Thoth Law Firm Episode 4

Jerald Mayer went about his business, scrubbing the entirety of the housing complex of his employ. He was the only employee, as the residents were largely responsible for keeping their own rooms clean. He mostly just worked in the public spaces. An imp exited an elevator, stepping towards him.
"Hey," she called out to him, "Janitor."
He turned towards her, "Uh huh?"
"My friend puked on the second floor," she explained, "In the hallway."
"Well, damn," he said, "What's your room number?"
"I, uh, don't live here," she said nervously, "I don't know the room number she puked in front of, I'll show you where it is."
"I've got to drop by my closet and pick up some sawdust," he warned her.
"I'll follow you, it's fine."
Jerald shrugged. He took the elevator down to the basement where his supply closet was. He led her to the closet and stepped inside, he began collecting the materials he needed when he heard the door close suddenly behind him. He turned around.
The imp had a hungry look in her eyes, she pulled down her tube tope, exposing her flat chest to him. He backed away.
"I'm really good with my hands and mouth," she assured him, her face flushed, "I'll make you feel really good."
He grimaced, "Is this your idea of a date?"
"We can date later, if you want," she offered. Her inexperience was apparent in her demeanor.
"I'm not interested," he turned away from her, continuing to grab the materials he needed.
She came up from behind, wrapping her arms around him. He struggled, unable to break her grasp.
"You can't even overpower a little girl like me," she said teasingly, though still very nervous. She did seemed to be playing a part more than driven by passion. She twirled him around, pinning his back against the shelves. She looked at him with a shy affection. He was much taller than her. She fluttered her wings to reach his height. She planted her lips upon his.
She felt a sharp coldness on the bottom of her jaw. It pressed sharply into her. Her eyes shot open, her lips still on his. She did not know what the cold object was, but she certainly got a good idea when he pulled the hammer back with his thumb.

Foster woke up to the smell of bacon and syrup. He shifted in his sleep, feeling his morning wood suddenly very warm and wet. He jolted awake, looking down quickly.
There was a breakfast tray across his torso, with a full array of breakfast foods arranged freshly upon it. Beyond the tray was Michelle, gently suckling his glans.
"What the..." he blinked a few times to get the sleep out of his eyes.
She popped the dick out of her mouth and gave him a wide grin, her green eyes twinkling, "Happy Birthday, Foster!"
"Wha--
He lifted his phone from the side table, checking the date on it, "Oh, look at that."
She looked exasperated, "Foster, you don't know your own birthday?"
"Why should I? You keep track of it for me."
She giggled, resting her cheek on his thigh, "So what's your birthday plans?"
He hoisted himself into a sitting position, "I got work."
She squeezed his cock affectionately, "You don't even take your birthday off? I took a day off."
"You don't have hours, you live off retainer," he protested.
"Well, fine, then eat your breakfast," she ordered him, sliding his cock back down her throat.
"You expect me to eat while yo--ah..." he shivered in response to her tongue work. She moaned as she enjoyed her treat.

Foster read through a file, a skeleton needing legal council for the drafting of her will. It was an easy job, requiring the barest minimum of effort. However, Foster was merely debating how a member of the undead could possibly require a last will and testament.
"There are donuts in the break room," Akila mentioned behind him.
He stood up suddenly, alerted by the presence of another member of the undead. The chair rolled into Akila, who squealed. He whipped around.
"Dammit, Akila, you simply must--
"Break room, donuts."
Foster sighed, "That's great, I had a big breakfast this morning."
He pulled his chair up, taking his seat. Vivi fled his office, excitedly seeking out donuts.
"Then there's actually, uh..." Akila seemed to be grasping for something to attract Foster to the break room.
"If this is a surprise birthday party, you don't need to go through such efforts," Foster said as he debated the skeleton dilemma.
"I-it's not a birthday party...it's your birthday?" she bluffed.
"Yes...it is."
"Well, then come to the break room, because it's not a party. I didn't even know about your birthday."
"Really?" Foster gave her a cynical look.
"I swear."

Vivi threw open the doors to the break room.
"Surprise!" Tsubaki excitedly cried, lethargically joined by Dalila and Minako. Vivi looked around curiously.
"Oh, crap!" Tsubaki covered her mouth.

Akila boldly tugged Foster through the hallway.
"Akila, I--
"It's, like, a critical meeting you must attend," Akila explained hurriedly.
"In the break room?!"
She threw open the doors to the break room, "Surpriiiiise..."
Her exclamation died out as she realized nobody was prepared for Foster's entrance.
"Crap!" Tsubaki shouted, "We wasted the surprise on Vivi!"
Akila sighed with defeat, releasing Foster's arm. Foster brushed his jacket off and corrected his cufflinks.
"I mean, there's still cake though," Tsubaki pointed it out, "So, you know...there's cake."
She clearly wanted him to cut the cake so she could have some. Foster sighed, stepping over and lifting the knife. He sliced it once. Tsubaki moved over and bounced him away with her leg, "Ok ok, I can take it from here."
She picked up the knife and cut a second time, producing a quarter slice of cake. The cake was generic, purchased from a store with Foster's name written upon it with gel icing, they mispelled his name as "Frosting". Tsubaki made absolutely sure this quarter-slice included all three different colors of balloons. She flopped it onto her plate and placed the plate upon her abdomen for safekeeping. She lifted another paper plate held the knife up expectantly, glancing around the room.
"Who else wants a slice?" she said excitedly, suddenly very generous now that she got the slice she wanted.
Vivi raised her hand. Tsubaki began rotating the knife around the last cut she made, "Tell me when..."

