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Post by Bloodeye the Bai Ze on Jan 16, 2010 23:57:45 GMT -5
(it's crap. I know it. But it's something right?)
"I don't lose a case."
The elderly woman looked up at me with teary eyes that would have sank into an ordinary person's soul. The same kind of eyes that puppies give you when you discipline them. The same kind of eyes when your five year old looks at you and asks why their favorite pet won't wake up.
I'd be lying if I said that I felt anything.
"Are... are you certain that you'll win, sir?" she asked me, now the tears were flowing down the worn crevices of her face.
Usually, when a politician gets his face blown off on the street corner and your client is found having the very same weapon on him at the time, you, as an attorney, should be trying to figure out who to keep the guy from getting the death penalty.
Luckily, in my case, the police made this easy for me.
I can fain emotion pretty well. Anyone who goes to law school learns that skill alongside on how to bullshit a thesis paper on how common law proprieties were completely outdated and how to summon Satan in order to sell your soul for success.
"Of course. The police have no valid evidence. They arrested your son on weapon possession under the pretense of a search, but it was a drug search, not a weapon search. They couldn't charge him. Not to mention they have no paper evidence of reading him his rights. Truthfully... it's almost laughable."
Yeah. Faking caring was easy and being confident was even easier. Especially for this case. It was laughable. I could have walked into that courtroom with nothing on but clown shoes and still win. The sheer unprofessional nature taken by the officers that had taken my client in made me want to both chuckle and cry at the same time. How hard is it for people to do their fucking jobs?
Besides, we have witnesses.
I left the woman at that with a nervous smile. Showing my false anxiousness made me seem caring for her plight.
I was already paid. Now I just had to see things through.
The lobby of the courthouse was riddled with people. Not packed, as this wasn't exactly the most important case in the world, but more like a congregation of flies. Everyone was buzzing about in constant motion, pinging off one another. It was annoyingly lively.
"Been a while Paul."
That voice... it had been far too short since I last heard that voice.
"Hello Vince." I said, not even turning around as I came to the stairs.
"You know... I've been trying to get in touch with you. I mean, we should catch up on things."
"Yeah yeah... sure we should do that," I said with harsh contempt on my voice. My polished black shoes tapped on the steps with the kind of resolve that should have told someone that I didn't have the time or patience to speak with them. Unfortunately, Vince had always been the type of guy that didn't take a hint.
He gave them.
"This is quite the case for you, isn't it?" he said, coming up to my side enough for me to see him in my peripheral vision.
He was still the throwback to the forties that he was when I entered law school. The striped suit he wore was definitely a zoot suit, which I always assumed that no one made anymore. It was black and grey and covered him sloppily. His hair was greased back with enough oil to cause a worse disaster than the Exon Valdez.
"Not really. It's an open and shut. Nothing I can't handle."
"Kinda like the Kreneski case last month?"
Now he was irritating me.
Jim Kreneski was a man who happened to have the wrong face at the wrong time. Misidentified, he was arrest for a man who had robbed a liquor store. Thing was, even though I had a great case for the guy, he was still found guilty. I might as well have just taken all the testimony I gathered and shoved it up my ass.
Not a good time to think about such things.
"Excuse me Vince. I have a case to win," I said back to my old "friend". "I'll talk to you after court."
"Oh I'm sure we'll have a chat long before that's over," he responded with a smirking grin. "We have a lot to catch up on."
I didn't give him the graciousness of my answer.
Courtroom C5 was the one where the trial would take place. I'd been in that room before. It wasn't anything special other than being as old as the building itself. The paint had obviously been replaced several times over. The wood had been worn out, the polish left to rough tarnish.
God... I hate old things. Always have. Always will. And when I get old, I'll haul my walker over to the nearest hospital and get euthanized.
My chair squeaked as I sat down. I took in a long breath and tried to get comfortable, making it squeak even more. My suitcase landed on the table with a loud thud as I lazily slung it up on. One could hardly cause it a suitcase. It was more like a metal box with a handle.
My ex-girlfriend once threw it out what was once my apartment, ironic since it had been a present from her. It fell four stories, hit a dumpster and landed in a wet alley. One hour later, I was in court delegating the pretense of a will. My papers were not only dry, but unmarked. Hell, the box only got a quick rub of Armorall and it looked like new.
Ever since then it was my trademark.
I glanced over at the prosecution simply because I knew they were looking at me. The woman was middle aged, with obviously dyed red hair and a suit that looked like it was strangling her midsection.
