Starring:
NPC:
Lane
Summary:
Faith gets a new lawyer who is convinced that she could do more good outside of prison than inside.
Date It Happened: December 7th, 2001
The Good Fight
County Jail
When Faith was told that her lawyer was here to talk to her, that might be a surprise. Ever since she was convicted, there hasn't really been much in the way of law advice thrown the woman's way. An even bigger surprise may be that when she's directed to the prison's large blank rooms for her consultation, it's not her usual lawyer. Instead, it's a tall blonde woman in a nice little power skirt suit with a briefcase. All business, all ready to work.
With the long walk providing plenty of time to prepare, by the time she reaches the door to the consultation room, Faith has worked herself up to an expression of considerable distaste. She's already rolling her eyes as she turns the corner into the doorway, but when she finally catches sight of the blonde at the desk, she stops in her tracks. Her childish attitude is set aside, at least for now. Allowing the guard to lead her to the chair and taking her seat, she lays her chained hands on the table with a metallic clang and eyes the lawyer with an even stare. No hello, no pleasantries at all, just a forthright: "Who the hell are you?"
The blonde woman must have been briefed on Faith's quirks and personality because she doesn't flinch at the greeting that she's given. "You must be Ms. Lehane. I'm your new attorney. Lane Murphy. My father liked Superman a lot but hated the name Lois." Why she felt the need to give that little bit of personal information away, but it's already out there. "Now, you're in here for murder and attempted murder?" It's a rhetorical question, as she already has her files.
"Look, I've been over this with every one of you." Tipping her chin back, shaking her head to allow her hair to fall back over her shoulders and out of her eyes, Faith seems unimpressed by her new attorney. She doesn't respond to the woman's odd anecdote about her name - but her expression speaks volumes about her blatant disinterest. Her shoulders roll in a stretch, her head tipping first to one side, then to the other. When she finally returns her attention to the blonde, she speaks in a voice edging on annoyed. "I don't need to talk. I don't need you to check in. I don't want to appeal."
There's disinterest and then there's Lane. It's not like she thought this was going to be an easy sell. And she knew that when she started. "Well. I'm not every other lawyer in the city." Dropping a few heavy files onto the table - presumably Faith's record - she gives her a smile. "Now. I can expediate your appeal, drop down your sentencing time, you might not even have to get parole. This is all such an unfortunate turn events for you, Ms. Lehane. There are people who had such great hopes for you. I represent one of those such organizations. We know all about your past and about your troubles. We think that you'd do much more good outside these bars than inside of them."
This time, she really does roll her eyes - an emphatic gesture of disbelief, as if the woman was trying to fool her and Faith could see straight through the ruse. Of course, the truth is likely much more complicated than that; why else would a new attorney be showing interest in a woman who confessed to (and has no interest in lying about) her charges? "Different wrapper, same package," she retorts, her tone sliding nearer and nearer to frustration. Setting the guard on edge, Faith leans forward, sliding her cuffed hands across the table with a metallic scrape. "Not sure how many more ways I've gotta say it, blondie, but I don't want any of what you're selling. The only good thing I should be doing is my time behind bars."
Lane doesn't look around to see who's listening. To be honest, she doesn't really care. Either they're going to think she's talking lawyer mumbo-jumbo or they're going to think she's crazy. Either way, there's people who'll take care of it should it need to happen. "You're a Slayer, Faith." There's no smile, no sort of warmth to this statement. This is business. Sliding her briefcase over, she drops a few pictures on the table. Buffy's, The Mayor of Sunnydale's…they're all attached to a few sheets of paper. "You're the last Slayer left. You really think wasting away inside the joint is how you're supposed to be doing your penance?"
Aware of the photographs, Faith keeps her steady gaze on Lane, never once glancing down to the papers. She leans back in her chair, dropping her hands down into her lap. "Buffy going and getting herself killed? Not my problem," she states, though hidden behind all her bravado is a hint of genuine remorse. She can't say she wasn't affected by news of the other Slayer's death, not that she'd ever admit it, least of all to a stranger. "Last I checked, I wasn't the only one out there fighting the good fight. You want a hero? Go find Angel, or any of the Scooby Gang left in Sunnydale, or the thousand other people."
"The vampire with the soul?" Lane finally gives Faith a smile, but it's not a friendly one. "We prefer to not align ourselves with a person who's grip to the good fight is so…easily taken away." Take away his soul, he reverts back to his monster. "Maybe we could do all that, but you know what they don't have? Slayer powers. You were given a rough deal, Faith. I don't think anyone of those…what did you call them? Scooby Gang? Well, those gang bangers, understood what happened to you. We're coming to you because you're the Chosen One who's been born to do this. Maybe we're a little obsessed with quality, but why would we go to them when we could talk to the best?"
The more the woman speaks, the more overt Faith becomes with her disapproval; maybe Lane is getting to her after all, if her discomfort is any indication. "Right. Angel doesn't have enough of a grip on the good fight," she echoes disbelievingly, slanting her head down to stare at the lawyer. "And you think I'm your best shot." Her mouth twists into a smirk and she huffs derisively. "Gotta say," she says, shaking her head, "hands down, you're the craziest one they've sent so far." Never mind that she hasn't even asked what this organization is that's taken such an interest in her. "Say you get me out. Then what? Can't exactly go back to training and patrols. The Council wouldn't even touch me."
"Let's not focus so much on the vampire, hm? This is your time." Lane switches the legs that she's crossing and finally gives a smile. She can tell she's starting to get to Faith. The Slayer is still here and talking, even getting uncomfortable. "Oh, no. Your time with the Watcher's Council would be finished. They've already proved their ineptitude with handling you." And that's something that even Faith would agree with, she would think. "There's much more you could do here in LA that doesn't involve patrolling. You may not have realized it, since you've been in here, but the city is roiling. Something's happening here and we'd like to invest in the future. You seem to be the best investment we could make." At being called the craziest, she gives a little laugh. "Really? Awesome."
"Find a new investment." Shoving her chair back, the feet scraping loudly across the floor, Faith seems to be indicating that she feels this conversation has come to an end. "You're wasting your time." Ah, but if Lane had truly been wasting her time, she wouldn't have elicited the reactions she has from Faith. "This is where I belong," she says, gesturing with her shackled hands to the secure room around her. "I'm doing my time."
"You're taking the easy street, Ms. Lehane," Lane tells Faith evenly. This was nothing that the woman expected to finish in one day. After all, this is Faith and she's read her file multiple times before coming here to meet her in person. Taking her pictures and papers, she starts to neatly put them away in her briefcase. Everything has it's place. Pulling out a card, she slips her card across the table between them toward the Slayer. "In case you decide to join the fight." Snapping her briefcase closed, she stands up and pulls the handle with her. "I'll be back to check on you." Just in case she thought this was over. Should Faith look down, she'd see in neat black printing the writing on the card: 'Lane Murphy, Personal Relations, Wolfram and Hart'.
