the ongoing saga of Miles Edgeworth being unable to do Basic Household Shit, because why would he have to? Maybe Gregory would’ve taught him, but Manfred Von Karma has People for that, and money, and cleaning things is for little people. Now Miles Edgeworth lives in a perfectly-kept apartment and has no idea how to manage any of it.
“You don’t need to make me breakfast. Anyway, you’d just dirty a lot of dishes.”
“Yeah, that’d be a real struggle for you. You might have to run an extra dishwasher load.” Phoenix keeps rooting through cupboards, looking for absolutely anything that could potentially be an ingredient.
He hears Miles sigh in exasperation, and straightens up to see Miles looking away.
“What?”
“It’s simply that… I don’t use the dishwasher.”
“You don’t use–” Okay, maybe he just washes things one at a time? But there’s no soap by the sink, no scrubby flower or little sponge. Neat freak Miles, maybe?
Oh, no.
“Oh, my God, do not fucking tell me–”
“The cleaner comes Monday and Friday! There’s no need for me to–”
“You’re serious right now. You can’t run the dishwasher.”
“I don’t waste time on redundant effort–”
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the Demon Prosecutor who Cannot Wash a Dish. Cower at his might.”
He gets glared at. That’s nothing new.
And then after Edgeworth’s fucked off for a year and is now trying to make nice with Phoenix again:
“Wright… I’ve learned… I can rely on myself now. I can…” He’s grasping for something. “I can… I can use a dishwasher now.”
“Congratulations on your personal growth, you absolute fucking asshole.”