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Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






Aviary Attorney is basically Ace Attorney with anthropomorphic birds based on the art of J. J. Grandville. In February Revolution France. Oh, and with the ability to gently caress things up to your hearts content, yet go on with the game. It's pretty amazing, and I hope we'll have a bit of fun bumbling our way through lawyer shenaninaninanigans.

Oh yeah, and thanks to ProfessorProf, for the previous attempt at LPing this, which I'm stealing wholesale.

Act 1

Introduction
Our First Client
The Baron
First Investigation
Photography
First Trial - The Inspector
First Trial - The Artist
Trial Turnabout

Act 2

A new client
Prince Juan
The Louvre
Poison
Trial Preparations
First Day of Juan's Trial part 1
First Day of Juan's Trial part 2
The Chocolate Fiend
Second Day of Juan's Trial
Second Trial Ending

Act 3

Task List
Strange Device
The Rebels
Finally a Murder
Trial in the Catacombs
TFR.txt
A Happy Ending?

Act 4B

Character Witnesses
Trial Fit For A

Act 4C

Rebel Alliance
Protest
Enemy Mine

Act 4A

The Worst Lawyer
Playing for the Other Side
The Prosecution
Some Birds...

Cast and OST

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 10:48 on Jun 25, 2018

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Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 10:05 on Jun 25, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






Introduction (AFAIK, all the music in this update was composed specifically for the game)





: Our heroes rush off as the curtain draws. I'm not making gifs for this LP, but their comical puppet-hopping almost tempted me.





MURDER!









: Like every AA game, we start the story with a murder most foul. Not murder of A fowl though. Foul fowl might be involved though (and that's the level of wordplay, you may as well get used it it)



Aviary Office

: It's midday already. Where on Earth is that feather-head...

: Phoenix Falcon stumbles in, just on cue.



: Ugh. Too early for worms. Pass the Cabernet Sauvignon.

: There'll be time for that later. We've got business to handle first.

: Business?



: It's probably just more junk mail. Go ahead, Sparrowson, you may have the honors.

: Alright. ~Ahem~ "Dear Monsieur Falcon, I am writing to you today because my daughter, Dame Caterline, has been arrested for a crime she did not commit. She is being heled at la Conciergerie prison on the charge of murder, no less. Her trial is in three days' time. I would be greatly in your debt if you would offer her your legal aid. Yours sincerely, Seigneur Purrtoir Demiaou of the Demiaou estate."

: Well this is quite something...

: I know! Your first serious client in months!

: Not just that. The Demiaou estate is well known for its exuberant wealth. Even if we cannot do much for Dame Caterline, his Lordship would still reward us handsomely for our efforts.

: Wow! So I suppose you intend on defending Dame Caterline in court?

: Per tradition, we must always name our protagonist Dongs refuse the call to adventure.



:I think not, Sparrowson. The fate of a fatcat bourgeois is none of my concern. Pass the Cabernet Sauvignon already.

: I thought about keeping a running tab of terrible puns, but then I decided not to.

: What?! With all respect, Falcon, we've been doing nothing for the past two weeks. Anything would be better than another day of thumb-twiddling.

: Still...



: We'll keep going until we encounter a non-standard gameover or bust.

: No. I’ve made up my mind.

: Okay. Fine. Can we at least play some cards to pass the time?

: Now there's a marvelous idea. But what game? We don't really have enough players for Tapp-Tarock or Cego...

: I know! There's this game I learned at university called “Jacques-Noir”.

: Three guesses as to what game we're talking about and as to what it's actually called in French.

: Jacques-Noir? That sounds dubious...

:No, no, it’s a real game! Let me tell you how it works.

: I think we all know how videogame blackjack works. I guess it's mostly there to show off Grandville's art that the developers couldn't fit into the game proper. I replayed the tutorial a dozen or so times, because the AI always cheats like a motherfucker - except when I'm trying to record for the LP. In any case:



: What do you think? Are you getting the jist of it?

: Yeah, I think I've got a handle on it.

: Alright! Now we can make this interesting. How do you feel about a little wager?

: Sounds good. What did you have in mind? One franc per round? Two?

: No, no. I was thinking of something else...

: I'm intrigued. Go on.

: We play one round. If I win, you have to take on Dame Caterlinés case.

: That sounds like quite a hefty wager. What do I get if I win?

: I-if you win? I...



: ...You must go on a diet. No chocolate, pastries, or cakes for one month.

: (Anime sweatdrops) W-why? What could you possibly get out of me going on a diet?

: Absolutely nothing. But it will be immensely satisfying to watch you writhe in hunger as you munch on celery sticks and carrots.

: You're a cruel bird, Falcon. But we have a deal. Pass me the deck.



: The AI cheats like a motherfucker. I mean, we wouldn't have a game otherwise, but the same is true in regular games of "Jacques-Noir" as well.

: Welp, looks like I won. How about that.

: What! No way, you cheated! You didn’t shuffle those cards properly! Let’s go again, two out of three.

: How does that American proverb go, Falcon? Don't hate the player. Hate the game.

: Ugh. This is my punishment for gambling on a made-up card game, isn't it? Fine. We'll take the case.

: Excellent. My derrière was getting tired from all this sitting around. Oh, but I better file away Seigneur Demiaou's letter first. One moment, Falcon.



: Instead of Wright's semi-physical pocket dimension of evidence, we have a... semi-physical pocket dimension filing system. The items within which we can still use as we travel around the gameworld.



: ...Again. I recall you losing it at the New Years' party. And at Christmas...

: Yes, alright. No need to make a list.



: Our funds actually depend on how well we do in our cases, and MATTER for investigation purposes.

: Let's make a move!





: Locations with a clock next to them will take one day to visit, and we CAN waste our time to no avail (if we feel like it)



: Locations that don't have a clock next to them don't take up any time. But they're mostly just short interludes that don't produce any clues.



: I was just procrastinating.

: Well, stop it! We need to get back to helping Dame Caterline.

: Alright, I'm ready. Let's go!

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 09:40 on Apr 19, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






Sullen-faced guards and visitors linger beneath the medieval archways.

: Aight, might as well actually go visit our client.

Conciergerie Elegy

: Yeah, that sounds about right.

: Ah, the Conciergerie. They say this is the finest prison in the whole of France. The outer walls are impenetrable. The cells are spotless. The guards are well-mannered...



: Good day, Monsieur. I am here to see Dame Caterline Demiaou. I am due to represent her in court.

: Oh, you're her lawyer, huh? Fine, fine. Follow me.

...

: Well, what are ya waiting for? Keep up.





Caterline's theme (Debussy: Valse Romantique)



: Dame Caterline Demiaou, I presume.



: M'lady is knowledgeable.

: Don't... Don't talk like that, Sparrowson.

: Sorry.

: My papa told me that he would only hire the best lawyers in town.

: I'm flattered.

: ...But they weren't available at such short notice, so he hired the first people in the address directory.

: Oh.

: You see, Falcon? I told you listing under Aviary Attorney would pay off.

: Let's get down to business. Dame Caterline, could you fill us in on some details? Your father's letter was a little brief.

: I can do my best. What is it you wanted to know?



: What exactly happened on the night of the murder?

: Ooh, let me think. It was Friday evening. Me and my papa had arrived at Château Crinière, the home of the great Baron Rorgueil. My papa spent all evening talking with Monsieur Grenwee and the baron about... business stuff.

: Business stuff?

: Well, the three of them own a railway company together. So all through dinner, they were talking about company shares and investments, but I didn't really understand most of it. But after dinner, this man with a camera took our photograph. That was a lot more fun.

: Sorry, man with a what took your what?

: A daguerreotype, man bird. They've been around for a decade at this point.



: A tiny bug sits in a box with a tiny paintbrush, and paints your picture very fast. In ten minutes, poof! You have a perfect picture!

: Wow! Technology is amazing!

: I don't think the Lady's explanation is right, Sparrowson.

: Pshaw. Let me believe.

: Still, the camera sounds like a very special device. I'll make a note of it.



: Please continue, Dame Caterline.

: So after we had the photograph, I went into the gardens to get some air, and that's when I found the body of Monsieur Grenwee. He was all ripped open! A housemaid saw me standing over the froggy Monsieur and called for help, and then the police arrived. Before I could say anything, I ended up here. It was such a blur.

: It must have been terrifying.

: It wasn't so bad. My papa taught me how to be a brave cat. Was there something else you wanted to ask, Monsieur Falcon?



: Dame Caterline, who attended the banquet that evening?

: Well, there was me and my papa. My dearest maman couldn't make it. And there was Baron Rorgueil, who hosted the dinner. And his housemaid... Couline, I think she was called. Of course there was Monsieur Grenwee... well, until, you know, he died. And there was Monsieur Robittio de Robinio, the man with the camera, but he was only there for a little while. I think that was all. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?



: Dame Caterline, did you see anything suspicious that evening?

: Suspicious?

: Like, um, maybe a guy lurking in the shadows, or, uh, a bloodied murder weapon...

: Monsieur Falcon, I do believe you are looking for an easy answer.

: You got me.

: I did not see anything, I am afraid. The evening was very normal. The food was delicious. The conversation was boring. It was all very ordinary until the incident.



: I did?

: Dame Caterline, you said, "the food was delicious"...



: You and your drat stomach.

: Let me see...



: Go on.



: Glorious. Falcon, write this down.

: What? This can't possibly be relevant to the case.

: Write it all down. Please. For me.

: Fine, fine.





: Sparrowson, remind me not to let you talk to clients on an empty stomach.

: Come to think of it, I did find it a little strange that we weren't given any cutlery.

: No cutlery? Even for the steak?

: Nope! You would think that the great baron of Château Crinière would have gorgeous silverware, but there was none to be seen.

: That is a little peculiar.

: Was there anything else you wanted to know, Monsieur Falcon?

: No, I think that will be all.

: So what's the plan now, Falcon?

: The way I see it, we have two tasks. We should head to Château Crinière, and try to see the scene of the murder for ourselves. We should try to track down this supposed "photographer", Monsieur Robittio de Robinio.

: Two days for two tasks? Seems doable.

: But we should head back and get some rest first. We have a lot of work ahead of us.

: Wait, Monsieur Falcon. Before you go... You... do believe my story, don't you?



: Of course, Dame Caterline. It's our duty as lawyers -

: - And as gentlemen -

: - To have faith in your testimony. You can trust us.

: ...Thank you. Thank you both.





: Not particularly.

: Well, it is for me. I'm going to start compiling a Face Book so that I can keep track of who everyone is.

: A what?

: A Face Book! It's a collection of people's names, pictures, and descriptions in one easy-to-carry catalog.

: I think I understand. The name could use a little work, though.



: Way to let "Beakbook" go, bird brain.














Xander77 fucked around with this message at 19:05 on Apr 30, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






: We could head directly to the crime scene, but I'm obviously going to waste a bit of time first.





: I am Jayjay Falcon, defense attorney for -

: I know who ya are. I saw ya come by earlier. But visitin' hours are over. Come back next week.

: Do you think you could make an exception for us?

: Visitin' hours are over.

: We'll be quick.

: I said. Visitin'. Hours. Are over. D'ya bird-brains understand? Parlez-vous Français?

: I don't think he's going to make an exception, Falcon.

: You're right. Let's continue our investigation.

: Heading back to the office gives us the exact same message as last time, but here's a closeup of the office area:



: You only get the closeup very briefly before you enter the location. Apparently each was chose in accordance to proper Paris geography - people who lived there or visit may comment on how appropriate / inappropriate each is. In any case, time to actually move the plot forward:





People with dirty clothes and gaunt faces linger around the building's shadows.

Kangaroos (Camille Saint-Saëns - The Carnival Of Animals )





: I don't suppose you'd happen to have some spare change?



: Here you go. Stay safe, madame.

: Many thanks to ya, messieurs!

: That was pretty generous of you, Falcon.

: Times are tough. Making sure a mother and child have something to eat is the least I can do. But what am I doing, standing here moralizing? Come on Sparrowson, we've got business to attend to.



: Woah, look at this place! Baron Rorgueil must be loaded!

: More than loaded. When it comes to lucrative investments, the Baron is a legend. Factories, chocolate shops, hotels, railroads... the Baron owns a little bit of everything this side of the Seine.

: Is he here right now?

: Yes. He's the smug-looking chap with the impressive mane. But we must approach a man of his stature with tact and finesse...



: How's that?

: Sparrowson, you have the finesse of an inebriated warthog.

: You can thank me later. I think I got his attention.



Baron (Carnival of Animals - March of the Lions)

: And who might you fellows be? More investigators?



: Not quite. I am private attorney Jayjay Falcon, and this is my associate, Sparrowson.

: Lawyers, eh? You know, you aren't the first to have passed through here today.

: Oh?

: Yes, yes. This jumpy, twitchy fellow came by this morning. Asked a bunch of questions, then hopped away before he heard the answers. Most curious.

: Hmm.

: Do you know who he was, Sparrowson?

: Perhaps. I have a hutch - sorry, hunch - we'll be seeing him at the trial.

: A friend of yours?

: Something like that.

: So what may I do for you messieurs?

: We're doing some research on Monseiur Grenwee, the frog who was killed here on Friday evening.

: Of course, of course. Such a tragedy. He was a good friend and a loyal business partner. I suppose you messieurs will be wanting to see the crime scene for yourself?

: Actually, yes, that would be fantastic.

: Well, be my guest. You will find the garden where the murder occurred through the back doors. You may also be interested in the lounge on the second floor, third door to the right. That would be where we gathered for a group photograph, prior to the...



: Unfortunate incident.

: Oh, can we see the finished photograph?

: I am afraid not. It is to my understanding that a photograph must be developed before it can be viewed. It's a slow process. My own copy of the photograph is to be delivered in three day's time.

: That's no good to us. The trial may be over by then.

: Nonetheless, we appreciate your hospitality. Thank you, Baron.

: It's no trouble at all. I'll be here to see you out when you are done with your investigations.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 19:49 on Apr 30, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: So, where shall we go first?



: The garden was the murder scene, so let's head to the lounge first.



Psst. Hey, Falcon. Did you see that?

: See what?

That housemaid totally just did something shifty.

: Shifty?

I think she just pocketed something from that drawer. You should totally call her out on it!

: Excuse me, mademoiselle!



: Y-yes? Are you two policemen?

: No, no. We're private attorneys. My name's Jayjay Falcon.

: And I'm Sparrowson.

: Oh, how rude of me. My name is Couline Duhaut. So, uh, what can I help you messieurs with today?

: We're investigating the murder that took place last week. Do you mind if we ask you a couple questions?

: That's fine. Let me just grab a chair.





: We're looking for the room where the photograph was taken prior to the incident. Would you happen to know whether this is the right room?

: Oh, yes, you're in the right place. I saw the photography session for myself. Let's see... the camera man was standing... Just about where you're standing, actually, Monseiur Falcon.

: And where was the camera pointed?

: Right at the clock above the mantelpiece. The Baron insisted on using that very location.

: Now that I'm looking at it, something isn't right about that clock...

: I know! The painting on it totally clashes with the decor!

: I was thinking along more obvious lines.



: Oh, that clock has never had hands in all the years I've worked here. I think Baron Rorgueil just keeps it around as a conversation piece.

: Well, we're conversing about it, so I guess it's working.

: It's a peculiar detail, though. I'll make a note of it.

: Is there something else you wanted to ask?



: You were a little nervous when we came in. You thought we were police officers.

: Is there something we ought to know? Anything you need to confess?

: No, no. I suppose I'm just a little nervous after all the drama of last week.



: Are you sure there isn't anything that you're hiding?

: It's okay to tell us. We're defense attorneys. That means we help people get away with criminal acts.

: Right, and -

: Wait. What? No! That's not an accurate job description, Sparrowson!

: It isn't? Oh. What do we do, then?

: ... I'll tell you later.

: Honestly, messieurs, I have nothing to hide. Was there something else you wanted to ask?



: No further questions. Thank you, mademoiselle, you've been a huge help.

: It's no problem, messieurs.



I know you two saw me... stealing... as you came in. I appreciate that you didn't give me the third degree about it. You see, I'm trying to save up to follow my dreams, and... well, never mind, I'm rambling.

: It's no problem, mademoiselle. To be honest, we have a much larger crime to worry about. Although, I should probably ask: I don't suppose you've been stealing anything else? Silverware, perhaps?

: Ah! You know about that? Yeah, I suppose that was me. It started wouth a couple of teaspoons - I didn't think the baron would miss those. But, uh, well, yeah, I suppose the habit got a little away from me...

: That's one mystery solved, at least.



