The lunch lady, WACKY character Exhibit B, tells them with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes that this area is off limits to anyone without clearance, namely their intruding asses. Ema assumes this woman can hardly have clearance either, though the way she accused them should be a giant clue that she is allowed to be there. “Well, that’s hardly a way to greet someone!” she says to Ema. “Even if my days as the ‘Cough-up Queen’ are over…” Subtle! She may as well print “I used to be important” on her tits. Phoenix is thoroughly lost at this point, and it doesn’t help that this lady keeps shoving her box in his face.

The lunch lady explains the only possible reason she could be hanging out here, which Phoenix should have figured out immediately, “I’m quite connected to this case, you see. The images are burned into my eyes, you might say. Yes, all the sordid secrets…” Ema still doesn’t get it, for crying out loud, so the lunch lady is like, “I’m the fucking witness! What is the matter with you?” Phoenix goes, “Whaaaat!?” Seriously. He does. He even has to flash back to Lana telling him that a witness caught her in the act. And we’re still not home yet, apparently, because Ema asks, “You mean you’re the witness my sister was talking about?” DURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Finally, this is enough repetition of one obvious fact for Phoenix, and he begs this “Cough-up Queen” to give him her account. “The name is Angel Starr,” she says. “Don’t you go forgetting it.” Wow again. Were Serenity Moonbeam and River Song taken? Now that he knows her name, Phoenix gets the distinct pleasure of interrogating this woman, but he decides to delay this delightful experience and leaves her standing there with her lunchboxes up her ass. Before he talks to her, he’d like to check out that room 1202 Cockbutt told him about, since he’s totally never been there before.

This room. You guys, this room is incredible. Let me just get out of the way now that it is so clearly Edgeworth’s office that I can’t even fathom the game designers thinking it would be a surprise. Everything in here is fuchsia. The curtains, the sofa, the chess set, the flower vase, everything. There’s a goddamn fancy quill pen on the desk. The room couldn’t be more obviously his if every item in here had a “Property of Miles Edgeworth” label, like Phoenix has tattooed on his ass. Ema, with her fuchsia-tinted goggles on, like that would even change anything about this room, calls it “quite the place,” and says Phoenix could do it up like this in his office with “money and a little design sense.” Phoenix sighs, “I’m not doing so well in either of those areas.” Honey, please, we all know your interior design elective was the only class you didn’t sleep through in college.

Well, Edgeworth the mysterious prosecutor is not here, so I make sure to have Phoenix snoop around in his absence. The only reason to come up here now is to see their reactions before they know who this office belongs to, and even though Phoenix is merely feigning ignorance, it’s still well worth doing. Of the many, many amazing things in here, Phoenix is sure to first scope out the fancy fuchsia suit jacket framed on the wall. While it’s in Edgeworth’s signature color and is complete with a lacy white cravat, the other design details differ from his normal attire, specifically the blue lapels and vest that are expertly embroidered with gold thread and embellished with gold buttons. In short, it’s obviously modeled after the wardrobe of one Manfred von Karma. Nothing creepy going on here! Ema takes note of the cashmere fabric and silk ruffles, appraising it at a cool 5000 dollars, while Phoenix tries desperately to keep her from seeing his boner. Such exquisite tailoring! When is Edgeworth going to make good on his promise to take him suit shopping?

Well, he is an expert on that.

They also check out the fuchsia sofa–Ema sinks into it while Phoenix covertly checks for telltale stains that might pique Ema’s scientific interest. There’s also a conspicuous jade green trophy, shaped like a broken shield and with a large golden “K,” that’s been carelessly tossed on the couch, but more on this shortly. Finally, he takes a look at the garishly large bouquet of lilies near the window. Since they’re in a fuchsia vase, it’s easy to guess who bought them, but they were actually purchased for our mystery prosecutor by a secret admirer. Phoenix reads the card: “Back from the Dead — Wendy.” Phoenix derps that he has heard this name before, and he has, but I think he gets a pass for wanting to forget it. Weirder still, they spot a Steel Samurai model next to the bouquet, and it too has a note attached: “Between a rock and a hard place. — Wendy.” Ew. I feel like the next thing Phoenix inspects is going to have a note that reads, “Come into my cavern. — Wendy.” Someone needs to file a restraining order.

Ema was not expecting him to be so blunt about this.

Okay, that was fun, but back to Angel for now. When Phoenix asks about the case, she rambles about how she just knew yesterday, the day of the crime, was a day of destiny for her, but with references to salmon lunches. This is the worst. But when Phoenix asks why she thought yesterday was so special, she says, “You’re a defense attorney, right? You should know then.” How many times has that logic not held up? We’re talking about Phoenix, here. Anyway, she goes on, “You should know the foul misdeeds of the evil ones who haunt this den of inequity!” At Ema’s shocked expression, she clarifies, “Prosecutors! They have no qualms at all about blackening the names of innocents! And yesterday they paid homage to the most evil one of all! They gave an award for ‘King of Prosecutors’… What a farce!” All Ema pulls from this is that there was a “prosecutor’s convention” yesterday, which sounds like a total meat market (sorry) to Phoenix, and that Angel the lunch lady has a major beef (SORRY) with the profession. “I was almost compelled to lace their lunches with something foul…” Angel mentions, cementing that point for us.

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a nice sausage for lunch.

