Mentioned: Demonica, White Phoenix, Aaron Ashton Appearances By: Demonica
All Business Where’s Judge Judy When You Need Her?
We had all filed into the court room. And it was about fucking time, too. I couldn’t wait to get this shit over with. I had had a nightmare last night that sent me to the chair. Lovely thought, no? I sat at the defence table, my hands folded in my lap. I had decided against dressing like I had for the press conference. Instead, I found myself a black, white-pinstripe suit. The pants were sort of baggy, brushing against the floor to hide my old Doc Martin’s that had seen better days. The jacket was long, falling just below my knees. It buttoned up twice across my belly, leaving my chest exposed. Being the… conservative (yeah right) person that I am, I had dawned a red tank top beneath. Instead of pulling my hair back, I had let it fall free in all its straight glory. The red layer on top stuck out the most, but it matched my shirt so in my mind, I looked FAB-U-LOUS.
I had pulled out my facial piercings. Oh, what a fun task that had been. Not. I had replaced all the rather unattractive holes with retainers that would keep my skin stretched to the correct gauge during the criminal suit hearing. I had put on very little makeup. My blue eyes were outlined with black eyeliner and silver eye shadow. My lips were lightly brushed with a deep mauves colour. I hadn’t applied foundation or anything. My skin was pale enough as it is. To my left was Demonica. She's wearing a pink, pinstriped skirt-suit with the skirt being short. Black, heeled boots come up to her knees. Her raven hair is tied back with the ponytail being more of a ball of tiny curls. Her face has black makeup around her jade eyes in neat little designs with black lipstick on her lips.
To my right was our lawyer. Yes, the same lawyer who viewed the tape. He was dressed in predominantly the same thing he had worn when he had viewed the tape. A black and green pant-suit with an emerald tie and a pale green shirt beneath. Too bad the poor bastard didn’t realize that green wasn’t his colour. His skin was an olive-tone to begin with and he just looked like a big, scalped kiwi. The rookie was still in awe as I caught him looking at the two of us every so often. Bad boy. He needed to be… I’m not going to even dignify that with a conclusion. Ew ew ew ew ew.
“All rise.” We all stood up as the judge, dressed in his black frock moved from his chambers and towards the judge’s table. “The court of Judge Jacobson is now in session.” The bailiff turned to the judge, saying flatly that the case was The State of Pennsylvania versus Jordan and Macon. The bailiff took his place to the right hand of the devi-- I mean, judge. My apologies.
“Please be seated.” The judge said. We all sat. Ugh. I felt so much like a dog for some reason. The judge regarded our lawyer closely, looking at him down the bridge of his nose. It was for pure intimidation because obviously, anybody who would defend the likes of us was socially, ethically and mentally retarded. I mean, c’mon now. Our lawyer didn’t budge nor flinch. Instead, he stared right back at him. The judge looked away to the prosecution table. “Will the prosecution please make their opening statement?” I watch as the stuffy, assistant attorney gets to his feet and walks to stand before the jury, leaving Francine Fern by her lonesome at the table. I idly thought of jumping over the table and ripping out her throat, spilling her blood over those nice, conservative clothes of hers that screamed discomfort. What a poser. Make up your mind woman. Deciding against murdering the poor girl, I settled my attentions on her lawyer instead. He seemed to be the type that’s over-bearing, but that’s just my opinion.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury today over the course of this trial we'll be going over the events of March sixteenth of this year. Now I'm not going to be long winded with this. I think the case is very clear and I don't think wasting your time with and endless speech will really accomplish anything. The defence is going to try to obscure the facts and make it seem like that poor girl over there wanted what happened.” He gestures towards Fern. “They're going to say their clients are innocent and did nothing wrong. They're also going to make it seem like Francine Fern is the one on trial and not them. The facts are this woman was beaten and raped by the defendants. They maliciously used items to violate her rights and her body. None of what they can tell you can change that. We have video tape of the actual events and we have photographs of Miss Fern's wounds after it happened. Neither of these things will be pretty, but we have to show you these things to demonstrate the kind of sick individuals we are dealing with here. I'm sure that without a doubt you will do the right thing and find these fiends guilty on all charges. Thank you.” Yup, at that point, I was ready to vault over my lawyer and rip out both their throats. Only the mean look I got from the bailiff kept me from scowling at the prosecution table.
