Commission #241 For Lian Kao Oakland (as a Birthday Gift for M.C)
The morning sun glinted off the glass of the convention center as M.C., Bourbon, and Joseph strode across the plaza with the buzzing crowd of cosplayers and vendors flooding the streets.
M.C. was out front, head held high, strutting in his bright blue suit with his hand fixing his tie. A flash of light bounced off his tooth as he gave a dramatic grin. “Comic-Con, here we come!”
Bourbon blinked at him, expression flat as always, before tilting his head.
“…Could’ve fooled me. It looks more like you’re going as some kid in a blue suit.”
M.C.’s smile tightened but he shut his eyes in serene confidence. “It’s a distinct outfit. Anyone who is a fan of cultural phenomena would recognise it instantly.”
Bourbon adjusted his straw hat lazily, dressed as Monkey D. Luffy specifically from the Amazon Lily Arc of One Piece, not even bothering to look impressed. “If you actually spiked your hair like Phoenix Wright, maybe. But without it? You just look like you got lost after a middle school graduation.”
M.C.’s eyes shot open, his face red. “Hah!? My hair is plenty spiky already, thank you very much!” He took his hat off and ran a hand through it, trying to fluff it up, which only made it stick out in awkward directions.The hat being on probably didn’t help matters either.
Joseph, walking just a little behind them, crossed his arms with a smirk. His dark trench coat swayed over his sweater vest and gloves. He looked sharp and confident, like he’d stepped straight off a movie poster for a superhero film except for the fact that he wasn’t wearing a mask.
“You know, it’s kind of funny,” Joseph said coolly. “You guys are arguing about being recognizable… meanwhile, I’m Spider-Man Noir and it honestly just looks like me in some old-timey gangster clothes.”
Bourbon’s head tilted again, his voice flat as ever. “Yeah, that’s just… Joseph Noir. Regular guy. Slightly moodier.”
M.C. wagged his finger furiously, teeth clenched. “You guys don’t get it! You don’t need to worry about being recognized right away. Cosplay is about essence! My essence is clearly Ace Attorney material!”
Joseph chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Essence, huh? Well, just don’t cry when someone asks if you’re supposed to be a used car salesman.”
M.C. froze mid-step, eyes wide, as Bourbon added in a deadpan way “Phoenix Wrong. Maybe you could tell them that. It’d be funny at least.”
Joseph laughed under his breath as M.C. sputtered, already fuming.
The doors slid open, and the three boys stepped into the buzzing chaos of the convention center. The air was alive with chatter, the rustle of capes, and the click of camera shutters snapping shots of costumed fans.
M.C. immediately threw himself into character, his finger already cocked like a pistol at Bourbon.
“Tell me, defendant, where were you the night of the crime!?”
Bourbon was just about to answer with something snide but was cut off as M.C. jabbed the air with a triumphant shout.
“OBJECTION! You were obviously eating chips on your couch!”
He laughed at his own not-a-joke, doubling over, ignoring the unchanging, unimpressed stare of Bourbon. Being in the convention meant getting way into character suddenly.
Joseph sighed, tugging on his gloves. “You’re gonna get us kicked out before we even make it to Artist Alley.”
M.C. spun to him, pointing like he’d just cornered a witness. “Mr. Noir, tell me, why are you dressed in a cool as hell trench coat and still not cool at all?!”
Joseph raised an eyebrow. “Bu–!”
“OBJECTION!” M.C. cut him off again, gleeful. “The real answer is because of sheer jealousy! You can’t believe how well I make this outfit work!” He cackled so hard his suit wrinkled at the shoulders.
But his theatrics came to a screeching halt when someone walked by balancing a plate of alfredo sauce from a food stand.
M.C.’s eyes lit up. “Whoa, hold up! Food detour!”
He darted toward the plate, and while Bourbon and Joseph exchanged tired looks, M.C. dipped his finger right into the sauce and stuck it in his mouth. His face instantly twisted.
“Bleghh! So salty! What’s with this soup?!” He hacked a little, fanning his tongue.
Back by the entryway, Joseph folded his arms, leaning toward Bourbon. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial cool.
“Hey. You and me. Team-up. Let’s take down our little wannabe lawyer before he causes more psychological damage.”