She smiled at me. How god damn phony.
The beginning was like any trial. The judge, a man I had known only for his handicap at golf, came in. Everyone rose. He sat down. Everyone sat.
Just like church, except less singing. Almost as many old people though.
I called my client up to the stand. He gave a hell of a story. Truth I mean. It was the truth or for as much as I cared it was the truth. He said he had been out at a bar that night, getting drunk of his rocker. He didn't spare any detail in his drinks either. Apparently he wanted everyone to know exactly how much it took to get him wasted. Not the best way to work the jury into an emotional frenzy. But he wasn't there to do that. That was my job and I was damn good at it.
I called my first witness, the man's wife, up to the stand. She was a homely kind of woman that had seen to many births in her time. She wasn't badly dressed. My client had a decent paycheck or he wouldn't be able to afford me. And she loved her husband.
But... her eyes were...
"Where was your husband during the night in question?" I asked with a certain panache. I was acting here after all.
She didn't answer.
I'd seen this before and it was annoying. Witnesses sometimes had a tendency to get up on the stand and become very nervous. I coached her on this before but apparently it didn't help.
"Mrs. Jenkins," I said sternly to try to get her attention. "Where was you husband on that night?"
"He... he was..."
She looked over at him. I noticed the tiny dots of light flickering at the base of her eyes.
Tears.
Something was wrong. She shouldn't have been crying.
"Mrs. Jenkins?" I asked again, this time my voice a sharp hiss.
"He... he went out to get a gun."
The sudden gasp of the jury and the crowd was nothing to the sound of my gut crashing into my feet. This wasn't what she was supposed to say. This wasn't what she told me had happened.
"If you're lying, that will be perjury. You know that right?" She didn't have any business lying to me. Why? Why was she giving up on her husband?
I looked back at him. His mouth was wide open in shock.
Thinking quickly, I knew I had to get her off the stand as quick as possible.
"No more questions your honor."
The prosecution was eating this up. They didn't even cross-examine her. She gave them all they wanted. God damn it... why?
The trial continued. my next witness came forward. It was the next door neighbor.
he had told me he heard the husband and wide fighting about something in their kitchen and he could hear the whole thing. The time he stated that he heard them yelling at their home was only two minutes after the shooting. No one could travel four blocks in two minutes.
"I heard... I heard Steve saying something about shooting someone."
No! No this wasn't right at all! Again?! Why?!
"He was raving mad."
"He told me that he hated the bills that were getting passed."
"I always knew he'd do someone in one day."
The water in the sink in the bathroom pooled steadily. The only sound that could be heard was the splashing water and my own growling.
God damn it! This can't be happening! All of them?! All of my witnesses lied? It can't be! This has to be some kind of sick joke!
I heard the sound of footsteps to my side.
"I see you remembered to keep the water running. Less mess that way."
I turned my head angrily and looked up at Vince.
"I'm not in the mood."
"No I suppose not. I mean," he said, leaning against the sink. "You are just... bombing out there, aren't you?"
"I said I'm not in the mood!"
"I thought your old man spent all that dough to put you through school and you can't even win an easy case like this? It's really sad. It's like you're spitting on his grave."
My hands found themselves at Vince's collar and shoved him against one of the mirrors.
"You did this! I know you Vince. I know how you operate! So tell me what you did!"
"I didn't do anything. You're the one who got all these people together. Therefore, I think there is a very good question you need to ask yourself," he grinned at me with that smirk he always gave me when we were kids. "What did you do?"
I let him go and marched out of the bathroom as fast as I could.
The rest of the trial went even worse then before. I called my client back up to the stand, hoping to use the facts of the wrongful arrest to sway away from my "witness" testimony. No right to search, no right to charge and no reading of rights. I could still work with this.
"I... I want to change my plea."
Fuck!
"Excuse me?" I stammered at my client. I could feel my eyes falling out of my head.
"I want to plead guilty."
I didn't care that I dropped all my papers and files to the floor. They weren't worth anything now anyway.
Vince was there outside the courthouse when I left. I made it a point not to exit when all the jackals were roaming about, taking pictures and statements.
"You sure do look like shit," he said. "You'd think you might just go and give up already."
I spared no time in marching straight up to him and clubbing him in the side of the head with my heavy case. He toppled to the ground, a stream of blood oozing down the side of his face.
Still... he laughed.