: I would appreciate it if you didn't tell the baron. He's been really kind, and I would hate to break his trust.

: I see.

: So, where to next, big bird?



: To the garden!



: Hey, Falcon. Do the crime scene investigation thing.

: The crime scene investigation thing?

: Yeah! You know, that thing where you get all eagle-eyed, and analyze every object in excruciating detail.

: You mean search for evidence?

: Yeah! Do that!

: That's not a bad suggestion. It wouldn't be the first time the Parisian police have missed something right under their noses.



: As the OP notes, you can miss things and lose cases and just keep going. But there's no particular reason to miss evidence - there'll be plenty of room to fail during trials.



: The screen is darkened to make it clearer where we're searching. Not sure if I'll keep this up when I screencap in the future.

: A finely-crafted horse statue. The mane almost looks life-like.

: Would you say it be-hooves you to stroke it?

: No. No, I would not.



: Baron Rorgueil certainly likes his horse statues.

: I don't mind the horse statues, but the little cherub people creep me out. Babies should be waddling, not attempting saddleless horseback riding.



: Another beautifully made horse statue.

: You know, my uncle once had a horse that refused to eat hay.

: Oh. That's unfortunate.

: Yep. Eventually we realized that it was just filling up on horse d'oeuvres.

: Ugh. Terrible.




: A horse statue. This one has a goofy face.

: That reminds me of a joke. A horse walks into a bar, and the barkeep says -

: "Why the long face?" Yes, yes, we've all heard that one.

: What? No. The barkeep says, "you've got to stop coming here. You're drinking us under the stable."

: I think it's time to rein in the horse jokes.



: This fountain is finely crafted. It's solid, carved marble. That can't have been cheap. I see nothing but water in the bottom of the lower basin.

: It's a shame we can't see inside the upper basin from here. That would be a perfect place to quickly stash a murder weapon.

: That's... actually not a terrible line of reasoning. We ought to wade in to take a closer look, just to be sure.

: Yeah, I suppose we should.

: Oh, I apologize. I wasn't being direct enough. What I meant to say was, "Sparrowson, go wade into the fountain and take a closer look inside the upper basin."

: Me?! No way! If you want to go wading, do it yourself.

: I'm a respectable lawyer! You can't expect me to roll up my trousers and paddle around a fountain like a duck in a lake.

: Yeah, well, you don't pay me enough to justify getting my sweet threads wet. Look. There's only one reasonable way to settle this. We'll flip for it.

: Flip for it?

: Yup. I'll flip this one franc coin. You call the outcome.. Get it wrong, and you go for a swim. So, what'll it be? Heads or tails? Napoléon face or... plant squiggles?



: "Plant squiggles"? It's called a wreath, Sparrowson. Sure, I'll bet on the "plant squiggles".
: Here I go.

: It's heads. Should have gone with the ol' Emperor, Falcon.

: Gah! Fine. Hold my shoes.



: I almost feel bad for cheating.

: Almost.

: Ah, you're back. Had a good swim?



: But I did find a mystery item in the upper basin. It's no murder weapon, though.

: What is this? It's brown and sticky. And it smells weird. Don't tell me that you picked up a -

: Very wet cigar butt? Possibly belonging to Baron Rorgueil? Correct. But that shouldn't be too surprising - it is his house, after all. I'll stash it in the evidence folder, just in case.





: Good call. But are you sure you don't want to take another dip? We still have time.

: Don't push your luck.





: We had a good look. Thank you, baron. But we actually have some questions for you.
: Please, ask away. I have nothing to hide.



: Baron Rorgueil, I would like to ask about your activities on the night of the murder.

: Oh ho, am I in trouble?



: No, no. Nothing like that. We're just gathering the full picture.

: I see. Well, let me think. The guests arrived at five o'clock, and we all sat down for dinner in this very hall at six. That part went magnificently. The photographer arrived at seven o'clock, but it wasn't until seven thirty that we had our picture taken. My housemaid discovered the crime scene soon after that.

: I see.

: Is there something else I can help you messieurs with?



: We met your housemaid, Couline Duhaut.

: She's a courteous young lady, isn't she?

: Yes, she was more than willing to help us with our investigation.

: I'm glad to hear it. Did you two want to ask something else?



: I think that will be all, Baron. Thank you very much for your time.

: It was a pleasure. Have a delightful day, messieurs.





: I hope so.

: Don't worry. If everything goes wrong in the trial we could always just...



: Terrible. Just terrible. Let's head back to the office and get some rest.



: Three new Face Book entries:





Xander77 fucked around with this message at 05:39 on May 1, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




Leraika posted:

Also: YES GIFS
Stolen gifs from better LPers. Probably not going to make my own - I'm so computer illiterate that I'm routinely surprised my PC doesn't burst into flames the moment I start typing.

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






: Visiting the other locations results in the exact same dialog we've already seen. The exception is the Baron's estate:

: Back here already? I thought you wanted to meet the photographer? Come on, Falcon, time's a-wasting!








: Wait, there's a note on the door. Ahem. "The magnificent and marvelous artist, Monsieur Robittio de Robinio, is currently out on an artistic expedition. He shall return when his muse sees fit."

: "When his muse sees fit?" What does that even mean?

: I think it means that he is a pretentious bird-brain. But in any case, the artist seems to be out. What shall we do now?

: Hmm.



: We should knock anyway.

: Alright. I don't see the harm.

: ...

: ...

: ...

: Nope. It doesn't look like he's in, Falcon.

: There's nothing else to do. Let's make a move.

: Ugh. I hate the feeling of a wasted trip. Is there really nothing else we can do?



: We should... we should break in.

: WHAT?! Are you serious?!

: ...

: Maybe?

: Monseiur Jayjay Falcon, I would have thought that a man of justice like yourself would be against such reckless displays of unlawful barbarism!

: You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over -

: It's a brilliant suggestion. Stand back, I'm barging the door down.

: Wait, just like that?! Shouldn't we discuss this first?!



Goofy (Charles Gonoud - Funeral March Of A Marionette)



: You said you wanted to break in!

: I thought we could find an open window. I didn't think you would turn into a bird-sized cannonball! Well, now that we're here we ought to make the most of it. This place is quite something. It's very...

: Swanky?

: I was going to say "ostentatious."

: That's just swanky talk for swanky.

: We don't have time for this. The sound of a door being smashed in could be drawing unwanted attention. We should find anything that may help our case, and get out.





: A picture of a sailing ship on a windy day.



: A lighthouse? No, wait, it's a man in a top hat. Actually, if I squint and turn my head sideways...

: It's a black smudge, Falcon.

:

: This is a tiny photograph of what appears to be a jail cell.

: That reminds me... how illegal is this? You know, breaking and entering. Rifling through a person's belongings...

: Uh...

: Uh...

: I’m not going to lie to you, Sparrowson. If were caught, we will be spending the next twenty years with a number instead of a name.

: Oh.

: Oh!

: I call 24601!

: Don't be daft, Sparrowson. You can’t “call” prison numbers.

: (drat. I wanted that one.)



: This is a picture of a fence.

: It's a fencey photograph. It leaves the viewer defenseless. Out of all the pictures here, I would picket as my favorite. Okay, I'm done. No more fence puns.



: A butterfly. Or maybe a moth. It's difficult to tell in black and white.



: This is a photograph of a castle somewhere in the countryside.

: You know, I once had an uncle who once fell off a castle rampart while on guard duty.

: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Did he die?

: No. He got de-moat-ed.

: Ugh. Terrible.



: This appears to be a photograph of a ladder. Symbolic of climbing towards success, perhaps?

: It looks more like a step-ladder to me.

: Oh, no. We're not getting into that old argument.



: A beautiful picture of the Paris skyline. Given the angle, this must have been taken from Notre-Dame cathedral itself.



: I see a finely-dressed dandy fellow upon a horse.



: I see paints, inks, dyes... I'm not quite sure what the clear liquid in this bottle is.

: I could taste-test it.

: You could. But we don't have time for a hospital visit right now. So let's not.



: I see a bourgeois tigress in profile.



: Hey, Falcon! Look!

: What? It's just an easel.

: No, no, look at what's on the easel!



: There's no question about it. I see a housemaid... Dame Caterline... and I think that's Seigneur Purrtoir, Caterline's father.

: So what shall we do? Do we just... take this?



: No, no. That would be a big mistake. Every half-competent lawyer knows that stolen property can't be used as evidence. Still, we've learned some valuable information by seeing this photograph in person.

: I suppose so. Is there anything else we need to do here?

: I think we're done snooping. Let's get out of here before we draw further attention to ourselves.

: Sounds good to me.





: Oh mon Dieu! What happened to my door?!

: Uhh...



: We've been fairly law-abiding and haven't actually taken anything, so...

: Well, Monsieur Robinio, it's like this. You see, we are attorneys who have been hired for the purpose of...

: RAVEN! A raven did it! We saw the whole thing!

: (What are you doing, Sparrowson? I've got this.)

: (I'm not going to jail because your conscience is acting up!)

: (Nobody's going to jail. Just... take it easy.)

: Ugh. drat ravens. They're always after our shiny objects, am I right?

: Y-yeah. That's right.

: Let's make a move. Trial day is approaching fast.

: Right. Let's go.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 06:02 on May 1, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.












: ...

: Are you nervous, Falcon?

: ...

: That bad, huh?

: ...

: ...



:Is there anything you need me to do?

: No, no. We've got a handle on things.

: Falcon was just telling me how confident he was feeling about the case.

: That's wonderful! I just know you two will pull through.

: Let's move it along, fellas.

: Ah, I'll be watching from inside! Do your best for me, Monsieur Falcon!

: We will!



: Yeah. We're ready.





Trial Opening (Original composition)







: Oh, uh, darn, that's not it. Oh gosh, where are my notes?



: Knew what?

: Rupert and I went to Paris Law School together. He was in all of my classes.

: Oh. Was he smart?

:Pfft. No. He always scored the second worst marks in the class. I can only assume that he bumbled through the final exams on the luck of his two rabbit's feet. Unless he's improved considerably, you might already have this trial in the bag.

:That's good to know. But say, Sparrowson, if Rupert scored the second lowest marks, then who scored the lowest?

: I choose to exercise my right to not self-incriminate.

:Ah, here it is. ~Ahem~ The Prosecution is ready, your honor.

: Are the jury all present?



:Hey, Falcon. I thought there were only six members of the jury for cases like this. Why do I count eight?

: Oh, those two birds with the funny hats are assesseurs - the associate judges.

:Everything seems to be in order, so let us begin! The court is now in session for the trial of Dame Caterline Demiaou. Prosecution, please call your first witness to the stand.

: Oh gosh, are we there already? Okay, uh... I choose to call the officer in charge of the murder investigation, Inspector Volerti, to the witness stand.

: Inspector Volerti, please approach the stand and recite the oath.



Juste Volerti (Berlioz - Symphonie funèbre et triomphale)

: Monsieur, no, um, inspector, please state your, uh, name and occupation for the record.

: My name is inspector Juste Volerti. I am a servant to the law. A scourge of the gutter rats that plague this city. I have enforced the law for over twenty years, and I shall continue until I bring the infamous Viridian Killer to justice. My path begins eighteen years ago...

: Let's stick to the questions, Inspector.

: Of course, your honor.

:Oh, great. I was hoping we could have one of those bumbling, cuddly officers, but instead we're stuck with lawful-goody two-shoes. I bet this guy would turn in his own mother if he saw her littering.

: So, uh, Inspector, is it true that you are the lead investigator on this case?

: That is correct. I was also among the first to arrive at the scene of the crime.

: Then perhaps you can walk us through what you witnessed upon your arrival?

: Absolutely.

: Just after seven thirty, we were alerted and brought to the scene by the housemaid of Baron Rorgueil. At the scene of the crime, we found Dame Caterline Demiaou. She was standing over the corpse of Monsieur Grenwee with blood on her paws.

: Well, that sounds like an open-and-shut case in my humble opinion. No, uh, no more questions, your honor.



: Keep it together, Falcon. You're about to be given the opportunity to cross-examine the witness. That's your opportunity to find flaws in the Inspector's testimony.

: Of course. I know this.

:You may begin your cross-examination, Monseiur Falcon.



Trial turn-about (Saint-Saëns - Samson and Delilah - Bacchanale)

: Not exactly the same as PW cross-examinations. There are two different avenues of interrogation we can pursue in regards to pressing each of the outlined details. For instance:



:That is correct.



: What was her name?

: The housemaid's name was Couline Duhaut. We found her running from Château Crinière with tears in her eyes.

: Couline... that was the thieving giraffe lady, wasn't it?

: We questioned her extensively, but we didn't find anything implicative. As far as the police are concerned, Coiline Duhaut is not a suspect.

: Hmm...



: Could the housemaid have been the murderer?

: Um, uh, I object! Falcon, you can't go around accusing people of murder willy-nilly!

: I must agree. I saw and heard nothing that made me suspect the housemaid. No motive. No means.

: Falcon, do you have any reason to suspect that the housemaid was a murderer?



: Well... no, I don't. I was just exploring the possibility.

: Hmph.

: In any case, I saw and heard nothing that made me suspect the housemaid of murder.



: No.

: Oh yeah, I guess I should have shown our evidence pigeon-holes as the trial started:









: Inspector, you say you found Dame Caterline at the scene of the crime.

: Correct. The suspect was standing right beside the victim's body.



: Did you find anything out of the ordinary in the garden?

: Out of the ordinary?

: Missing garden tools. Broken fences. That sort of thing.

: Definitely not. We combed the garden, and it came up empty. Nothing but marble horse statues and properly-trimmed grass.

: Hmm. (That seems pretty definitive...)



: When you say "standing right beside"...

: ...

: Would you say the two were less than one meter away?

: I would say around three feet.

: Feet? I'm not familiar with British measurements. How many feet are in a meter?
: Well, there are twelve inches in a foot, and two-and-a-half centimeters to an inch, so... Wait, I need a pen and paper.

: Twelve inches to a foot? That's just plain silly.

: MONSIEUR FALCON! Is this going anywhere?



: I would like to ask about the corpse of Monsieur Grenwee.

: Go on.



: What was Monsieur Grenwee's cause of death?

: That was immediately obvious when I arrived on the scene. Monsieur Grenwee had a gaping slash from shoulder to thigh. Blood was everywhere. I spoke with the coroner, and he was in agreeance: The frog died from blood loss directly caused by the open wound.

: I see.

: I suppose there's no chance of arguing that this was an unrelated injury, huh.



: Inspector, could you describe the cut on Monsieur Grenwee's corpse?

: Certainly. It was a single vertical slash. It was a fine and deep cut. The sort that you would expect to see from a sharpened saber or a suregon's knife...

: Or a cat's claw?

: Certainly.

: Wait, wait, wait. You say a saber or knife could have inflicted the wound. Isn't this a line of investigation that's worth pursuing?

: Don't be daft, Falcon. Did you see or hear anything about a knife or sword at the crime scene?



: Inspector, you say Dame Caterline had blood on her paws.

: Correct. Blood clung to her fur like guilt to a convict.



: How much blood was there on the Lady's paws, Inspector?

: Enough for it to be clear that she had dirtied her hands on the victim's body. We noticed blood under the suspect's nails, around her finger tips, and even a little around her mouth.

: Her mouth!? How vile.

: Hmm. (The Inspector's answer seems pretty definitive...)



: Whose blood was it?

: HA! What a question. It was Monsieur Grenwee's, of course.

: How can you be so sure?

: Um, uh, I object! This line of questioning is absurd! There was only one murder victim that night, Falcon. The blood on Dame Caterline's paws could have only belonged to one person - Monsieur Grenwee!

: Judge, judge! Falcon's trying to delay the trial by asking pointless questions!

: I'm afraid the prosecution may have a point, Monsieur Falcon. Do you have any reason to suspect that the blood belonged to someone other than Monsieur Grenwee?



: I do, your honor. Actually, I have more than suspicion - I have evidence that the blood on Dame Caterline's paws had nothing to do with the murder!

: This is foolish time-wasting, uh, Falcon. If the blood on Dame Caterline's paws didn't come from the victim, then where did the blood come from?







: The music cuts out here.



: Is this true, Monsieur Rabbington?

: Uh, well, I, um, in a manner of, uh, speaking, I suppose steak may have been on the, uh, menu...

: Then, inspector, would you acknowledge the possibility that the blood on the Lady's paws did not belong to the victim, but to the steak?

: Well...

: W-Wait, don't, ah, answer that, Inspector!

: ...It is a possibility.

: Noooo...



