russian saloon, the Borscht Bowl. It was where Phoenix Wright played poker most nights, and that was just who'd been accused of the crime. Deputy Gavin'd been the first to show up to the scene, and Apollo investigated with him because that was standard procedure, but -

But after talking to the former legend, and hearing the hints he dropped, well... that seed of doubt had been planted in him. It seemed like Deputy Gavin knew too much about the murder, things that weren't apparent from the scene no matter how hard Apollo thought about it.

So earlier today, he'd made sure to confront Deputy Gavin about it, right in front of Wright and Sheriff Cabanela.

It'd been tough to corner him, but with Wright's help, he'd done it. Deputy Gavin's replies got more and more suspicious, but he didn't walk away. Maybe it was his pride, or his confidence that made him stay put, but once Cabanela joined in with the questions and Apollo got a mysterious delivery of the one piece of evidence that'd been missing... well, Deputy Gavin broke down so thoroughly there was no question he'd committed the murder. He was arrested on the spot.

Then Apollo found out the evidence he'd been given, that bloody ace in the hole, was a fake. He'd punched Wright right in the face and walked off of patrol duty for the rest of the day. Apollo had been so angry he couldn't see straight.

Somehow or other, he'd ended up in one of the smaller, less rowdy saloons. Normally he wasn't a drinking man, not when he didn't much fancy getting stupid drunk like most folks did, but tonight he'd quickly gone from beer to throwing back shots of bourbon. At first he could hardly stand the taste, but now it was almost good, and his throat wasn't even burning anymore.

Whether by luck or because they had a deputy hunched over at the bar, there hadn't been much more than a couple loud tables happening tonight. No Lynne had shown up to drag him off, either. They were small favors, but he was grateful for them all the same. Apollo was already drunk, and all he wanted to do was keep drinking, until he forgot about being manipulated and his vision going all strange and red and his mentor murdering an unarmed man in cold blood.

Edited 2013-05-06 04:26 (UTC)

The increasing pace of Yomiel's bad mood was making it difficult to remain out there.

The next person who walked by seemed a little on the tipsy side. Still sharp though, but it did give the ghost an idea. He could probably blow some steam tonight. Mess with someone for a bit, the drunks were the easiest to take advantage of with so little resistance to possession. He wouldn't hurt anyone too badly though, of...course not. Not that kinda guy right? These people haven't done anything to him. Then again. Humanity had no right not to throw him so much as a glance, to disregard the tragedy of his case, to keep on living selfishly while refusing to acknowledge the error of their own past. Every one of them was guilty in their own way. He might have been unsurprised, but it made him sick. It also made him think of Alma. Of using a little girl to put a bullet between her eyes.

He was moving before he knew it, traveling the direction the last person came from and tracing it to the nearby saloon. He pushed through the doors unnoticed and stole a glance about the room. What a common scene; joyful people, groups, friends, the loners there to drown their troubles. He could probably leave his body out back and start a ruckus with one of these fellows. That seemed to be the direction his night was going to head in when he spotted the back of a familiar head at the bar.

He froze to the spot, like someone caught with a smoking gun in hand. But the deputy seemed to be...drinking? There was something surprising about that he couldn't quite place. Apollo didn't seem the type was all, but what did he know? Maybe his plans were about to be put on hold. He strolled his way to the bar, boots clapping against wood that seemed to fall on deaf ears, and reached a hand to place it on Apollo's shoulder.

"Deputy Justice," he stated, leaning over to try getting a look at his face over tinted spectacles. "...You're soaked, aintchya?"

Edited 2013-05-06 05:18 (UTC)

Apollo had ended up so lost in his thoughts that the sudden hand on his shoulder made him jump, the booze in his newly-refilled glass sloshing over the side and wetting his fingers. Apollo half-turned unsteadily, gaping at him for a moment before his expression brightened into a wide smile. It was Yomiel, and after he'd been half-expecting to never see him again! Apollo was delighted, especially since the drifter was the closest person to a friend he had right now. Well, Lynne was basically a friend, but there was no way in hell Apollo could stand to deal with any of her overeager attitude tonight.

"I'm soaked now," he said a little petulantly, raising his hand to show him his damp fingers. There was a definite slur to Apollo's voice, and he was far enough gone that he was having a little trouble focusing on Yomiel's face, mostly just giving his attention to the dim glint of lantern light against his glasses. "But fancy seein' you here! Thought for sure you would've rambled off to, to wherever else you ramblin' men go. You're a total lone... lone fox? Lone coyote?"