“Will the defence now give their statement?” The judge asked, regarding Demonica and I. Our lawyer stood up, taking off his glasses and putting them down beside his opened briefcase. He moved around the table before walking passed the judge and putting his hand on the banister before the jury. I watched him take a deep breath in before he began.
“Ladies and gentlemen… indeed, this case is about facts. And the fact of the matter is that my clients are innocent of all charges that have been laid against them by Miss Fern. Miss Fern, like my clients have often stated, was a willing participant of my clients’ endeavours,” he paused, turning to regard the audience. “I would like to remind the jury and the viewers that his case is not about morals or ethics. I remind you all that this is not about the way you all live your lives. The photographs of bruises are inconsequential once the video tape is viewed. Miss Jordan’s and Miss Macon’s lifestyles are much different from we Pennsylvanians.” He paused once again, thinking. “These photographs and video evidence cannot be judged as criminal or immoral, but just as something that happened within the three of them and they were all perfectly happy doing so. Thank you.” He turned on his heel and returned to the table. I looked at him, in disbelief. Wow. What a good liar. I glanced between Demonica, the lawyer, the judge and jury. It was indeed too early to tell if they were on our side, or not.
“I’d like to call Francine Fern to the stand.” We had just finished listening to an elderly doctor explain, in graphic depth, about the injuries Francine had sustained during play-time. I watched in silence, hands still folded calmly. I hadn’t budged a muscle save for my neck when the lawyers and such moved throughout the court room. I watched Fern move up to the stand. Her entire posture as she sat there screamed ‘pity me’. I shrivelled in disgust. What a poor choice of pets. Boo. I wasn’t surprised if her attorney had coached her. She was sworn in and her attorney came forward.
“I know this has been hard for you, so I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. When did you meet the defendants?” There was a long pause as she gazed over at Demonica and me. I didn’t move. I just stared blankly at her.
“I met them both the night of the incident.” She replied, quietly, though her voice rang clear thanks to the microphone in front of her.
“What happened after you met?” The D.A. questioned. She purses her lips and looks upwards towards the ceiling as if her script had been plastered there.
“I met Demonica first. I knew of her and that she had recently formed a partnership with Gwenivere Jordan. I was a huge Gwen Jordan fan. So when she invited me to meet her I of course jumped at the chance. She led me back to the locker room which is a dream come true for any wrestling fan.” The D.A. looks at her, in contempt.
“Only you didn't know your dream would turn into a nightmare did you?” I saw Demonica look over at our lawyer. He wasn’t even paying attention.
“You didn't know that you were about to be beaten and raped and wouldn't have gone there had you known.” I still stared at him. And he just stared forward. To my left, I saw Demonica begin to scribble on a notepad. Moron!
“You didn't know your hero and her friend would demean and violate you.” The notepad was slid in front of me and I just had time to read it before the lawyer stood up.
“Objection. Leading the witness.” The judged nodded and the lawyer sat down. I smacked his arm and rubbed my temple.
“Sustained. Strike that from the record. Please try to keep your questions in the form of a question.” I winced faintly. Whether something was stricken from the record or not, the jury would remember it. Fuck. I hated lawyers.
“You’ve said in a few interviews that you had been drugged before meeting with Miss Jordan and Miss Macon. How did Miss Macon drug you?” She wrung her hands in her lap, leaning towards the microphone. I felt Demonica shift uncomfortably beside me. I guess we were both starting to feel the heat of the eyes that were focused on us. Christ, after being a famous - or infamous - wrestler that gets watched all the time, you’d think we’d be used to it.
“Well, she took me to the bar they have backstage and bought me a drink because I said I was nervous about meeting Gwen. I guess she put something in it before taking me to the locker room. I was really excited but then I felt like I passed out.” She said quietly, bowing her head down. Her lawyer paced around slowly, leaning against the banister before the jury.