: So, inspector Volerti, is it possible that you arrested an innocent bystander simply for being a messy eater?

: Now hold on just one minute, Falcon. You are overlooking something quite crucial. Dame Caterline is an elegant bourgeois kitten. She was no doubt brought up with, uh, flawless etiquette and, um, perfect table manners. At the banquet, she would have eaten the steak with a fork in her left hand and a knife in her right, like any proper, civilized animal. How could she have possibly gotten blood on her paws with such good manners?

: Oh. That is a good question. Or at least, it would be at an ordinary dinner banquet. But as it happens, something was missing from that particular banquet. Something that forced Dame Caterline to eat with her paws...



: Dame Caterline was forced to eat steak with her paws because...



: S-Stolen? I don't recall any mention of that in the police report...

: We weren't aware of anything missing from the Rorgueil resience when we performed the initial investigation. But as it happened, Baron Rorgueil approached us about this very subject last night.

: Ah!



: What is the meaning of all this? Bloody steak? Misplaced silverware? Inspector, was your investigation so lax that you overlooked these basic facts in your initial report?

: Lax?! MY investigation? Judge, I assure you I am the most thorough investigative officer on the force.

: Then it is amazing that the Parisian police manage to solve any crimes at all.

: Heh.

: Oh dear.

: Be on your way, Inspector. Perhaps do a little inspecting for your next case.

: ...

: Fine. So be it. Messieurs, untill next time...

: As a quick aside - you can lose the case right here and now (though you have to be actively trying), and the game (as I said before) goes on regardless. But it goes on with the assumption that you've seen the next testimony, at the very least. There are only so many variables the game can keep track of, but I really think this section should have been "gently caress around, and get a feel for the mechanics consequence free".

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 06:46 on May 1, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




Epsilon Moonshade posted:

Definitely following this. And I think we should check in later. No reason to get on the bad side of the cops with an overt crime.
Heavens forbid that I try to influence the vote, but do you recall how many days we have before the trial starts?

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






: Yes, yes, of course, your honor. I call upon, um, let's see... Monsieur Robittio Robinio, the, uh, photographer who attended the banquet on the night of the murder.

: Monsieur Robittio Robinio, please approach the stand and recite the oath.



Goofy

: It's a little cliché, to be perfectly honest.

: Could the, uh, witness pleace introduce himself for the, uh, court record.

: Hmph. As if anybody in this courtroom does not immediately recognize me. I am the great Monsieur Robittio Robinio. Cutting edge photographer and visionary.

: I don't just take people's pictures. I capture their very essence. Je suis l'artiste. Te es une pipe.

: You may have seen my works in hip magazines "Le Branché" or "C'est Chouette". I can send you tweets, if you'd like.

: What on Earth is a tweet?

: Bird-to-bird communication. Come on, Falcon, it's the 19th Century. Get with the times already.

: Yes, yes, your works are very, um, impressive, Monsieur Robinio, but let's get down to business. Could you tell us your, uh, activities on the night of the murder?



: I arrived at seven in the evening. I pointed my camera, and captured the beauty of the banquet in one fantastic photograph. Then I billed Baron Rorgueil and left.

: Like a true artist.

: And, uh, with regards to the photograph itself. Who did you photograph?

: I thought you might ask. I brought a copy so that you could all see for yourselves.

: Oh, very good. Let's take a closer look.



: In the middle, we see, uh, Baron Rorgueil, the lion who hosted the event. On the left, we see, um, Seigneur Purrtoir Demiaou, the father of the defendant, Dame Caterline. And finally, we see the, uh, the housemaid, Couline Duhaut, who I suspect may have snuck into the picture uninvited.



: The second is the defendant, Dame Caterline Demiaou. Quite suspicious, wouldn't you agree?

: Just a moment, Monsieur Rabbington. This proves nothing. So the defendant and the victim were not photographed with the others. That doesn't mean that they were in the garden together at that point.

: Hold your horses, Falcon. I'm not done yet.

: The prosecution may continue.



: Now, why is that time significant? Well, as Inspector Volerti told us earlier, that was the exact time the murder took place! Do you see, Falcon? Every suspect has an alibi at the time of the murder, save for Dame Caterline herself!

: Falcon, something is fishy. In the jail cell, Dame Caterline told us that she was present when the photograph took place... but I don't see her in Robinio's photograph.

: That's true. But I can't use Dame Caterline's testimony as evidence. It has too little weight. If I want to prove that Monsieur Robinio's photograph is not a valid piece of evidence, I will have to dish out evidence of my own.

: Your honor, I would like to cross-examine the witness.

: Very well. The defense may proceed.

: Hmph. It's a waste of time, if you ask me. Photographs are rock-solid evidence!



Trial Turn-About

: Monsieur Robinio, you say that you arrived at seven o'clock.

: Give or take a couple of minutes, yes.



: How do you know that you arrived at seven?

: Well, the clock in my house read 6:45 when I left. And the walk to Château Crinière was around fifteen minutes. I don't claim to be a flawless timekeeper, but I am a professional. I always stick to an appointment.



: How long did it take to set up your camera?

: It took perhaps twenty-five minutes to find a shooting location, put together the camera, and ready the film.

: So you arrived at seven... and the photograph took place at seven thirty... and you spent twenty-five minutes setting up... That leaves five minutes unaccounted for.

: Falcon, surely you aren't suggesting that Monsieur Robinio did something, um, nefarious in this small window of time?



: I would like to ask about the camera itself.

: Go on.



: How exactly does the camera work?

: I am afraid that that is a patented trade secret.

: Oh. But it is a mechanical device, yes? You point it at something, and then it clicks and whirrs, and out shoots a photograph?

: Hmph. That's quite a crass explanation. It is true that I point and click the camera. But that only creates a negative. A prototype, of sorts. I then have to develop the photograph... and that takes time.

: How much time, exactly?

: Around four days. This photograph is hot off the press, if you will.

: I suppose that does explain why the Baron hasn't received his photograph yet.



: Can a camera ever make mistakes?

: Hmph. Now there's a question only an imbecilic, technophobic philistine could ask. No, Monsieur. The camera is a flawless device. My photographs offer a perfect reflection of reality. Nothing more, nothing less.

: So if there were an inconsistency between a photograph and reality, what would that imply?

: An odd question. I don't think such a thing could ever be possible.

: But if one were to see such a thing...

: Falcon! Stop dancing around the point, and tell us what you are trying to get at.



: Let's take a closer look at this photograph.



: I was under the impression that photographs were flawless reproductions of reality. And yet, I see something that is totally at odds with reality. It is a glaring error. It's something that is so blatant, I am amazed it has been overlooked...

: A... a glaring error?!

: Impossible!

: For you see, where as reality is in color...



Welp

: ...

: Monsieur Falcon. You are quite the foolish Luddite, aren't you? There is no mistake. All photographs are in black and white.

: All of them?

: Yes. It's a limitation of photographic technology.

: Oh. Now I feel silly.

: Monsieur Robinio, I would like to ask about your billing process.

: Okay.



: Did you bill Baron Rorgueil, and then immediately leave the scene?

: That's right. I'm a busy artist, you understand? I had no time for dilly-dallying.

: So you didn’t witness the murder or the aftermath firsthand?

: No. From what I understand, I left right before the housemaid went to investigate the garden.

: That’s a little suspicious, is it not?

: Falcon, it is coincidental timing, maybe, but lets not throw out blind accusations.



: How much did you charge the baron for your services?

: That is quite a personal question. My rate varies according to the subject, the client, and the circumstances. I don't wish to give an-

: You are under oath, Monsieur Robinio.

: Hold on, Falcon. Just because Monsieur Robinio is under oath doesn't mean that he has to answer every trivial question that you fling his way!

: Does his photography rate have anything to do with the, uh, case at hand?



: I see a mistake in the photograph.

: A mistake? Impossible! I just told you, Monsieur: The camera is a perfect, unbiased device. The photographs it produces are flawless!

: Falcon, I'm not seeing any, uh, mistakes. Perhaps you could be more specific.

: Certainly.





: The clock in this photograph... there is something not right about it.

: Hmm, well isn't that convenient? The defense sees something wrong with the, uh, key piece of evidence that implicates his client.

: Don't give me that cocky tone, Monsieur Rabbington! I have evidence that there's something wrong with the clock in that picture!



: The photograph clearly shows the clock's hands pointing at seven and six.

: That much is self-evident.



: It... It has no hands?!

: The clock is merely a decorative piece. A talking item. Feel free to ask Baron Rorgueil or his housemaid, if you have doubts. Monsieur Robinio, how do you explain this discrepancy?

: I... I don't know! There must be some sort of mistake! My camera is flawless!

: There is no mistake, monsieur. Your photograph depicts something that does not exist in the real world.

: M-Maybe there was an error in the printing process...

: An error precisely where the clock's hands should be? Please, monsieur, don't patronize us. Allow me to offer a more plausible explanation.



: E-Edited?!

: I'm no expert, but I suspect you used paint or ink to carefully put hands upon the clock! It would have been a simple task, considering that the clock face was bare. One could even speculate that you specifically chose to include a handless clock in the photograph just to simplify the editing process!

: I... I...

: Falcon, your reasoning is absurd! Why would the witness do such a thing?

: Is it not obvious? By showing the photograph to have taken place at precisely seven thirty, it clears all the photograph's subjects of suspicion. In other words, Monsieur Robinio created a perfect alibi!

: ...

: Of course, this raises further questions. Who is the witness protecting? And why? Was Monsieur Robinio coerced? Bribed? Threatened? Enough silence! Let's hear some answers, Monsieur Robinio!



: You did it?! You're confessing to the murder of Monsieur Grenwee?

: What? No, no, no. I have no idea who killed the frog. I'm just admitting that I'm guilty of producing fraudulent photographs. I was ordered to... make changes... to the printed photographs. And yes, that included adding hands to the clock.

: You were ordered? By whom?

: I... dare not say.

: Monsieur Robinio, I strongly advise you to answer the defense's question. You have pledged to speak without fear, after all.

: With respect, Judge, I fear... his claws... more than I fear the punishment of the justice system. I shall name no names.

: "His claws"! Did you hear that, Falcon?

: That is most unfortunate. Monsieur Robinio, we cannot and shall not torture names out of you. We don't live under the Ancien Régime, after all. But since you have admitted to falsifying evidence, then we cannot keep you on the stand as a witness. Take your leave. You shall be charged with perjury in due course.

: I can't protest. That's the least I deserve for my failure as an artist. Good day, messieurs.



: So the, uh, clock's hands were painted on. So what? It doesn't matter! The photograph still depicts Dame Caterline as absent close to the time of the murder. That's significant!

: Don't be dense, Monsieur Rabbington. If the photograph is not completely genuine, then it cannot be considered reliable evidence.

: Why not? It's still a portrayal of the, uh, night's events.

: Because, if we accept that one part of the picture was edited, then we must accpe the possibility that other parts were too. It is possible that Dame Caterline was painted out. Even worse, it is possible that another person was painted in. We know that the witness was trying to cover for someone, so all possibilities must be accounted for.

: So what are you saying, Falcon? That the housemaid paid off the photographer? Or was it Seigneur Purtoir Demiaou, perhaps?

: I don't think so. The housemaid lacks a means or motive. And it wouldn't make sense for Seigneur Purrtoir to implicate his own daughter.

: Well, surely you're not suggesting that the honest and beloved baron Rorgueil deliberately tried to frame Dame Caterline? Because that would be the most outlandish theory yet. The baron is a pillar of our community! He would never do such a thing.

: Monsieur Rabbington, I'm not here to throw accusations. That's the job of you, the prosecutor. However -



Baron Rorgueil

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 07:29 on May 1, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: B-Baron! It's not, um, time for your witness testimony yet!



Baron Rorgueil

: I-i-i-incompetence?

: Indeed. Let us proceed with witness questioning. Is that fine with you, Judge?

: Yes, I suppose that's fine.

: Very good. And I trust that the defense has no objections.

: No. No objections here.

: Fantastic. Oh, but before I forget: I pledge to speak without fear and prejudice, et cetera, et cetera.





: The initial dinner went magnificently. When the photographer arrived, Monsieur Grenwee left to visit the garden. Dame Caterline followed behind him moments later. Seigneur Purrtoir, Monsieur Robinio, and myself were engaged in conversation, so we paid her no mind. After the photographer had left, my housemaid left to go find Monsieur Grenwee and Dame Caterline. That would be when I heard her cry for help.

: Thank you, Baron. I think we all know the story from there.

: I would like to cross-examine the witness.

: Do you doubt my integrity, garçon?

: I'm just here to uncover the truth, baron.

: Very well then. Hit me with your best shot. Let us establish with absolute certainty that I, Baron Rorgueil, am an honest man!

: The defense may proceed with the cross-examination.



Trial Turn-About

: Baron Rorgueil, I would like to ask about the dinner you served that evening.

: Very well. Ask away.



: Earlier today we established that silverware was stolen from your residence prior to the banquet.

: Indeed. I am aware of whom the culprit is, but I have decided not to press charges.

: It is curious, then, that you decided to serve steak. It isn't what one would describe as "finger food", after all.

: I don't know about that, Falcon. With the right attitude, all food can be finger food.

: There is nothing curious about it. Seigneur Purtoir and Dame Caterline are vocal lovers of rare steak. I was merely suiting their needs.

: Besides, what, um, other choice did the baron have, Falcon? Serve vegetable broth like a, um, common peasant?

: Do be quiet, prosecutor. You sound ridiculous.

: S-sorry, baron.



: Now. About this red herring...

: Yes. What about it?

: I'm not sure. But I feel it is of vital importance to the case.

: Falcon, I just want to, um, clarify this. Are you saying that you wish to pursue the red herring?



: Yes. I wish to closely examine and question the piece of evidence that is overtly labeled as a red herring. This is the type of bird that I am. I see a trail that clearly veers away from my goal, but I follow it anyway. Perhaps the path leads to better things. Perhaps it leads to failure. What matters is that my curiosity is satisfied.

: You're a strange bird, Falcon.




You don't gain or lose any favor with them.



: Baron Rorgueil, I have some questions about Monsieur Grenwee.

: God rest his soul...



: What was your relation to Monsieur Grenwee, prior to his demise?

: We were business partners. Monsieur Grenwee, Seigneur Purrtoir Demiaou, and myself all owned a third share in an up-and-coming railway company.

: Excuse the crassness of this question, but that means that you and Seigneur Purrtoir would now own half of the company each, correct?

: Correct. I suppose that's a slight glimmer of benefit that arose from this foul situation. But, Monsieur, you must understand that Monsieur Grenwee and I were friends as much as we were business associates. I mourn the man's passing.

: Of course.



: I believe he wanted some fresh air. The steak did not sit well with him, I fear.

: Oh, I see. But that is quite coincidental timing, isn't it?

: How so?

: Well, Monsieur Grenwee felt sick and left the room just after the photographer arrived, and just before the murder occurred. One might draw a link between the food and the sickness.

: Hold on, Falcon. Surely you aren't suggesting that, uh, Monsieur Grenwee's food was poisoned in some way?



: Baron, we saw the murder scene, your garden, for ourselves.



: If I may ask, what's with all the horses?

: I beg your pardon?

: There are all these horse and cherub statues in your garden. To be frank, we found the whole thing a little... weird.

: Could the defense please stop horsing around? This can't possibly have any relevance to the case.



: Baron Rorgueil, I have a couple questions about your housemaid, Couline Duhaut.



: Does your housemaid smoke cigars?

: Hm? Well that question came out of the, uh, left-field.

: Definitely not. Mademoisselle Duhaut detests the smell of tobacco.

: I see.

: Putting together a bigger picture, are we?

: I think so. The pieces are slowly falling into place.

: Your housemaid is a thief. She has stolen numerous valuables from your household, including all of the silverware.

: I object! That's not a question.

: Oh, right. let me rephrase that.

:Baron, why did you not immediately report to the police when you discovered that your housemaid was stealing from you?

: Is a man is obligated to report every act of theft that they witness?

: Well, not legally, I suppose.

: I chose not to incriminate the poor girl because I felt it would be needlessly harsh. I know letting a criminal run loose is a foreign concept to many of you lawyer types, but I'm sure you understand the concept of “mercy”.



: Baron Rorgueil, when was the last time you ventured into your own garden?

: As it happens, I have quite serious allergies. I haven't been in my own garden for years.

: Years, you say?

: Indeed.



: Baron, I do not wish to call you a liar, but that claim does not hold up to scrutiny.

: Oh? And why's that?

: Because we have hard evidence that you have visited the garden recently.

