Glasses of Justice

MCA #3, Monday

Mon, 08 Mar 2010 20:52:25 GMT

It wasn't the hooker part that bothered her.

It wasn't even that the hooker had apparently been paid for by a political campaign, in order to service the candidate. Which pissed off every last principle she still had.

No, it was the fact that the hooker in question had been dumber than a box of hair that was pissing Alex off the most.

... that, and the sudden realization that she had cheated on Gibbs this weekend, and wasn't even entirely sure who with. Wade? Did she know a Wade?

It was never too early to start drinking. Not on this fucking island.

(establishy! also open! viva le au!)

MCA #3, Saturday Afternoon

Sun, 07 Mar 2010 03:07:06 GMT

Nikki woke up early -- just after noon, in fact. She didn't recognize the room. Had they moved her to a new apartment last night? Must be a new assignment. Good. She hoped the politician was hot this time.

Not that it mattered: a paycheck was a paycheck.

The closet was filled with stodgy business suits -- the usual camouflage for when she pretended to be an important consultant. Near the back were some outfits that looked more like her, so she pulled one of those on.

Most of the bills were addressed to "Alex Cabot." He must be the bigshot paying the bills. Lots of legal stuff, so apparently he was a lawyer?

For now, anyway. He must be running for something. DA? Governor? He had her full support, whatever it was.

Nikki was bored. So she was going to go out on the town, see if she could drum up some business, or at least meet her newest client.

They didn't call her the Executive Director of Internal Liaisons because they expected her to type.

(OOC: Alex Cabot is Nikki White from Head of State, a "consultant" who is actually a high-paid escort on the campaign whose job it is to sleep with the candidate so as to avoid unsavory sex scandals. Because, really, how was I supposed to resist that? Open if anyone wants, but this is mostly establishy, and late as hell because today was looooong.)

MCA #3, Wednesday Morning

Thu, 31 Dec 2009 00:24:50 GMT

Alex Cabot was making a phone call. A very important one.

"Yes, thank you. I'd like to speak to Jack McCoy, please. ... Jack McCoy. ... He's an Executive Assistant District Attorney? ... Oh. I see. Elizabeth Donnelly, then? ... She's the EADA connected to the Special Victims Unit. ............. Okay. Humor me. What's the District Attorney's name? ... Yes, I'm perfectly serious. .......... Thank you very much. That's all I needed. Uh-huh. You have a great day."

Quickly followed by a second one, to Gibbs.

"Pack your tux. Rent one, if you have to. We're going."

She didn't know what New York City they were headed to -- dimensional stuff made her brain hurt -- but it certainly wasn't hers.

Times Square, here they went ...

(this is entirely famous_gut's fault/idea/inspiration/what-have-you, and Gibbs was modded with permission as a result!)

OOC: Concepts of Justice and the Law: Class Info

Tue, 29 Dec 2009 02:23:27 GMT

Class Info

This is going to be a discussion class, covering a multitude of topics related to justice and the law. Students are encouraged to share how their cultural background views the topic in question, and relate how the subject would be addressed in their hypothetical utopia.

Brief example: Capital Punishment. Proponents say it's a deterrent, and those against it say it's vengeful and barbaric. Where do you stand? What does your culture say about capital punishment? Which crimes should merit the death penalty, if any?

Class Requirements

Be respectful of each other. You can have heated arguments about specific viewpoints so long as you do not resort to personal attacks or insults.

All opinions are valid and deserving of respect. But you should also be prepared to defend your opinions and back up your facts.

Syllabus

This is very likely to change as I become increasingly distracted by shiny objects.