"Wow! It's been a long time since you knocked me on my ass! Old times my friend."
"How did you get them all to change their statements?! How did you get my client to plead guilty?"
"See there's the magic," Vince got his feet, holding his head cautiously. Red dripped onto his suit in violent contrast. "You can threaten a person and not get much out of it. They're always willing to put their own asses out there on the line. But... when you go and threaten their friends, family... children... well then you can get them to sing any song you want."
"You bastard! You had an innocent man send himself to jail!"
"Innocent? You don't know that. I don't know that. Whether that guy killed some old shit doesn't matter to me one bit."
"What?!" I exclaimed. "Then... why?"
"You got out of the family. You thought you could be a big shot lawyer and get yourself away from all the stuff you grew up with. But you can't get away. That's why you lost the Henderson case, the Kreneski case, and now, this case,"
"You're doing this out of revenge for me getting an actual career instead of being a criminal?"
"No my friend," he said with a chuckle. "I'm just here to remind you... that you are what you are."
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Post by theredbaron on Jan 17, 2010 11:52:17 GMT -5
“Feeling a bit queasy, Johnston?” Sir Schmuble was referring to me, his assistant, as I looked a bit red in the face. We were traveling in a B20 Blackcrow from Waffilia over to Scampland for an important case, involving the Grand Duchess of Cakia’s Daughter and her ex-boyfriend, the Duke of Ham’s son. Both of us, ace lawyers in our own right, were wearing expensive, swanky clothing, fine wristwatches, and fancy dress shoes. Sir Schmubble was a tall, muscularly built man, aged thirty two, with rugged, handsome features, evenly combed, short, pitch black hair, bright, perfectly straight, white teeth, a fair toned complexion, light brown eyes, and a well shaved, black beard. I was a young man in my mid-twenties, twenty-five, to be precise, with messy dark red hair, a lanky, scrawny body, a pale complexion, dark brown eyes, and crooked, yellow teeth.
“How long will it be, until we arrive?” I paused halfway through the sentence to gag.
“We’re just a few clicks away from the designated landing ground, stay cool. ETA is about five minutes.” Said the pilot, with a chuckle to his voice.
“Will do, command. Johnston, get the parachutes. And please don’t get puke all over mine; I just had it washed from our last case in Boskcreamia.”
With struggle, I was able grab two fresh parachutes from a compartment in the back. I handed one to Sir Schmubble before throwing up on my own.
“ETA, one minute. I’ll give the green in just a moment.” Said the pilot.
“Johnston, are you ready? This could get quite messy, you know how royalty acts…” Sir Schmubble’s eyes obtained a far-off, glazed look, and his hands clenched into fists. “Damnit, Delilah, what did you see in him?!” Immediately, I slapped him.
“Get a hold of, ulp, yourself, sir! She was only eighteen! We don’t want another episode in front of an innocent pilot…”
Sir Schmubble regained his composure. “Thank you, Johnston. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I’m sure you’d manage, sir.”
A few moments passed by. The pilot spoke up once more.
“Green light goes on in five, four three, two… go!” As promised, the light next to the helicopter door flashed green. Sir Schmubble threw open the door, applied his twenty-four sunglasses-on-sunglasses combo, and dove out of the plane. I followed behind shortly, but only after throwing up once more. It looked as if it were to land at a large crowd gathered for a barbeque, from where I was standing.
The wind was pounding against both our faces, and I was watching Sir Schmubble intently. He had probably been counting to thirty in his head, at which we were supposed to pull the rip cord. When he did, however, it wouldn’t budge. He tried a second time, no good. A third, still nothing. What?! I thought to myself frantically. I checked these things before we got on the copter! There’s no way- Unless… Just then, I saw my friend hastily grabbing a loose belt buckle from the side of the chute, which I did in turn. It was just as I expected; the logo of Scampington Ltd., Law Firm and General Manufacturing Industry. The cod must’ve employed a pilot to stop us from showing up to this case!
Sir Schmubble I had done this sort of thing before, though. Quickly, we reached behind our backs and began disassembling the inner flandular stringing of the parachute. Scamptington parachutes were of notoriously cheap make, as we had learned in Schwalia during the War of Ultra-Seccessionalist Rebels. He then reassembled it, and pulled the rip cord again, with just five seconds to spare before becoming pancake batter.
He made a smooth landing near the staircase of the Royal Court of Scampland Law. I, however, had landed in a Gomba-Gomba tree just nearby.