For the first time all day, Bourbon’s lips curled into a tiny, wicked smile. He extended his hand and shook Joseph’s firmly.
“…Excelseor.”
M.C., meanwhile, came stumbling back, wiping his tongue with his sleeve. “Just a heads up; don’t get the soup here. It tastes awful.”
Joseph didn’t even look at him, sliding smoothly into character. He tipped his chin upward.
“As a hero, I’ve sworn to take down all evil in my path. Lawyers are the scum of the Earth!”
Bourbon crossed his arms and deadpanned with mock intensity.
“As a pirate, I don’t take kindly to the law.”
M.C. blinked at both of them, bewildered. Then his confusion melted into a wide grin. He dropped into a fighting stance, his finger pointed like a sword, teeth flashing.
“Too bad for you two. Didn’t you know? The M.C. version of an Ace Attorney knows how to fight!”
M.C. planted his feet and then jabbed his finger at them like a hammer coming down with a hefty and mighty, “TAKE THAT!”
He roared at them, charging like a rhino and ready for the action-anime scene that would inspire a generation to come that was definitely about to happen right now.
Joseph stepped smoothly to the side, his expression calm but amused. As M.C. barreled past, Joseph snapped a knee right into his stomach.
“DOOOOOOOOOOUGH!” M.C. bellowed, his eyes bulging wide as they crossed. He hunched forward instantly, arms clutching his gut while his mouth hung open, panting like a dog that had just run a marathon.
Before M.C. could wheeze out another word, Bourbon cocked back his fist. His half-lidded eyes sparked for once as he shouted with sudden fire, “GUM GUM PISTOL!”
M.C. flinched, holding up his hands weakly. “W-WAIT! TIME OU—!”
The fist smacked across his face.
His whole body spun in place like a top, spit flying from his mouth in a sloppy trail. His pants loosened and twirled downward, pooling at his sneakers and leaving his Captain Underpants underoos flashing proudly to the world. Oh the irony!
The crowd of cosplayers nearby paused mid-step to watch, pointing and chuckling.
Joseph moved in like a predator spotting an opening. He slid behind M.C., hooked his arms under M.C.’s armpits, and with a sudden yank flipped him clean over. M.C. sailed backwards in an awkward arc, letting out a gurgle-scream, before slamming onto his head with a dull thud.
His body jack-knifed upward for a second, then collapsed flat to the ground, twitching and spasming as his tongue lolled out.
Not missing a beat, Bourbon grabbed him by the legs and hoisted him onto his back, carrying him like a limp rag doll and dragging his head and arms along the floor. M.C.’s tongue dangled, his eyes fully crossed, his goofy derpy smile frozen as cartoon birdies chirped overhead.
“GUM GUM THROW RUG!” Bourbon shouted triumphantly, whipping M.C. over his own head. The wannabe attorney flew right out of his suit coat mid-spin, flipping shirtless before slamming chest-first onto the carpeted floor with a WHUMP.
Joseph tilted his head, raising a brow. “...‘Gum Gum Throw Rug’ isn’t one of Luffy’s moves.”
Bourbon adjusted his hat with complete seriousness. “…Yes it is. I just used it.”
Before M.C. could even moan, Bourbon and Joseph glanced at each other, smirked, and lunged down at him.
A huge fight cloud erupted around them, fists and feet flying in a whirling blur of dust and chaos.
“Come on Mr. Attorney! I thought you were an ace!” Joseph shouted.
“That big butt’s trying to file an objection but I keep spanking it so maybe it needs to sit down and jiggle at the crowd instead of me!” Bourbon declared within the cartoony smog.
Inside, M.C.’s muffled yelps and squawks echoed like a squeaky toy being stomped on.
Every few seconds, M.C. was launched up and out of the smoke like a ragdoll.
The first time, he spun through the air, eyes rolling like pinwheels. “N-no further questions, your banana, I mean—your honorrrr!” He flopped right back into the cloud with a thud.
The second time, he popped out upside down, cheeks puffed with spit, and mumbled, “Court is adjournededededed…” before crashing headfirst back in.
Third time, he was tossed high, wobbling with crossed eyes and gurgling nonsense, his tongue flapping against his face as he drooled. He flailed like a fish, then dropped right back into the cloud.
