ArchivedLogs:Vignette - The Mercy of the Court

Vignette - The Mercy of the Court
Dramatis Personae Dusk
In Absentia	2014-11-13 '
Location Criminal Court
He's just one more name on a long docket of names, a long to-do list for the judge to check off today. This one for possession and that one for intent to distribute, over here a sexual assault and over there a vehicular manslaughter. On the docket, his case doesn't have much to stand out from the rest. The courtroom as a result isn't particularly packed when he's brought in. Cuffed, but he's been allowed his own clothes -- largely because the jail has failed to /provide/ anything that will suit his wings, and entering shirtless is not allowed. As a result, it's a pale green dress shirt and slacks, neatly pressed, well-fitted. With colour in his cheeks again and enough energy to stand up straight and tall he looks halfway back to a normal person again. For some definitions of normal. Bland and rote, his case hasn't attracted many onlookers. Not like last time. A bored-looking court reporter whose eyes widen at the sight of the huge wings. No row of video cameras, no curious gawkers. /Familiar/ faces, to be sure, the rows have plenty of sick-nervous-tense-worried eyes looking at him. He doesn't look back at them. Wants to. With fresh blood pumping through him, doesn't trust himself to /stay/ in his little box. He doesn't sit. The chair wasn't designed for wings and even if it were he'll have to be on his feet again in a minute. As hard as he's trying to stand up straight, stay calm, keep breathing, /not/ think of his family watching (/not/ feel the heavier thump of their hearts) he's half missed it when the judge begins to speak. /She's/ calm, she's breathing; the look she's been giving him is almost (he wants to believe) sympathetic and this, the fact she looks him in the eyes, doesn't shy away from the demon-black wings, these things give him hope. But the "-- five years," coming from the bench makes it sink again. Makes his head sink, slowly tipping down to hide his expression beneath a shaggy curtain of thick black hair. It's through this curtain that he looks back /up/ for the continuation, "/suspended/ sentence," and here his heart is pounding again and he's trying not to look excited. "To be dismissed contingent on completion of two years' probation." The relief around the room is nearly palpable. To him, moreso, he can /feel/ some hearts surging, others calming gratefully. This symphony of beats around the room has almost made him overlook that the judge is still speaking. "Contingent," she is saying, "upon compliance with the physical and psychological reparative treatment program offered at Themis House." He can't /help/ the rough-harsh growl that tears up out of his throat at this, rumbling in his deeper set of vocal folds. His wings are flaring, snapping outward -- the sharp stretch of enormous wings prompts an entirely different set of hearts to race. But in here, there's nowhere to fly. And so for now, his wings fold back in close, staying tucked close against his back until he's escorted out of the court.