all rise

[self_composed]

No plea bargain is struck. The jury is picked, and Lucinda asks a few random ones whether they have accepted bribes and sees who looks nervous: no one, as it turns out, so she strikes people who are too young to have children and one fellow who looks like he hates the entire world for her picks. Paul strikes a grandmotherly type and someone who admits when asked that they don't think much of rich people.

"All rise," comes the command as Judge Roberts walks in.

Comments

[edgeofyourseat]

It's the first test of Alice's ability to act like a normal human.

He gets to his feet with everybody else and doesn't even look particularly itchy about it.

[self_composed]

Bella's up too, in the pews behind the main part of the courtroom.

Various formalities march along. And first, Lucinda calls up Alice.

[edgeofyourseat]

He's wearing clothes he would clean an oven in. In fact, he has cleaned an oven in this shirt. You wouldn't know it to look at him, though.

He goes where directed and sits as directed and repeats the appropriate oaths without rolling his eyes.

[self_composed]

"Hello, Laney," says Lucinda, for all the world like they're having a friendly chat at her house over tea. "First of all, the jury members have their own copies of the notebook about the history of your abuse - alleged," she says, putting up a hand vaguely in Paul's direction before Paul can say anything. "I understand you have an eidetic memory, which let you remember that much detail to dictate to your friend; is that right?"

[edgeofyourseat]

"Yeah," he says, soft in tone but projected to be easily heard. That much is probably safe without waiting for Bella's input.

[self_composed]

"Would you mind demonstrating that for the jury?" Lucinda asks.

[edgeofyourseat]

He shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't mind."

[self_composed]

Lucinda turns to the jury and asks them to write their random letters and numbers on slips of paper she has prepared, plus their initials so she can return them to their original owners for checking.

They all write gibberish down. Lucinda collects the papers and, holding them herself instead of handing them over, shows each one to Laney for a single second. Then she gives them all back.

"Would you mind telling us what was on each paper, so the jurors can confirm that you really would have been able to remember all of those events?" she says.

[edgeofyourseat]

He gazes thoughtfully into the distance and reads them all off in a clear voice, in order, initials included.

[self_composed]

The jury murmurs to itself.

"Thank you. However, it's a very long string of pieces of evidence, recording over two thousand incidents, the descriptions of which range from 'corporal punishment' - itself illegal both in the state of New York and Washington - to what would be classified as felony assault if the victim were anyone but the perpetrator's own dependent child. Let's talk about a few specific cases; Laney, would you care to describe the event that occurred on July 19, 2001?"

[edgeofyourseat]

"It was raining," he recalls, closing his eyes. "I was walking home from the park - he still let me go to the park in those days - and I went by one of those big puddles, you know, and a car ran through it, and soaked me up to here," he gestures at the middle of his chest. "So I knew Dad was gonna be really mad at me when I got home, so the minute I got in the door I bolted for my room, but I tripped on the stairs and fell flat on my face and got mud all over everywhere."

He stops, rubbing his face for a moment; when he continues, his voice is a little rougher.

"Dad heard me. He started yelling—said I was a filthy little demon child and did I know how much it was gonna cost to clean that carpet, and he came down the stairs still goin' on like that and he hit me with his belt," his lips move silently for a moment, like he's counting, "fifty-four times."

It's one of the ones that left marks, although not obvious marks. In the right light, though, they show up fine. Lucinda has photos.

[self_composed]

Lucinda does have photos. She gets them out. "That's the incident associated with the scars shown here," she says, offering the picture up to the jury. "The defendant's son is scarred for life, because a car splashed him and then he tripped."

"Objec-"

"Allegedly," says Lucinda, in a cold voice.

[I'd pet you if I was there,] Bella informs Alice.

[edgeofyourseat]

He closes his eyes again, briefly, but the fact that he is immensely comforted doesn't show at all. He was right: a pentagon would be redundant here. He is carrying this show just fine on natural talent.