The tangle of limbs inside looked like a cartoon washing machine. Every so often a random fist or a sneaker shot out. At one point, M.C.’s underwear-clad butt stuck halfway out of the cloud, the captain of underpants decorating his underoos jiggling ridiculously before being yanked back in with a squeak.
Finally, the dust settled. Joseph and Bourbon stood tall, brushing themselves off casually as if nothing had happened.
Flat on the ground between them was M.C., sprawled with his tongue out, his eyes rolling in lazy circles. Bright cartoon stars and little birdies spun around his head while a dopey grin spread across his face.
Bourbon tugged down his hat and muttered coolly, “That oughta learn him.”
Joseph folded his arms with a smirk. “The verdict is clear… M.C. is GUILTY of being a loser.”
With a booming sound effect, the word “GUILTY” flashed in big red letters across the air before M.C.’s demolished body.
Bourbon tipped his hat low, a satisfied grin finally breaking across his normally blank face. He let out a rare, hearty laugh, eyes closed as he pointed down at M.C.’s limp, twitching body.
“Ha! Did you see him? Spinning like a washing machine, butt hanging out. Like a bibliocally accurate bowl of jello.” Bourbon proclaimed. Joseph was smiling but raised a brow of confusion at the clearly nonsensical thing he just said. “We’ve got to celebrate this one, Joseph. Total victory!”
But Joseph’s smirk stayed sharp, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Oh, we’ll celebrate, alright…” Before Bourbon could register the tone, Joseph moved behind him in a blur. His gloved hands clamped onto the back of Bourbon’s exposed underwear waistband and yanked skyward with brutal force.
“GYAAAAAUGH!” Bourbon shrieked, his bored facade shattering instantly as his underwear shot sky-high, revealing his bright yellow One Punch Man underoos stretched taut for all to see. His eyes bulged wide and he bit his tongue. His arms seized up helplessly and his stoic composure evaporated into cartoon panic.
“Wh-why!?” Bourbon wailed, face contorting as he hopped on his toes, trying to relieve the pressure. “We…we were allies!”
Joseph leaned close, tugging harder as his grin gleamed. “Truce is over. That alliance was only temporary.”
Bourbon’s eyes crossed in agony. “Wh-what did I do!?”
Joseph’s voice dropped low, smooth but sharp like a knife. “Don’t play dumb. Remember that time you promised me those scandalous photos of M.C. you took without permission?”
Bourbon froze, his face turning pale even as his legs dangled. “I—I—I was gonna! Honest!”
Joseph gave the wedgie another savage jerk. Bourbon let out a strangled “HNNGGHHH!” before cartoonishly biting his own tongue again. His eyes spun like pinwheels as he gurgled, cheeks puffing and spit flying.
“Not good enough,” Joseph said coldly.
Then, with terrifying rhythm, Joseph began bouncing Bourbon up and down by the waistband like a yo-yo, each yank lifting him half a foot off the ground.
“YEOW! GAHH! OWW! WAAHH!” Bourbon yelped, his hat flying off as his limbs flopped around like a ragdoll. Joseph was nice enough to grab it before it flew off somewhere though. Bourbon’s underwear stretched like taffy, the fabric straining as his voice cracked into high-pitched chipmunk squeals.
Joseph’s grin widened as he delivered the finishing blow. “Time to remind you both who’s really in charge. Today, the verdict’s unanimous: you and M.C. are officially the biggest dorks of this entire convention and we have a whole day to show everyone here why.”
Bourbon’s tongue lolled out as he flopped limply from Joseph’s grip, his eyes spinning and watery. Behind them, M.C. was still face-down, drooling into the carpet, singing “Tra-la-laaa~!” under his breath while he twitched.
The crowd clapped. Joseph bowed. “You all ready for a show?”
They cheered.
“Hehe. Welcome to Comic-Con.”
---
Support me on SubscribeStar or Pixiv FANBOX and get images and bi-weekly stories.$5 gets you access to my latest comics including the reboot of Sonic Survivor Island. Even more colored images await you for 10 dollar patrons and above too. Check it out at https://subscribestar.adult/sdcharm or http://sdcharm.fanbox.cc/