WEEK I. - Introduction. What Constitutes a Crime?
WEEK II. - Capital Punishment
WEEK III. - Mens Rea and Intent
WEEK IV. - The Adversarial System
WEEK V. - Law Enforcement and Civil Rights
WEEK VI. - Double Jeopardy
WEEK VII. - The Penal System
WEEK VIII. - Victims' Rights
WEEK IX. - Civil Court
WEEK X. - The Human Element
WEEK XI. - Reasonable Doubt
WEEK XII. - Victimless Crimes
WEEK XIII. - Cruel and Unusual Punishment
WEEK XIV. - Ethics/Morality and The Law
WEEK XV. - Final Exam

There might be a midterm, and I might be miscounting weeks: that goes in the "this is a loose syllabus" pile.

TAs

~~Alex needs one, please! Actually two would be nice. If I have more than two volunteers, I'll RNG.~~ The RNG has spoken! All hail the mighty RNG.

Questions?

I might have answers! Try me!

MCA #3, Late Sunday Night

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 03:59:58 GMT

"I wish you didn't have to go," Alex sighed. This town must be getting to her; she didn't usually state the obvious like that. "I mean, I'm not ... gonna beg you to stay or anything. Your whole life is back in New York. I just ... hate saying good-bye."

At least this time, they got to say good-bye. Last time had been a little rushed.

(for the dedicated cop that needs to go back to being one of new york's finest)

Cabot and Associates, Friday

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 17:46:50 GMT

Alex was sad to be losing one of her employees, but early admission to Harvard was a much better career move than graduating from Fandom High School. Pretty damn impressive. Still, she'd miss having Turtle around.

So she was in the office, poking away at some particularly stubborn case files and wondering if she should have agreed to sue some gremlins, for Jack. At least that would be a case, right?

Olivia slowly entered the building and slowly made her way to Alex's office. She leaned against the doorway and smirked a little as she watched Alex hard at work. For just a second there she felt like she was back in New York and this whole witness protection program crap was just a dream.

"You know," she said grinning and crossing her arms. "Generally they change your name when you go into witness protection."

Yeah, she was showing off. It was fun.

That was the clattering sound of Alex's pen falling to the desk, completely unnoticed, as she bolted out of her seat, eyes wide. "Liv," she breathed. "Are you -- did they -- did someone find me? How did you --"

"You friend Donnelly isn't very careful with e-mail," she said sauntering into the office with a crooked grin on her face.

Alex's reaction? So worth the car ride down here.

"When I got cc'd in on a legal rant from a so-called 'consultant'?" her crooked grin got a little wider. Definitely showing off. "Well let's just say your legal rants are pretty distinctive. I had a tech trace the e-mail and thought I'd might take a few days off to see where it came from. Surprise."

"I'm ...... certainly surprised," Alex admitted, a giddy laugh slipping out. "And impressed that you could distinguish my legal bullshit posturing from anyone else's legal bullshit posturing."

This was Alex, slipping around the desk and wrapping her arms around Olivia to squeeze before the other woman could disappear. It was a completely platonic, entirely friendly hug. Because they were in public, and they were good friends, and Alex was not sighing a little at the clean, soapy scent of Olivia's hair. How long had it been? She'd entered the program ... May, wasn't it? Early May, at that.

And this was Liv, perhaps returning the entirely friendly hug with a little more affection than normal. Come on! It's been since early May! "I've spent a lot of time and energy working with your legal bullshit. I've missed it," she said closing her eyes and letting out a small sigh. Damn it felt good to see her again.

"In other words, my replacement isn't half as good," she said gently. Still a platonic hug. Really. Although it was nice, here, not to have Cragen or the rest of the office milling around. She had always imagined that most of them knew, but that didn't mean she could let it show, in front of other people. "Would you believe I've missed rape-homicides?"

She did. She missed them like a phantom limb.

"She's not bad. She took the job not having any idea what she was getting into," Liv said reluctantly pulling away from the hug a little. "Annnnd I'm thinking you just miss all the fun of the job. Not the actual cases themselves."

"That's not all I miss," Alex admitted, her voice too low to carry into the reception area. Enough for now; they'd discuss that later. She straightened up, forcing herself not to linger. "Have you eaten? There's a bar in town with zombies. Yes, I mean real ones, and if you stare at me now, I'm going to tease you for shoddy researching."

