Oh, good, he wasn't leaving. When Ocelot propped his feet up on the desk behind him, he sighed and turned around again. If he was going to be forced into a conversation he would at least do so face-to-face.

Edgeworth had half a mind to push those boots off of the table (um excuse you whose dream is this? I don't come into your dreams and track mud all over the floor), but he settled for a condescending stare. Dude. Come on.

"Not particularly, no." If he hadn't noticed the gun already, he most definitely would have by now, but he didn't seem to be reacting to it much yet. "Is there a reason you're he-- ... No, nevermind." None of his other unwelcome visitors had a good reason to drop in, so clearly this gun-twirling up-start wouldn't have one, either. "Bored of your own dreams, I suppose?"