Despite the awkward nature of the party, it was actually a success. Everyone stood around, enjoying a nice slice of cake and socializing. Even Minako, who was rather notorious in the office for being withdrawn and unapproachable.
"So, I got three different cakes, but they misspelled your name on all three...so I chose this one, since it was the closest. How's that new intern working out for you, Foster?" Akila asked.
"Vivi's great, it's nice to have another pair of hands," he replied.
"And, like, fifty pairs of legs," Dalila added.
"Haha! Seven vaganias!" Tsubaki tried to contribute to the conversation. Her big, dumb smile faded when the other denizens of the party just stared at her, not getting the reference. She retreated from the group and cleared her throat, she mumbled, "It's from...like, this thing I saw...on the internet."
Minako snagged Foster by the elbow and indicated she would like to speak to him aside. He accepted her rather forceful invitation.
"Alright, Hawking, I was not aware it was your birthday today. Gift-giving is to be a personal, intimate experience for both parties," she explained, her face stark serious as it always was, "I'm going to need the rest of the day to prepare something for you. And I would like to present it to you in privacy, why?"
Foster listened.
"Why?" she repeated.
"Oh, uh...because...gift-giving is a personal, intimate experience for both parties?" he obliged her.
"Right, don't phrase it as a question, it makes you sound like a teenage girl when you state facts as questions," she warned him, "So, I would like the address of somewhere you will be today, unaccompanied by anyone else. I will drop by, present you my gift, and be on my way."
"Maki, this is becoming very creepy very fast," he pointed out.
"On my honor, I cannot let you, as an acquaintance and a respected coworker, go without a personalized gift from myself," she explained, "However, I refuse to give it to you in front of these yodeling harpies. This is between the two of us."
"Why not just mail it?" Foster inquired.
"Hawking, I won't mail it. Why?"
Again, Foster was listening.
"Why?!"
"Oh! Right. Intimate, personal experience. You don't have to worry about it, Maki, don't get me anything."
"You are a terrible listener for a lawyer," she pointed out.
"Right, you must, on your honor. Ok, I get it."
"So, where can I present you your gift?"
"I guess at my apartment, I'll give you the address."
"What about your girlfriend?"
"What?" Foster looked at her with shock, "You knew I had a girlfriend?"
"Yes, met her twice. She seems crazy."
Foster raised his finger to his lips, "No no, no no no. Don't talk about her, she'll--
The door flew open, Michelle stepped in, "Foster, sweetie! You didn't tell me you were having a birthday party!"
Minako quickly whispered to Foster, "I'll text you later tonight, I'll meet you outside by your car to give you the present."
Foster attempted to protest, "W-wait, I'm between cars righ--
Michelle stepped over and gave Foster a big hug, "Is this the whole office?"
Tsubaki waved her big, fluffy paw excitedly, "Hey, Mich--
Michelle turned and cast her a glare that popped the balloon floating next to her. She made a 'zip lip' gesture at her. Tsubaki glanced around fearfully before looking at the floor in shame.
Foster did not know what just transpired, but he had a fair idea. He nonetheless answered her question, "No, not the whole office. Abbey didn't attend, and I'm not 100% sure why, actually."
"I ''did'' invite her," Akila said.
Michelle turned towards the rest of the party, "Hello, everyone. I am Michelle. I'm Foster's girlfriend. I think we've already met, Akila. I mean, I think. You seem to pop in and out of sight."
"Yeah, she does that," Dalila agreed.
The door flew open once again as Abasi stepped inside, her pointed ears twitching. She scanned the room with her stern, brown eyes. She locked onto Foster. She stepped across the break room and stopped short in front of him. Tsubaki and Akila looked terrified. Michelle and Vivi looked on curiously. Dalila and Minako, as always, did not seem to give a fuck. Foster took the straight-faced path.
Abbey moved her arms out from behind her back, holding a small gift for Foster, wrapped with a nice little bow. Foster raised his eyebrows and lifted it from her hands.
"That was really considerate of you, thank you Abbey," Foster spoke as he unwrapped it.
From it, he lifted a large coffee mug with the pithy saying, 'I'm not a paladin, I'm a lawyer' with the reverse side of the mug proudly proclaiming, 'But my JUSTICE tastes the same'. How gauche.
"Thank you, Abbey, it means a lot coming from you."
"There's more," she pointed a clawed finger at the bottom of the box. Foster peered in curiously. There was a bunch of papers. He placed the mug on the counter and reached inside. He pulled them out and gave them a quick read.
"Goddammit," he exhaled, "It's a case."
Abbey snickered cruelly and pumped a victorious fist, "Gotcha! Happy birthday, Hawking!"
She cackled as she left the break room, "Get back to work!"
Foster lifted his mug and his case file, "Alright, it's about time we concluded this party."
"Yeah, I've got Watson out looking for an errant gargoyle client of mine," Minako pointed out, "I should go check up on him and make sure he's not dead."
"Oh, don't get my hopes up," Dalila muttered.