The look on Olivia's face pretty much revealed that, yes, she did some shoddy research on the island. "Zombies? Um, No. I don't anything about Zombies. Is that a gang?" she asked. "Though I am hungry and... well I can live with a little teasing."

Alex laughed, grabbing her jacket from its hook on the wall. "Prepare to have your mind blown," she said. "And I don't just mean when we get to my apartment, either."
If she waited that long.

Olivia! Olivia was here. She should have figured that, somehow, Olivia would find her again. Witness Protection had nothing on a hot New York cop.

(Preplay with the made-of-win dedicated_cop, who rocks. Not posted in Townies because Cabot and Associates is not going to be open today, after all. And Alex and Olivia probably have to make a few pit-stops before they get to the bar. Several. NFI, totally okay for broadcast, and OOC is love.)

The Best Hotdog Vendor In All of New York City, Late Tuesday Evening (NFB)

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 01:38:31 GMT

Alex was practically glowing. Alex was so happy that she wouldn't even object to someone saying she glowed. She'd laugh, uproariously. And spin around and soak it all in.

She loved this city. She loved every last crumbling inch of the old whore. She was home.

That stupid island she'd been stuck on, in Witness Protection, had given her a male body for the day, for no fucking reason. And she'd griped about it, until Gibbs had pointed out that this was a far better disguise than anything the Feds could cook up.

It meant she was free to go home, even if just for the day. So she'd taken Gibbs on a whirlwind tour of the city. She had to point out that one spot, the one that made way better falafel than anywhere else on the east coast. And she took him down to 60 Centre Street, the courthouse, just so she could stand on those steps and drink it in.

And on. And on. Not the usual touristy crap, but the places that had made this her home, for so much of her life.

And now? And now they were getting a dog from the best fucking vendor in all of Manhattan, because they could.

"You missed out on Barney's," she laughed. "Amazing shopping, but I can't try on any shoes today, anyway."

Yes, she was going to talk with her mouth full. She was a New Yorker.

(for one! NFB-distance! thanks to famous_gut for the kickass idea! gibbs modded with permission! batteries not included! see packaging for details!)

MCA #3, Saturday Morning

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 20:00:41 GMT

Alex rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. She'd been up too late, reading case law, drinking Scotch, and making notes. Some tea and some aspirin should help.

That was when she noticed the professional-looking woman, sitting on her dining room table. She dropped her mug and stared. "Who ..."

"Good morning, Alex," the woman said, flipping her cell phone shut. "It's 9:04 AM, with a current temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Today's forecast is mostly sunny, with a high of 84 and a low of 74. You have three new e-mail messages, two of which I've marked as possible spam. There's a new article on the ABA Journal by Jim McElhaney, about telling a story as your closing argument. What else would you like to know?"

This wasn't happening. "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Much less reading her e-mail? This was bad. This was very bad. Was she someone the cartel had sent to track her down?

"I believe my name is Dell," the woman said, standing up and setting the cell phone down behind her. "You brought me here from New York. You left me in bed with you last night, but after I changed shape, it seemed silly to just lie there. Incidentally, you're running low on tea. Turtle and Canary should be open today, though I don't know who the employee on staff is. I can find out."

Alex hadn't brought anyone home with her last night, and certainly not a schizophrenic who thought they'd been dating in New York. "I have a gun," she said calmly. "And I want you out of my apartment, now, or else I will get it, and shoot you."

"Announcement of intent to use deadly force only works in states with an explicit Castle Law," the woman sighed. She pulled her shirt up to expose her abdomen. "Maryland asks that you use no more force than is reasonably necessary. Which is moot, since I don't think Maryland has jurisdiction over this island, and you can hardly be prosecuted for murdering a laptop computer."

There was a small logo on her stomach, where her belly button should have been. It read Intel Inside.

"You think you're a laptop computer." There was not enough liquor in the world.

