You paged Sena with 'You are contacted by a lawyer (depending on how
'together' you are, you may be surprised that you aren't contacted by
more...or maybe this is the lawyer SHIELD -wants- you to have) while still
in custody. He says his name is Lee Miller and if you have no objections,
he'll be your attorney. He says that he is willing to waive his usual fee.
He explains his credentials and they sound very good. He says the
arraignment should be a simple matter of getting a preliminary hearing
date and confirming his appointment as your attorney."'. 

You paged Sena with 'OOCly, of course, this is the HFC guy.'.

You paged Sena with 'I forgot to ask how much of that you were supposed to
be ICly in on.'. 

From afar, Sena knows nothing.

Lazarus has disconnected.


The courthouse is, as always, abuzz with activity, people constnatly
coming and going through the metal detectors, files, papers, contracts in
hand, long lines at the clerk's office, the long faces of the children in
parents' laps at family court, the ancient walls echoing with the constant
rumble of a thousand conversations. One courtroom in particular is the
center of more interest than arraignment hearings usually get. The
spectator benches are packed, the press lined up along the back wall,
trying to be as respectfully impatient as they can. The judge deals
summarily with almost all of the cases: robbery, arson, burglary, robbery,
robbery, fraud, manslaughter, aggravated assault, robbery, they stream up
to the bar and out, generally with overworked-looking public defenders. 
Finally a security cordon appears, the prisoner brought from the back of
the building: it's Sena, with her SHIELD escorts. A short,
broad-shouldered man in a carefully tailored suit leans over to her as
they approach the bar - unlike the press of photographers, who the SHIELD
agents dutifully keep back, this man is allowed to slip a card into her
hand. (Sena: it's the guy who called you before.) The nameplate on the
desk says "Judge Pierce". He looks sternly down at her and taps his gavel
for quiet, and, quite surprisingly, gets a fair amount of it. 

Grant is sitting, no, lounging in the back row with several others who
arrived in a group, including two uniformed police officers, perhaps on
lunch. 

With the spectator benches eing so packed, Belle prefers to use those
dainty little (rather pointed) elbows of hers to clear herself a place
along the back wall among the press. Huge violet eyes shine with
curiousity and no little trace of satisfaction. Not only can she see
/everything/ from the back row, not only can she hit the exit if she needs
to, but she can unashamedly read over the shoulder of the reporter
standing next to her to get /his/ take on the trial. Perfect. 

As the spectators drift in to find seats, an elegantly dressed young woman
steps calmly towards one of the seats with an unhindered view of the
front. Jennifer sits gracefully in the open space, perhaps a little lucky
in finding the seat. With a hint of a smile for those to either side of
her, she relaxes and waits patiently, eyes lingering like most on the
prisoner. 

Sena is escorted down into area, not looking around at anyone as she goes.
She's been shamed enough, the thought racing through her head are frantic,
firghtened and frustrated. She remembers now the reason why she ran. No
one believed her, or wanted to listen. Whos to say they will now?

Grant pats his pockets for a cigarette before remembering that you can't
smoke inside. He peers across at the stocky man allowed to get so close to
the prisoner for a moment, then shrugs and says something to the woman
next to him, who also shrugs. The junior prosecutor assigned to
arraignment today is elbowed out of the way by a more senior,
distinguished-looking man. The clerk hasn't even glanced up from the
screen of the scheduling computer and probably won't, until lunchtime. 
"State versus Sena Doe alias lilith alias calamity alias discord, criminal
docket number one seven eight nine seven three five five." The prosecutor
says "The charges include sixty-three charges of murder in the second
degree, seventy-eight charges of wanton destruction of property, five
charges of negligent arson and ten felony charges of resisting arrest and
flight to resist arrest." The stocky man in the beautiful suit stands
respectfully near the bar separating the spectators from the court. The
judge sees him and nods slightly, looking to Sena. "Young lady." he says
softly, his voice much more kind-hearted than his face. "Are you at
present represented by counsel?" 

Belladonna's eyebrows raise, as she hears the total of murder charges. Not
bad for a little red-eyed girl. Her head nods, once, as she thinks to
herself, . o O (Too bad that she was not born into the Guild, hein? Still,
me, I can always alert Marius to her presence...)

Grant frowns at something in the list and whispers to the woman next to
him again, who doesn't reply. The row of cops looks a little less casual
and a little more stone-facedly stoic now. 

Sena looks around, not really sure about law proceedings, so the meaning
of the judge doesn't catch her. She blushes a bit , unknowing to her and
looks at the judge. "I.. I'm sorry, I don't understand the question.." 

Judge Pierce looks at her captors. "You have been told your rights, I
understand...that you have the right to an attorney to assist you? I can
appoint you an attorney who can help you with legal questions." he
explains patiently. The court reporter's fingers dance on the tiny
pedal-like keys of the recorder. 

Jenny hmms thoughtfully to herself, showing a bit less reaction to the
list of charges than her benchmates. The spatter of muttering throughout
the crowd affects her even less, and she presently seems more interested
in that handsome suit on the other side of the railing. At least for the moment.