Foster followed the jinko police officer to the holding cell. He saw his client, sitting in the center of the cell. A rather large, muscular man was lying at his feet, unconscious.
"Why is it there is always unconscious people in the cell with my client?"
"Because your clients are good at knocking people out," the jinko officer told him.
"Are you Foster Hawking?" Jerald asked.
"Yes, I am your attorney. I'm surprised you were able to hire with your salary."
"I've got a lot of money in gold scattered throughout the country."
"Excellent, can you afford bail?"
"No, there was only enough gold hidden in this state to hire a good attorney," he explained, "I'm going to need you to spot me."
"Got it, what's your bail?" Foster began dialing Abbey.
"10k."
He closed his phone and put it away, "I don't need to consult with her to expense that much."

After the bail was collected, Foster walked the man out of the station, "Now, to be clear..."
"No no, I understand. We've been over this five times. Bail is not a get-out-of-jail card, I still have to appear in court."
"And..."
"And I don't get the thousand dollars back either way, that's for the bail bondsman," he said with irritation, "I have a very firm grasp of this country's legal system, Mr. Hawking."
"Our bail bondsman is also exceedingly enthusiastic," Foster pointed out, "He is not pleasant company and he has more fun hauling people to court than he cares about the money. For what it's worth, he is ''hoping'' you skip bail."
"Yeah yeah, I hear you, dammit."
Foster led him to Michelle's car, "I'm sorry, I'm between cars right now."
"Is that your personal driver?" he pointed at Michelle.
"No, she's my...girlfriend."
"Hello! You've got quite a lawyer here," Michelle told him, "He'll do you justice."
"Justice is exactly what I'm afraid of right now," Jerald said as he lowered into the backseat.
Foster sat in the passenger seat, "What's that?"
Jerald gave him a look, "Tell me, Mr. Hawking, do you remember the very year that guns were banned?"
Michelle began driving.
Foster returned his look, "I wasn't alive at the time. But it was right after the Mamono Insurrection. If I recall correctly."
"You recall correctly, all right," he said with seriousness, "It was but one of the sweeping changes wrought upon the world by the mamono. Including legal rape, mate entitlement, and the abolishment of segregation."
"Mamono Anti-Discrimination laws."
"The good ol' MAD laws."
"But the banning of firearms was not part of the MAD laws."
"Oh, but it was all part of the same human oppression agenda that they're just now loosening up on now that they outnumber us."
"Should I, like, not be here when you talk about this?" Michelle glanced in the rearview mirror.
"It's fine, I'm not racist..." he assured her, "It is doubtful the agendas of the past are as widespread as they once were. There are still pretty intense human oppression mamono out there, but I doubt a modern, progressive woman like yourself is of their ilk."
Michelle grinned, "You know, for a janitor, he doesn't seem ''that'' uneducated."
"I'm no paladin either," he crossed his arms defiantly, "I agree with the abolishment of segregation, and I encourage healthy, loving human/mamono relationships. My issue lies solely in the continued backdrop of oppression that permeates our very culture."
"Oh boy," Michelle sighed.
"Yeah, this is my more unpopular opinion. I'm used to it. Not allowing us to use firearms, treating us like second-class citizens, and making our oppression seem funny and cute...have you seen the ''Fucking the Pizza Boy'' series of pornographic films? They are, by far, the best-selling series of pornography in our country. The movies have higher budgets than many non-pornographic films. The content of those movies is the mindless raping of a random pizza delivery boy. In the first three films, they hired boys under the age of 15 years old. They are actors, yes, and they were paid for their work. But the content is just furthering a mindset that we should be putting behind us."
Michelle snorted with suppressed laughter.
"You disagree with pornography now?" Foster asked with a hint of sarcasm.
"They lowered the legal age of consent from 18 to 12...that was also rolled out with the MAD laws, but was not officially part of the MAD core. But it meant that a huge portion of the previously off-limits male population became available as breeding stock."
"Jesus," Michelle muttered, though she was referring to Jerald's intensity, not to the content.
"I know! So I defy their treatment of me as breeding stock. It might be illegal to have forced copulation now, but that doesn't make it any less easy. Until they return the great equalizer to the people," he brandished a pistol of rather compensatory proportions. Foster recoiled at the presence of a firearm on a man who was no doubt cavity searched before being jailed. Jerald disregarded Foster's shock and continued, "Humans are just one mamono's feelings away from complete subjugation."
"We've got to work on your defense," Foster reminded him, "While I've found your political views to be enlightening--
"Ooh, nice. Enlightening, I wouldn't have come up with that one," Michelle grinned at her boyfriend's clever use of words.
"We should focus more on any avenue of defense we have...the police report says you were defending yourself from a rapist."
"Yes, a young imp was attempting to overpower me and abuse me sexually. I used the gun simply to force her into retreat. I didn't pull the trigger."
"So, self-defense..."
"It's not his reasons that they're questioning Foster, it's his ownership of several weapons," Michelle disputed.
"Ah, yes, you had..." Foster turned around and opened the case file, "A full armory of rifles, shotguns, and pistols in the janitor's closet. Explosives, electromagnetic and chemical weaponry hidden amongst the cleaning supplies. You yourself were loaded down with several weapons hidden on your person, weighing over 300 pounds. Which is quite the feat, considering you walked casually around like that. Nobody detected it up until now. The police still have not tracked down all of your assets, but in the three different domiciles they ''have'' found under your name, they found enough weaponry to validate the signing of an anti-proliferation treaty."
Foster continued to look through the file with disbelief, muttering to himself, "Only ten thousand in bail, huh?"
"I fully intend to take this to a higher court," Jerald insisted.
Foster spat out coffee.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" Michelle slammed the breaks.
The two lawyers whipped around to stare in incredulousness at Jerald.
"You serious?" Foster asked.
"Is it really that big of a deal? This is my chance to change the world," Jerald inquired.
"You can't just expect to cause some big societal change by collecting weapons and gold," Foster educated him, "It takes years of campaigning, political know-how, and the backing of a good portion of the population."
"Yeah. Foster, where did that coffee come from?" Michelle changed the subject.
"Even if we did elevate this to a higher court, all it would do is put you in further debt. Considering you straightforwardly broke the law, there's no way to paint this as a gray area," Foster ignored her.
"Foster, you weren't drinking coffee, you just spewed phantom brew all over my interior," Michelle begged for his explanation.
"So...I'm just going to go to prison? No social change, no raising awareness for oppression?" Jerald looked heartbroken.
"Guys, c'mon. This is very disturbing to me. Is that even coffee that you sprayed?" Michelle pressed on.
"Well, I mean, I'm here to try and keep you out of prison. But this doesn't look good, we might have to try some clever plea to get you out of it."
Michelle sniffed the substance Foster expectorated, "No, this is definitely coffee. Java beans, to be specific. Were you storing it in your cheeks, Foster?"
"I think I'm done speaking of my case," Jerald said with the defiance of a child. He threw open his door and stepped out of the car, slamming it behind him.
Foster rolled down his window, "Where are you going? You're not thinking of skipping your court date are you?"
"Maybe I am, what's it to you?" he spat.
"I don't advise it, neither as your lawyer nor as one citizen to another," Foster warned him.
"There's more than one ending to the story of life," he remarked surreptitiously.
"Oh, that bodes well," Foster resigned, flopping into his seat.
Michelle looked at him curiously for a pause. He peered over at her, "Do ''you'' think we could have taken that to a higher court? I think it's going to be a fight just getting his sentence reduced."
Michelle shrugged, "You really just need to tell me where that coffee came from."