“Get up, Johnston! We’re going to have to try hard if we’re to make it out of this case,” he paused, steadily reached for his twenty-four pair black sunglasses combo, pulled one pair off, then added, with great emphasis, “alive!”
He folded the displaced sunglasses, placed them in his coat pocket, and began heading for the door to the large, elegantly decorated courthouse, while I trailed behind, pulling twigs and leaves out from under his pants.
When Sir Schmubble came up to the large, wooden double-doors, he raised her arms, and pushed them open with such a great force, that a massive gust of wind came blowing inside before crashing against the walls, creating a massive booming noise.
“Sir Schmubble of Wabbletington, at your service!”
The large crowd gathered at the enormous courthouse gasped as sunlight came pouring in from behind Sir Schmubble’s tremendous figure. After an awkward pause, a great commotion was aroused. Young women swooned, men in top hats bickered, old housewives waved their arms and whistled in hopes of attracting Sir Schmubble’s attention. The whole courthouse was abuzz. It took several bangs from the judge’s gavel to silence the crowd.
“Order, order!” he cried. The crowd eventually quieted down to a dull murmur. He and I then began making our way down the aisle, while I was still picking bits and pieces off myself. We made our way across the gold embroidered red carpet to the defendants seats, where the Duke of Ham’s son, Phillip, was anxiously waiting. Just next to us were our opponents, Sir Schmuble’s long-time arch-rival, best lawyer in all of Scampland, and self-proclaimed direct descendent to the founder of Scampland, Edward Scampington. The prosecutor was the lovely and petite Mary Elizabeth Caughter, daughter to the Grand Duchess of Cakia, and ex-girlfriend to Phillip.
For some reason, the prosecuting and defending party’s tables were very close in Scamlandish courts, and we were both seated only a few metres away from Edward and Mary. I hadn’t gotten a good look at Edward up until this point, the closest encounter with him being a case in the southern jungles of Chine, where Sir Schmubble and he were locked in pitch combat inside his collapsing volcano estate. He was old, and clearly suffered from a hunchback, along with withered hands and wrinkled skin. His right eye was squinted, and looked to be nearly blind, but his left eye seemed perfectly functioning, albeit oversized and wandering. His frizzled gray hair stood out from underneath his top hat, his gray-black speckled overcoat looked to be moth-eaten, and next to him was a short, maple wood cane.
Suddenly, Mr. Scampington looked at the judge expectantly. As if they had worked it out beforehand, the judge nodded to his left, and Edward made his way over to our seats. Leaning in, he said in a low, shrill voice.
“My my, I didn’t think you two would show up here alive. I thought the pilot would have… accommodated you two with better seating... ”
Sir Schmubble growled with a great vigor in his voice. “I admit, I’m surprised you showed up as well. I thought you’d be too busy making faulty parachutes to bother showing your ugly mug around here.”
“Sticks and stones, Sir Schmubble. I promise you, this won’t end like our last engagement. Mark my words, I’ll-“
“Save the small talk for the judge, you old sod.” Edward frowned deeply, growled, and the bantered back and forth with Sir Schmubble for a little while. I didn’t pay attention to them, as I was distracted by the prosecutor, Mary. I’d always loved that name. Her long, bright yellow, and curly hair streamed out from her head in a beautiful shower of golden light, as if her stylist were working with a piece of art. Her skin was radiant and youthful, I could see dancing flames of passion and ambition in her bright blue eyes, and couldn’t feel anything but euphoria as I gazed upon her lovely face and rosy cheeks. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes upon.
I was only awoken from my trance by the judge’s heavy gavel.
“Order! May the prosecutors please return to their seats, so this trial of the law may begin.” Edward and Sir Schmubble glared at each other before obeying the judge’s request. Once they made it back to their seats, the judge boomed “Now then, may the trial of Mrs. Caughter vs. Mr. Dunkin commence. Normally, the defendant would present his opening case first, according to Scampland law, but according to this anonymously placed hundred dollar bill on my desk, the prosecutor may present his statement first.” Edward smiled slyly at Schmubble, which was returned with a menacing glare.
The old man blabbered on for a while. I couldn’t focus; Mary held all my attention at that moment. This time, my trance was interrupted by the person I was meant to defend in the case, Phillip, when he tapped me on the shoulder, leaned in, and whispered in my ear.
“I appreciate you coming over. There weren’t many lawyers around who would risk taking a case against the Grand Duchess of Cakia’s daughter.”