Sena bites her lips a bit as she looks on the card that was given to her.
She looks back up at the judge and nods. "Yeah, a Mr. Lee Miller I
believe.." she answers. 

The judge smiles slightly, as if Sena had answered correctly, and nods to
the stocky man, who approaches the bar. "Mister Miller," the judge says,
more sternly now. "This woman is indigent and requires me to appoint an
attorney." Miller nods and smiles smoothly. "Judge, I would be hon..."
Suddenly next to Miller is a tall, skinny man with dark black hair and a
hawk-like nose, looming up in a brown suit that looks far less new than
Millers. "Your honor!" he booms. "I object strenuously to Mr. Miller's
appointment! I have already been appointed to Ms. Doe's case and have an
ethical obligation to pursue it!" The tall man brandishes an
official-looking paper. The judge looks shocked to the core, completely
caught off-guard, totally speechless. He motions to the clerk, and the
tall man hands it up. He smiles charmingly at Sena. "Wilkes," he murmurs
to her. "John Wilkes." The name is echoed along the bench where Grant
sits, something of a groan of pain: "Wilkes...oh god no...not Wilkes..."
But if the -cops- don't like him...

Oooh, more interesting, and even more interesting. Belle elbows that
reporter standing next to her again, just to get his attention. "Pardon,
m'sieur," she uses her best and most charmingly helpless smile to
figuratively deadly effect. "But who is this 'Wilkes'?"

Jenny groans quietly and glances to the elderly man seated to her left.
Not above giving the man a little something to brighten his day, she
flutters winsomely and laments in a quiet burst, "Lawyers.." 

The reporter smirks at Belle, then gets a look at her and revises his
worldliness downwards to a hopefully charming smile. "The King of
Continuances." he mutters. "He's the guy who made Judge Bluegout go
berserk last year and pop the prosecutor right in the nose. He had to
resign." Judge Pierce, sensing, if nothing else, the flourishing mutters
that rush around the courtroom, taps his gavel once or twice, reading the
document Wilkes has produced. 

Belladonna flutters her lashes at the reporter. "Merci, m'sieur-- oh, but
look!" Delicately, she covers her mouth with one hand and motions at the
front of the courtroom with the other. She does the 'fragile flower' act
pretty well. 

Sena looks confused for a while, but quickly recovers. Thanks to Betsy's
'fixing' she's only listening to herself, she doesn't speak, just watches
for now. 

Pierce looks sternly at Wilkes. "Mister Wilkes, please explain to the
court the basis for Judge Burton's order." Wilkes obligingly steps before
the bar and stands near Sena. "I would be happy to, your honor. As you
know, in the hunt for the person responsible for these heinous acts, the
attention of the media was very intense. As a result, a small 'cottage
industry' of novelty products based on the name 'Sena' sprung up -
conflicts within that industry, as American industries are wont to do,
produced civil suits. And in one of thoe civil suits, your honor, I had
the pleasure of being appointed to protect the interests of an absent
party, that is, the holder of the appellation herself." he says, with a
verbal flourish complemented by an actual flourish towards Sena. Judge
Pierce looks pained, then a little worried. "Counsel will approach." he
says, then revises himself. "Counsel for the State and Mr. Miller will
approach. That will be quite enough from you, Mr. Wilkes." Wilkes beams: 
"But of course, your honor, for what else is there to say? Res ipsa
loquitor!" The prosecutor, who has been getting steadily redder and more
agitated as this exchange has gone on, bolts up to the front eagerly -
Miller proceeds at a more sedate pace. 

Grant just buries his head in his hands in the back row and shakes it
wearily. 

You paged Elizabeth with 'Miller is your flunky - the judge is also, but
very indirectly.'. 

Belladonna places her hand on the reporter's arm, now, which is much less
painful for the poor man, and nods towards the guy in the suit with his
head in his hands in the back row. "Pardon again, but you know so *much*
about these things..." Her voice is breathless, impressed. "...who is
that?"

Jenny frowns a little as she eyes the ..ahem.. enthusiastic Wilkes. "Who
the hell let him get on the bar?" she grumbles more or less to herself.
Lawyers in general are irritants. Foppish lawyers are unbearable. "Wish
they'd get on with it." Absently, she adjusts the fall of her snug dress
and returns her attention to the ...confused? defendant.

The reporter whispers back, eager to please, "That's Sutton, NYPD's
resident mutant. Detective, I think. He and those people with him put this
thing together, but SHIELD came in and ate their lunch at the end." 

Sena looks around the courtroom a second for someone, not spotting them
she internally sighs and shakes her head just a little. 

Belladonna has disconnected.