"No," the woman said, dropping her shirt. "I am a laptop computer. Yours. I seem to be human-shaped for the day. I would imagine this island is responsible. It's multidimensional, and oddities like this seem to leak through now and again."

Alex honestly, sincerely didn't know which was worse: the idea that a crazy woman had broken into her apartment and had glued an Intel logo onto herself ... or that she might be right.

(Establishy, but open if you don't mind some hit-and-miss availability, for today is bumpy like that.)

MCA #3, Thursday Morning

Thu, 21 May 2009 22:23:48 GMT

Alex Cabot had been spending entirely too much of her free time at the local bar. Then again, all Alex had any more was free time. It was hard to gear down from the frenetic pace of court cases in NYC to ... well, here. Trying to recover, trying to take things slowly, trying to find work.

Alex didn't need to work -- the Cabots had money. It was how she'd managed an Upper West Side apartment on a prosecutor's salary. And the rent here could make a hardened New Yorker weep. She had a full-sized apartment, one with a bedroom and a study. It was ridiculous, considering what she was paying. You couldn't get a closet for that, in Manhattan.

But Alex missed the courtroom like a phantom limb. Someone else was trying her cases, in Centre Street. Someone else was demolishing witnesses. Someone else was filing motions. Maybe they were missing key points of evidence. Maybe they didn't push the suspect hard enough, on the stand. She had had an astonishing closure rate, for sex crimes. She belonged there, with her squad.

There didn't see to be a courtroom on this island. But she had an office, now, and she had three quite capable employees. The rest would follow. Or so she hoped.

She sighed and fired up her laptop. There was no reason for her to still keep the ABA Journal and Harvard Law Review bookmarked, except that they served as her lifeline. She would return to prosecution one day. And in the meantime, she was going to stay on top of her game.

Her government-provided e-mail was gone. She itched to check it. At least she still had her personal accounts. The more professional-sounding one used her real name as a login, so it was probably too dangerous. The other, however ...

There was only one message in her Inbox, besides a few weeks' worth of spam.

From: elizabeth.donnelly@da.ny.us
To: habeusblondeus@hotmail.com
Subject: information requested

Caroline:

I will not ask you again. I have sent four e-mails requesting the necessary research on the Baker case, the Jenner case, and the Rosenthal hearing. If your office can't provide the necessary information, the DA will take its business elsewhere. In the meantime, make yourself useful and dig up the relevant caselaw.

Liz Donnelly

Alex stared at the message in confusion for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

Liz Donnelly was one of the few people who knew Alex was still alive. She had been Alex's boss, at SVU. The message explained itself easily in that light: Liz was swamped, and Liz had to realize Alex was bored out of her skull not practicing law. This was a hotmail account, one that didn't have her name attached, so it was probably safe. Especially if Liz referred to her as 'Caroline,' apparently.

Legal research wasn't all that exciting, but it was something Alex could do without setting foot in a courtroom. And it was still the law.

Make yourself useful. Alex intended to.

From: habeusblondeus@hotmail.com
To: elizabeth.donnelly@da.ny.us
Subject: re: information requested

Liz --

Sorry, my laptop was shot to hell. It's been recovering, but it seems to be in good condition now. I'll get right on your caselaw. Expect an e-mail with updates soon.

Caroline

"Caroline" would probably need a last name at some point, and Alex wondered vaguely if she was supposed to be an underpaid intern or law student or what. It didn't matter. She'd pick it up as she went.

More importantly, she had to head down to the office.

(Mostly establishy/linkdroppy, but can be open if anyone wants to catch her on the way out!)

"I have a protective detail. My mom has a protective detail. I'm not backing off."

Wed, 06 May 2009 21:17:37 GMT

Alex had sat, stunned, as the DEA agent played a tape for her. Two inmates at Rikers casually discussing her home address, her schedule, whether it was useful to attack her mother instead.