Sure that he was getting the phrase wrong, but plain unable to remember it right, Apollo furrowed his brow as if in deep thought, before leaning in closer to Yomiel and saying solemnly, "Mr. Yomiel. 'm as wet as th' ocean, but not half as salty. Couldn't salt to save my life. I'd get all red, y'see."

Something about seeing that big bright smile makes Yomiel's spirit churn with something akin to...what was it, a pleasant tinge of familiarity? It's enough to make him pull his expression into a quick grin in return. It was contagious, a little compulsive, even for a dead man.

"Wolf. It's wolf yer lookin' for. That's how the sayin' goes," he says with a bemused tone. He stops short of adding something about wolves in sheep's clothing. Not that he looked like much of a sheep packing as much ammo as he did. But Apollo here was...clearly in need of some help. Something didn't feel right.

He let his hand slide from Apollo's shoulder but left the grin on his face as he listened to him...make little sense. "Red, huh? Good sir, I do believe you've had quite enough, dontchya think?" He lifted his hand to tap a gloved finger to the outside of Apollo's glass, nodding to him. "What brings ya out here all by your lonesome, partner? I thought this was typically a pastime best reserved for friends."

"Wolves, coyotes, not much diff'rent." When Yomiel taps his glass, Apollo eyes his hand with suspicion... but he doesn't take it, and that's good enough for him. While Yomiel's talking, Apollo first scoots his glass away from him with clumsy fingers, then wraps his hand around it to make sure it wouldn't be going anywhere.

"It's not 'nough. I can still feel my face." Apollo frowned to himself at the mention of friends, and... hell with it, he was drinking in front of everyone else, there was no reason to care about drinking in front of Yomiel. He only took a small swig this time, but the burn was nice, a wonderful distraction. He almost felt as though that burn was a replacement for the sting of tears he would've been feeling otherwise, which made it a very fair prince indeed.

"I don't got many friends. Who'd wanna be friends with th' law? You can't trust 'em, can't even trust a lawman, an' that means there's no trustin' no one. So where's that leave you?" That's what stung the most, that Apollo apparently hadn't learned his lesson after all the years he'd gone through of learning just how bad people could get. He'd looked up to Deputy Gavin, and - well, he wasn't no deputy anymore. Apollo briefly glared down at his glass before throwing back the rest of its contents, swaying forward against the bar as the rush of alcohol hit him.

Yomiel is quiet, staying still and listening to the stumbling flow of Apollo's words. While it could have been that he simply misjudged the guy (anyone could be a drinker, after all) it seemed much more likely that something was wrong. Especially with an admission like that. Someone must have pulled a fast one.

"Well. I s'pose you'd be the fool to trust me too, Mr. Justice," he states rather plainly, reaching to grab a stool and tugging it close so he can join Apollo at he bar. The bartender doesn't notice him and that's just as well. He's long since feeling the effects of alcohol. "Ain't got any home, family friends. Just a horse and a dead man's name. Now I have the inclination to agree but someone musta done you some real ill to change your tune so quickly. So what's eatin' ya, partner?"

He reaches to pluck the emptied glass away with a gloved hand, studying it for a second before placing it out of reach. He can't help thinking that with Apollo as drunk as he is, some of the more disgruntled people out there could take advantage of that. Someone could hurt him--do far worse than stash his bike in a river anyway. Yomiel has no intention of leaving him until he's safe at home. It's a strange compulsion to even find himself worried, but the kid's been such fine conversation and a decent link to the living. Even if he knows more than what's good for him. There's a darker part of his mind that speaks up, reminding him that's also a decent link to the sheriff. Yes. True. He'll cross that bridge when he gets to it but it sure as hell ain't right now.

That was his glass! He was still using it! Not at the moment, sure, but there might've been a few drops left in there ... though Yomiel's questioning is more than enough to derail his train of thought, and make him forget about the missing glass entirely. Why'd he have to bring up all the things Apollo had been trying to forget about?

"But I like you," Apollo mutters with a frown, brow furrowed in intense thought. That was a simplified version of how he felt; he wanted to know more about Yomiel and what sort of trouble he must've been in, and all those little clues about him that didn't add up. But Yomiel was also good company, intelligent, willing to listen to him, and willing to be sympathetic, something Apollo hadn't thought he needed from no one. It made his mysterious nature all the more intriguing. "So you're right, it does make me a fool. A big 'un. Already knew I was, it ain't news."

