Post by Kenneth Ashland on May 17, 2005 10:18:59 GMT -8
The dull polish of the bar did not make for a good reflective surface. That was fine; he had no real desire to see his own scowl.
His mood had established an almost palpable aura of gloom, and patrons were thus not inclined to linger long after being handed their drinks. He knew the Bartender would rather he retreated to his usual booth. He didn't care what the Bartender wanted.
He stared down at the emerald beverage, his usual, with a distance of thought he had rarely entertained.
Show trial. Forgone decision. His long-awaited chance to remind himself what he once was, and what he was truly capable of. To work to support the ideals that mattered, and to have it all proven a charade. Such a waste.
Had he expected anything less? No. Had he held out hope for better? Always.
Defense Attorneys, at their core, were required to be idealists. How else could you justify fighting for fairness to be applied to thieves, rapists and murderers?
Because, maybe, it sets free an innocent person or, at the worst, tests the system so that it forces itself to evolve.
"Justice knows no status." His quiet quote caught the Bartender's attention.
"Huh? I'm sorry?"
He dragged his mind out of thought, and lifted his weighted gaze to the boy.
"Hm? Oh, nothing. Just reminiscing about the fundamentals of...of justice, I suppose. Well," he conceded with narrowed eyes, "the hope of justice."
The bartender nodded.
"Justice is blind, etc.?"
He gave the boy a measured stare.
"Justice wears a blindfold. A thin one, at that. Don't fool yourself."
The Bartender went quiet, but was saved by a drink-seeking woman sidling up to the bar. A woman, the vampire noticed, that might just fit the bill.
He gave the martini a cathartic, pretend sip while pasting on an ingratiating smile.
He hoped a little supper might drown out the cynicism.
His mood had established an almost palpable aura of gloom, and patrons were thus not inclined to linger long after being handed their drinks. He knew the Bartender would rather he retreated to his usual booth. He didn't care what the Bartender wanted.
He stared down at the emerald beverage, his usual, with a distance of thought he had rarely entertained.
Show trial. Forgone decision. His long-awaited chance to remind himself what he once was, and what he was truly capable of. To work to support the ideals that mattered, and to have it all proven a charade. Such a waste.
Had he expected anything less? No. Had he held out hope for better? Always.
Defense Attorneys, at their core, were required to be idealists. How else could you justify fighting for fairness to be applied to thieves, rapists and murderers?
Because, maybe, it sets free an innocent person or, at the worst, tests the system so that it forces itself to evolve.
"Justice knows no status." His quiet quote caught the Bartender's attention.
"Huh? I'm sorry?"
He dragged his mind out of thought, and lifted his weighted gaze to the boy.
"Hm? Oh, nothing. Just reminiscing about the fundamentals of...of justice, I suppose. Well," he conceded with narrowed eyes, "the hope of justice."
The bartender nodded.
"Justice is blind, etc.?"
He gave the boy a measured stare.
"Justice wears a blindfold. A thin one, at that. Don't fool yourself."
The Bartender went quiet, but was saved by a drink-seeking woman sidling up to the bar. A woman, the vampire noticed, that might just fit the bill.
He gave the martini a cathartic, pretend sip while pasting on an ingratiating smile.
He hoped a little supper might drown out the cynicism.