I smiled widely, and gave a little chuckle. “Dangerous cases are the only cases we take, Mr. Dunkin. I must inquire, however, I do not know the full details of the trial. May you brief me?”
“Ever since I broke up with her, she’s had it out for me. Somehow, she got a hold of my little brother’s two pet Vampandas, and sent ‘em on her ‘precious’ pet Scampish Terrier and chicken. She always told me how much she hated them, and now she’s just using their deaths and mother’s grief as an excuse for revenge.”
“I call Mrs. Caughter to the stand!” cried the old man, interrupting me and Phillip’s conversation. The beautiful girl gracefully made her way to the stand, showcasing her lovely pink dress. I gulped heavily. “Now, Mrs. Caughter, It is to my understanding that four bite marks were found on both Scruffles, your dog, and Dudley, your chicken.”
“Correct, sir.” She said in a soft, sweet voice. Tears began to form in her eyes. “I… I… was just going out feed them at their sheds. They both loved… to play together...” If she were faking her sadness, one wouldn’t be able to tell. Her tears seemed genuine.
“I don’t know why you would even consider dumping a girl like that. She’s gorgeous.” I whispered back to Phillip.
“That’s what I said to her ‘ex before I got with her. Trust me; it’s a bad idea to get involved with her. She’s hypercritical, a neat-freak, self-centered, and she’s got an expensive taste.”
“My taste can get fairly expensive too! Why, just last night I-”
“Save it. She spends at least five hundred ounces a day on dinner alone. You can’t imagine what her clothes cost…”I frowned, but backed off. It became clear that there was no sense in arguing. It didn’t change my opinion though; I wanted that girl.
The trial carried on intensely. Every time Edward restated the obvious, Sir Schmubble denied the evidence and gave a number of what-if situations. The judge had to frequently bang his gavel to stop the banter between them. A few hours into the case, things halted to a grind, with neither one able to gain an edge on each other. Edward couldn’t make a point without being discredited, and Sir Schmubble couldn’t make an accusation without evidence to back things up. Both Phillip and Mary look frustrated, and much of the audience was either literally on the edge of their seats or biting their nails furiously. It carried on like this for a number of hours until a man, dressed in a bleached white lab coat, burst through the court room door.
“Hold everything!” he cried, waving a piece of paper whilst walking down the aisle. The entire audience gasped. “The results from the lab are in!” Everyone looked surprised at this, especially Mr. Scampington.
“What’s this?” said the old man. “What ‘results’?”
Sir Schmubble gave a sly smirk. “Before this case started, I had some friends of mine back in a DNA testing lab examine the corpses of Dudley and Scruffles. I invited them over to see if they could help me win over this case, assuming I hadn’t won by the time they got here.”
“Preposterous!” cried Edward. He then turned his attention up to the judge on the podium. “There has to be a law against this sort of thing!”
The judge frowned, shook his head solemnly, and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “There would be, if I hadn’t neglected to coincidentally find another bill on my desk…” Mr. Scampington growled deeply, but the judge shrugged and ignored it, turning his attention to the white-coated man. “You can sit in the audience until it is the defendants turn to talk. Until then, finish up what you have to say, Mr. Scampington.”
“Very well… I would just like to remind everyone that Gorgebeast blood has a common chemical developed in itself called Rowseeodonnal Benzite 12, which naturally increases ones appetite, regardless of whether they had just eaten earlier.” The old man walked over and took his seat at the prosecutors table.
With another sly smirk, my partner straightened his tie, and walked towards the judge’s stand with an air of assurance.
“I call my good friend, Ibn Majiid, to the stand.” The white coated man from earlier stepped into the witness stand. “Thank you, Dr. Majiid. Now, please tell us what the results from the lab tests were.”
The man nodded, and pulled out a very thick stack of papers. From where I was sitting, they looked to be filled with great amounts of data and calculations.
“From the tests we have done in the lab, it is clear. No bits of saliva, DNA, or traces of Gorgebeast blood were found in the marks left on Scruffles and Dudley. Our tests have also shown that these stab marks had traces of iron oxide on them.”
“So, my witness, what you are saying is that these punctures are not bite marks?”
“That is what our many blood tests, DNA scans, opsotomic readings, and wamming reports have turned up, yes.”
“And that these marks could have very well been made by a rusty knife?”
“Or a bent, rusty fork. Perhaps even a rusty spoon.”
