Who: St. John Allerdyce NPCs: John's laywer Where: Sydney, Australia When: Dec. 5, 2013 What: John's lawyer tells him the honest truth and John is faced with the cruel reality of his future. Rating: R, language
John had been in jail for well over a week and his room was searched every day to make sure he didn't have a lighter on him. He thought by complying with this stupid laws, it'd somehow help his case. That's what Scott had ordered them to do during the Mutant Registration Act, even if John had disagreed with the move. It hadn't turned out well, but still, he'd give it a shot. He wasn't in prison with other inmates who were already tried and convicted, but a few that were also thought too dangerous to others, themselves, or a chance to flee the country and seek asylum elsewhere. That's where he was, for what? Possibly killing his parents.
Now he was seated in a large visiting room as the man in front of him sorted through some papers. It was his lawyer, Robert something, who kept making small noises that told John little of what things would be like for him. The other man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose for the eighth time within the last twenty minutes and John finally said, "Well?"
Robert looked up and then back down and then back up at John, "It's not good."
"I didn't do it though," John said as if that were testimony enough, "how can it not be good if I didn't bloody do it."
Robert's mouth formed a grim line and then he frowned, "I'm looking over the evidence they have against you. Eyewitness testimonies, pictures from the house, and then previous complaints made by neighbors in the past of your father's treatment of you. With your...abilities, it makes it really hard to sell anything that you didn't do it. Especially since the last time you saw your father, you two had an altercation."
"He was ass," John said, "a fucking asshole who beat his kid around. Not to mention a drunk and a filthy excuse for human DNA. Even if I did do it, which I didn't, I was probably doing the world a favor by taking him out."
"If you did...which you didn't, don't speak like that in court, it looks bad," the lawyer sighed, "but I'll be honest with you. When we do get into the courtroom, there's nothing I can do."
"You're my fucking solicitor, I'm paying you, you better fucking do something," John growled and his hand hit the table. This made Robert jump a little, but the lawyer's jaw hardened, "There's nothing I can do. Your case is impossible. If you're lucky, you'll do only one life sentence. That's if you're lucky. It's what the Americans call a 'slam dunk case.' The best we can do is hope to keep you from serving the entirety of your life in prison. I'm sorry, John, but that's how it is."
"So you're saying you're not even going to try then?" John asked annoyed and Robert shook his head, "I'm going to try to minimize your sentence, but I'm telling you that you'll be sentence, Mr. Allerdyce. There's no avoiding that and you know I'm the best solicitor in Australia." John knew, yes, it was why he hired him. This guy had gotten numerous others out of terrible court cases and maybe John was hoping for some sort of Christmas miracle. But it wasn't going to happen. His own lawyer was telling him that he was going to go to jail and it was likely it'd be a life sentence.
"Get out," John said, "just fucking get out of here. You're fucking fired and I'm not going to pay you for any shit consultation that you've given because it's not doing me any good."
Robert looked alarmed and started, "Listen, Mr. Allerdyce, if you—"
"I said bloody get out!" John roared and shoved back from the table. The guards were immediately walking toward him and John stood telling them, "Take me back to my damn cell. I'm done with this fuck muppet."
The guards looked at John's lawyer and then to him and his lawyer said nothing. But apparently whatever look he gave the prison guards, it was one telling them that it was fine and he was leaving. Not that they could make him stay, but John knew right now that they were more likely to help his lawyer out than him. The scratching of the table legs on the floor echoed off the walls of the mostly empty room and John didn't listen as his lawyer said he'd give John some time to think before he took the dismissal seriously. The guy clearly didn't know John well enough and if he wanted a letter, it'd probably read, "Fuck you, wanker. You're fired." And maybe a crude drawing of the lawyer doing something degrading. John, always the mature one.
As the lawyer made his exit, John was escorted out of the visiting room and guided back toward his cell. Fists clenched, jaw tight, he stewed over the cold hard reality that was his future. He was going to prison, he'd be there for the rest of his life. And nobody was going to be able to help him.
John didn't like feeling helpless, so he would continue to veil it under anger. At least he could feel that.