I can barely contain my curiosity regarding the identity of this mysterious, award-winning, villainous prosecutor. Could he be the fuchsia-loving prosecutor who also owns the Penismobile? Angel confirms that they are, in fact, one and the same person! Golly! Next you’ll be telling me it’s someone Phoenix already knows! What are the odds?

Next, Phoenix asks about what Angel witnessed, which Angel characterizes as the embodiment of a “woman’s wrath.” Skipping Angel’s flowery language, though she miraculously manages to go without any lunch puns, she watched Lana stab the victim with a knife. And since she keeps referring to her by name, Ema wonders if Angel knows her. “Hmph. Of course,” she replies. “It’s quite a feat…becoming Chief Prosecutor. How many lunchboxes of sin did she pack to make that journey, I wonder!” Is she saying eating boxes was involved in Lana moving up the ladder? Is Angel Lana’s spurned ex-girlfriend?

Phoenix is now suspicious that Angel is hiding a steamy past with his client, so he and Ema prompt her to talk about herself. She says she sells lunches here every day and that she imports them from “the Far East,” and I’m just gonna leave that alone because it makes my head hurt. Her boyfriend–right–works in the security room that can be seen behind her on the second floor of the garage. She drops in on this surely real person with a real penis since she’s in the building anyway, which makes Phoenix bitchily blue-font, “Since you’re here anyway… I guess selling lunches is more important than romance.” Someone is sick of Edgeworth always coming to his office under the guise of “paperwork.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOPE.

Finally, Phoenix asks her what her deal is with prosecutors. “Prosecutors are all alike,” she tells him. “And the bigger they get, the worse they smell. Kind of like 10-day-old clams in the chowder.” Phoenix just vomited all over the concrete floor. This has not been a good “first” visit to the prosecutors’ office. And speaking of places Phoenix has no familiarity with, maybe he should check back upstairs to see if the owner of the Penismobile is back in his office.

Yeah it does.

When they’re back in the Fuchsia Fuck Lounge, Ema first takes the time to be impressed by the décor again, and then calls Phoenix’s attention to the trophy on the couch. Obviously, this is the King of Prosecutors award Angel mentioned, though Phoenix and Ema don’t immediately pick up on this. “It takes real nerve to display stuff like this,” Ema says with a frown. “Whoever’s office this is, he must be a real stuck-up jerk!” He’s been stuck up with something, all right. Naturally, this is the cue for the owner of the office to come in and make Ema feel like an asshole. “Mr. Phoenix Wright…” an unidentified, but obviously sexy voice says. “You never tire of prying into other people’s business, do you?” He’s pried into something, all–fine, I’ll stop. Phoenix blue-fonts, “That voice…!” and whips around to greet the love of his life, who is frowning judgmentally at him. “Long time, no see, Edgeworth,” Phoenix says. First he acts like the two of them haven’t defiled every possible surface in this room, and now he wants us to believe that cravat wasn’t hanging from his bedpost this morning? I’m choosing to believe this is an act for Ema’s benefit. Her belief in justice would probably be shaken if she knew her sister’s attorney was fucking a prosecutor.

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Speaking of Ema, she gasps and stutters out, “M-M-Mr. Edgeworth!” This is just how she greets people she knows, I guess. Phoenix figures this out too, and Ema explains that she is “his biggest fan” and that Lana introduced her to him once and he was sooooooooooo coooooooooool, OMG. She still hasn’t washed that hand. Edgeworth ignores this display, because he just wants Phoenix to get down to why he’s here. “I’ll warn you…I’ve been known to be a real stuck-up jerk…” he adds wryly. Ema tries to shift the blame for her foot-in-mouth problem to Phoenix, and Phoenix freaks out at her, because he doesn’t want to sleep on the couch tonight. But Ema needs to really work on her phrasing before she can pretend Phoenix somehow tricked her into sounding stupid, because she goes on to explain that they’re investigating a murder: “A body was found in this nasty, bright red sports car in the parking lot…” she tells him. And then Edgeworth replies–obviously, because we already know the owner of this office also owns the car, and also duuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh–“Hmm? That would be my car. What of it?” Ema’s like, “UGGGGGGGGGGGGH.” In fairness to her, the color of the car probably threw her off, since it’s apparently the one thing Edgeworth owns that’s not fuchsia.

Wow.

Now that Phoenix “knows” this is Edgeworth’s office, and more importantly now that sweet, clueless Ema does, I have them take a look around again. When examining the case files on the shelves to the right, Phoenix wonders how Edgeworth gets to the ones at the top since he thought he had a height phobia. That’s news to me, unless his fear of earthquakes and elevators illogically extends to all high places, but whatever, he isn’t my boyfriend. As Phoenix ponders whether Edgeworth retrieves these files himself, he briefly thinks of Gumshoe’s sheepish, eager-to-please face. And again, when he examines Edgeworth’s desk, polished to a mirror sheen by Phoenix’s buttcheeks according to Ema, he thinks of Gumshoe once more, who is no doubt required to traipse through this office in the world’s illest-fitting French maid outfit with a fuchsia feather duster.

Next, Phoenix examines Edgeworth’s chess set. Phoenix realizes, probably with a bead or two of sweat, that the little fuchsia pieces have surrounded a single blue knight with spiky hair, and are about to gangcheck it. The implication is that Edgeworth has been playing against himself, which is all kinds of sad, but despite Phoenix acting like he’s never been here before I’m betting this exact game was more or less an act of foreplay.