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"Just a little more... Wait, are you talking to me-- Shoot!" Engarde stabbed the device on his wrist with a finger, nearly breaking it. He cursed himself; it was pretty much his only entertainment. His eyesight was getting shot because of it, too.
He looked up at the gnarled old man in the fancy uniform and the orange beefbag. They seemed to be talking to him.
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"I've been in here since before you came, tangerine. Did it escape your thick head when my arrest was plastered all over the news?" he sneered, pushing his hair back from his forehead and pulling out a glass of wine from nowhere. "As for what I did, I did nothing. I'm in here for protection against some jumped-up psycho assassin."
Engarde peered a little closer at the gangster idiot. He supressed a shudder. "Ugh, that hair... Reminds me of Phoenix Wright... Damned lawyer and his precious 'truth'."