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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Winnie Demasco gets a visit from her father about representing a very unusual case. Winnie has some reservations and difficulties with coffee. 2500-ish words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
At 10:00am on the dot of the hour there’s a knock on Winnie’s door and she startles so badly that she knocks over the stack of papers on her left and her coffee cup on her right, a cascade of information of a problem that overwhelms the pathways of her brain, so that she tries to right the cup of coffee by putting a hand over her papers. This means the coffee spills its contents over the papers and Winnie’s hand both. It is, at least, cold, because Winnie made it hours ago, and had forgotten about it.
“Shoot! Shoot.” Winnie stands up, pushes away from the desk, and looks around for something to blot at the mess. There’s her sweater, which she really should just put on, because it is cold on the October day, and it's also a dark brown that the coffee wouldn’t stain if she did use it, but maybe it’s probably too late to save the notes she was working on anyway, not worth sacrificing a sweater to the mess. What had she just been writing? Something about the Drakewatch property on the zoning concern for long term use of the orphanage regarding tax allocation. It was — oh! Yes, she was going to look up the details of Lord Tyrrell’s bequeathing of the land for the –
The same knock repeats, a little louder. Oh, right, the door.
“Coming!” Winnie yells, picking up the sweater and tossing it onto the pile so the coffee won’t make its way to the floor or onto more paper. She can wash it later when she takes the trash out and goes down to the ground floor to remind her landlady that she has to confirm the state of the heating pipes before the end of October for winter use or she will be in violation of the city code.
Winnie opens the door to her father standing on the landing, smiling and looking so old that it still takes her breath away. When did her father get so old is the thought that hits her every time she sees him, a constant clash of her memories of him, expecting him to look the way he did twenty years and a hundred personal tragedies ago.
“Dad,” Winnie says, and it almost sounds like a question.
“Hello, bunny. Do you have eighteen or so minutes for a bit of a chat? I’ve got something of interest I’d like to ask your opinion on,” Andy replies, with his usual cheer, but there is something very serious in his eyes that Winnie wonders if this is something worse than the last time he showed up at her door with the same sort of question and asked her to attend a charity gala with him.
“Uh.” Winnie tries to think about her day, reorganizing it to shift all the minutes to the right, clear the space around it, and she knows she should probably make another cup of hot coffee because she can hardly figure it out, can barely remember what the organization should look like, three six minute intervals that need to be moved. Shoot. Stalling will only be worse. “Okay.”
“Splendid,” Andy says, waiting for her to step back, which Winnie does, tucking her hair behind her ears. She looks at the room, and she doesn’t manage to hold back the wince of the state of it. There’s piles everywhere, all of which make sense and are in an order that Winnie knows, but it probably looks like she has tried to decorate with piles of paper or left trash just in places, with mugs of – oh, that’s where that coffee mug went – all around.
Winnie scoots around her father to get to one of her favorite mugs, large and ceramic with a brown glaze that Winnie likes in particular because it’s the exact color of coffee and the coffee always tastes best from the mug, because the color makes sense. “Do you, um, want some coffee? I can use some of the minutes to make some, if you, uh, talk while I’m making it.” Winnie holds the mug awkwardly while she waits for her dad’s decision.
“Oh, of course. Are you still using the little pot? Are you sure I can’t convince you to try one of these little gnomish creations? Really a very diverting little contraption.” He mentioned it before, on the carriage ride back from the Charity Gala, but Winnie can hardly remember anything about it because she was still remembering that she had talked to Morgauna – Lady Thendain – Morgauna Thenedain –
“Winnie? Are you considering it?”
“Oh, uh,” Winnie tries to remember how long she’s been standing there. Oh. It’s 10:05. That’s not good. “Yes,” she lies, because she is not talking to her dad about Mor – people. Person. She shuffles over to the kitchen, setting the coffee mug on the counter while she prepares the rest to get the coffee going. “You, um, but that isn’t what you came by to talk about, is it? The coffee making…thingy?”