Jerald walked the streets alone, pensive. A beaten up car pulled up next to him, matching his pace. The passenger-side window rolled down. Minako stared at him from inside.
"Jerald Mayer," she stated more than asked.
"That's me," he replied, keeping his eyes straight forward.
"I'm Minako Maki, I work at Thoth, I turned down your case," she told him.
He looked over at her in confusion. She reached over and pushed open the passenger door.
"I'll drive you where you need to go, let's talk," Minako offered.
"Your car is a rustbucket," he pointed out.
"Not my car, you getting in?"
He rolled his eyes, lowering himself into the car and closing the door. He immediately regretted his decision when he saw the body in the backseat.
"So, I turned down your case when it was presented to me," Minako explained, "You were not even aware I did so, but I felt obligated to explain it to you anyway."
Jerald remained stiff as she spoke, his hand caressing the pistol hidden on his person. He nervously glanced in the rearview mirror to see the body in the back.
"I do not take cases that I believe are not worth defending, and I mean that in the least offensive way possible," Minako continued, "I mean that I would not have put my heart into your defense. Which would have been unfair to you. And, full disclosure, I only believe your case is not worth defending because you were in clear, and egregious, violation of several laws."
There was a silence, as Minako seemed to be expecting him to reply. In the vacuum, she spoke back up.
"But I have a special interest in your case, Mr. Mayer. May I call you Jerald?"
"S-sure."
"I believe you will lose this case, honesty is my policy. But if I am correct, judging from your file, you hold some rather extreme beliefs regarding the oppression of humans by mamono."
Jerald swallowed the lump in his throat, "Y-yes. I'm aware they are extreme, but how extreme an ideal is is largely based on the cultural climate."
"Agreed, I don't think your views are extreme at all," Minako gave him a serious look, "I won't go on any rants, but let me just say that there was once a time when men were strong, independent. True love can only bloom in the fertile soil of mutual respect. Love where one party tugs along the other is not a love worth having."
Jerald looked around nervously, "So you believe that owning a gun brings men up to the same level as monsters, promoting a mutual respect?"
"It's a tool, Jerald. And tools should never be banned. Tools are power, and to try and regulate power is to promote a dystopia I fear to think about. I can't love a man who does not feel he can oppose me. If the power he was born with has been torn from him by a world that seeks to tame him, then he can never feel free. And so will never choose someone else on his own will, only out of fear."
Jerald was seriously starting to consider jumping out the car.
"Anyway, I need to make a stop here, hold on."