“Thank you, Ibn, that’s all I need to hear.” My partner, one again, gave a sly smirk. This time was directed at the old man, who was by this point, redder than a tomato. The doctor stepped down and took his place in the audience. The judge raised an eyebrow, sighed, and then banged his gavel once.
“At this time, the prosecutors and defendants may make their closing statements, while the jury makes its decision in the juror’s room after said statements are completed.” Everyone did as they were told. I looked over at Mary once more for the remainder of the closing statements. Her cheeks suddenly seemed even rosier, and she was ever so shyly quivering, to a point where it was deathly noticeable from where I was sitting.
“… and I stand by my claim that Potassium Benzoate is what makes people burp when they drink soda.” Claimed Sir Schmubble, quite proudly, as he walked back to his seat next to me and Phillip. He leaned in and whispered to both of us.
“Gentleman, we’ve got this one in the bag.” He reached out to shake Phillip’s hand. “You’ll have to join me back at my place, for cocktails, afterwards. I can’t believe your girlfriend would be this much of a nut. Stabbing her pets with a rusty spoon and blaming it on you? Tch tch tch.”
It took only a few moments for the jury to renter the room.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” boomed the judge.
“We have your honor.” Said the leading woman juror. “The jury finds the defendant of first degree premeditated animal slaughter…” for some unknown reason, the woman paused. At that moment, you could have heard a pin drop. I heard Mary biting her nails, I heard Sir Schmubble adjusting his twenty-three pair sunglasses combo, I heard Phillip leaning in closer to his chair, staring at the lead juror with wide eyes and a chafed lip. “… not guilty!”
The audience cheered. Top hats were thrown up, young women cried with joy, older women tried to run past the guards in order to be with Sir Schmubble, and I gave Phillip a great big hug. Once again, we had defeated Edward Scampington in a court of law. As I cheered and hugged everyone else, though, I noticed Mary at her table. Tears were smearing her makeup, and she was doing her best effort to make herself invisible amongst the crowd. I don’t know why, I don’t even know how a daring thought like this came into my head, but I felt compelled to follow her through the crowd.
“Johnston? Where are you going?!” cried Sir Schmubble. I didn’t reply; I had to follow Mary. She ran out of the courtroom, sobbing the entire way. I dashed out and ran faster.
“Wait!” I cried, catching her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. And for a good long moment, we stood there in the sunset. Just standing, gazing at each other as the sun made it’s way across the Earth. Finally, we gave each other a great big bear hug.
“And that’s how I met your mother.”
“Really, daddy?!” cooed my children unanimously. I smiled brightly; their smiles lit up their bedroom better than new nightlights.
“Oh, most defiantly! But after I got married with her, I needed to settle down: we wanted to have you two little munchkins! So, I said my goodbyes to Sir Schmubble, became a regular old lawyer, and moved with Mary to the United States, where we are today.”
“Wow! Can we meet Sir Schmubble!?” cried my daughter.
“Oh, perhaps one day! He’s a very busy man, you know! Anyways, it’s time for bed.” My children groaned sadly, and I gave a little chuckle, which they returned in kind.
"Thank you for the story, daddy!" they both cried. I laughed heartily.
“Good night,” I said, pausing for just a moment to see their bright faces before closing the door. “And sweet dreams.”
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Post by James on Jan 18, 2010 17:19:04 GMT -5
Bloodeye
Spelling & Grammar - 4/5
Ease of Read - 3/5
Use of Topic - 7/10
Entertainment - 10/15
Quality - 11/15
Total: 35/50
I could tell you found this one difficult, Bloodeye. But I think you did quite well.
Not too many mistakes, and with an impersonal first person narrative you get given quite a bit of slack for it as well. My only point is the use of the word ‘fain’. Using an archaic word in the middle of a modern narrative always feels weird but I didn’t take any points for it.
Maybe it was the long slabs of dialogue but I actually found it quite tricky to read, so that’s lost you some points. The topic was good, a lawyer involved in cases, a conspiracy, mob connections, all scream legal thriller. But it was a little clichéd, the lawyer was portrayed as a typical heartless fiend, the mob guy was called Vince. It felt a little too contrived. Your use of the first person meanwhile was good; I felt like I learnt the thoughts of the narrator but because you portrayed him as the heartless fiend, I didn’t care.
Which meant of course that it wasn’t quite as entertaining as it could be. I was intrigued by what was happening, why the witnesses were turning, but that was the only thing I cared about with the story.