“No, no,” Andy says, taking a seat on a stool by the kitchen that Winnie often uses to eat at the kitchen instead of the table she technically has because then she doesn’t have to move the food around as much and the stool is round and sometimes she doesn’t want to sit on a square of a chair because it makes the food feel harder. “I was wondering if you’d heard about that big to-do recently, that death knight chap who allegedly murdered three priests?”
Winnie drops the coffee container onto the counter, the jolt of it enough to send granules scattering around her. “I – what? The – you want to talk about the murders?”
It’s 10:06am and Winnie’s father simply nods in a genial way as he confirms that he does, in fact, want to talk about three violent deaths by one of the undead who had been, for some reason, not hundreds of miles away in Northrend where it should have been, and instead had been here in the city, just seven minutes walk from Winnie’s apartment. Oh. “I – I’m fine, dad. I mean, it’s in jail now and probably they’ll handle it soon, and I, I don’t think there’s more in the city. And I, I have good locks on my door.” The stammering gets worse as she gets nervous, thinking about it, the idea that one of them could just burst into her apartment, and really, locks? What is she thinking about with the locks? Those things can get through locks probably.
To her surprise though, Andy frowns, a hard dive of his brows, and there is genuine disappointment in his face, enough that Winnie cringes back by reflex. “Alwynneria Demasco.” Oh, no. Full named. “Did you just presume guilt?”
Winnie sucks in a breath. This isn’t Dad Disappointment. This is Law Disappointment. “I…” Had she? She thinks over her words. “Dad, it clearly killed – “
“He, Alwynneria Demasco. You are referring to a person whose gender is known, and he has a name, Harvey Mourningdew,” Andy scolds, and there is nothing of the affable old man in his bearing now, but a stern, unyielding man that Winnie remembers from her youth.
Winnie stares at the coffee granules on the counter. It feels like a wall between them, giant and made of cold stone, with her fear on one side and his anger on the other, and vines of the law twisting up around them both. Winnie does not want to think of the death knights like they’re people, because if they’re people, then what? How do you keep people out of a city? And they should be. The dead do not belong with the living, and Winnie knows that, believes that with her whole heart. She doesn’t say anything as she spoons the coffee into the water.
Winnie sets the pot on the stove and clicks it on while her dad says, “He’s in jail, and he has no legal representation.”
That leaves Winnie blinking as if she’s been hit on the head, staring at the water, feeling slightly dizzy.
“Whatever happens will set a legal precedent for years, maybe decades, to come. King Varian’s edict is in place, and is legally protecting him, but there are no channels, no standard forms. Someone must step forward to take the case, and defend him under the law.”
Winnie is tempted, sorely tempted, to ask her dad why he’s telling her that, but she knows, and it hits her in her chest and in her gut all at once. There’s the sense of pride that brings a rushing of prickles to her eyes in a warning for tears, because her dad is right that this would be a landmark case, the sort of thing that would be a crowning history book achievement for any lawyer, and he thinks she could do it. But the twisting in her gut is nothing but dread, a deep fear of both what would happen if she failed, because it is a history book moment and her name would be tied to a mass murderer, and then what if she succeeds? What will she accomplish, having something like that walking free again?
“I’m not a defense lawyer,” Winnie counters, because she has to try, has to defend against what might be inevitable. The water begins heating up and Winnie watches it, because it’s only a saying that a watched pot doesn’t boil, and if she’s watching the water then she isn’t looking at her dad sitting in her kitchen being disappointed at her.
“No, you’re not. But you could represent someone if you needed to, and what are the tenets of the law?”
A pop quiz, and Winnie feels a surge of something like anger, which she hates, because it makes her eyes water and she blinks it back. “I know the law, dad.”
Andy continues as if she hadn’t answered, “No one is above the law. Everyone is treated equally under the law. Everyone is held accountable to the same laws. There are clear and fair processes for enforcing laws. There is an independent judiciary. And rights are guaranteed for all.”
“They’re not part of the Alliance! Or, or, anything! They aren’t Stormwind citizens, they aren’t even – living people!” Winnie shouts it and she hates that she’s shouting, but the way her words feel are like aching stabbing pains in her chest and they have to get out and she has to say them and she doesn’t want to look at her dad because she’s crying and she doesn’t want to be.