Foster got a call on his cellphone. He leaned over and lifted the phone to check the caller ID.
"Who's calling at this time of night?!" Michelle demanded, her body flushed, her hands clutching the bed frame.
Foster did not cease his thrusting into her, "It's Minako. I've literally never gotten a call from her before."
"Well, hang up, we're busy," Michelle ordered him, gasping with every one of Foster's movements.
"I'm going to let it ring, I'll call her back later," Foster put the phone back down and let it ring, "Position change."
He grasped her woolly hoof and turned her onto her side, bringing them into the pretzel position. She squealed with joy as Foster maneuvered her.

Foster stepped out of his apartment, walking outside. He saw Minako standing in the parking lot.
"I don't have my car, Maki," he explained, "So I couldn't really wait fo--
"Save it," she said, stepping to the side to reveal Foster's car.
"Oh, you--what the hell happened to my car?!" Foster clutched his head with both hands.
The oni stepped over and lifted the body of a young boy out of the back seat, throwing him forward towards Foster.
"His name is Emery Royceston. He stole the damn thing and has been using it as his personal ride for the last few weeks," Minako declared, "Do with him as you wish, I knocked him unconscious."
Foster approached his car, looking it over. He spotted Jerald in the passenger seat.
"Why, uh...is my client in your passenger seat?"
"Long story. I'm going to take him home in my own car."
She opened the passenger door, "Come on, we're switching cars."
Jerald obeyed. The two walk off into the parking lot.
"Enjoy the car. Happy Birthday, Foster," Minako said, waving her arm as she walked away.
Foster watched them leave before turning to his car. The poor thing. He glanced up at his apartment window. Michelle gazed down at him.

"Ok, so I kind of want an explanation for what the hell just happened," Jerald demanded from Minako, who was driving.
"Fair enough. Foster Hawking, your lawyer, my coworker, had his car stolen a few weeks ago. It was his birthday today, so I went out and found the thief and got his car back."
"Are you two, like, going steady or something?"
"Not at all. Foster is a dear, close friend of mine."

Foster sneezed. Michelle jolted at his sudden movement, having been casually eating pistachio-flavored pudding next to him on the couch.
"That was sudden, are you getting sick?" Michelle inquired.
"What? No, I feel fine...say, you know Minako?"
"Yes, the blue oni."
"We've never spoke...like, I think over the course of my knowing her, we've never exchanged more than a few words. But she went through so much trouble for my birthday gift."
"Should I be worried? Is that what you're saying? Does Michelle have to choke a bitch?" Michelle grinned at him cheekily.
"Please don't joke, it's not funny coming from you," Foster told her, leaning over and eating the pudding off her spoon.
"H-hey! You're going to make me sick!"

"That's an awfully large gesture for someone you're not seeing," Jerald pointed out.
"I believe actions speak louder than words, and I express my appreciation for others by making small gesture such as this."
"I'm sure Mr. Hawking now knows the full extent of your friendship. Instead of thinking you are crazy or something."
"I've got fair reason to believe Hawking likes crazy."
"Oh?"

The court day arrived. The prosecuting attorney was the same succubus that worked on Foster's other criminal case. She stole glares at him from across the room. She must have been angry at him for the last case. It looked pretty bad on one's record when the defense wins while the defendant fails to appear.
Of course, it was beginning to look like a repeat of last time.
"Mr. Hawking, what is it about you and your clients failing to appear?" Kiyoko, the judge, asked.
"Your honor, I swear this is not something I encourage," Foster said without a hint of surprise or shame.
"You do not seem terribly sorry," Kiyoko pointed out sternly.
"I don't believe I've failed my post as a lawyer if my clients insist on sleeping in. I am their attorney, not their mother."
The judge gave him a cocked grin, "On a personal note, Mr. Hawking, your way of carrying yourself is refreshing."
She banged her gavel, "Failure to appear."
Foster sighed, placing a palm on his forehead.
"Mr. Hawking, I am nonetheless curious to hear your defense?" Kiyoko regarded him with an expectant look.
Foster crossed his arms and returned the look, "I'm afraid I've got nothing. The prosecution has a signed confession, we weren't looking to keep a man out of prison today, your honor, we were looking to reduce his sentence."
"Well, that is a shame," the succubus said tauntingly.
"There will not be any sentence reducing in this court room without the defendant here," Kiyoko told him.
"I did ''my'' job, your honor. That is what matters. I hope Jerald is happy with himself," Foster looked unamused.

