Writers: Justice
Dec. 13th, 2009 07:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spongetasticPeter grimaced, tugging on his tie restlessly. He didn’t mind wearing suits but on this occasion he was feeling stifled. Probably because he was forced into it by his father. He was forced into the entire day by his father. Peter couldn’t even excuse it as father-son bonding.
“Pay close attention, Peter,” Arthur instructed his young son. The teenager responded with a rebellious snort, propping his cheek with his hand and looking as surly as possible. He was sitting as one of a very small audience at the plea hearing.
“Case number blah-blah-blah,” the court officer announced; Peter tuned out the parts he found most boring. “People versus Thomas Finchley, charged with robbery.”
“Arthur Petrelli for the people, your Honor.” And some other guy was the defense. Peter was slowly tuning everything out. Naturally the defendant pleaded Not Guilty. Did anyone ever plead Guilty? Probably not. His father would be out of a job if they did.
At least the plea hearing was short. It was over in about five minutes, and then Peter was following his father back to the man’s office. Peter could definitely understand why his brother was going to fit in with the rest of these lawyers. And he knew that his father was hoping Peter would start to feel at home in the court room as well.
It was a testament of how much Peter loved his father that he even agreed to come.
“This shouldn’t take very long,” Arthur was saying. “We certainly have enough evidence to convict him. Now Peter, how many years do you think I should offer this man?” The boy’s eyebrows went up, surprised his father wanted to include him. Probably the older man’s attempt at father-son bonding.
“Did he do it?” the teen wondered.
“Of course he did it,” Arthur huffed.
“Then why are you convicting him, and letting people like Mr. Linderman get away with what they do wrong.”
“Peter, that…” Arthur paused, his face growing serious. “Mr. Linderman is a dear friend of mine. He’s nothing like this criminal.”
“Yeah,” Peter sighed. “He’s worse.” Arthur stared at his son for a long time, and Peter stared right back. Peter simply wasn’t cut out for this line of work, and it looked like his father was finally beginning to understand that.
“Pay close attention, Peter,” Arthur instructed his young son. The teenager responded with a rebellious snort, propping his cheek with his hand and looking as surly as possible. He was sitting as one of a very small audience at the plea hearing.
“Case number blah-blah-blah,” the court officer announced; Peter tuned out the parts he found most boring. “People versus Thomas Finchley, charged with robbery.”
“Arthur Petrelli for the people, your Honor.” And some other guy was the defense. Peter was slowly tuning everything out. Naturally the defendant pleaded Not Guilty. Did anyone ever plead Guilty? Probably not. His father would be out of a job if they did.
At least the plea hearing was short. It was over in about five minutes, and then Peter was following his father back to the man’s office. Peter could definitely understand why his brother was going to fit in with the rest of these lawyers. And he knew that his father was hoping Peter would start to feel at home in the court room as well.
It was a testament of how much Peter loved his father that he even agreed to come.
“This shouldn’t take very long,” Arthur was saying. “We certainly have enough evidence to convict him. Now Peter, how many years do you think I should offer this man?” The boy’s eyebrows went up, surprised his father wanted to include him. Probably the older man’s attempt at father-son bonding.
“Did he do it?” the teen wondered.
“Of course he did it,” Arthur huffed.
“Then why are you convicting him, and letting people like Mr. Linderman get away with what they do wrong.”
“Peter, that…” Arthur paused, his face growing serious. “Mr. Linderman is a dear friend of mine. He’s nothing like this criminal.”
“Yeah,” Peter sighed. “He’s worse.” Arthur stared at his son for a long time, and Peter stared right back. Peter simply wasn’t cut out for this line of work, and it looked like his father was finally beginning to understand that.