Topic: DCH: Court Appointed?!

Clerk of Courts

Date: 2007-08-17 23:25 EST
To: C. E. Dewey, Esq.

As pursuant of Rhy'Din Codified Ordinance, sec. 0111265.54 (all those holding license to practice law in the realm of Rhy'Din are required to become officers of said court in the time of need, as well as fulfill all duties of court-appointed attorney for those who meet the requirements), you are hereby required to represent one Horaetio Renne Arc'err as a court appointed attorney.

Failure to do so will result in revocation of your firm's law license and a bench warrant will be sworn out for your arrest. Your defendant's arraignment is to be set in the near future, so as to give you time to familiarize yourself with the case and to speak with your defendant, where he is currently being held in Port South Holding House.

You are hereby required to report to this court within a period of five days, wherein you will be given all public records relating to this case so as to build your defense or decide with your client on a plea bargain.

Signed, Judge Bill Wright Rhy'Din Municipal Courts

Mr. Dewey

Date: 2007-08-21 11:49 EST
Mortimer's eyes widened just a touch as the post was brought accompanied by armed guard. Each of the senior partner's mail was sent to their respective offices, except Dewey's. Mortimer was in charge of that duty.

Methodically opening and classifying the different pieces of correspondence he nearly choked on his half-caff, non-fat, double foam, eight shot latt' when he came across the summons. For a moment he clutched the paper until it crinkled, crushed between suddenly sweaty palms, and then just as quickly he placed the official notice to his desk and began to flatten out the wrinkles with his hands. Mister Dewey hated to get creased mail. Mortimer kept an iron in his desk drawer for the really tricky ones.

Swiftly his gaze ran about the large lobby and all intersecting hallways his position allowed him to keep an eye line on. Mortimer may be the biggest suck up this side of the X"inghar nebulae, a general weasel, and a perpetual "yes man," but he was no idiot. The Security staff had just been abruptly 'downsized" and Mortimer kind of enjoyed breathing.

Flagging down a mail boy, he placed the summons to the top of his stack with curt instructions to deliver it to Dewey's office ASAP. Telling the lad to inform the senior partner of its urgency and wait to see if the Lord needed to send immediate reply.

As the poor boy left on speedy feet for Dewey's office, Mortimer silently wished the youth a fond farewell and promptly took off for an early lunch.

Lamentably, poor Chad, the mail boy, didn't stand a chance in" well, where he was summarily dispatched once Mister Dewey had seized the missive from his shaking hand and scanned the parchment with an ever increasing smolder rising red behind dark brown eyes.

With disgust, the Right Lord Chargym En"ruhn Dewey took a sanitary towelette from its gold embossed container and wiped the splotch of crimson and grey from the intercom button.

"MORTIMER! IN HERE! NOW!!".

Not two steps out of the office door and it not even shut yet, thoughts of a dirty martini or twelve and a chat up with that blonde lush who liked to hang out at Dickey's Dirk and Dagger " and boy, did she like to hang all out " rapidly fled Mortimer's head, his no-lip lips falling to something between a scowl and a pout.

"Yes, sir," barely winded and properly oblivious to the scene around him " Dewey's recent "talk" with poor Chad " he snapped to attention before the Right Lord. "I'll alert the cleaners, sir. Right on that. And" Shall I recruit internally for new mail staff, or would you prefer to go outside the firm, sir" Judges Mbutu and Pinkerton are on lines one and three, respectively, sir."

"Yes, well." Smoothing a gloved hand over the breast of his immaculate sherry Italian suit, Dewey cleared his throat gruffly, gingerly picking his way out of his office, Mortimer three steps behind and to the right. "Find out what you can about this Judge Wright. And I want that information yesterday."

Mortimer could never decide which was more unsettling, the Right Lord's little "talks" or the chilling fa"ade of kindly gentleman lawyer the senior partner wore like a second skin. His head bobbed in the affirmative to the Lord as they paused at the intersection that would take Dewey towards Howe's offices. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Will there be anything else?"

There were times Mortimer's simpering ways grated on Dewey's last nerve. "Have the coach pull around front in one hour, and find the Norseman. I will be travelling to the Courthouse. Oh, and Mortimer" There's a good lad."

The assistant stopped, turning attentively back towards his employer. The smile on the lawyer's face sending a cold wash of sheer terror throughout his body, he swallowed to wet a mouth gone suddenly dry. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Rushing off to his duties feeling very much like a raw side of beef in a lion's den.

Clerk of Courts

Date: 2007-08-21 15:57 EST
The problem with lawyers was this: They were lawyers. Judge Wright had dealt with a lot of them in his day — first on Earth, where he sat on the bench for twenty years, then in Rhy'Din, where he had for the past ten.

In his time, he'd seen everything from the big and powerful, to the small-time, idealistic, homegrown lawyers; he'd tried capital cases and misdemeanors alike.