Whitney Watson stood atop an apartment building, peering down over the edge at the apartment window of his target.
Due to a loophole in state law, the fugitive's apartment was not technically her own, and so Watson did not have the authority to break and enter her home to apprehend her. The owner of the apartment complex was also uncooperative, refusing to give him permission to arrest one of her tenants. In fact, she barred Watson from entering the complex at all, stating he was a disturbing man who would make her tenants uncomfortable.
Fair enough.
His target also never exited the building out of the standard doors, and did not have a car or place of employ. So those common ambush tactics would not suffice in this particular hunt. His target was a gargoyle, and as such she flew out from her balcony whenever she needed to leave her domicile. Apprehension on foot was not an option.
Fair enough.
Whitney Watson stood atop an apartment building, peering down over the edge at the apartment window of his target.
He watched as she finally slid the window open after two days of inactivity. Her little grey head poked out of the window as she mounted the sill in preparation for takeoff.
She tensed her smooth, muscular legs and launched herself from the window, taking flight into the night.
Watson wasted not a second as she leapt off the edge of the building, a suicidal move by a man of questionable sanity. It nonetheless paid off. He landed on her back, throwing off her flight trajectory and sending her into a tumble towards the pavement.
"What the fuck?!" she screamed as he landed. She flapped her powerful wings wildly in effort to stabilize her flight.
"None may escape justice, fiend!" Watson shouted at her, as he rode her like a bucking bronco.
Her body straightened out as she corrected her flight, supporting both of their weights.
"You fucking maniac! What is wrong with you! I'll drop your ass, don't think I won't!" she threatened.
"Listen here, villain! You can either fly your hindquarters to the police station, and we can get this over with, or I can drag you bodily there!"
"Did you scream something before you jumped?! I heard someone scream 'Hi-Yo Silver'."
"Cease your mindless banter, make your choice or I shall make it for you!"
"I'm going to land, and then I'm going to kick your ass!" she said, though she had not stopped bucking and spinning to try to get him off. He had a surprisingly strong grip on her.
"You've sown your fate!" he buried his knuckle into her side and activated the drive taser he installed into his glove. Actually, it was a gauntlet but he called them gloves.
The taser, being merely a drive taser, did not incapacitate her so much as just cause her severe pain. She shrieked and redoubled her efforts to buck him from her back. It did not work, and he just continued to tase her. She began swearing profusely in French and attempting to claw the man of with her arms and legs. But, for as long and dextrous her toes are, she was unable to get enough of a grip upon him.
"Your battle is already lost, foul woman, yield to the law and your punishment shall be swift!"
"Va te faire foutre, trouduc!" she hissed at him.
"Then I am left with no alternative!" he declared, ceasing his tasing. He pressed the taser against her primary wing muscle and triggered it again.
"Agh! No!" she protested as her wing suddenly stiffened at an unnatural angle. She went into a nose dive as her remaining wing floundered about reflexively, "Stop stop! I give up! Stop!"
"You've burned your choice, criminal scum!" he informed her as they both plummeted.
"You fucking idiot, we'll both die if we hi--
Her sentence was suddenly interrupted as she crashed into the pavement, headfirst. Watson rolled away, distributing the impact as best he could. His somersaults ended with a theatrical quadrupedal pose in which he pushed himself slowly from the ground and stood ostentatiously. He had an audience, a hellhound watched him lazily, ripping off a bong she was carrying openly in public.
He pointed at her, "You authorized to use that, citizen?"
"Yep," she choked out, trying to keep the smoke in her lungs.
"Carry on," he told her as he turned towards the unconscious gargoyle. He stepped over and pulled out a pair of traditional handcuffs and a zipcuff. He flipped her over and cuffed her hands. He folded her wings over her chest and zipcuffed the tips of them together. He lifted her and threw her over his shoulder. He turned to the hellhound, she was still watching indifferently.
He pointed at her again, "Rest easy, my dear, another evildoer has been brought before the eyes of lady justice."
"Sweet," she replied blithely.
He carried her over to his car and tossed her unceremoniously into the backseat and slammed the door. He walked around and settled into the driver's chair. He started the car, a sultry woman's voice spoke to him.
"Welcome, '''Whitney'''. You have '''1''' voicemail."
"Ah, yes. Play voicemail, computer," he ordered it, driving away.
The car was silent.
"Play voicemail!" he repeated, louder.
"I am sorry, I cannot understand your request. Please repeat the request."
"Voicemail!" he tried again.
"I am sorry, I cann--
"VOICEMAIL!" he shouted.
"I am sorry, I--
He begrudgingly reached forward and tapped the voicemail button on the touchscreen built into his dashboard.
"Hey, Watson. Mayer skipped bail. Go fucking get him," Foster's voicemail said. It was concise, he hung up without another word.
"Ah, yes! Another delinquent to be brought before God!"
"iPod," the sultry voice confirmed his voice command.
Danger Zone began playing. Watson looked aggravated.