Then Apollo swallows thickly, looking at the bar in front of him before leaning forward again, catching his head in his hands. "How'd you not hear the gossip already? Thought the whole damn city woulda known by now..." That was delaying the answer. Even as drunk as he was, he realized that Yomiel might've been out of town today and not heard. That didn't make it any easier to tell him, and there's an audible hitch in Apollo's voice as he finally says, "... Deputy Gavin was arrested today. After I caught him tryin' to pin a cold-blooded murder he did on another man."

The admission to liking him prompts a short laugh from Yomiel. Likes him. Someone likes him, someone enjoys his company--someone who doesn't even know who he is. It's been far too long. There's irony in there somewhere, and he'll be damned if Apollo doesn't change his tune upon finding out he's a dead man. If. He intends to keep that little gem under wraps for as long as possible.

"Well, guess ya could make worse decisions s'far as company goes," he drawls, cocking his head with something of a smile. It doesn't last long, however. Apollo's gestures and uneasy tone alone are enough to sink a strange pang of empathy in his spirit. Gavin. That guy was Apollo's mentor, right? Tall, blond, bespectacled German--yeah, he remembers.

"So there was a wolf in the Sheriff's herd? I ain't surprised." That comes out sounding bitter, and he is. As far as he's concerned, Cabanela is just as bad...but he's maybe a little upset that a nice guy like Deputy Justice had to go and get caught up in it. Clearly it was someone he looked up to, trusted. Everyone gets tarnished in some way or another but that doesn't make it any nicer to look at. He raises an arm to sling it around Apollo's shoulders, giving his forearm a brief squeeze in what he hopes is an amiable gesture.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Justice. I'm sure y'all lawmen are gonna be up in arms for a while, ain't gonna be easy. Don't blame ya one bit for drinkin'. ...But I think you're hittin' yer limit if you wanna git home alright."

Sure, it's amiable, but it's also just real nice. Like getting half a hug, and he can't remember the last time one of those happened to him. Apollo slumps sideways against Yomiel, shoulder ending up against his chest, wanting more contact and too drunk to care about how it'd look.

"Y' warned me, didn' you? With your story. I just didn' wanna pay attention, still don't know how the sheriff coulda made such a bad mistake..."

Apollo's rambling a little now, though he shuts up again when it sinks in that Yomiel's warning him away from the booze. "Wish I didn't hafta go home," he admitted, frowning in the direction of his pilfered glass. "'Cause then tomorrow's gonna get here, and I don't wanna face it. Don't know what'll happen to me, or my job..." The memory of his reddened vision came back to him, and the fear that had come with it. He'd been able to do as Mr. Wright was telling him, to find the lies... but that was something wrong with him, and no mistake. Was it sign he was about to be struck blind? Or might just fall over dead in the middle of the road some day soon? Apollo wanted it to mean nothing, but nothing ever looked like that.

He doesn't reach for his glass again, though. What Yomiel's saying is finally starting to sink in a little better.

He wasn't quite expecting his current company to lean so readily into his hold, so he's left feeling unsure of what to do about it. For one, it's been far too long since he's been savvy on various social situations. On the other hand it's...kind of nice. So he leaves his arm there, focusing on Apollo behind his tinted spectacles.

"The Sheriff's up t'his neck in bad mistakes. Never was a good judge of character," he says in a lowered, bitter tone. And although he'd love to take the opportunity to complain a bit more, he leaves it at that. No use getting carried away now. "But I don't see what you gotta worry 'bout. Gavin's the snake, not you. You're the one who found him out, ainchya? Your job ain't goin' nowhere without ya." He sounds confident enough about that despite knowing little about the pecking order around that place. "An tomorrow's gonna come whether or not you're well-rested. Dontchya wanna face it with a little dignity?"

He flashes a toothy smile, giving the shoulder his hand is perched on an encouraging pat. "I'll stick around with ya for a while, if you want. Should probably be leavin' this place behind, though."

Apollo's honestly not in any mood to argue in the Sheriff's favor, either. He might've still thought that Cabanela was a good man, but today's events have left him feeling awfully moody about anything relating to his own job. He didn't wanna sit there and think about everything that was wrong. "If... if you're sure. Ain't even sure th' Sheriff's got any time to look after me, with Lynne always runnin' 'round..."

He slowly nods at what Yomiel says about leaving the bar. Only problem is, Apollo's reluctant to leave the comfortable half-embrace that the other man's put him in. "Not sure I got much dignity left," he points out in a mumble, before digging in his pocket for some cash. As drunk as he is, it's still close enough to what he owes the bartender for his drinks, and he slaps it down on the counter before slowly slipping off of his stool, wobbling a little on his feet.

"Where are we goin'?"