: Balderdash! My word is gold. Show the court this so-called "hard evidence" that I've been in my garden!



: This was found in your garden. To be specific, it was found inside the fountain basin...



: A... a cigar butt?! That, uh, that, um, that could belong to, uh, anybody, and -

: Prosecutor, please shut your mouth. I can speak for myself.

: O-okay. Sorry, baron.

: That is indeed the remnants of one of my cigars. But I must apologize, Monsieur Falcon, for I misunderstood your initial question. You see, prior to the banquet, I hadn't visited my own garden in years. But naturally, after hearing the housemaid's cry for help on the evening of the murder, I rushed outside. I was shocked and disgusted by what I saw. That must have been when I dropped my half-smoked cigar in the fountain basin.

: You see, Falcon? There's a perfectly reasonable explanation!

: I would find that believable if the cigar were casually discarded. But as it happened, the cigar butt was found in the fountain's upper basin. A location that could only be accessed with great inconvenience.

: And a little paddling.

: The cigar butt was not dropped. It was deliberately hidden.

: There are any number of possible explanations.

: Are there? Because I can only think of one. That is, that you, Baron Rorgueil, deliberately hid your cigar butt to disguise your own illicit activities.

: Did I, now? And what illicit activities would those be?



Trial Turnabout 2 (Saint-Saëns - Samson and Delilah - Bacchanale)



: Directly accusing me of murder? How shamelessly brazen!

: That is a ludicrous accusation, Falcon! The Baron is an upstanding citizen of the highest order! Your allegation is baseless! You have no evidence! No uh, means, motive, or opportunity!

: No evidence? Think harder, Monsieur Rabbington. Every piece of evidence points to Baron Rorgueil as the prime suspect. You want the means? The Baron certainly had means. His lion's claws are as sharp as a surgeon's blade. Gutting a frog belly would be trivial to him. Even Monsieur Robinio confessed, just moments ago, that he feared "his claws"!

: Ridiculous! I would never threaten a man with violence.

: You want a motive? The Baron had at least ten thousand francs' worth of motive! By removing a business partner, the Baron's share of his railway company increased from one third to one half!

: This is preposterous!

: And finally, the Baron had an opportunity. No. He CRAFTED the perfect opportunity. He arranged a small banquet with a very select number of guests. He was aware of the missing silverware, and yet he served steak, a food item that necessitates good cutlery. Why? To bloody the hands of his guests, of course.

: Then, he hired an easily-influenced photographer and staged a very specific picture in order to build a perfect alibi for himself. Photographing the guests in front of a handless clock to make for easy editing is quite an ingenious plan, it must be said.

: Prosecutor, are you going to let this slanderous yarn go uncontested? Say something! Object!

: I, uh, um...

: Oh, you're pitifully useless.

: After executing the murder, the baron found himself still holding a single piece of incriminatory evidence: his finished cigar. He knew that leaving it at the crime scene would raise suspicion, but he didn't have time to properly dispose of it. So, out of desperation, he threw it into his fountain, out of the sight of his guests and any snooping police.

: I imagine the baron was hoping to implicate Seigneur Purrtoir Demiaou, since that would ensure total control over his railway company. Alas, Dame Caterline was the first to happen upon the crime scene. So the baron improvised.

: This is an outrage! Judge, I demand that you disbar this ranting lunatic!

: No! There is only one outrage here!



: You're a bourgeois of the worst kind!

: How dare you, garçon! The utter nerve for a lying scumbag of a lawyer to accuse a philanthropist like myself for something so heinous! I'm nothing like the fat-cat bourgeois! I'm a respectable, hard-working capitalist!

: No! You're a ruthless man who would slaughter a dear friend just to reap a few francs!

: You incredulous whelp! I ought to gut you right here and now like... like...



: ...

: ...

: ...

: ...

: ...

: ...

: Could... could someone please restrain the Baron?

: I'm on it, ya' honor! Let's go, old man. To the Conciergerie with you.



: This is quite a turn of events. Does the prosecution have anything to add?

: I, uh, well, in a manner of, um, speaking, ah, uh, well, to be honest, um... No.

: Then I shall now confer with the members of the jury to come to a decision. I ask that the animals of the court please be patient in this time.



: Thank you. I just hope it was enough.

: What do you mean? You just proved Caterline's innocence! We'll get a not guilty verdict for sure.

: Hmm... Sparrowson, I think you've misunderstood something important about the justice system.

: What's that?

: I haven't "proved" anything. As lawyers, we cannot deal in proofs. It's just not possible. All we can do is organize the evidence, and convincingly explain what it suggests. I haven't proved Dame Caterline's innocence. All I have done is demonstrate that there is a significant possibility that she is not guilty.

: I'm not sure that I understand the difference...



: In light of the recent revelations, it is clear that an error of judgement was made with the initial arrest. On that note, we unanimously find the defendant, Dame Caterline Demiaou, to be...

Victory Fanfare





: Yeah, I suppose we did, didn't we?

: We should head back to the office so we can celebrate properly.





Aviary Office

: I can't take all the credit. This was a group achievement.

: I'm so proud of you both.

: I'll go get one bottle of wine and three of our least dirty glasses.



: Aww, it was nothing.

: I very much liked the way you pinned the murder on the baron. That was an act of sheer genius!

: Well, I didn't "pin" anything. Sparrowson and I just worked at unveiling the truth, given the facts of the case.

: Monsieur Falcon, there is no need to play coy. The case is over.

: ...Play coy?

: Don't tell me you're actually being sincere.

: I'm completely lost.

: Oh wow. I thought the goodie-goodie thing was an act, but you actually don't know. Alright, I'll spell it out for you.



Caterline's Theme







: To increase my papa's share in the train company, of course. My papa always said that the drunk old frog was the weakest link.

: Your confession doesn't make any sense at all. I found baron Rorgueil's cigar butt hidden in the garden.

: Oh, I put that there. I expected the police to find it, but I suppose that was putting too much faith in the brains of Paris's finest.

: But Falcon proved that Monsieur Robinio's photograph was edited!

: It was edited. I wasn't in the picture because I was busy paying a visit to Monsieur Grenwee in the garden. My papa knew I needed an alibi, so he ordered Monsieur Robinio to paint me over Baron Rorgueil, and to add hands to the clock. But that lazy artist didn't manage to finish altering the photograph by trial day! It's a good thing that Monsieur Falcon was so imaginative, because that could have gone very badly.

: ...

: ...

: What's with the silence? You should both be proud. There aren't many lawyers in the whole of France who could have won a case like this, even for a bourgeoisie kitty like me.

: ...

: I think you should leave now.

: Hmph. Fine. So much for the celebrations. Here's the payment for your services, straight from my papa's pockets.





: Falcon, what do we do now?

: ...

: Falcon?



Xander77 fucked around with this message at 10:18 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.








Murder











: ...But now it's midday on Monday, and there's still no sign of him. This is becoming a little concerning.






: I should probably go find him. His home would be a good place to start... but the bird brain never gave me his address. I'll just have to find him the hard way.



: Wait! Let's double back to the office, just in case we missed him.

: Nope. Still no sign of him.

: Ok, now for real.







: Do I look like a lost and found to ya? Buzz off, bird brain.

: ...Alright then.





: Excuse me, Rupert.

: Oh, it's you. The, uh, first year dropout.

: Hey! I didn't drop out!

: (I was forcibly ejected.)

: But that doesn't matter right now. I'm looking for Falcon. Have you seen him?

: Falcon? The guy who, uh, somehow blundered his way through the Caterline trial with the help of some, um, very dubious evidence? No, I haven't seen him since the, um, trial.

: Oh. Well, thanks anyway.





: ?

: ??

: Uh. Down here.

: Oh, there you are. It's Sparrowson, right?

: That's right.

: I heard about the case you were involved in. I never would have thought that the Baron was a murderer. He always treated me with the utmost respect. But then, I suppose it makes sense that the most ruthless killers are the ones who can put up the best facade.

: Yeah... I suppose so.

: Say, how's your friend doing? He seemed a little down last night.

: Oh, you've seen him?

: Yes. He was brooding in the corner of Le Canard Joyeux. Mumbling and drinking... it was a little depressing, to be perfectly honest.

: Le Canard Joyeux? That's the dingy student bar on Rue Jaune, right?

: It's not dingy. Just a little rustic.

: In any case, that's an enormous help. Thanks, mademoiselle.

: Any time, Sparrowson.







His nostrils fill with the pungent aroma of sour wine and bitter tobacco.

Quanelle's Tavern (Очи чёрные)

: Well ruffle my feathers if it isn't little Sparrowson. I haven't seen you in years! How are ya doing, hon?

: I'm feeling pretty good, Madame Quanelle. Thanks for asking. I'm actually here to find a friend. He's a big guy named Jayjay Falcon.

: Falcon? Yep, that sorry lump has been here all weekend. He's just been moaning and muttering to himself. Frankly, he's bringing the whole atmosphere down!

: I'll take care of him. Thanks, Madame Quanelle.

: It's no problem, hon. He's probably still in the corner of the drinking room upstairs.







: Not right now. I’m looking for my friend, Jayjay Falcon.



: Ah. Thank you.



: Hmm...No sign of him...



: I almost stepped on the big fellow! Uh... Falcon? What are you doing on the floor? Hey, Falcon! Wake up!

: ...

: Wow, the bird's completely out cold. He must have drunk this place dry. Let's see, how do you wake a drunk person...



: Nope. Nothing.



: ...

: Still nothing.



: Welp, I guess it's time for a rude awakening. Wakey wakey~



: Ah, good, you're up.

: ...

: Are... are you with us, Falcon?

: ...yeah.

: Feeling sober? We should probably head back into the Aviary office so we can get some work done.

: ...I don't understand it, Sparrowson.

: Huh?

: I thought I did everything right. I followed all the procedures. I found all the evidence. I presented the case beautifully. And yet, a guilty feline walks free while an innocent man sits in custody. What went wrong? Where's the justice?



: ...

: ...

: Sorry, Falcon. I don't have the answers. But what I do have is freshly-baked croissants from Pierre's Boulangerie.

: Croissants...

: Yup. They're waiting for you back at the Aviary.

: I'm sitting here, moping about justice, and you offer me croissants.

: Well, it's not just croissants. I got some pains au chocolat too.

: ...

: I could go for pains au chocolat.

: Fantastic! Then let's make a move!





Aviary Office

: I told you. Pierre's boulangerie on Rue Verdeis something else. Oh, that reminds me. The baker told me something interesting. Do you know what they call pains au chocolat in America?

: They don't call them pains au chocolat?

: Nope. Pronunciation difficulties. American is a whole 'nother language.

: So what do they call them?

: Chocolate croissants.



: Hello?

: Heh. "Chocolate croissants". What do they call profiteroles?

: Oh, I think those are still "profiteroles". But rather than custard, they fill them with ice cream and smother them in melted chocolate.

: ...

: Simply outstanding.

: Is this the Aviary Attorney?

: Can I speak to someone please?

: Well, what do they call crêpes?



: ..Did you just hear something, Sparrowson?

: Down here!

: Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there. What can I do for you, little one?

: Uh, oh gosh, where to start...

: Your name, perhaps.

: Mousey. My name is Mousey.

: And what can we do for you, Monsieur Mousey?

: I have this friend... and he has fallen under some legal turbulence.

: Legal turbulence? You mean he's been arrested?

: Uh, yes, I suppose so. They're saying he's a murderer, but he didn't do it! He didn't do it!

: That's quite a problem.



: The prince of Spain?! And you didn't think that was worth mentioning from the start?!

: I forgot, I forgot!

: I must ask, Mousey: Why did you come to us? I would have thought that the Spanish royal family would hire legal counsel with a little more...

: ...not terribleness?

: ...expertise.

: Oh, uh, the prince has great faith in your lawyering skills, Monsieur Falcon. He said that your reputation as a lawyer was renowned.

: Really? The prince said that?

:This is a great opportunity, Falcon. Surely you wouldn't deny a request from the Prince of Spain?



: Meh?



: Look, Falcon. I know you're still upset about Dame Caterline's trial, but more moping isn't going to help. The best thing you could do right now would be to occupy yourself with some meaningful work. This case will scratch that itch perfectly.

: MEH.




: Hmph.



: Good luck to you, messieurs!

: You aren't coming with us, Mousey?

: I have, um, I have other matters to attend to. But prince Juan is being held in the Conciergerie. I'm sure he will fill in all the details!

: Right. Let's make a move, then.



: Of course, I go right back to the offic-

: Stop messing around, Falcon. Let’s help out Prince Juan already.

: Ok, ok.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 10:28 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.








: Oh, it's you two again. Hey, nice work on Lady kitten's trial. Baron Rorgueil is pacing around a cell right now, ranting about wringing your neck.

: Yeah. I'm not surprised.

: He's super mad. But hey, a criminal's a criminal, right? If the lion didn't want a death sentence, he probably shouldn't have killed a guy. Oh, you're not here to defend him, are ya? Because that would be hilarious.

: We're actually here to see Prince Juan Querido, heir to the throne of Spain.

: The mouthy fox, huh? That guy's driving me nuts with his "Señores" and his flamboyant attitude. I say the sooner he hangs, the better.

: Well, come on, then. While we're young.





Prince Juan (George Bizet: Carmen Suite #1 - Aragonaise) (listen to this)



: Well, I wouldn't say legendary...

: I wouldn't even say notable...

: Such humility. I would expect nothing less from renowned individuals such as yourselves. But let us get down to business. I trust that my compañero, Mousey, explained the situation?

: He told us that you have been accused of murder, but we need some further details before we can start our investigation.

: Ah, of course. What is it that you wanted to know?



: What were you reading, before we so rudely interrupted?

: Ah, this book? It is a Spanish classic. Don Quixote of La Mancha. Do you know it?



: I've heard of it. It's about the knight who jousts windmills, right?

: That's one part of the story, yes. The hero is a virtuous-but-elderly knight by the name of Don Quixote. In the chapter you mentioned, he takes up arms against an army of giants who are terrorizing a town. Quixote's partner, Sancho, warns him that the giants are just windmills, and their flailing arms are just sails twirling in the wind. But Don Quixote doesn't listen. He takes up his lance, gets on his horse, and charges anyway.

: Sounds more like DUMB Quixote, am I right, Falcon?

: Perhaps he is dumb, Señor Sparrowson. But many of us spend our whole lives jousting imaginary giants.

: Speak for yourself, Juan. I've never been jousting, let alone seen a giant.

: I think we're getting off-track here.

: Indeed. I tell you what, Señor Falcon. I'll lend you my copy of this book. Maybe you'll have time to give it a read at some point.

: Maybe I will. Thank you.



: Was there anything else you wanted to know?



: Why did you come to Paris, Prince Juan?

: I was on a diplomatic mission. I do not know whether you are familiar with current events, but you may have heard that my country is in a state of turmoil. Contenders for the Spanish throne are slandering, plotting, backstabbing... it's chaos, and the people are suffering. So I thought, "if I can befriend some French royalty, perhaps even the king himself, maybe I can strengthen my family's name". With the Querido dynasty restored, I would have a chance at bringing peace to my beautiful nation.

: Welp. I guess that plan's gone out the window.

: Sparrowson! Don't be rude.

: No, he is right. I've failed terribly.

: Don't fret, Prince Juan. We'll do everything in our power to clear your name. Maybe once the dust has settled, you will have another opportunity to speak with King Louis Philippe and complete your mission.

: Thank you, Señor Falcon. I am sure you will do your best. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?



: To be honest, Prince Juan, I'm a little confused as to how a member of royalty could get in so much trouble. Could you walk us through your activities on the day of the murder?

: Of course. Let me see, where to begin... It was the cold and misty morning of the 6th of January. I had heard that King Louis Philippe was unveiling a new painting at the Palais du Louvre, and I wished to meet the man himself. So, after a brief stroll and picnic in Tuileries Garden, I entered the palace. I found the royal entourage in the Louvre's Grande Galerie. When I saw an opportunity, I presented a humble gift to the King.



: How romantic.

: But before the King could take it, a rather rude person snatched it from my fingers. It was a royal guard. A dog by the name of Major Howl. "Ouch," cried out Major Howl. "I have pricked myself upon the thorns of this dastardly flower." And then the Major slumped to the floor. His face turned blue. His mouth frothed. And he died.

: He died straight away after being pricked?

: Straight away, Señor.

: It's obvious that the pricked finger was the cause of death, but I don't know of any poison that acts so fast.

: Nor do I, Señor Falcon. But clearly, the police felt that poison upon the rose's thorns was the only logical explanation. And with so many witnesses, even the King himself, what could I say to defend myself?

