Mentioned: Jaime Williams, Jimmy Jackson, Tony Millennia
Appearances By: None
On The Road Again
{Insert something vaguely humorous here}
Can you believe it? Thirty-four days. Thirty-four fucking days. Hell, I’ve seen worse. In fact, only three people have held it longer than I, out of seventeen different people. I’ve done my homework. Jaime Williams: sixty-four days. Jimmy Jackson: forty-two days. And Tony Millennia for fifty-six days.
“On a long and lonesome highway east of Omaha
You can listen to the engines, moanin’ out as one long song
You can think about the woman, or the girl you knew the night before…”
My week just seems to be getting worse and worse. My court date’s today. Great. Now I get to deal with that whiny brat again. He’s suing me for medical costs and “metal anguish”. I’ll show him mental anguish. I didn’t even kick him that hard!
Later on…
I’M BORED!!!! God damn it. I’ve been sitting in this friggin’ court room for half an hour. The judge hasn’t even fucking come in yet. That Pat guy is giving me dirty looks. The press is behind me. The hot lights from their video cameras are hot against the back of my head and my shoulders. They’re whispering amongst themselves. Their little hissy voices are so annoying. I’m ready to turn around and tell them to shut the fuck up. My attorney can obviously see the annoyance on my face, so he casts me a look to tell me to stay patient. He had already told me that the judge would most likely kick out the press. Good. I hate the press.
“But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do
When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do
You don't feel much like ridin', you just wish the trip was through…”
Finally… fucking judge taking all of my fucking time…
The pen was dropped beside the pad of paper. Calloused fingertips gently tap along the oak-coloured wood. Gwenivere leaned back in the chair behind the defendant’s table. She looked rather dignified, for once. She was clad in a black, pinstripe suit; her hair held back in a pair of lacquered, black and red chopsticks. Most of her facial piercings had been removed and replaced with tiny studs or retainers. She glanced sidelong at her lawyer, and then passed him at the plaintiff’s table. There sat Pat Mathis with his own lawyer. Gwenivere sighed rather flatly, gazing up at the bailiff curiously.
“But here I am, on the road again
Here I am, up on the stage
Here I go, playing the star again
There I go, turn the page…”
“All rise!”
All in attendance soon drew to their feet, including Gwen after being prompted by her lawyer. A woman in a dark robe soon came onto the platform and perched herself behind the desk. Her blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Dim hazel orbs peering out from behind half-frame glasses that had some sort of beaded chain on each arm to keep her from losing them if she were to take them off. She looked Gwenivere up and down, and then did the same to Pat. She gave a skeptical look towards Gwenivere’s attorney before proceeding. The bailiff ordered them all to sit and then handed the judge a light brown folder.
“Criminal Assault Case of Mathis versus Jordan.” He explained briefly before standing to the left of the witness box, at attention. Gwenivere watched the entire proceedings; gaze silently locked on a particularly interesting scratch in the laminate of the table. She ran her finger along it slowly before grasping a glass of water at the other end of the table and drinking from it. Her attorney cast a dirty look at her before returning his attentions to the proceedings.
“You walk into a restaurant, strung out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you, as you're shaking off the cold
You pretend it doesn't bother you, but you just want to explode
And most times you can hear 'em talk, other times you can't…”
“Will the plaintiff attorney please call the first witness?”
Gwenivere groaned a bit, sinking down into her chair. The press hadn’t been kicked out. This was going to be a pain. She picked up the pencil slowly, glancing down at her pad of paper…
HELP!
It was definitely going to be a long day. She sank further into seat, folding her hands over her stomach. The plaintiff attorney stood up, calling Pat Mathis to the stand.
“All the same 'ole clichés: is that a woman or is that a man?
And you always seem outnumbered; you dare not make a stand, make your stand…”
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“The state calls Gwenivere Jordan to the stand.” Gwenivere was hunched over at the defence table, idly scribbling along the pages in front of her. She probably looked like a schizophrenic woman, madly scribbling along pages in rather haunting images she was planning on getting tattooed into her skin. Her attorney swatted at her arm, getting her to pay attention. Her head poked up, looking around confusedly. She flushed a bit before getting to her feet and adjusting her suit. She moved into the witness box, folding both hands in her lap. She sat rather straight, though a bit hunched forward so that she was close to the microphone. She looked out at the sea of people in front of him. Pat scowled at her, as did his girlfriend. The plaintiff attorney paced in front of her. Gwenivere watched him move back and forth slowly.
“ But here I am, on the road again
Here I am, up on the stage
Here I go, playing the star again
There I go, turn the page…”
“State your name and profession for the courts, please.”
“Gwenivere Litannia Jordan; sports entertainer.”
“Now, in your own words… what happened that day at the movie theatre?”
“Out there in the spotlight, your a million miles away
Every ounce of energy, you try to give away
And the sweat pours from your body, like the music that you play
Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed
With the echoes of the amplifiers, ringin' in your head
You smoke the days last cigarette, rememberin' what she said…”
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