Yomiel falls eerily still at the mention of Lynne, the drop of a simple name nearly paralyzing him. When Apollo moves away to stand, he's met with little resistance as the older man's arm goes limp and slips back to his side.

Lynne. Running around. Working her hide off to save Jowd from his approaching appointment with the gallows. Creeping. All in good time, of course, the date creeps and Yomiel will be in attendance. He'll dress in his best, stand in that congregation of gawking, stupid onlookers so fascinated by a man's death, and he'll will himself to be the last thing that criminal sees. Letting the ghost of a smile touch the corners of his mouth, he hops from his own stool with a mild creaking of tired bones. I need to leave. But that's not what escapes his mouth.

"Sure ya do," he chimes, his tone doing nothing to betray his dark thoughts. He even claps a brief hand to Apollo's back. "An' I guess that'll depend. D'ya wanna head home or shoot the breeze somewhere quiet 'till you're feelin ready to call it a night?"

Apollo doesn't notice the pause, or realize that there's anything wrong. He's too drunk, and too focused on staying upright, to be as perceptive as he usually is. Standing like this is a lot tougher than it should've been. There had to be something wrong with the floor - maybe the owner of the saloon wised up and put in uneven floorboards, so the drunks would be tripping over each other instead of starting fights. Apollo would applaud his ingenuity, if he weren't having so much with it himself.

"Somewhere quiet sounds mighty fine," he says wistfully, the feel of Yomiel's hand against his back enough to prompt him into moving forward, taking a path for the door with exaggerated care. He's not too steady, but aside from bumping into a chair or two along the way, Apollo's able to keep on his feet without any major mishaps. Still, it seems like it takes far too long before he makes it out the swinging doors. It's a warm night, but slightly cooler than it had been in the saloon, and that makes him feel a little better already.

"Do you wanna go where we can see th' stars?" he asks then, on impulse, turning back towards Yomiel with an expectant look. "I know a few places not too far out, real good ones."

Yomiel follows the staggering deputy, watching his footing and prepared to try grabbing him if it should come down to it. However the worry proves unnecessary once Apollo makes his way outside without taking any nosedives. Standing beside him out here, hands in his pockets, he finds himself briefly wishing he could feel the night, the temperature, the breeze. But it seems so long ago that it strikes him he might not even be recalling it correctly. It's then when Apollo asks about the stars and startles him enough to prompt a blank and calculating stare.

"....sure we can," he drawls, brightening considerably with the white flash of his exaggerated grin. "Got all the time in the world if you do, partner. Just lead the way then, will ya?"

He lets a gloved hand drop on Apollo's shoulder, partially to help support him and partly because he sure seems strangely compelled to find the occasional excuse to touch this guy. He doesn't think much of it, but the fact of the matter is he's been without friendly contact with another human being (though he's admittedly unsure if he qualifies as human anymore) for the better part of six years. Sure, he might be unable to really feel it but the complexities and mental stimulation accompanying this amiable kind of interaction is something it turns out he sorely missed. Sour reminders of the past and current predicament aside, running into Justice tonight had done a number on the terrible mood he walked in here with. It was the kind of mood that would have taken some undue behavior to vent, and yet here he is about to go godsdamn stargazing instead. What a night.

Huh. That was strange. For a moment there, Yomiel had taken on an expression that reminded Apollo of a predator, like catching sight of a wolf that didn't know what to think of you... but then he was all smiles, like nothing had ever happened. Apollo smiles back at him in return, but his brief uncertainty makes it a slow response. He didn't have the faintest clue what that had been about, but maybe his rambling friend should've had a drink to relax himself while they were still at the bar.

"I got lots of time for you, got all night..." Of course, now that Apollo's not concentrating so hard on avoiding obstacles, he's actually stumbling more out here on the dark streets. Yomiel's support helps quite a bit, especially since he's leading the man uphill, away from the noisy saloons and into one of the working-class areas. It's a district of the city dotted with factories, ones built to take advantage of the water transport of the bay not too distant from the city itself. Apollo headed right towards a big, looming building that housed a textiles factory; there was no fence around this one, their goods all stored indoors for the protection of their merchandise. And what Apollo was doing was probably trespassing, what did a deputy care about that?

"Too damn far t' walk," he mumbles in complaint, dragging his feet towards a shed behind the factory. "Too sauced for climbin', an' no one likes folks lying around in the plaza late at night, so this'll have to do you." It is a decent location for stargazing despite still being in the city. The district being uphill meant that there was actually a view of trees from back behind some of the warehouses and factories here, and they were far enough apart for a mostly uninterrupted view looking straight up.

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June 22nd, 1894

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