[self_composed]

Lucinda walks through most of the other scars and hospitalizations, and a handful of other choice incidents, before saying gravely, "And that's just a fraction of what the plaintiff has endured. The other couple thousand occasions he dictated to a friend, who wrote them down for him; the jury has copies of that document to read, but even one of the events he's just described would be staggering to any decent parent."

Paul actually doesn't have a way to object to that one.

"The defendant may try to convince you that these scars have some other source. I ask you - what source? New injuries have appeared in two different states of residence at a regular pace. Altercations outside of the home? That wouldn't account for the sheer scale, nor much of the timing, even if you're very generous with your estimates.

"The defendant may try to convince you that the abuse was deserved. I ask you - how can that be? Even if corporal punishment of any severity were legal in either state - and it is not - the instigations that you've just heard about and will read more about before issuing a verdict are trivial. The defendant may try to convince you that the actions he wished to punish were more severe than described. I remind you that Laney has an eidetic memory and has, under oath, told us what caused each attack, but even so - I ask you - what can a twelve year old boy do, to which administering a cigarette burn is a measured and understandable response, but which also leaves the plaintiff with no criminal record whatsoever? What can a nine-year-old boy do, which leaves his parents feeling safe in their beds at night, but yet somehow deserves a bone-breaking, forty-five-minute beating?

"No further questions," Lucinda says, and she nods to Paul.

[edgeofyourseat]

Alice gets increasingly, visibly upset with each story—he even manages not to laugh at the one about the opera, which he finds hilarious in retrospect. But his voice remains steady enough to be heard, and he doesn't cry, although once or twice he looks like he might be about to.

When Lucinda concludes her questioning, he sits and waits quietly to see what Paul has to say.

[self_composed]

Bella burns a square to actually convey the sensation of petting him. [You're doing fine.]

Paul does not look good. He has flecks of lint in his hair, what looks like it might be hastily-wiped-away bird crap on one of his shoulders, bags under his eyes, and a broken shoelace. He fumbles his notes as he takes a last quick look through them, and weaves not-quite-drunkenly when he approaches the witness stand.

He obviously doesn't have the brainpower left for detailed eloquence. "So," he says to Alice. "If all that happened, why didn't you tell anyone until now? Hm?"

[edgeofyourseat]

...He'll run this one by Bella first:

He did, actually, a long time ago. There was a child psychologist, when he was eleven, to whom his parents sent him to (in his father's words) figure out what the hell was wrong with their devil child. After several months of sessions, he gained the courage to mention what was happening at home. The shrink turned around and reported this to Dad, who was less than pleased. Although the only direct punishment for that incident was being confined to his room for a month, his father was touchy for a long time afterward.

[self_composed]

[I'mma curse that bastard too unless you have some objection,] Bella says. [I'd put it like this: "I did tell someone. When I was eleven, I went to a psychologist, and after a while I tried explaining to her what was going on, but it turned out she didn't care that much about patient confidentiality, and instead of helping me she just told my parents that I'd told her, and I got punished. I didn't try that again until now." All said subdued and not making eye contact and pausing between clauses.]

[edgeofyourseat]

Alice does not particularly care what Bella does to the shrink.

"I did," he says, mere seconds in total after Paul asked the question, and explains the circumstances according to Bella's template.

[self_composed]

Bella puts a curse on the shrink. But she holds it down to a week because she's not going to have any chance to monitor how severe it is.

"Oh," Paul says. "Uh, but why now?"

He really hasn't slept much recently.

[edgeofyourseat]

Yeah, okay. Does Bella have advice on how to present the narrative of... her?

[self_composed]

["I made a friend,"] Bella says, [and you can point at me - "who only just moved here, and I found out her dad is the chief of police. I didn't want to risk it at first but she talked me around. Her dad's a decent guy."]

[edgeofyourseat]

That one he repeats nearly verbatim. He doesn't sound like he's reading from a script, though; he sounds flawlessly authentic.

[self_composed]

Paul just stands there for a few seconds.

"Mr. Washington," says the judge.

"Oh. Uh. No further questions." Paul sits down.

[edgeofyourseat]

Alice's eyebrows lift slightly, a can-you-believe-this-dude? expression briefly overlaid on his general air of resigned misery.