"So, like, I was thinking since we're both lawyers, we could have, like, that as a theme?" Michelle said casually as she brushed her hair in front of a mirror.
"Michelle, what exactly would a lawyer-themed wedding be like?" Foster queried.
"Well, like. Our friends and families would be, like, the jurors. And we would be the defendant and prosecution. And the judge would be the priest."
"Why would we be on opposite sides?"
She turned away from the mirror and looked at him with a twinkle in her eye, "Because love is a battlefield!"
Foster sighed, facepalming. She clopped over and plopped down next to him on the couch.
"Hey, isn't that your client?" she inquired, pointing at the screen.
Foster peeked between his fingers. The apartment building Jerald worked in was surrounded by police officers, with the headline 'Man holds hostages at gunpoint in low-income housing complex.' Jerald's mugshot was on display.
"Ex-client. Also, I find it humorous that they point out the income of the tenants," Foster pointed out.
"That doesn't worry you in the slightest?" Michelle raised an eyebrow at him.
"You know what, Michelle? Some man holding hostages in an apartment building on the other side of town does not make me near as worried as my own developing Stockholm syndrome."
Michelle gave him pouty lips, "So what you're saying is that you've got feelings for me."
Foster leaned forward and turned up the TV with the remote on the coffee table.
"Police have been unsuccessful in entering and apprehending the criminal. They themselves have been added to the collection of hostages. It is unknown if Jerald has any demands, as the police refuse to share any of his demands with the media. However, we do know that there have been no casualties. The SWAT team sent inside has not responded or returned."
"Goddamn," Foster's eyes widened, "A SWAT team couldn't handle him. It's just one human man in there."
Foster changed the channel, a second news channel was also covering the situation.
"--tacted our news station and reiterated his demands, claiming the police are refusing to cooperate with him. His demands are as follows: Lift current gun laws and restore power to the human population; Force the police to wear body-cams at all times; Imprisonment in a human-run prison. The final demand is surprising, as he does not seem to have any plans to escape."
Foster changed the channel back.
"--in outlandish clothing has broken past the police line is approaching the building without regard for his physical well-being!"
Watson was walking casually past the police officers toward the building. Foster shook the couch with jerky bouts of laughter.
"What's so funny?!" Michelle asked.
"Nothing, nothing. I just can't believe my eyes sometimes...I get a little hysterical."

"Sir, sir!" Diane demanded Watson's attention, "This is a police line, you cannot just walk pa--
He whipped around and held a finger to her lips, "Shh...rest easy, citizen. I am here to right this situation."
"What the fuck?!" Imogen stepped over, "Who the hell does he think he is?!"
Watson flourished his cape, "I am Whitney Watson...bounty hunter."
He disappeared into the building.
Imogen and Diane stood looking on, speechless.

Jerald watched his television, he saw Watson step inside of the building, "You've got to be kidding me."
He looked at his closed circuit television sets, Watson was indeed stomping through the hallways without regard for common sense. He triggered one of Jerald's traps, firing a beanbag round directly at his chest. As the closed circuit television had no audio feed, Jerald could only guess that Watson was laughing heartily from the heaving of his chest. Watson struck a few poses and continued on his way, triggering trap after trap, absorbing the blows or dodging its effects with little heed.
"Son of a bitch," Jerald picked up his shotgun and rushed out the door. He shouted at the hostages, "Don't move!"

Jerald crossed the corner, brandishing his shotgun at Watson. Watson noticed his target and placed his hands on his hips.
"Alright, tough guy, get down on the ground or I'll pump you full of lead," Jerald warned him, aiming right at Watson's chest.
Watson pointed a finger at him, "I could say the same to you, scoundrel. Save for the threat of using deadly illegal weaponry. Justice needs no foolish tools."
Jerald lowered the gun, "Are you serious right now? You're human right? You sound like a man."
"Correct you are."
"Do you have any idea what this is? Have you ever encountered a shotgun before?"
"I've taken on scum with much greater weaponry and emerged victorious. You are simply another name to scratch off my list. A petty criminal who takes advantage of the weak but can't hold his own against the strong!" Watson struck another pose.
Jerald threw the shotgun down, "Alright, fair enough."
Jerald took a fighting stance. Watson returned the gesture.
The two stared each other down, waiting for the other to act. Watson made the first move, opening with a cross. Jerald shifted out of the way and threw an uppercut in counter. It caught Watson on the bottom of his helmet. It remained securely on, and Watson laughed heartily from inside. Watson feigned another punch but instead delivered a low roundhouse kick. Jerald took it, surprised at the gambit.