The prosecutor is whispering about as loudly as anyone can possibly
whisper, practically bouncing up and down in his shoes with anger at
Wilkes. Miller is much more sedate and controlled. Pierce just looks
between the pair and at the paper, then returns them to their places. "Mr.
Wilkes, your appointment does take precedence under local rules." he says.
"However, I have doubts about the ability of the firm of Wilkes and
Schoonover to handle this case alone. I plan to appoint your firm and Mr.
Miller's firm co-counsel. This is an important case which implicates many
interests. I will not have any issue left hanging to be overturned on
appeal. Am I understood?" Wilkes looks pensive a moment, then looks back
to a portly (to be generous) man in the front row, who nods chinfully at
him. Wilkes nods. "Quite so, your honor." The Judge nods. "Good." he says.
He starts to turn to the clerk, saying "What sort of timeline do we have
for the pre-trial motions..." Wilkes interjects, "Before we close the
arraignment, I would first like to move for bail..." The prosecutor
practically leaps up out of his seat. "What?" he howls. "This woman killed
over sixty people, including ten police officers! She already fled the
country -to Antarctica- to avoid being captured! Your honor, you can't
possibly..." Judge Pierce looks back. He sighs heavily and holds up a hand
to interrupt the prosecutor. "The motion is in order and is denied. The
risk of flight is too great. She will remain in custody of SHIELD until
trial. Do you have anything else, Mr. Wilkes?" Wilkes is all helpfulness
and guileless innocence. "No, your honor, unless my co-counsel has
something." Miller says "No, your honor, that's all." Then with no
flourishes, bells or whistles, a pre-trial hearing is set for a few weeks
time and the case is whisked off the docket. Wilkes gives a card to Sena -
the SHIELD guard looks like he wants to throttle him. Miller nods to Sena.
"Call........us.," he says, as if it pains him. "Anytime. I'll be in
touch." 

Sena looks at the card a moment, then at the two men, nodding her head
slightly. 

Jenny continues to study the captive Sena, but with so many other faces in
the spectator's area, her own regard might easily be overlooked. A brief
hearing, it would seem, for a woman who hardly looks as deadly as everyone
seems to believe. Although... "You think she's guilty or innocent?" she
inquires of that same old man to her side. She looks somewhat amused by
his answer, and shrugs off the returned question. "Depends on how the dice
falls.. Looks like that might be it for today, though...." Pity. She was
just starting to have fun. 

Wilkes breezes outside, the press following along after him, fielding
questions left and right, claiming that there is no credible evidence that
this person is the one who caused the deaths, no evidence suggesting that
the person in custody is the same as the person the police were looking
for, calling SHIELD 'America's Gestapo' and calling the highest ideals of
constitutional government at grave risk of being ground under the iron
boot of the state. Miller ducks away quickly, answering no questions. The
fat man from the front row pauses back by Grant and the cops. Grant looks
up at him, "Jesus, Schoon, what're you doing? Miller not good enough?" 
Schoonover chortles. "No, just the opposite. I'll call you about the
deposition." Most of the crowd starts breaking up as Sena begins to be
lead out, though the business of the courtroom carries on after her:
robbery, assault, assault, rape, robbery, murder...the lobby is where
tight knots of people appear to congregate and talk about what happened. 

Melody has left.

Midtown -- New York

        Upon walking down this street, you realize this area is what you
think of when you first think of New York City. The enormous towering
buildings, the bustling huge groups of people on the sidewalks. the smell
of car exhaust, and the sound of cars honking in the streets... all of it
fits in with the stereotypical image of the big city. The sheer immensity
of it all makes it seem almost overwelming. That anyone could make a mark
on this city of huge towers and countless people. 

Contents:
Jenny
Sena

Grant pauses out on the steps to light up a cigarette. Something's
bothering him...he sees Jenny coming out and hails her. "Hiya!" he calls
cheerfully. He indicates the courthouse with a jerk of his thumb. "How
does your future look?" 

Jenny saunters fluidly outside among the rest of the crowd, pausing to
give Grant a coy little smile as he catches her attention. "My future,
detective? No, I'm afraid you must be mistaken." She glances back at the
impressive building and adds, "I've no real interest in Law."

Grant adds, just as cheerfully, "Oh, well, I imagine you'll get one with
your friends." He scratches his head and looks back up at the courthouse.
"You ever have the feeling that something's looking you right in the face
and you couldn't see it if someone paid you a million bucks?"

Jenny's eyes narrow at the speculation, but rather than acknowledge the
cheery statement, she smooths her expression over and eyes the detective
thoughtfully. "Once or twice. Sometimes I didn't see it until I got two
million.." 

Grant chuckles and puts his cigarette back into the corner of his mouth. 
"Yeah, like -that-'s gonna happen soon." He looks down at the press
meditatively, smoke and steam curling up out of his mouth like a dragon at
rest. He pulls his coat a little tighter around himself. "Welp," he says,
"don't let me bug ya too much. Just because you hang around with killers
doesn't mean a thing about you and I know it. Just shake yer finger at me. 
Bad cop. No donut." He says this sort of joshingly, but sort of distantly,
too, as if the press was bothering him now. 

Sena has left.

Jenny smiles sweetly as she starts to ease away from Grant. "Killers,
detective? Why, I had no idea. Such a pity, don't you think? Good day and
good luck, Mister Sutton." She flaunts herself with every selfassured step
down to the street, eventually fading into the crowd.

Grant replies with a noncomittal uh-huh, see-ya, sort of wave, totally
distracted now.