She was still in shock while they tried to tell her what happened next. A protective detail. Security systems. Federal marshals.

"No, I want to go home now." This wasn't happening. Panic was clawing at her.

"Okay," Benson cut in. "We'll take you."

Police detectives made good armed escorts.

The agent reassured her that everything was handled. That was his word. Handled. There was nothing to worry about. She hadn't believed him, but she nodded, numbly.

Once they got to the street, Benson was in cop mode. "Alex. Why don't you stay with me tonight, until we figure this whole thing out?"

It had to be serious, if she was offering in front of Stabler. Alex was pretty sure he knew, but Olivia Benson was too professional to discuss their non-relationship casually.

"No, it'll be okay," Alex said. "But thanks."

Everything was handled.

Across the parking lot, the agent's car exploded.

Late night in the squadroom. She still had cuts and bruises on her face. So did Benson and Stabler.

They were discussing the ingredients of the bomb, and the maker's signature, as if they didn't already know who had set it. Zapata, clearing up loose ends.

Stabler nodded. "And he's not gonna stop until you back off or you're dead."

"Men like Zapata live on other people's fear," she argued. "The intimidation is always there. I can either accept it, as part of my job, or concede everything."

She was going to see this through to the end. Or so she thought.

That was when the DA called her into his office to announce he was pulling the plug. Too many bodies. The Feds had a better case. Hand Zapata over on the drug charges.

She had argued, bitterly, about the message that would send. Caving to the cartel's intimidation tactics said that New York's justice system was easily circumvented with a few well-placed bombs. But the DA wouldn't budge. It was out of her hands.

The squad took her out for drinks. They tried to reassure her that Zapata would do more time for the drug charges, anyway, and that if he turned on his superior, Velez, then he was dead in the water.

"It just ... it never seems like enough, you know?" she said. "Livia Sandoval dies without any justice, and we're supposed to be happy about it? We can close cases, but the victims -- even if they survive, their lives are ruined. I just get so sick of it."

"Alex." Stabler gave her a rueful smile. "We can't always win."

"But that's just it. Even when we win, we don't."

They'd left the bar after that. She'd killed the mood, anyway.

"Get you a cab?" Stabler offered.

"No, I'm not far, I'll walk," Alex said. "Look, I'm sorry I'm such a buzzkill."

"Don't be silly," Benson said. She'd said more, but it was drowned out by several loud bangs.

Everyone always said gunshots sounded like a car backfiring, but to Alex, they sounded like gunshots.

There was a burning tear in her chest, and then she was staring up at the stars. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"Alex," Olivia gasped. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no. Somebody! Call an ambulance. Call 911, now!"

Olivia was blocking the stars, her voice echoing in Alex's ears. She was leaning all her weight on Alex's shoulder and talking and talking and talking.

"Alex. It's okay, Alex. Alex, look at me. It's okay, sweetie. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me, Alex. They're coming right now and you're gonna be okay. Alex, you're gonna be okay. Look at me. You're gonna be just fine. You're gonna be just fine. Now just stay with me ..."

Hold on. She was supposed to hold on. She nodded ... but her head didn't move. Why wouldn't her head move? She was so tired. Olivia was further and further away.

"Alex," Olivia whispered, sounding desperate. "Alex. Alex. Alex. It's okay. Look at me. Look at me."

Don't cry, Olivia. Olivia never cried. Alex opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Don't cry.

When she awoke, she was in a hospital, and she ached. Her shoulder, her arms, her chest, even her head. She hadn't been shot in the head, had she?

Shot. She'd been shot. Walking on the sidewalk, and bangs of gunfire. Olivia holding the wound shut. She had to see if they were okay. She had to know what was going on. Alex tried to sit up, but fell back against her pillows again. Dammit.

"You're dead." She hadn't seen the man in the room with her. He was one of the higher-ups at the DEA. The agent's boss.

Could she talk? She licked her lips slowly and tried. "I didn't think hell would look like a hospital."