The problem with Wright was this: He was squeaky clean. How exactly a man could have no dirt on him from a lifetime was a mystery, but he was the kind of judge that most other judges hated. Because he set a high standard. No mistresses, no shady dealings, nothing of the sort....how were the other judges supposed to get away with it, when one of their ranks was the example everyone pointed to"

In as such, Judge Wright didn't fear DCH in the courtroom. His authority was supreme in the judicial system, and he had no worries that he could keep things under firm control, at least within definition of the law.

He was just in the process of writing out a bench warrant for Dewey when the court runner came to him. "Sir" The return receipt shows that the summons was delivered to the DCH offices."

"All the better," Wright said, finishing the warrant but not signing it yet. "Dewey has eight hours to appear. Let's see if he can make it."

Guthorm Othinsson

Date: 2007-09-05 10:27 EST
There were times Mortimer's simpering ways grated on Guthorm's nerves, too. Now was one of those times. In fact, every time he saw the man, he had this gut-wrenching impulse to wad him up and stuff him backwards in the reception area's vending machine and then shake the thing so that all the stuff in there would clatter down into the reach-hole, hitting him on the way. The Norskmann could just see himself snacking again on one of those peanut butter and cheese tasting hardbread things that he was getting fond of while staring at the wadded and stuck Mortimer through the glass front.

Mortimer had found the Norskmann in the Gar-age, making repair to the oddly out-of-place wooden cart he used to make it look like he was trading goods down by the docks. "Ja, ja. Jeg kommer. Here, hold this for a minute, Mort." He handed Dewey, Cheetham and Howe's cart auk to the office slave and proceeded to take his time relacing his elkhide boots. Both of them. Slowly. The auk found Mort's jacket buttons rather fascinating.

"Where is Dewberry? I do not feel like waiting for him in the hot sun." Guthorm gifted the jelly-livered man with a sly, wry, dry grin. Translated, that grin was challenge for him to mention the Norskmann's nickname for Dewey to his master. Those unsettling, shifty eyes clearly dared Mort to do it and see what happened. He had no doubt of his own power of persuasion, should he be questioned...and should Mort take him up on the challenge, which he seriously doubted. He loved to tease the office slaves. For some reason, they were all afraid of him. Finishing with his boots, he hefted his bearded war axe on his shoulder and held it casually in a huge, thick-wristed paw, and with the other hand he unseated the safety on the foreign gun-thing tucked in his belt next to his very familiar two-edged, gripping-beast etched, blood-channeled, cold-iron sword.

The cart auk irreverently ripped a pretty button right off Mort's fancy suit coat and pooped on his sleeve.

Mr. Dewey

Date: 2007-09-09 09:37 EST
Finding the large, primitive looking goon the lawyers employed for no other reason Mortimer could see but a needless show of muscle was never simple. More than once this fact led Mortimer to question his assessment of the barbarian's mental faculties. These, though, were fleeting thoughts. Mortimer ultimately saw Guthorm as uncultured and uncivilized, a savage in comparison to himself.

This, however, did not mean Mortimer was not intimidated by the big male. Quite frankly, Guthorm scared the crap out of him. Inexplicably he always felt the horror those huge hands could probably do to his body, the twists and trauma his personage could take each time he had to look up at those shifty blue eyes. As if he was but a scrap of paper the Viking could wad up and crush to dust.

Thus, this time finding Guthorm in the garage, just like other times Mortimer had been forced to speak to the lawyers" hired thug, muscles were twitching beneath the surface of his skin until the Northman placed the strange bird on his arm to his dismay and disgust.

Fittingly, Mortimer shrank from the challenge in Guthorm's shifting eyes and then watched warily the array of weaponry, hesitant to take several paces back only because of that blasted bird he still held. Gingerly lifting his arm, he sniffs once. "The Right Lord Dewey?" Emphasizing every word of the title. "will meet you at the carriage in front of the offices in?"

Glancing to the watch on his free wrist just as the auk 'decorates" his fine suit coat " his only suit coat " Mortimer shrieks like a woman and flails, the bird flying at the Viking as he turns sharply on heel, revolted beyond words. A snarl sent back over his shoulder to the goon. "Mister Dewey will be out front to board the carriage for the Courthouse in ten minutes time. You are to accompany him!"

Did Mortimer think it odd Dewey was taking a carriage to the Courthouse when it was only across the square" What didn't Mortimer think was odd concerning any of the senior partners" But those thoughts he kept firmly locked away in a secret corner known only to him. Mortimer enjoyed breathing.

Ten minutes later the Lord Dewey appeared promptly at the front door to DCH's offices and descended the steps to the waiting carriage. A glance clearly painted with disdain was given the streets and surrounding area before he barely nodded to Guthorm and climbed into the cab. "Take the footman's seat on the back. You will wait outside Judge Wright's chambers for me while I tell his Honor the offices of Dewey, Cheetham, and Howe is answering his summons."

What the attorney did not say, what did not even hint in his tone or bearing, was that DCH would be taking this case reluctantly and completely on their own terms. Nothing about the Right Lord Chargym En?ruhn Dewey was anything but all business married expertly with the smooth face of a gentleman lawyer.

Yes, Dewey, Cheetham, and Howe would most assuredly defend one Horaetio Renne Arc'err. Their way, their terms.