: So where did this rose come from?

: I acquired it from a beautiful Parisian flower seller at Les Halles markets. A girl by the name of Catherine-Marie Cygne. But surely you're not suggesting that the flower girl applied the poison herself, Señor Falcon?

: Well, I'm not making any accusations yet. I'm just planning to explore every line of inquiry.

: Did you want to ask something else, Señor Falcon?

: No, I think that's everything, thank you.

: What's the plan, big bird?

: Well, we have two lines of enquiry. We should head to the scene of the crime, the Palais du Louvre, and see if we can find any clues or witnesses, and we should interview the flower girl in Les Halles market to see if she has anything to say about this alleged poisoned rose.

: Two tasks spread over six days? This almost sounds too easy.

: Let's not get complacent.

: Good luck, Señores.





: What is it?

: Did something seem... off... about Prince Juan to you?



: He seemed colorful to me. Throwing roses, spouting about literature... Juan's one suave Spaniard.

: Hmm. Maybe I misread him.

: Well, look. If this is bothering you, then we could always ask around. Maybe someone in the city knows Juan's dirty secret. If he actually has anything to hide, that is.

: Yeah! Let's dig up the dirt!

: But we've still got a trial to prepare for. Priorities, Sparrowson.









: That's the Arc de Triomphe over there, right? I swear it's smaller than how I remember it.

: That's the Arc de Triomphe ~du Carrousel~, you doofus. The big Arc de Triomphe is up the road.

: What? No way! Why are there two?

: Because when a man like Napoleon invades half of Europe, he gets to build as many triumphal arches as he drat well pleases.



Severin Cocorico (Leo Delibes, Le roi s'amuse, Gaillarde) (listen to this)

: Th-that arrogant voice.

: ~Sigh~ Good day, Séverin.

: Let's be civil, Jayjay. Why don't you introduce me to your new assistant?

: Fine, fine. Severin, this is Sparrowson, my assistant.

: Sparrowson, this is Severin, the most pompous prosecutor in Paris.

: Oh, are you two old school friends or something?

: More like arch-rivals.

: Please, Jayjay. I think "arch-rival" implies some sort of competition. As I recall, we've met in court on five occasions, and on five occasions did you get humiliated terribly. I'm amazed a failing bird-brain like you is still able to get clients.

: Actually, Severin, business has never been better. I'll have you know that I am currently being employed by the Prince of Spain, no less.

: The Prince of Spain? Juan Querido? Well, well, this is quite an amusing coincidence.

: Don't tell me -

: Correct. I am the prosecutor for the very same case.

: ...

: It is a pity that the Spanish prince will indubitably hang, but I suppose that is what he gets for hiring a bird-brain to represent him.

: Don't call me bird-brain! You're the only bird-brain here, Séverin!

: Tsk. "One always speaks badly when one has nothing to say." - Voltaire.

: Uh oh, he's giving you the verbal smack-down. Quick, Falcon, make a witty retort.

: Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh...



: "A witty saying proves nothing." - Voltaire.

: OOOOOOH~

: Heh. Very good, Jayjay. A worthy riposte. But enough talk. If you messieurs would excuse me, I have a case to prepare for. Jayjay. Sparrowson. I'll see you two in court.



: He did seem like a bit of a cockerel. But is it true what he said? You know, that he trounced you in court five times?

: I can't deny it. Severin has a reputation as a ruthlessly thorough prosecutor. Mountains of evidence, surprise witnesses... it's no wonder he always manages to one-up me.

: But this time will be different, right?

: I hope so...

: I know! For you see...



: Sparrowson! That's, that's, that's...



: Pretty impressive, actually. I swear you were standing three meters away the whole time.

: You tall birds are so busy with your heads in the clouds that you don't ever notice us small folk running around your feet! Pinching Cocorico's pocket was like taking candy from a very tall baby.

: Let's take a closer look...





: And those penned-in arrows seem to show the route taken by the king's entourage. Which means that the king first went...





: Didn't Prince Juan say that he spent the morning in the Tuileries gardens?



: Sounds like we have a lot of places to visit. Where should we go first?

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 10:33 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






: Our first destination is evidence-collection at Salle du Tibre.



: If I understand Cocorico's notes correctly, this is the room the King and his entourage stopped in before heading to the Grande Galerie. This room doesn't seem to be very popular. I don't see anybody around to interrogate.

: Interview.

: Right. Interview.

: Well, since it's quiet, maybe we should take the opportunity to do a little snooping.

: What would be the point? Surely all the interesting evidence would be in the Grande Galerie, where the murder took place.

: Think about it, Falcon. The police would have already gone over the Grande Galerie with a fine-toothed comb. But I bet that numb-skull Inspector Volerti didn't even think to check this room for clues. There might be a murder weapon just under our beaks!

: Your logic seems a little questionable, but it couldn't hurt to have a look, I suppose.



: These columns have been designed to look Roman. I think the style is ionic.

: It's not ionic, Falcon. Iony is when a character says something, but the reader knows it means something completely different.

: That's not... never mind.



: A supporting column. It's holding the roof up.

: If the column were truly supportive, it wouldn't hold the roof up. It would encourage the roof to get to its location on time.

: ~Sigh~



: I see a cabinet full of engraved plates. Mostly bronze.

: How much do you think they are worth?

: I don't know. Three hundred francs apiece, at least.

: What?! Are you serious? I'm in the wrong profession.

: I don't think archaeology works as a get-rich-quick scheme, Sparrowson.

: Who said anything about archaeology? I'm going to become a museum robber.

: Oh. Well, that's one way to get rich quick.



: This is some sort of ceremonial container. It's beautifully crafted, but what did it contain? Maybe it's an arcane wine cabinet.

: Don't be so ignorant, Falcon. This is a sacred Mesopotamian artifact, gifted to Emperor Hadrian for his victory at Euphrates in 123 AD.

: Stop making stuff up. You and I both know nothing about Mesopotamia.

: Alright, alright. You got me. This could be a hippo's chamber pot for all I know.



: I'm not sure what this is. Some sort of stand or podium? Maybe it's just a decorative piece.

: It's a Roman doorstop. Roman doors were enormous marble slabs, so the doorstops had to be similarly large in order to stay in place.

: I don't think that's right...

: My uncle's a Roman historian. Trust me.




: A shiny, copper urn. I guess it was used for carrying water. Or for cremated remains. Probably not both at the same time.

: It smells good.

: Don't sniff the exhibits, Sparrowson.

: No, really. This urn smells amazing. It's almost... chocolaty.

: You poor thing. You're hallucinating from hunger. Would you like to stop by a bakery on our way back to the office?

: Don't patronize me, Falcon! My nose never lies. I'm telling you, there's something in here! I can feel it.

: Now you're touching the exhibit? That's definitely a no-no.



: Put that down, Sparrowson. It's someone's old rubbish.

: No, look! It's a chocolate wrapper! Judging by the smell, the chocolate was bitter and dark. Seventy, perhaps eighty percent cocoa. Belgian in origin. The level of wrapper crumpling and firmness of the chocolate residue indicate that this was discarded just a few days ago. Yes... I am certain. The chocolate contained in this wrapper was undoubtedly consumed on the 7th of January, the day of the murder.

: Mon Dieu, Sparrowson! You deduced all that from smelling the wrapper?

: Imagine what I could work out if I tasted it.

: That won't be necessary. Sparrowson, if you could apply this level of critical thinking to areas outside of food, you would be the world's greatest detective.

: If only all evidence were edible...

: So, do you have any idea which shop this chocolate was purchased from? That might help us track down the person who consumed it.

: No, there's no possible way we could know that. I suppose we will just have to visit every confectioner in town and sample every bit of merchandise for comparison. What a chore.

: Interesting. Because I can see "Lander Hagelslak's Chocolate Emporium" written on the wrapper.

: Well, you can't blame a bird for trying.



: We're done here. For now, at least.

: We can't spend all day staring at Roman artifacts, I suppose. So, where to next?





: I believe the murder occurred right under the new painting.

: I see hundreds of paintings. Which one is the new one?

: I haven't the foggiest. We will have to ask someone.





: (I don't want any attention... maybe he isn't talking to me...)







: Oh. Uh. Hi!

: Would you happen to know which painting was unveiled on the 7th of January? The one the king came to visit?

: Oh, yeah! I can help you with that. It’s the piece right behind you.



: That's one noble looking penguin. What do you think of it, Falcon?

: What do I think? Well, I'm no art critic, but...



: The careful brushstrokes. The pre-Raphelite soft tones and the subliminal use of light... This is contrasted, nuanced work. It’s an evocative painting that alludes to a forgotten era.

: You said a lot of words, but I’m not sure if I'm any closer to knowing your opinion.

: I’m getting the impression that you messieurs aren't regulars at art galleries.

: No. We're a right pair of philistines.



: Then, I'm guessing you’re here to investigate the Kings assassination attempt?

: That’s right. We were actually hoping we could ask you a couple of questions about what you saw.

: Oh, I wasn’t even in Paris when the murder took place. I didn’t see anything. But, uh...



: What's this? “R&M Associates, the home of Renard Vulpes, private investigator”? Thank you, but I don’t normally deal with these grey-area-of-the-law-types.

: No, please give the guy a chance! He helped me out of a bind before, and I'm sure he can do the same for you!

: Well, I'm not making any promises, but I'll keep hold of the card. We appreciate the help, in any case.

: It’s no trouble.



: Thank you for your time, monsieur.

: Is there anything else we can do here?

: Well, ideally we would turn the whole Grande Galerie upside-down in our hunt for evidence. But that's not possible with so many people around. We should probably just move to another room.



: Obviously, I go right back.

: It looks like that porcupine fellow has left the building.

: Did you want to ask him something?

: Nothing in particular. I just wanted some more details on this “Renard Vulpes”, but I suppose well have to leave it for now.

: On to the gardens!





Nothing seems out of the ordinary, until they spot a familiar face picking up litter by a tree line.

: Hey, Falcon. Doesn’t that ground's keeper over there look familiar?

: Yeah... Now that I’m looking at him, he does look a lot like that photographer.. what’s-his-name...



: Salador Serenado!

: ...

: That’s not his name. Actually, I’m pretty sure that's not anybody’s name. You just spewed a word-stew.

: Try Robittio Robinio.

: Hmm?

Goofy

: Did someone call me? Oh, it’s you. The lawyers who don't appreciate a masterful photograph when they see it.

: It's good to see that you gave up on your artsy dreams to pursue the more grounded career of groundskeeping.

: Hey, I'm not doing this willingly. I was given community service for committing perjury. Can you believe that? They gave me, an esteemed photographer, community service. Me!

: Yeah, I can believe that.

: Perjury's somewhat serious. You should be thankful that you got off without jail time.

: Pfft. You sound just like that self-righteous Judge Maxime. So, did you two want to ask me something, or are you just here to gawp?

: Personally, I'm just gawping.



: I don't suppose you've bumped into a Spanish fox who goes by the name of prince Juan, have you?

: A Spanish fox? No, I've never met anyone like that. If this is about that assassination attempt on the king, then you're asking the wrong person. I only started working here today.

: I see.

: Was there anything else you wanted?

: So, how’s that new groundskeeping job working out?

: Terrible Tourists are pigs! Sometimes literally! Look at all this rubbish I've found. Beer bottles, tin cans, apple cores...



: A whole book I could understand, but a single page? What kind of blithering moron loses just one page?

: Wait a moment. May I take a closer look at that, monsieur?

: ...Don Quixote... That's a page from Don Quixote!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> : May I take it off your hands, monsieur?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>: Sure. What’s it worth to you?

: What's it worth? It's trash. It's literally worthless.

: Then I suppose I'll be destroying it, as per my duties...





: I'll speak with Judge Maxime. I'll put in a good word, and might be able to get your sentence reduced.

: Really? You’ll do that for me? Thank you, monsieur. I would really appreciate that. Here, take the page!



: Do you want to ask anything else?

: That's all. We'll let you get back to your work, Monsieur Robinio.



: Leave, come back.





: Are we done here?



: Good call. We can always come back later, if we've forgotten something.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 10:46 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






: We have a lot of possible locations to explore. Let's have a look at the one that won't use up a day first:






: Uh... hello? Is this the office of Renard Vulpes?

: !



: Ah! It's you two!

: Mousey? What are you doing here?

: Oh, uh, this is where I work.



: Although, to be completely honest, it's normally Monsieur Vulpes who chooses which cases to take on...

: I see. Well then, can we speak with Monsieur Vulpes?

: Oh, uh, I'm afraid that won’t be possible. See, Monsieur Vulpes is on vacation right now. He's visiting his father in England.

: England?

: But he is set to return in a week or two! Maybe you can come back then?

: That's no good to us. Our case will be over by then.

: There's nothing to be done about it. I suppose we'll have to come back later.



: Same as always.



: Hi Mousey.

: Is there any sign of Monsieur Vulpes?

: No, no. Not yet. He’s still.. vacationing. Come back next week, next week!







Lander Hagelslak (Saint Saens: Carnival of the Animals~L'Elephant (The Elephant))

: I am Lander Hagelslak, the founder and owner of this establishment.

: And I am Jayjay Falcon, defense attorney. Good day, Monsieur.

: Oh, lawyers! Very fancy. I must say that I once dreamed of being a lawyer, but, well circumstances wouldn't allow it. It’s a funny story. You see, when I was a young boy,I befriended the son of a Hungarian attorney...

: (Falcon. You have to help me.)

: Wh-what is it?

: (It’s the smell, Falcon. It’s overpowering me. It's demanding that I lay waste to the shop.)

: For pity's sake, restrain yourself, Sparrowson.



: YES.

: No, no, no. We're actually here on business, Monsieur.

: Business?

: First things first. We believe that this chocolate wrapper originated from your shop. Are we correct?



: This was almost certainly bought from this very establishment.





: Is there any chance that your produce could have been... contaminated?

: Absolutely not, monsieur! I stand by my claim that my chocolate is the finest in all of Paris. I go to great lengths to ensure that the highest quality is ensured. Any contaminations would be terrible for business, you understand.

: I see.

: Was there something else you messieurs wanted to ask?



: Can you tell us who bought the chocolate that was contained in this Wrapper, Monsieur Hagelslak?

: I'm afraid not, messieurs.



: I thought elephants never forget.

: My memory is impeccable, monsieur. But you must understand that I have dozens of customers a day. There are hundreds of people who could have potentially bought this particular item.

: Hmm... so your memory is good, but you need further information... If we were to give you the description and name of a person, would you be able to tell us whether they purchased something from you?

: Oh! Yes, yes, that I could probably do, monsieur.





: Have you ever served Juan Querido, the prince of Spain?

: A prince of Spain? No, monsieur.

:Well, that’s good to hear. Our clue would have turned into a dead-end if our own client turned out to be the chocolate fiend.

: I did once serve a princess from Mali, if that is any help. You see, I met the girl while hiking through the Himalayas...

: Please stop.



: Have you ever served a tiny mouse named Mousey?

: No, monsieur. Mice terrify me.



: Have you ever served a member of the royal guard by the name of Major Howl?

: No, Monsieur.

: Are you sure?

: Yes, Monsieur. I have served many soldiers, but I don't recall seeing a Major here in recent memory.

: What does that mean, Falcon? Have we lost our lead?

: Not necessarily. It just means that Major Howl didn't buy the chocolate that may have killed him. There's still the possibility that someone bought the chocolate for him. That's our lead. That's who we want to find.

: I see.

: I did once serve a high-ranking officer of the British army who was on his way to Zimbabwe, if you want to hear that story.

: No, I don't want to hear that story.



: You know, Falcon. It’s possible that we just haven’t encountered the chocolate fiend yet. Rather than coming back here every day and making aimless guesses, we should wait until we have someone specific in mind.

: You might have a point, Sparrowson.

: Thank you for your time, Monsieur Hagelslak. We shall return when our investigation has progressed a little.

: Any time, messieurs.









Vendors and buskers, performers and thieves, bourgeois and peasants all bustle from place to place.

: Prince Juan said that he met a flower girl here. Cygne, I think he said her name was.

: There's a swan with flowers over there. Do you think that's her?

: I think so. It's possible that she knows the murderer, or even that she is the murderer herself, so we should probably act with tact and finesse.



: Tact, Sparrowson. Tact. We've been over this.



Cygne (George Bizet: Carmen Suite #1 - Intermezzo)

: All the characters have "talking / typing" sounds... kinda like Undertale? Don't know what those are properly called. Anyways, Cygne has the softest "bee--bee-beep" sounds imaginable, to go along with her theme.