“The king made a declaration. ‘You will welcome these former heroes of the Alliance and treat them with the respect that you would give any ally of Stormwind.’ If you would not stand by and watch as an ally of Stormwind was left without legal recourse, then you know what you should do, Winnie. It is the law, and this is what we stand for.”
At 10:12 the coffee is almost ready to be taken off the burner, and Winnie’s tears are drying on her face, and she is trying to find a hole in her father’s argument. There’s places she could try, but they come down to her either lying or arguing about the phrasing of the word ‘respect,’ and Winnie spent her time in contract law long enough to know that she could, but all it would do is tie them both down in the bogs of it until they agreed on the definition, and ultimately, Winnie knows she can’t justify enough for the term ‘respect’ to avoid the end result: that an ally of Stormwind would have the right to be treated within the fair application of the law after having committed a crime in Stormwind.
“I don’t want them in the city,” Winnie confesses into the silence in the room that feels like it’s stifling.
“That is immaterial, if you choose to represent him to the best of your ability,” Andy says mildly.
“I know. I just want you to know that I hope that the outcome is that they’re banned from the city, away from people, and that I won’t support it if they try to use any outcome to make them citizens of Stormwind.” Winnie sniffles, and rubs at her face. “I’ll do it. But I’m not doing it pro bono.”
“Of course not,” Andy agrees. “Lord Fallon will be covering the legal fees.”
Winnie whirls in place. “The – wha – Lord Fallon?”
Andy nods genially. “He’s got an interest in the Ebon Blade, and he remembered your legal acumen in particular. He’s willing to pay for what you’re worth.” Winnie blushes because she knows her dad would have probably quoted something absurd, way beyond Winnie’s usual pricing, and she thinks about trying to reduce it, because his sister was so kind, and he was really nice and didn’t laugh at her when she made a fool of herself. But then she thinks about the trial and how much attention it will get and she thinks about death threats from people who will hate a lawyer for defending a murderer of a monster and she prices out better locks on the door and reinforced windows and Winnie thinks maybe she should just let that fee price point stand.
“Why does – what’s he – why the Ebon Blade?” Winnie asks, and she almost regrets even asking because she knows what he’s going to say, that –
“That is his business,” her father answers, and she sighs as she turns back to the coffee, starting to boil over.
“Shoot!” Winnie says, and almost reaches for the handle with a bare hand, and then doesn’t, and gets the potholder instead to move it off the heat. She pours it out into the mug, remembering only after she’s poured it in that she hadn’t cleaned it first, and sighs before she reaches for a clean mug for her dad, pouring it only to three quarters so he can put in milk.
“Harvey Mourningdew is being held at the Stormwind Jail, in solitary confinement. I went there earlier this morning, and there is another matter of his runeblade, as they call them, where he requires it close by. That may need to be addressed in the application for bail,” Andy suggests and Winnie takes a sip of her coffee – too hot too hot –
“Shoot,” Winnie says to her coffee. “You want me to get his sword released to him? Dad, it’s a murder weapon.”
“Mmm, you’ll want to talk to him about it, when you meet him. I think you’ll see why,” Andy says, as he places his mug in front of him. “Do you have milk?”
Winnie sighs, and scoots over to the cooler, looking past what she does have to find the milk bottle, and sets it next to her dad’s coffee. “I hate everything about this,” she whines, and she knows she’s whining, but she’s also admitting defeat. She slumps down onto the counter, staring at her coffee that’s too hot to drink. She’s going to need so many cookies for this. She doesn’t say it, but it probably shows on her face, because her dad reaches over and pats her wrist reassuringly.
“Don’t fret, bunny. I’ll buy you the cookies.”
“Really, really nice cookies,” Winnie insists.
“Really, really nice cookies,” Andy confirms.
At 10:18, Winnie Demasco agrees to take on Harvey Mourningdew as a client, to defend him in a court of law, in the now inevitable Stormwind v Mourningdew trial.