Walder
Spelling & Grammar - 3/5
Ease of Read - 4/5
Use of Topic - 6/10
Entertainment - 9/15
Quality - 9/15
Total: 31/50
Alright, Walder.
There were a few mistakes throughout the piece, the odd missing word or the sentence structure the wrong way round, but nothing too serious. However the bombardment of ridiculous names disrupted the flow completely and really hampered you.
Now, the use of topic? I think you made it too theatrical and therefore missed the mark with it. Every now and then it would almost feels like a simpler legal Sherlock Holmes and then every once in a while I was almost expecting for you to declare that they were polar bears. However, I think you used first person quite well and actually got us into the narrator’s thoughts.
Saying this though, I didn’t find it that entertaining. I should have found it very interesting, it was an entertaining story. Parachuting, sabotage, Holmes and Moriarty Lawyer style, bribery, it had everything. But you made it too silly. I know you’re young, Walder, but I would love to see you write a down to earth serious story because I think it would be damn good.
Today though, well the parachuting scene was all right. I wanted to know why they were parachuting though, which is something you didn’t explain. The relationship between the two old lawyers felt weak; there was no depth to why they hated each other. And the bribery, which could have really helped with the legal thriller aspect, was used as a comedic device.
Overall though the writing was quite good and you are getting better, Walder. But yeah, I’d just really like to see a story from you that weren’t full of strange names and illogical and irrational storylines.
Saying that though, I did laugh at the Horatio reference.
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Post by Kaez on Jan 18, 2010 21:02:35 GMT -5
Blood
Spelling & Grammar - 3/5
Ease of Read - 4/5
Use of Topic - 6/10
Entertainment - 8/15
Quality - 9/15
Total: 30/50
Spelling and grammar mistakes weren't -plentiful-, but there were a good bit more than were expected from a good once-over. It read fluidly, save only one or two parts, and so it's structurally solid, if not good.
The story itself didn't captivate me. I knew from the get-go that the case was going to go all wrong and it was going to be the work of the guy. I don't know why I should care, or why this "never forget who you are" idea should be a good way to end the story, though. It just... didn't interest me at all. The quality of the writing was... well, as Agro said, you struggled with this one, but it didn't lose all of its merit -- it was still more-or-less well written. The topic was, again, something you clearly struggled with, and I didn't think it classified as 'thriller' at all.
Walder
Spelling & Grammar - 3/5
Ease of Read - 4/5
Use of Topic - 6/10
Entertainment - 8/15
Quality - 8/15
Total: 29/50
Spelling mistakes weren't terribly common, but other mistakes like missing words were frequent enough to warrant two points off. It read, besides the jump to real life, pretty much fluently.
It was... well, let's put it this way -- if you didn't end the story with the father telling his kids the story, I would have given you something under 20, probably. It was just... so -silly-. Absolutely silly. Completely and utterly silly. And if it were written in a really good, entertaining way, I would have still enjoyed it enough to be able, afterward, to say, "Even if that last bit wasn't there, I would have -enjoyed- it."
But I just can't say that. And so while I like the story, with the end in context... it needed a lot of work without it.
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Post by theredbaron on Jan 18, 2010 22:33:13 GMT -5
@ Agro: See Kaez's review. While it wasn't planned beforehand, the silliness was intentional. Sorry if I'm pointing out the obvious here, you just seemed to indicate that you didn't know that in the review. Very sorry if you already knew that.  As for a serious story... I don't comprehend... You want me to make a story without silly names, plot devices used solely for comedic purposes, and characters who actually care about the situation they're in? BLAMSPHEMY! As for the parachuting, I tried to make that clear when I listed all the actiony events Sir Schmubble and Johnston had been in beforehand, making jumping out of a parachute to get to a case seem reasonable. That probably wasn't good enough, though, after a reread or two. As for the spelling/grammer mistakes I deserve to get points off for that one. @ Kaez: Why do you two hate fun?  I see what you're getting at, though. I mean, Schmubble was a word my little brother made up when he was seven, and still uses it describe numerous things. He even made them into an imaginary owl-like race in random comics, stories, and doodles. Not that he's much of a writer, anyway, but I'm getting off topic. So, what kind of work do you mean? Like, making it more entertaining? More down to earth? Less silly? More rediculously silly to outweigh the silliness so much that the rediculousness becomes funny? Sorry, you just didn't describe that enough. Maybe I'm just not paying attention to the context.  |
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