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[COLOR=AF7AC5][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] [COLOR=white][I]New York City, New York[/I][/COLOR][/sub][sup][right][b][color=AF7AC5]United States v. Banner – 2.01[/color][/b][/right][/sup][/indent][/COLOR][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][color=AF7AC5][sub][B]Interaction(s):[/B] [COLOR=white][I]None[/I][/COLOR][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][b]Previously:[/b] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5187773][I]1.04[/I][/url][/right][/SUP][/color][/INDENT]
[indent]The trial hadn’t even started yet, and quite frankly, Jeremy Eisenhart was already done with this shitshow.

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/GubFcYM.png[/img][/center]

Blank eyes staring across the road next to the courthouse, leaning over a guardrail with a cigarette that had long been burnt to a cold stub he still gripped in a limp hand, he no longer had the energy to even tremble.

Two months ago or so, Bruce Banner had been found in Mexico. Yeah, that one, the Hulk. Big scary green guy. Let himself get turned in to Interpol after being on the lamb for around 5 years or so. Jeremy did not envy the guys who had to transport him up to the States, that was for sure. From there it got ugly. Jeremy wasn’t one for conspiracy theories, but for a time there it looked like one going to be done in was the due process itself. The last two months had been a scramble of confusion, the system pushing Hulk into the courts as fast as possible, almost like they were running from something. The press was having a field day, flinging shit in every direction, but the one taking a fair share of it was Bruce. The reason? He didn’t get to choose his lawyer. No money: law was an expensive trade. Given the important matter there should have been firms willing to take the case pro bono, but a lot of the small ones who’d reached out ended up not returning any calls, while the bigger ones were stacked with work and legal dealings of their own. Those in the middle got a mix of both, if they could even make it or fit Bruce’s needs. Shit was rolling every which way, making such a big obvious mess it wrapped around to basically no one wanting to touch it. So, a lawyer had to be appointed when Bruce couldn’t meet the deadline.

Jeremy had been shafted with impossible defense cases for the good of the due process before, but this was fucked. Raising the butt of his cigarette, he jammed it into his forehead, crushing it against his skull, right where he was expecting the bullet to go. At this rate, an assassination attempt wouldn’t have made him blink, but it wasn’t likely, that was for sure. He’d been picked out of jar so that Bruce would lose, he figured. If he left, or something happened, then the trial would be pushed back, which no one wanted to happen at this point except Bruce, probably.

Checking his watch, he was late. Not late late, but as the defending lawyer he should be there before things really started anyway. [color=EB8334][i]Fuck.[/i][/color] Closing his eyes, he let the cigarette butt fall, walking back inside the courthouse with a tired stagger in his step. [color=EB8334]“Here we fucking go,”[/color] he muttered. Even in his stupor, navigating the place was routine to him, Jeremy ending up in a mostly empty courtroom, a few guards stationed and his opposition going over notes and documents at their table. Raymond Royton (a US attorney from the Department of Justice no less) didn’t give him more than a passing glance, the defense about as study as TV static in their eyes, no doubt. At his table was Elizabeth Ross, Bruce’s girlfriend, who shot him a dissatisfied glare the moment he walked in. She was the closest thing he had to an assistant. Smart girl, no law experience, and her energy and passion for the case was great when it came to sapping Jeremy’s away. He understood, but fuck he could go for a glass of whiskey right now. Or the whole bottle, fuck it.

Flopping down in his seat, he avoided Betty’s burning glare, but she didn’t say a word. Hopefully, she could tell by his depressing absence of energy and otherwise ‘sunny’ disposition that he was not in the fucking mood. At this rate he was going to turn green before Bruce did: maybe alcohol was a bad idea after all, because he was about to hurl.

The next few minutes were a haze as blood rushed to his head and obscured his vision, but the noise level began to increase as people were brought in. The jury was let into their seats, picked over the course of a good week, because good luck finding anyone with no particular biases towards metahumans. The crowd of hungry journalists and others with interest in the proceedings filled up the room with low buzz of anticipation. Amongst it all, Bruce was brought in from the side door. He was cuffed, more for the protection of onlooker’s feeling of safety than for any practical reason, given what Jeremy understood. Thankfully he was spared the defense’s usual orange prison garb, on account of not being officially incarcerated. Yet. Thanks to some good behavior, the clean shaven man got to come to court in a light blue dress shirt and black slacks (Jeremy and Betty mutually vetoed green). Jeremy would take any break he could at this point. Glancing at the witness list, he ran over their strategy again in his head. He wasn’t one to hope, especially not with how things had gone up to this point, but even a lessened charge or two might be a victory in themselves, all things considered.

As Bruce was seated at their table, he was surprisingly calm, all things considered. A laugh came from the other side, Roy and his assistant, Edward Reynard, relaxed enough to joke, where the defense’s table was more like a funeral home. [color=F1948A]“Fuuuuck,”[/color] Betty murmured, digging the cap of a pen into a folder in front of her.

[color=AF7AC5]“We’ll manage,”[/color] Bruce insisted, cool as a cucumber.

Jeremy gave him a raised eyebrow. [color=EB8334]“You alright there?”[/color]

Bruce shrugged. [color=AF7AC5]“Could be worse.”[/color] Jeremy wasn’t going to touch that one.

There was a movement from the front of the courtroom, the crowd tittering in anticipation. The bailiff spoke as the judge entered, wrinkled and gray. “All rise.” There was a mass shuffling as other voices went silent. “The Superior Court of New York City is now in session, the Honorable Justice Anson Haywood is presiding.”

“Be seated, excluding the jury,” drawled Haywood, taking a seat and adjusting his glasses.” Taking a moment to swear in the jury, as they were seated, he clasped his hands, casually drawing himself forward.

“The case of the People of the United States versus Bruce David Banner is now in session.”[/indent]