She wouldn't be in this much pain if she'd gone to heaven. Besides, she was a lawyer.

The man grunted and tossed a newspaper onto her bed. No Leads on Slain ADA, the cover screamed. At least the picture of her wasn't too hideous.

"This might be our best chance at keeping you alive."

(Part 2 of 2 for establishy. Most of this was swiped from episode 504, Loss, of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. NFI, NFB, but OOC is love.)

"I put my neck on the line for you two people. I would like it back."

Wed, 06 May 2009 06:00:16 GMT

The case had been messy to start. Rafael Zapata had a girlfriend with a big mouth. She mocked his sexual prowess in front of his lieutenants, so he beat her to death. All-too-common domestic abuse case. Except that Zapata was a Colombian drug lord, and the girlfriend, an undercover DEA agent. That little fact kept the alphabet soup of acronym agencies hopping, especially as it seemed Zapata hadn't made her cover. DEA couldn't reveal it, or other agents in that same operation would be in danger.

A DEA agent was able to pinpoint the location of the homicide -- Zapata's yacht. The search warrant named him as a confidential informant. But the defense insisted that the information be made public, so they could evaluate the informant's credibility. Translation: they wanted an undercover agent to name himself and draw an enormous bull's-eye on his back. Judge Petrovsky argued she could meet the informant privately in her chambers. The agent had declined.

The DA had pressured her to make a deal. Zapata and his lawyer dismissed the idea, easily. If the search warrant was thrown out, the charges would have to be dropped. So she had played strong, pretended her case was far more solid than it was.

"I'll tell you what," Lionel Granger said. "You get your informant lined up, I promise we'll take the deal."

"Take it now, or it's gone," she replied. "And for future reference, if your client intimidates the informant in any way, I will have his bail revoked and his ass thrown in Riker's for the duration of the trial."

"You can't threaten me, bitch," Zapata growled.

Alex held his gaze. "I just did."

"We're going," Granger announced, grabbing his briefcase and standing up from their cozy little conference table.

"You allow this?" Zapata, it seemed, needed to rage. "A woman says these things and you do nothing."

"Yes, Mr. Zapata." Alex wondered darkly if Zapata had expected Granger to slap her around right there in her own office. If Granger wasn't such a sleazeball, she might have shared the joke with him later. "You will also find that a woman can say whatever she wants to about your performance in the bedroom, and you aren't actually allowed to kill her."

Zapata jumped from his seat. He lunged for her, face twisted with rage. Alex leaped back, blind with panic. And Granger shoved the conference table against the wall, neatly trapping his client.

Alex couldn't breathe. She had known, known in that instant that if he had been alone with her, he wouldn't have stopped until she was dead.

"Let's not do anything stupid," Granger said carefully. "Everything's fine. Everything's fine."

Zapata stopped struggling, but his eyes never left Alex's face. Even as Granger called a end to the meeting, and both men left the room, Zapata had stayed behind, lingering in the doorway, staring her down.

Her detectives were less sympathetic.

"You're out of your mind," Detective Stabler said.

"I was hoping he would think about that information coming out in open court," Alex countered.

"And he pissed you off," Benson said.

Alex sighed. "Yeah, that, too."

So much for the deal. Now they'd have to compel the DEA to produce their informant. A two-year undercover operation, blown, or else the state would have to drop the rape and murder charges. The Feds weren't willing to lose their drug case. So the Department of Justice stepped in. That was putting it lightly; they'd issued a protection order from moving forward with the case. Which meant Alex would have to take this to appellate court. This case just kept getting better.

And that was when the DEA agent had contacted her.

"Miss Cabot," he said, in a low, urgent voice. "We've received a credible threat."

"It didn't come from us," she insisted. "We have kept your identity confidential."

"The threat was made against you."

(Establishy. Part one of two. Most of this was swiped from episode 504, Loss, of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. NFI, NFB, but OOC is welcome. Alex will be arriving shortly.)