"Alright, I'm going in," Imogen told Diane.
"No, we've already lost too many," Diane denied her.
"We haven't heard from Mayer in a very long time, I'm worried something might be going down. I'm going in whether you want me to or not," Imogen insisted, "But I'd feel more comfortable if you went in with me, partner."
Diane gave her a look. Imogen returned it. The two nodded and ran inside.
Upon opening the door, they shined a pair of flashlights inside, looking for traps. They found a number of expended ones, but no immediate threats.
"It's quieter inside than out," Imogen pointed out, "It's disturbing."
"I'm guessing that guy set off these traps when he came in," Diane theorized.
"He set off more than one though...goddamn, what is he made of? Look, he went towards the stairs."
The two women followed the trail of expended traps to the elevator. The doors had been forced open and someone apparently climbed the empty shaft since the elevator itself had been disabled.
"Smart, force them to go by stairs..." Diane pointed out, "Make them run the gauntlet of traps."
There was a screaming heard from above them in the elevator shaft. A pair of men went toppling past the open doors.
"What the fuck?!" Imogen shouted.
"Was that him?"
"It was both of them! Move!" Imogen pushed her out of the way and peered down the shaft. It was a short fall to the basement level, where the two were recovering and returning to their duel.
Imogen drew her taser and leapt down the shaft, bracing for the fall.
"Imogen!" Diane called after her, surprised she would jump. She peered down and witnessed her attempt to join in the fight.
The two men largely ignored her cries for them to cease. What was more, neither would stand still long enough to be tased. They took turns gaining the advantage in grappling and slamming each other against the shaft wall. Diane leapt after them, landing haphazardly and hurting herself.
Imogen returned to her fallen comrade and attempted to help. At the same time, Watson received a powerful blow to his solar plexus and fell on his back. Jerald lifted a foot to pin Watson by his neck. Thinking quickly, Watson undid the latch of the elevator hatch and slid quickly down into it, Jerald, expecting his foot to land on something, clumsily toppled in after him, banging his nose against the edge of the hatch.
After the two had a gasping match, they returned to combat. The two were so beaten up and lightheaded from trauma that they had ceased being defensive and were simply beating the hell out of the other.
Down the hall they went, out of the open elevator doors. Watson triggered a trap, and before it could go off, swung his opponent in front of it. Jerald roared with pain as the beanbag pounded against his flesh.
"That's how we're going to play it?!" Jerald shouted.
"Hoisted, by your own petard, villain!" Watson retorted.
Jerald leapt into the air and dropkicked Watson. This had very little effect on Watson, who had seen the move telegraphed and braced for it accordingly. All it did was make him step back a few feet. Of course, that was the point, as he triggered another trap that snagged his leg and pulled it towards the nearby janitor's closet, where the mechanism was resting inside. Jerald, again, moved in for the pin. Watson countered with a set of handcuffs.
Through a sleight of hand, Watson had cuffed himself behind his back. With a wide swing of his arm, he shackled Jerald's arm to his own.
"What the--
"Criminal scum!" Watson shouted as he yanked Jerald's cuff, toppling him over. Watson then proceeded to slam his boot into the door and cause it to break the latch open. The mechanism was exposed, screwed into the floor. The apartment complex was not sturdily built, so another swift kick yanked the screws free and liberated Watson's leg. The two scrambled to their feet and continued their fight; this time cuffed together with Watson dragging along the broken remains of the snare trap on his leg.

The final blow was delivered by Watson, who went in for a regular high roundhouse kick, but forgot about the snare trap. The heavy mechanical device smashed against's Jerald's temple and knocked him out cold.
Watson anxiously checked the man for a pulse, sighing in relief to find one. He lifted the man and carried him out of the apartment building.
The hostages had long since been freed, Jerald and Watson were simply left to their own devices while the captured SWAT members broke their bindings and freed everyone. Watson placed Jerald gently on an ambulance gurney.
"Who are you?" the medic asked him.
"I am Whitney Watson...bounty hunter," he informed her as he swished his cape and attempted to disappear in the night. However, his snare trap got caught on the ambulance tire and he tripped, falling onto his face and going unconscious.

"A number of philanthropists are throwing in their support for the restoration of the right to bear arms," the newslady said, "There is still yet a long way to go before we see any major change, especially with the opposition reminding them of Jerald Mayer's hostage situation several days ago. However, the supporters consider Jerald to be an example of why these rights must be resto--
Foster switched off the television, "Never been a fan of politics."
"You know, for one crazed man with a shitload of guns and gold, he sure had an impact," Michelle pointed out.
"He went down with a bang. Guess that was his plan all along. I disagree," Foster said, "He hurt his cause more than helped it. But, whatever, another client another paycheck."
"You're cold."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"