: Yes. I wish to purchase a rose from m'lady.

: I’m afraid that I'm out of roses. I sold my last one a week ago.



: ’Tis a beautiful flower from a fair maiden.

: Please don't mind Sparrowson. He fell out of his nest as a baby and has said dumb things ever since.

: Hey!

: Let me introduce myself. I am Jayjay Falcon, defense attorney. Are you Mademoiselle Cygne?

: That's right. Catherine-Marie Cygne. I suppose you’re here to ask about the royal assassination attempt?

: How did you know?



: To be honest, I'm surprised it's taken so long for someone to directly question me.

: The Parisian police seem to have a habit of missing obvious leads. So, do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?

: Business is slow. Please, ask away.



: Where do you acquire your flowers from, if I may ask?

: Normally, I gather them from the wild.




: But since it's still Winter, I have to buy a lot of my flowers from a merchants who travel to Italy and the Netherlands. That's how I acquired the rose.

: What can you tell us about this particular merchant?

: Not a lot, monsieur. He's just an old man who passes through Paris a few times a year, selling his goods and Wares.

: I see.

: No chance of him being a super secret assassin?

: No, monsieur. Did you want to ask something else?



: Mademoiselle, you mentioned that you sold your last rose a week ago. Who did you sell it to?

: The person who bought the rose... I didn’t catch his name, but he was a charming red fox.

: Sounds like our Juan.

: I met him around a week ago, on the 6th. We talked for a little while. About the usual things, you know, like how everyone seems to be in debt these days.Then he bought a rose and left.



: Oh? Why's that?

: Well... Actually, never mind. It’s just a gut feeling.



: Mademoiselle, it just so happens that were defending this particular fox in the Cour d’assises. If you have something to say that could prove his innocence, now would be the time to let us know.

: ...I'm sorry, messieurs. I can't.



: Wait! Mademoiselle Cygne, wait up!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>: ...drat.

: Nice display of “tact and finesse”, Falcon. You scared her off!

: The swan obviously knows something crucial about the case. We need to get to the bottom of whatever it is.

: Agreed. But I don’t think she'll be in the mood to tell us anything else. I know. Why don’t we try acting with a little more “tact and finesse” next time?

: Hush.


Xander77 fucked around with this message at 14:51 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.








Valse Hommage - Ch.Neuhauser




: I’m not here to drink, Sparrowson. Or mope, for that matter. Taverns are a fantastic hub of information. If we wish to get to learn more about this Prince Juan, then this would be the ideal place to start asking questions.

: Oh, that’s pretty good thinking.

: Ah, you two are back! Are you feeling any better, Falcon?

: Much better. Thank you for asking, Madame Quanelle.

: That's great to hear, hon. Will it be the usual?

: No, no. I'm back to investigative work today, so I’ve got to keep sharp.

: We wanted to know if you've seen a prince of Spain around here recently.



: I'm lucky to serve the occasional bourgeois. You can forget about seeing a member of royalty.

: That’s a pity. Maybe I should ask some of your patrons...

: Feel free. The old regulars, Rufus and Paol, are playing cards in the attic, same as always. But we get all sorts of colorful characters in the drinking room. I bet if you rattled enough cages, you would find someone who knows whatever it is you want to know.

: Thank you, madame. Let's see, where to start..







: Please? I'll even let you deal this time.

: The answer's no, Rufus! I'm skint. If you want to play cards, you will have to ask someone else.

: Fine, I'll ask that big fellow. Excuse me, Monsieur!



: ?




: I'm afraid I don't have time for that, monsieur. I have some investigative work to take care off.

: Come on. Surely you have time for one quick game?

: No, thank you. Maybe later.

: vv No means no! Piss off, coo coo ca choo.

: I understand. See you around, monsieur.




: I had been pursuing this set of footprints for an hour. I was getting closer and closer. I could almost smell the beast. Then, I spotted it. It was a boar. A big, stupid boar, completely oblivious to my existence.

:

: I readied my gun. I carefully took aim. And then, BAM!

: Y'shot it?

: No. It was the most peculiar thing. The boar slumped over dead right before I could take the shot.

: Sounds like one of ’em heart attacks. Me nan went the same way.

: That's what I thought. But when I went to take a closer look, I noticed the boar was frothing at the mouth.

: Woah! It was rabid?

: Possible, but I don't think so. I remembered reading something about frothing around the mouth being a symptom of poisoning. Needless to say, I left the dead animal alone.

: Good call. Who wants to deal with tainted meat?



: Excuse me, monsieur.



: I don't suppose you've seen a Juan Querido around here? He's Spanish royalty.

: Foxy fellow. Swanky hat. Calls everyone Senor.

: That doesn't sound familiar.

: Do you recall seeing anyone like that, Pierro?

: Ain't got a clue.

: Sorry, messieurs. You're barking up the wrong tree.

: Well, what can you tell us about the Spanish royal family?

: Do we look like walkin’ encyclopedias or something?



: But Spanish royalty? That sounds like a question to be answered at a library, monsieur, not a tavern.

: A library? Maybe you're right. Sorry for bothering you, monsieur.

: But we're not done yet.

: Excuse me, monsieur.

: Yes? Can I help you?

: You say that the beast you were tracking might have died from poisoning. Could you give us some further details?

: Further details? I'm not much of a poison expert, I'm afraid.

: Well, what do you think caused it?

: I would guess that it ate something bad. I saw some of that poisonous plant around... wolfs bane, I think they call it... But really, I have no idea. I'm a hunter, not a vet. Excuse me.



: Let's give them some peace.

: Fine. Time to face the music:





: Very well then. Do you know how to play?



: Of course! I've been playing for years.

: Yeah, right. Don't get cocky, Falcon!

: Very good I shall be the dealer. We will bet five francs per game Here we go!











: Unlucky, Monsieur. Most unfortunate. Shall we have another round?





: Well played, Monsieur! Here's your payout. Shall we have another round?

: Ok, we're done here.

: No,I think we’re done. Maybe another day, monsieur.

: I understand. Feel free to come back any time.





: Yep. Let's make a move.





These cinematic scenes are only available for one day before disappearing, but they take no time to visit. Their viewing is entirely optional!



Wolves (Tchaikovsky - Marche Slave)



Word of the royal assassination attempt has spread. The proletariats grow confident. The bourgeoisie are cowering.





: Huh. Weird. Probably irrelevant though.











: Yeah. Probably because you scared her off with your crazy “tact and finesse” strategy, dummy.

: Or maybe you scared her with your horrendous and inappropriate flirting technique.

: I’ll have you know that I can flirt like a peacock in tail-fanning mode!

: We really don’t have time for this discussion. Lets just continue our investigation elsewhere.









: Not quite, Sparrowson. I'm following the hunting beagle’s advice.

: Don’t eat poisoned pork?

: The other piece of advice. That if we want to learn about a member of royalty, we should hit the library.

: Oh, that makes sense. Say, Falcon, I’ve been meaning to ask. Since were in a library, and all... Are you a classic literature fan, or do you prefer more modern works?



: I like modern novels. Have you read the Three Musketeers yet? It has heaps of romance, intrigue, and action. You would love it, Sparrowson.

: Don't patronize me, Falcon. Of course I’ve read the Three Musketeers. Despite its contrived narrative turns, I enjoyed the novel's scathing critique of our current socio-political climate.

: Wow. That's quite an insightful review-

: Wait a minute. You just memorized that single sentence to sound well-read, didn't you?













Donkey (Saint Saens - Carnival of Animals, the Donkey)

: Ah, my apologies, Monsieur. We'll keep it down.

: Wait! You’re a librarian, aren't you?

: An astute observation. Yes, Monsieur, as the only quiet person in the library, I am most assuredly the librarian.

: Well, now that we have your attention: my friend wants to ask you something.

: I do? Oh, right, I do!





: Don Quixote of La Mancha? It's a classic. Everybody has read it.

: Y-yeah. Everybody. But for those who haven't...

: Hmph. I'm not going to sit here and summarize a great work of literature for two imbeciles who are too lazy to read.

: Nor would I expect you to, monsieur. But what can you tell us about the physical book itself?

: This particular book didn't come from any library, if that"s what you're asking. See? There’s no library stamp or card. I assume it was acquired from a book shop. A French book shop, if the French translation and publishing information wasn't a giveaway.

: I see. Thank you.

: Did you have any other questions, or can I get back to work?



: You seem like a scholarly, well-read individual. I'm sure you're up to date on geopolitical news and the like.

: I don't need your praise. Spit out whatever imbecilic question is in the back of your throat.

: Uh, well, we understand that the Spanish throne is currently under dispute. Can you give us a brief run/down on who the contenders are?

: What a trivial question. Even an elementary school child can name the immediate heirs to every throne in Europe

: Y-yeah. But for the sake of those children who slept through that class, can you refresh our memories?

: Hmph. Very well. Pay attention, because I'm not repeating myself. The current reigning monarch of Spain is Queen Regnant Isabella II of the House of Bourbon, Daughter of King Ferdinand VII. Upon her death, the crown would likely fall to her husband, King Consort Francis, Duke of Cadiz. Although, it is certainly possible that an immediate family member could stake a claim. However, the queens position is currently being disputed by the Carlists, headed by the Count of Montemolin. I hope that answers your question.

: Did you catch all of that, Sparrowson?

: Not a word.

: Monsieur, were actually interested in a Prince Juan Querido of Spain. I don’t think I heard that name in your explanation.

: A Prince... Juan Querido? Is that what you said? Monsieur, I think you’ve been misinformed.



: I've mentioned before that the characters in this game come nowhere near PW levels of stupidity. This is the exception. Still true insofar as the trials go though.

: How strange...

: What does this mean, Falcon?

: Well, one thing is for sure. Our client is not the prince of Spain. Maybe he's a delusional lunatic... or perhaps he's involving us in some sort of con. We don't have long before the trial, but it may be in our interest to confront Prince Juan directly and get some answers.

: Right.

: Are you two quite done chit-chatting?

: Don't worry, monsieur. I think we are done here. Thanks for your time.

: Hmph. Then I bid you good day.









: I have no time for your quibbling, Monsieur. Stand aside.

: You can’t talk to me like that!

: I most certainly can. We have reason to believe that you are housing a suspect under false pretenses. That is in direct violation of statutes 204-B and 488-C of the French criminal code of justice. Failure to comply with our request may result in you, yes you, monsieur, being held directly responsible for any consequential legal action.

: Alright, alright. No need to break out the legalese on me. I'll go open the cell.

: Wow, Falcon. How did you memorize those criminal codes?





Carmen-Suite 'Aragonaise'





: Drop the act, Juan. You fed me a string of lies at our previous meeting, and I don't appreciate having my time wasted.

: You appear upset, senor...

: Of course I'm upset! You hired me to defend you, and then made every effort to sabotage your own case. Tell me. What's your real name?

: Why, senor, it's Juan Querido of course.

: If you want your trial to be a farce, then you don't need my help. Come, Sparrowson. We're leaving.



: Calm yourself, Monsieur Falcon. I'll reveal all.

: Did you just say monsieur? What happened to your Spanish accent?

: Your suspicions are well-placed. Juan Querido is not my real name, and I am not a Spanish prince. That was just a persona I concocted for the purpose of getting arrested.



: Why would you want to get arrested?

: Hmm. You're putting me in a difficult position, monsieur. If I tell you the full story, I would be putting someone else in danger. How about this. I'll tell you a story.

: I like stories.

: There was a girl. A mademoiselle who was in a great deal of debt.

: Everyone has a debt these days, monsieur.

: Indeed. But this particular mademoiselle was indebted to a very powerful man. And that man wished to collect. The mademoiselle had no means of paying, so the man offered her a deal. “Murder this man, and I will forget what you are owed. Refuse, and I will reap what I am owed from your parents.” With no alternative options, the mademoiselle accepted.

: But another man, a gallant knight with foolish, archaic notions of chivalry, heard the mademoiselle's story. The knight knew that murder was inevitable, but he saw a way to take the fall in the mademoiselle's place. Do you understand what I am saying, monsieur?



: To be honest, I'm completely lost.

: That's unfortunate. I thought I made the message fairly clear.

: Well, it doesn't matter. Let me give you a piece of advice, Monsieur Falcon. Sometimes, the problem doesn’t lie with the one on trial Sometimes, the problem lies within the justice system itself.

: I’m still lost.

: Me too.

: Mon Dieu, this is hopeless. Why don’t we talk about something else?



: So what is your real name?

: What's in a name? It's just an empty label. A vapid reflection of who we really are. Today I am Juan Querido, the prince of Spain. Tomorrow, I may be Bruno Reyer, a pauper living under a bridge of the Seine. But that doesn't change who I am or what I do.

: That didn't really answer my question.

: No, I suppose it didn't. But you're a smart bird, Monsieur Falcon. I suspect that you already know my real name.



: You are Renard Vulpes, private investigator.

: Very astute. And you are Monsieur Falcon, private defense attorney. But that wasn’t always your name, was it, Monsieur Falcon? Just like me, you know how to adopt a new persona on a whim.

: You changed your name, Falcon? I didn't know that!

: This isn’t about me...

: Juan... Renard... monsieur. we're (sic) trying to uncover the truth here.

: Of course. So what truth is it that you are attempting to uncover, Monsieur Falcon?

: I don't have any more questions for you, Juan. I think we've learned all we can for now.

: Really? I don’t feel that we've learned very much.

: Oh, Monsieur Falcon. Before I forget.



: Whether the birds have flown South? What is that? Some sort of code?

: Something like that. But rest assured, monsieur, that this does directly pertain to the case.

: Well, if we have time, I’ll be sure to let Mousey know.

: Let's make a move, Sparrowson. Trial day is approaching.





: Time to let Mousey know...







: Oh, right. What was I thinking?

: Oh, right.


Xander77 fucked around with this message at 14:56 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




Glazius posted:

Pretty sure that prying on payment is just going to make us look petty, but... man, did this prosecutor even show up at the crime scene?
No, obviously. Rabbington was never at the crime scene, and Volerti wasn't actually consulted when preparing the prosecution's case. People (animals) in the Aviary Attorney case may not be quite as comically stupid as the ones in the Ace Attorney series, but they're still not exceptionally competent.

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.








: Are you feeling nervous, Falcon?



: Of course I'm nervous! What have we learned about Prince Juan? What do we know about the real murderer? Nothing!

: Easy there, Falcon! We can do this!

Georges Bizet: Carmen Suite, Aragonaise (guitArtistas)



: Senor Falcon, I trust everything is in order?

: Absolutely. I have every intention of bringing the truth to light in this trial.

: Ah, such confidence. That's magnificent to see. And bringing the truth to light, you say? An admiral (sic) goal. No more jousting at imaginary giants!

: All of you, cease your yammering. The door's openin’.

: Here we go. Buena suerte, Senor Falcon!

: We will!

: Are we ready?











: Nervous?

: Why would I be nervous?I'm not nervous.I'm as calm as a cuckoo.You’re the nervous one!This whole courtroom is nervous!

: Woah, cool your feathers, Falcon.

: Hmph. Terrible. You can't even maintain a stoic facade. I thought this trial would be the perfect opportunity for you to redeem your previous embarrassments. But if this is how you act before the trial has even started...

: Why, you pompous-tailed, posture-perfect-

Bernstein- Tchaïkovsky Marche Slave





: Order, order! Let's all settle down. Court is now in session.

: Um.

: Psst. Falcon.

: What is it?

: Is it me, or does the primary judge look... hairier... today.





: Oh. Still, it’s a little strange, isn't it?



: It is a little, I suppose...





: Judge Maxime has gone on temporary sick leave due to a terrible accident with a flight of stairs. But rest assured, assesseurs, prosecutor, defense, and members of the jury, that I am more than qualified to fill his shoes.

: Without further ado, let’s get this show underway. This is the trial of Prince Juan Querido, who stands accused of murdering Major Howl, and of conspiring to murder the king himself.

: Roll call!





: Good. Very good.

: I expect this to be a nice, speedy trial. I don't want to see this dragged out by technicalities and bureaucracy.

: Well said, your honor. I expect that, once the court sees the overwhelming evidence, this trial will be over in five minutes.

: F-five minutes?!

: He's just messing with your head, Falcon. Keep it together!

: So were all on the same page? Excellent. Prosecutor, please call your first witness to the stand.

: Very well. I call the police officer who investigated the crime scene. I call upon Inspector Juste Volerti.

: Step up to the stand, Inspector, and recite the oath.

Hector Berlioz "Grande Symphonie funebre et triomphale"



: Please recite your name and occupation for the court record.