“Do you remember anything about that night?”
“I just remember little flashes. Like, I remember Monica’s knife going down my stomach, and Gwen pretending she was going golfing with my head.” With that, she faintly rubbed the side of her head, wincing. A few more questions were asked. They just seemed to keep coming. Finally, I heard the words that I was longing to hear from the D.A.’s twisted, lying mouth.
“No further questions, your honour.” The D.A. said as he turned and sat down at his table. The judge regarded our attorney.
“Does the defence have any questions?”
“Yes, your honour.” Our lawyer rose to his feet. I winced faintly, slouching down in my seat and sighing quietly. Damn no smoking laws. I needed one so bad I felt like I was going to cry.
“Now, Miss Fern, you have viewed the tape, yes?” She nodded faintly, looking up to our lawyer to try and gain enough sympathy for him to drop us as clients and leave us to fend for ourselves. Thankfully, we were paying him enough and he held steadfast.
“In the very beginning, did you not say that you had submitted yourself to them of sound mind and body? And, on top of that, did you not reply, perfectly audibly ‘Yes, mind and body’?” She chewed her lip softly, glancing at her lawyer. I smirked a bit, slowly rapping my fingertips against the heavy oak desk.
“Ye… Yes, I did. But I was drugged. They told me to say it.”
“Our own medical examiner examined your urine. Things like ecstasy or any other hallucinogen leave traces of their chemicals in your urine. Did you know that?” She shook her head. Our lawyer nodded faintly. “Well, our examiner found no traces of any medical substance whatsoever in your excrements. Do you know what that means?” He moved over to our table, drawing out a few charts. I watched him as he moved over to the jury. He seemed to be getting into his groove… finally. He put the chart onto a easel and pointed to it.
“No, I don’t know what that means.” Francine said softly. She knew she had fucked up. I licked my lips slowly, the few retainers in my lip giving my tongue an odd feeling.
“It means that you had not been drugged.” He referenced the chart. “I submit to you, exhibit K. Francine Fern’s chart from the night she had gone to the hospital on March sixteenth. As you can see, there are no chemical imbalances within Miss Fern’s extracted urine, signifying that she had not consumed drugs within a few months of the incident.” I nodded faintly. Well, ya learn something new every day.
Another day, another match, another threat. Demonica and I were given time to return to Calgary for the Pay-Per-View. Thankfully, I slept most of the way back to Calgary and didn’t have to deal with air sickness. My sleeping gave me time to think. I got off the plane and left Necron and Demonica to their own devices as I moved to my car and started for the arena.
Dear White Phoenix… taking advantage of my unavailable situation and holding a press release of something that is of no consequence or concern to him. How underhanded of him. I’m impressed. So far, he’s the only person who thinks Demonica and I shouldn’t wrestle. Pity. I think he’s just afraid. Perhaps hoping that I’ll get fired before Ground Zero so he won’t have to face me.
Such a lost little boy. Sadomasochist… bah. What a silly, little insult. Hell, I don’t even find it insulting. So what? I know what I like? Do I really have to reaffirm that his sex life is repetitive and most likely, boring, if not nonexistent? I’m happy in my state in life: with my drive and lust.
Demonica and I will not be found guilty. There’s no solid evidence from the prosecution that could possibly heed that we are guilty. The drug test really clinched it. But still, I had an irking suspicion that perhaps the conservative jury would find us guilty. Nah, impossible. Ha!
White Phoenix. Dear-Heart. You deserve a cookie. Or a gold star. Whichever your little boy-scout heart would prefer. Why, do you ask? Because you’re not playing nice in the sandbox. My appearances have no matter to anything. Or are you too fucking shallow to realize that? For all you know, I could be as ‘nice’ a person as you. But wait. There’s only one problem with that. You’ve been left alone. No doubt crying from your parting with Aaron Ashton. I knew you guys had a little somethin’-somethin’ going on behind the scenes. Perhaps your sex life isn’t as droll as I thought. Good for you. Kudos.