: Now, can you tell us what you witnessed on the morning of the 7th of January?

: Of course. At 10 o'cluck in the morning, I was called to the Louvre's Grande Galerie by one of the kings royal guards.

: Did he just say o'cluck?

: There, I saw Prince Juan, King Louis Philippe, the corpse of Major Howl with a rose in hand, and around two dozen citizens.

: The citizens and the king himself all attest to seeing Major Howl taking the rose from Prince Juan’s hand, and then promptly dropping dead.

: And what did the morgue uncover upon examination of the corpse?

: The coroner determined with absolute certainty that Major Howl died of poisoning. Aside from a prick upon the finger, there was no sign of external harm to Major Howl’s body.

: Therefore, the poisoned rose must have been the cause of death.

: Putting the pieces together, that does seem very implicative of the prince. I have no further questions.



: That would make for a particularly speedy trial, wouldn't it? But no, we aren't so lucky. Something else must be amiss in the old bird’s testimony.

: Right! I’ll tear it apart. Your honor, I wish to cross-examine the witness.

: Falcon, wasn't it? Don't waste the court's time. A high-ranking police officer would never lie on the witness stand.

: I wouldn't accuse the Inspector of lying. I just want to make sure that every base is properly covered.

: Ugh. This sounds like pointless nitpicking to me. But I'll allow it. For now.



Dudamel plays the Bacchanale by Camille Saint Saens



: 10 o'cluck, you say?

: Correct, 10 o'cluck.

: From the time you were called, how long did it take you to arrive at the crime scene?

: Around five minutes. I happened to be in the neighboring Palais-Royal at the time, so it was a simple journey.

: Then I'm guessing that Major Howl would have been dead for around ten minutes by the time you arrived.

: That would be a fair estimate.

: Plenty of time for a bad guy to slip away, huh?

: That’s definitely a possibility. I don't think the court would appreciate my wild speculations though.



: Surely you meant to say 10 o'clock?

: I beg your pardon?

: You clucked... like a... chicken...

: Jayjay, do you really want to kick off this trial by picking on petty pronunciation peculiarities?



: Inspector, I would like to ask you about the victim, Major Howl. It’s curious. We've spent our whole investigation focusing on the murder, but I still don't know much about the victim himself. Exactly who was Major Howl?

: He was a royal guard. A well-respected dog who was getting on in the years. I was not friends with the man, but I had met him on several occasions in the past, at banquets and royal meetings and the sort.

: Major Howl was a stern, no-nonsense fellow, but he was a good man. His wife and children no doubt miss him.

: No doubt. Thank you for the insight, inspector.



: We have been treating this case as if the intended murder target was King Louis Philippe. But there is another possibility: what if the killer was trying to murder Major Howl from the very beginning?

: Jayjay. Stop talking. You just said something very stupid. I could explain why, and humiliate you in front of the whole court. Alternatively, you could retract your question right now, and I will save your humiliation for another day.



: (Assuming you DO retract it, you get a "On second thoughts (sic), I retract my question")



: I know a bluff when I see one, Severin! My question stands.



: First, it doesn't absolve your client of any guilt.

: If the defendant was intending to murder Major Howl, then he is still guilty of murder, and would likely face the same punishment as before.

: Second, it doesn't make any sense.

: Nobody has motive to kill Major Howl, but plenty have motive to kill the king.

: A-alright, I get it.

: Third, many citizens attested to seeing the prince try to approach the king himself, not the Major.

: His intentions were clear to everyone present.

: Fourth-

: Prosecutor, that will do. Defense, don't ask such stupid questions.





: Inspector, you say that there were around two dozen citizens, all of whom attest to seeing my client deliver the poisoned rose.

: Oh boy. When you put it like that, our situation seems a little dire, doesn't it?

: Correct. We collected precisely twenty-two testimonies, and there were no major inconsistencies.

: I would like some further details. What exactly did the testimonies say?

: Each citizen attested to seeing the king and his entourage approaching the new painting in the Grande Galerie. They each heard the king deliver a short speech, which was on the subject of progress and societal improvements and what-not.

: There was some applause. Then, prince Juan stepped out of the crowd, and approached the king with a rose in his hand. Each person then saw Major Howl take the rose from prince Juan, and each person saw Major Howl promptly drop dead.

: I see.

: Some of the descriptions of the man’s death were quite graphic. “He convulsed, twisted, and spasmed”, said one witness. “His mouth frothed like he was a rabid lunatic”, said another.

: Th-thank you, Inspector. I think we get the picture.

: Are the testimonies trustworthy?

: I saw nothing to give me doubt.

: But surely there is a possibility that the citizens were bribed or threatened?

: Falcon, I can understand having doubts about one or two testimonies, but are you really saying that twenty-two people were coerced?



: Inspector, you say that the coroner determined with certainty that Major Howl was killed by poison.

: Correct. He stated the signs and symptoms were textbook. There is no possibility that his death was natural.

: Did the coroner mention specifically what kind of poison it was?

: He was not certain. At first the coroner posited that it was a plant-borne poison like that of the aconite flower. But when he learned how fast the poison had taken effect, he noted that this was atypical of aconite.

: Consequently, he suggested that it may have been some newly-engineered concoction.

: A newly-engineered poison, you say? Well that only reaffirms that this was a very deliberate assassination attempt.

: Indeed.



: How exactly was Major Howl poisoned? What was the delivery mechanism?

: His finger was pricked by the poisoned rose. He even commented out-loud about it, seconds before dying.

: All twenty-two citizens who witnessed the murder attested to seeing and hearing this.

: Is there any possibility that he was poisoned by something else?

: What an absurd thing to ask, Jayjay. You just heard that twenty-two people saw the victim prick his finger and die. What are you suggesting? That the pricked finger had no relation to the poisoning?



: That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t doubt that Major Howl was poisoned, but I do doubt that the rose was the cause.

: Unbelievable! Only a total buffoon could fail to draw the blatant link here.

: Jayjay, as tempting as it is to sit here and lecture you on the basics of cause and effect, I’ll end this discussion painlessly. Inspector, please tell the defense that you found traces of poison on the thorns of the rose itself. That should alleviate all doubt that the rose was, in fact, the poison delivery mechanism.



: ...

: I dread to ask, but why not?

: We didn't check the rose for traces of poison. It just seemed obvious that the rose caused the poisoning, given the timing of the incident.

: Well then, now would be a good time to make a test. Here’s a marvelous thought: we prick the finger of the defendant with the rose. If there is no poison on the rose, then Prince Juan lives, and he is free to go. If the rose is poisoned, then the prince dies. But that’s okay, because the punishment would be just and fitting of the crime.

: A marvelous suggestion.



: Calm your feathers, Jayjay. It was clearly a joke.There are far more humane ways of testing for poison. I'm sure the Inspector will perform his duty with due diligence.

: Actually... We won’t be able to test the rose for poison at all.

: Why’s that?

: Given the dangerous nature of the flower, it was... destroyed...

: by the police force. We burned it to ashes.

: Tsk. Such unprofessionalism.



: Nice try, Jayjay, but, through the process of reasoning by elimination, we can still deduce with absolute certainty that the rose was poisoned. In other words, there was nothing else at the crime scene that could have caused the poisoning!

: Wrong! There was something else at the crime scene that could have contained the poison. Something the investigative police blindly overlooked!





: What am I supposed to be looking at?

: It is the paper wrapper to a piece of chocolate. It was found in the Louvre - the Salle du Tibre to be precise - and we can date its consumption to the day of the incident.

: You’re not suggesting-

: That Major Howl ate a piece of poisoned chocolate moments before he died? I most certainly am.





: Did you see this wrapper at the crime scene for yourself, Inspector?

: The police force does not have the time nor resources to trawl every piece of trash at every crime scene, I’m afraid.

: In other words, you overlooked it? Tsk. Astounding unprofessionalism.

: The prosecution is right to be disgusted. What a disgraceful display, Inspector!

: I offer my apologies, your honor.

: don't want your apologies. I want you to do your damned job properly! Get off the witness podium before I kick you off myself!

: As you wish. I'll take my leave. Until next time, messieurs.

: So let me get this straight. This chocolate wrapper was found at the crime scene.

: Correct.

: And you have reason to believe that it was consumed on the day of the incident?

: I do. I have an expert food-tasting witness who is willing to testify, if need be.

: You have a foodie witness? I don't recall anyone like that. Who on Earth are you talking about, Falcon-



: Hmm. But do you know for certain that Major Howl consumed this chocolate?

: Well, that is a fact that we are still investigating.

: I see. And do you have evidence that this chocolate was in-fact poisoned?

: Again, that is something that may require a little more time to definitively prove...

: So then, in actuality, you do not have evidence that Major Howl consumed some poisoned chocolate.







Xander77 fucked around with this message at 15:32 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






: He is a man who claims to have had an excellent view of the people going in and out of the Louvre at the time of the incident. I call upon Monsieur Toussaint Kingly.

: Could the witness please approach the stand and recite the oath.

Goofy







: Oh, right. The oath. Uh, I swear to speak without hatred and without fear, to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

: Please state your full name and occupation for the court record.

: My name is Toussaint Kingly, and I am a person who fishes.

: A person who fishes? So you are a fisherman?

: Oh. Oh! Is THAT how it is? I thought the French justice system was better than this...

: I beg your pardon?

: Here comes Toussaint Kingly, the kingfisher.



: Well, you are carrying a fishing rod...

: And? And? Can a man not carry a fishing rod, reel, and bait without being branded a fisherman?

: Look! Look! The prosecutor is carrying a riding crop! CLEARLY, he must be a horse jockey!

: Oh, for pity’s sake. Fine, fine, We can list your occupation as “person who fishes”, and not “fisherman”.

: Thank you.

: Actually, why do you carry a riding crop, Severin? I’ve never seen you ride a horse.

: My sex life is none of your concern, Jayjay.



: This is veering quite far off the course. Could the prosecution please get back to his questions.

: Is "his" correct here?

: Of course, your honor. Monsieur Kingly, is it true that you were nearby the Louvre at the time of the incident?

: Yes. I was sitting upon a railing of the Pont des Arts.



: That’s right.

: And what were you doing at the time of the incident?

: I was fishing.



: So you would have had plenty of opportunity to see the people who entered and exited the palace. Can you tell us who you saw?

: Well, the Louvre's a busy place. Naturally I saw a lot of people. But at 9 am, I saw the king, Louis Philippe himself, enter the building. He was surrounded by his entourage, of course. Then, around 9:30 am, I saw this shifty-looking fox lurking around the entrance.

: Your honor, I object to the witness's use of the term “shifty-looking”. It's a vague and biased description.

: No, really! He looked super shifty! I saw him rubbing his paws and cackling gleefully.



: Rub the stern of a rose, you say? As if he were applying something to the flower, perhaps?

: Well, monsieur, I really shouldn't speculate...

: Of course. It was wrong of me to ask such a leading question.

: ...But yeah, it definitely looked like he was putting some sort of powder on the stem!



: Members of the court, it sounds like what we have here is a direct witnessing of the defendant readying the murder weapon! The defense claims that the rose was never poisoned, and yet, here we have a man who saw the poison with his own eyes.

: I smell perjury.

: You do?

: No question. He saw a shifty-looking criminal readying poison and cackling near the scene of the crime? That’s not believable at all.

: I think you might be right. I wonder if I have any evidence that calls Toussainfs story into doubt.

: Your honor, I would like to cross-examine the witness.

: Really? This nonsense again? You just heard the witness directly describe your client readying poison on a rose. What is there to question?

: I'm just trying to uncover the truth, your honor.

: UGH! Fine. Do your thing. Go on, Falcon. Go make a fool out of yourself.



Trial Turnabout



: Monsieur Kingly, you say that you were sitting upon the railings of the Pont des Arts on the morning of the incident.

: Yup.



: Is the Pont des Arts a good fishing spot?I assumed you would be better off fishing upstream, away from the city.

: It's okay. You would think the pollution would scare off the fish, but some species thrive in it. I managed to catch a seventy centimeter zander from that spot the other day.

: Really? A seventy centimeter zander? What bait were you using?

: Good question. See, some like to use worms, but I’ve found that a good roach will always triumph.

: I object! This is completely off-topic.

: Sustained. Discuss your fishy business once the trial is over.

: Monsieur Kingly, you had a good view of the Louvre's south entrance, didn't you?



: What about the other entrances?

: The other entrances? You mean, like, if you were entering from Tuileries Gardens or the Place du Carrousel? No, I couldn't possibly see those areas from the bridge.

: But of course, that isn't relevant. Monsieur Kingly witnessed Prince Juan entering the South entrance with flower in hand, and that's what counts.





: Monsieur Kingly, you say that you saw the king himself enter the Louvre.

: Indeed I did.

: Who did you see in the king's entourage?

: Well, there was the king himself. Obviously. And there were quite a few guards... maybe four or five, including a big dog who I hear is the guy who died, Major Howl. I think that was all.

: It is to my understanding that the king does most of his work in the Palais Royal, which lies to the North of the Louvre. So it's a little strange that you saw the king enter from a South entrance, is it not?

: I know what I saw, monsieur!

: Jayjay, there's little reason to doubt that the king entered the Louvre from the South. Are you really calling this basic fact into question?





: Monsieur Kingly, you claim that you saw a “shifty-looking fox”.

: Yup. Super-mega-shifty.

: That’s not a valid testimony. All foxes are shifty-looking by default.

: Woah! That's not cool.

: Mon Dieu, Jayjay! It's the 19th century! You can't just throw out slurs like that in this day and age.

: I'm just saying-

: No, you listen.



: Well said, prosecutor.

: Slurs are archaic. Now we, as a society, can hold back animals we don't like through much more subtle, institutional means.

: Right.

: Wait, what?



: There must be at least one hundred foxes in Paris. How do you know that the fox you saw was Prince Juan?

: Well, he was wearing a suave hat that hanged low over his eyes. I hear that's how they wear them in Spain. And I’m not much of a fashion expert, but the rest of his outfit looked quite out of place for the French winter.

: Is that all you're going by? His fashion sense?

: Oh! I nearly forgot. I heard him call a passer-by “senor”. I thought that was peculiar.

: ...Well, that's him alright.



: Monsieur Kingly, you say that you saw a fox rubbing the stem of a rose.

: Yup. Saw it with my own eyes.

: How far away were you from the south entrance? Twenty meters, perhaps? Thirty? I'm somewhat doubtful that you can make out powder being applied to anything at those sort of distances.

: Monsieur, I don't claim to have seen the powder itself. I said that it ~looked like~ he was applying powder to the flower stem. It could have been a wax, or a liquid, or whatever. But the guy was definitely putting something on the flower.

: I see. Well, that's nice and vague.



: Are you certain that the fox was handling a rose, and not some other type of flower?

: Pretty sure. The red petals stand out quite nicely on a gray January morning.

: So you are confident? You are absolutely sure that you clearly saw a bright red flower in the fox’s hands?

: What are you getting at, Jayjay?





: What if Prince Juan didn't enter from the south entrance? What if he approached the Louvre from...



: ...Tuileries Gardens, to the West?

: That’s a big “what if". Do you have any evidence that Prince Juan entered the Louvre from Tuileries gardens?

: As a matter of fact, yes, I do. I have definitive proof that Prince Juan approached from the west, not the south.

: Hey! I know what I saw, monsieur!

: I'm doubtful too. Go on, Jayjay, show us this “definitive proof“ that Prince Juan entered from the Louvre from Tuileries gardens.





: A book page?

: Page 44 of of Don Quixote, specifically. It was found just outside the Louvre’s West entrance.

: This proves nothing.

: I'm not done yet. Take a look at this.



: This is the book Prince Juan has been reading in jail since his arrest. I believe he has had it on his person for some time. And yes, page 44 is missing. That was the first thing I checked.

: You do realize what this means, don't you, Severin? The defendant was present in Tuileries Gardens prior to entering the Louvre. This also means that, in all likelihood...



: He could not possibly have been seen by Monsieur Kingly from the Pont de Arts!

: W-what? I know what I saw, monsieur!

: A fine theory, Falcon. But maybe the defendant took the long way around. One can still travel from Tuileries to the Louvre’s south entrance by walking along the river.

: An extra two kilometers of walking just to enjoy the pre-murder scenery? Lets not say silly things, Cocorico.

: Okay. Maybe the defendant deliberately left the page there to mislead the investigation.

: Now you’re the one who's blindly speculating!

: I-it’s not blind speculation! Its a viable hypothesis!



: When torn between two seemingly equal hypotheses, we must side with the one that imposes the fewest assumptions. Which of these theories takes fewer assumptions:

: One. The page from Prince Juan’s book fell out on his way to the Louvre’s south entrance. Two. Prince Juan deliberately planted the page on the off-chance that it would be discovered, then he took the long way around.

: How dare you! The nerve of you to lecture me on such basic philosophical concepts-

: I’ll stop lecturing you when you stop making such basic mistakes.

: Monsieur Falcon! Please calm yourself! What is the point of all this yammering?



: N-no! Everything I’ve said is the truth!

: I suspect that the witness isn’t even a fisherman.

: I’m NOT a fisherman!

: See? He admits it himself.

: Th-that's not what I meant!



: Prosecutor, you have something that will put this arrogant Falcon in his place, don’t you?

: I must concede.

: You concede?!

: On this point, at least. Falcon’s evidence strongly suggests that the key component of Monsieur Kingly’s testimony is false.

: Ah! Nooo!

: This doesn’t mean that Prince Juan is innocent, of course. All Falcon has demonstrated is that this particular witness is unreliable.

: But I did see something! I really did! Alright, so maybe I didn’t exactly see a shifty-looking fox. I made that part of the story up. But I did see a swan lurking around the south entrance on the morning of the murder!

: ... A swan?







: It's that late already? Curses. I was hoping we could have the case wrapped up in a single trial session.

: It is a shame. But ultimately, an accurate sentencing is always preferable to a speedy sentencing.

: Yes, alright; I don't need to hear your moralizing. Court will resume this Friday, the 21st of January, at 9 o’clock. Don’t be late. Prosecutor, do your damned job. Get this stupid fox a conviction already.

: I will do my best to ensure that justice is served, your honor.





: Yeah. No doubt about that.

: But something’s bothering me. Why would that fisherman guy, Monsieur Kingly, lie on the witness stand?



: Well, it’s possible that he was coerced or bribed.

: That’s just what I was thinking! Maybe the real murderer threatened the fisherman into making up a story about Prince Juan.

: Let’s keep an open mind. Anything is possible at this stage. But to be perfectly honest, something else is bothering me about the trial...



: Judge Romulus. He’s acting without a shred of professionalism. He’s obviously more interested in securing a guilty verdict than he is in discovering the truth. But why?

: Maybe he has a vendetta against Spanish royalty.

: I’m not so sure. There must be something else at work here...





: A letter for me? I wonder why it wasn’t sent to my office...

: Have you been demoted to courier status, Rupert?

: Oh, hush hush, Sparrowson. I don’t need to be, uh, pitied by a first year dropout.

: Ooh, good come-back. So what does the letter say, Falcon?

: It’s... it’s a threat. A threat made with cutout newspaper letters.

: Woah! I didn’t know those things actually existed! Let me see.





: ... Scary.

: There is no question that this letter originated from Major Howl’s murderer. He - or she - must be aware that we are getting close to uncovering the truth.

: Sounds about right. But why would a person write with cutout newspaper letters like this?

: Masking one’s handwriting would be the most common reason. Although, I can’t help but wonder why they would bother, since we don’t have any handwriting samples to compare it to.

: We’re... still going ahead with our investigation though, right?



: Oh yes, absolutely. If a lawyer were deterred every time they received a threatening letter, they would never get any work done. Besides, with only three days before the next trial session, we can’t afford to be worrying about petty things like this.

: Tuesday... Wednesday... Thursday... wow, you’re right. Let’s make those days count.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 15:55 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.











: He wants to know if the birds have flown South for the Winter. Whatever that means.

: Oh! Yes, yes! The birds have migrated successfully. But if Monsieur, I mean, Prince Juan told you that... then that must mean he trusts you! He must want you to take these. Go on! Take them, take them!



: What exactly is the point this, Mousey?

: Um, Prince Juan said that they would help with the trial. See the names, see the names!

: Gautier Cygna... Nicole Cygne... I recognize the surname, but I don’t know who these people are.

: Um, neither do I, really. Monsieur, I mean, Prince Juan just told me to book train tickets for these people, and then to make sure they caught the train. And so, and so, that’s what I did!

: Strange. I’m not sure exactly how these stubs are supposed to help with the trial, but I’ll keep hold of them, just in case.









: Let's check back on two locations that don't waste a day:



: Oh, hello again. Can I help you with something else?

: Not particularly. I just came to see if Monsieur Vulpes was around.

: (The game doesn't actually account for secondary dialog that isn't 100% necessary to win the case, unfortunately. So Falcon doesn't react to "Prince Juan's" revelation in any way)

: Not yet, monsieur.

: Come on, Falcon. Trial day is approaching fast.





: The two fools have returned. What can I help you messieurs with today? Need to know the population of Timbuktu, perhaps? Or do you Want a rundown of every character in Twelfth Night?

: Actually, Why did I come here? I’ve already learned everything I wanted to know.

: Maybe you wanted to take out a book.



: Our next destination:



Lander Hagelslak

: Or perhaps you have just returned to ask more questions?

: It's just the questions today, I’m afraid.





: Have you ever served a fisherman named Toussaint Kingly?

: He’s not a fisherman, Falcon. He’s a person who fishes and just happens to be a kingfisher.

: I don’t have time for semantic games, Sparrowson.

: In any case, no, I have not encountered such an individual, messieurs.



: Have you ever served a flower-selling swan named Catherine-Marie Cygne?

: No, monsieur.

: Hmm...

: What are you thinking, Falcon?

: I’m not sure, to be perfectly honest. If she were the chocolate fiend, then our investigation would have become much simpler. But since she’s not...



: Have you ever served a hairy wolf in judicial robes named Judge Romulus?

: Yes, monsieur.

: Alright, have you ever served-



: Yes, monsieur. A wolf in judicial robes. I did serve person like that a little while ago. On the 6th of January, to be precise.

: Did he say or do anything suspicious?

: Not that I can recall, monsieur. He was a pleasant fellow. Big toothy grin. Bought two hundred grams of classic dark Belgian chocolate with a custom filling.

: A custom filling?

: Some type of caramel. He provided it himself, although he unfortunately did not bring enough for me to sample. Hehe.

: What does this mean, Falcon?

: Well, we shouldn’t make assumptions. It may just mean that this judge liked(sic) to eat chocolate. But if the judges purchase is related to the wrapper at the crime scene, then...

: Monsieur Hagelslak, do you think I could get a copy of Judge Romulus’s receipt?



: Is it okay for us to take it, monsieur?

: Absolutely. Memorizing the receipt’s contents is trivial, after all.

{Chocolate receipt]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Would you look at this thing? Judge Romulus signed it in green ink. Green ink! I knew Judge Romulus was shady, but only truly villainous people write in green!

: Thank you very much for your time, Monsieur Hagelslak. You have been enormously helpful.

: I'm glad to be of service. I wish you the best of luck with your case, messieurs.





: Ok, time to go to



: Or we could only have one option.



Aviary Attorney Office



: I’m somewhat relieved that “Prince Juan” came clean. His secret was putting the whole case in jeapardy.. We’ve still got one day until the trial... but how to spend it? I suppose we could revisit the Louvre... or maybe we should just play some cards at Le Canard Joyeux.

: Piss off Jayjay, that's not happening.

: Is something wrong, Sparrowson? You’re being unusually quiet.

: Falcon. We need to talk.

: What’s up?

: See, I was doing some thinking. Dangerous thing to do, I know. Anyway I realized that we were missing a crucial piece of evidence.

: What evidence would that be?

: Well, we know that Miajor Howl consumed a piece of chocolate before he died. And we know that he died of poisoning. But we still aren’t sure that the chocolate was the cause.



: So I thought to myself, if one were to consume the wrapper itself, then that may provide proof of whether it contains traces of poison.

: Well.. sure... that could work, but it would be incredibly foolish. Wait, were you thinking of eating the wrapper, Sparrowson?

: Maybe.

: Well, stop those thoughts right now. I’m not going to let you potentially kill yourself like that.

: Heh. I knew you would say that. That’s why I already consumed the wrapper...



THUD











: Doctor! Is Sparrowson okay?

: Well, he's not conscious right now, but he is stable. I think its safe to say that your friend is not on his deathbed.

: Oh, thank God.

: How did you say this happened, again?

: It's... a long story. Lawyering occupational hazard. Doctor, can you tell me what poison caused this?

: I have no idea. I'm an expert in mental health, not toxicology. But I have sent for a specialist who should be here by tomorrow morning. He will make a full assessment.

: That’s good to hear. Thanks, doctor. Take good care of him.



: We’ll have to discuss it later. I have an important case to prepare for, and I'm one partner down.

: I see. Well, rest assured that your friend is in good hands.









: Did someone say something?

: Running around like a headless chicken... you’re one tricky lawyer to find. I told you to drop the investigation, but you just wouldn’t listen.

: Who’s speaking? I can’t see you, monsieur. Step forward.

: Alright. I’ll step forward. But it will be the last thing you’ll ever see.



SMACK!

Drag... drag... drag...

Splash.



Aquarium The Carnival of Animals - Aquarium

















Aquarium (Carnival of Animals - Aquarium)





: I made no mistakes. I did my duty as a lawyer.

: Your duty put an innocent man on death row, Monsieur Falcon. I hope you’re proud of that.

: It wasn't my fault...





: “It wasn’t my fault”? Is that the excuse you make after all of your failures?

: I’m not making excuses.

: Failure after failure after failure. No desire to improve yourself. You're a joke of a lawyer, Jayjay.

: Don't call me Jayjay!

: That's all you have to say? How pathetic. You don’t even deserve to stand in your grandfather's shadow.

: My... my grandfather?

: ...





: What? No, no. I'm just here to tell you to wake up. Wake up, monsieur. Wake up. Hey, can you hear me? I said wake up...











: I said wake up! You're starting to worry me...



: ...Ugh... my head......Where am I?

: The Pont Des Arts. Y’know, by the Louvre. In Paris. France. I just fished you out of the Seine. Nearly broke my rod doing it.



: You're that disrespectful lawyer-guy. Jiro Falco or something?

: What time is it... actually, what day is it?

: You hit your head pretty hard, huh? It's the 21st of January, and around nine o’clock in the morning by my reckoning.

: 21st... nine o'clock... oh no, the trial! I should have been at the Cour d’Assises ten minutes ago!

: Welp, you're running late. But take it easy, monsieur, I’m sure they'll be understanding.

: Maybe if I sprint it...

: In your condition? That would be stupid. Take a seat. Clear your head. I'll go get some dry clothes..

: No time.



: What's this? A dip pen? No, wait, it's a modern fountain pen. Bone handle... gold nib... this is very fancy.

: Thanks, monsieur, but this isn't mine.

: Really? Are you sure? You were holding it pretty tightly when I found you.

: ...I was holding this? Then...I suppose it has to be mine.

{[Fountain pen]} has been added to your evidence folder.}

: Thanks, fisherman. I owe you one.









: It's 9 o’clock. I believe it’s time for the roll call.



: Is the defense not present?

: Tsk. Such unprofessionalism.

: If there is no defense, then this trial cannot proceed any further. We must make a ruling based on the evidence that has already been presented.

: I will now converse with the jury. We shall decide whether Prince Juan is guilty of murdering Major Howl, and of conspiring to murder the king.

: Your honor, may I have a word?

: Fine. But make it quick.

: I'm a firm believer that a trial must be orderly and punctual. There is no room for wishy-washy dilly-dallying. But it seems somewhat rash to end a trial session the moment it is due to start. Perhaps it would be prudent to wait five or ten minutes, in case the defense is just a little tardy. Then the trial still has a chance to proceed, and justice will be served

: You are the prosecution, are you not? You have nothing to worry about. A guilty verdict is all but guaranteed.

: Your honor, you appear confused. I'm not here to secure a guilty verdict.

: Of course you are. You're a prosecutor. By definition, you’re here to prosecute.



: An unfair and unbalanced trial is not in the spirit of justice.

: That's very noble of you, but if the defense is absent, then there is little that can be done. I’ll hear no more about this matter.



Trial Opening



: ...

: You're too late, Falcon!

: Mon Dieu, Jayjay, you look like a total mess. Did you take a morning swim in the Seine or something?

: S... Something... like that.

: Your honor, we are all present. We are only three minutes over schedule. Lets not needlessly dirty the pure name of justice.

: Rules are rules, prosecutor. Falcon clearly has no respect for legal procedure. Frankly, for turning up while looking like a drowned rat, I ought to hold him in contempt of court.

: Your honor... ~wheeze~

: But your honor-

: Rules are rules! One more word out of either of you, and I shall have you both disbarred!

: ...

: ...



: The... The king of France?! He's here?!



King Louis Philippe (?)

: Uh... your majesty! What a surprise! We, uh, well, you see..

: You know, its my seventh time testifying against a would-be assassin.

: That's 100% accu-rat.

: But it's the first time seeing a trial where the case has ended before it even began.

: Well, the defense, he was late, and uh..

: Oh, pish-posh. France didn't become a great and dignified kingdom through rigorous punctuality.

: Let's go ahead with this trial. It'll be fun. Look, I'll say the oath to get us started!



: Did I get it right?

: That was perfect, your majesty. Jayjay, I trust you have no objections with the king testifying?

: No! No objections here. Going ahead with the trial is fine with me.

: And surely you wouldn't stand in the way of the king, would you, your honor?

: ...

: ...



: Excellent.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 16:03 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: Now, your majesty, could you tell us your activities on the day of the murder?

: My activities? Well, I started my day with tea and toast, as I normally do. I was dressed in my PJs at the time...

: I think you can skip ahead a little. Perhaps to your arrival at the Louvre.

: Ah, right. Of course.

: Well, my entourage and l entered through the Louvre's south entrance around 9 o’clock. We passed through the Salle du Tibre with little fanfare. At the Grande Galerie, I unveiled the new painting and gave a short speech to inspire the citizens who attended. That's when I was approached by a man claiming to be the prince of Spain. He presented a rose, which was taken by Major Howl, and, well, I think you know the rest.

: Indeed we do, your majesty. Madames and messieurs of the court, what We have here is another testimony that establishes Prince Juan's guilt. And this is no ordinary testimony - it is the testimony of perhaps the most trustworthy man in all of France.

: Oh, you flatter me, prosecutor.

: But I am the trustworthiest in all the kingdom, aren't I?



: Nonetheless, I would like to perform a cross-examination.

: How dare you doubt your king?! The utter nerve...

: Oh, calm yourself, judge. I have no qualms with standard legal procedure.



Trial Turnabout



: Your majesty, you say that you entered the Louvre from the south entrance.

: Indeed. We approached from the Hotel de Ville, so it was an easy riverside stroll.

: Did you see anyone or anything suspicious around the Louvre’s entrance?

: Suspicious? I’m afraid not, monsieur. Just the regular riverside types. Bourgeoisie, Vendors, people-who-fish, and the like.



: Are you sure that you entered the Louvre's south entrance?

: Oh mon Dieu, Falcon. Are you seriously still tugging at this thread? The king himself just testified, under oath, no less, that he entered through the south entrance. You can’t possibly have any reason to call this fact into question.





: Your majesty, you say that you passed through the Salle du Tibre uneventfully.

: Indeed. We stopped briefly to look at the paintings, and then moved on to the Grande Galerie.



: There are several rooms between the Louvre's south entrance and the Grande Galerie, but you've only mentioned the Salle du Tibre by name. Why is that?

: Oh, the Salle du Tibre was the only room we looked around in detail. The other rooms, we simply passed straight through.

: Why did you stop in that room specifically?

: Well, see, there was this giant doorstop that caught my eye and sparked a debate.

: Say no more, your majesty.



: Could you elaborate? What did you see in the Salle du Tibre?

: What did I see? Well, Roman stuff, mostly.

: I meant, aside from the Roman artifacts. For example, did you talk to someone in the room who wasn't a member of your entourage?

: You're reaching, Jayjay. The king already testified that he passed through without encountering anything of interest.





: Now, your majesty, I would like to ask about your activities in the Grande Galerie.

: Please proceed.



: Could you give us a rendition of your speech?

: What, right now? Without my cue cards? I'll give it a shot, I suppose.

: Uh, madames and messieurs, welcome to the grand unveiling of my beautiful portrait.

: I don't claim to be the greatest king penguin to have reigned over France.

: Nor the handsomest. Nor the most competent. Some may argue that I'm not even top ten material.

: But I am a humble king penguin. Some consider me to be the humblest king penguin of all time.

: Your honor, I object. This speech is a travesty.

: Sustained.





: Your majesty, you say that you were presented with a rose by the prince of Spain.

: Indeed. He formally introduced himself. I knew he was telling the truth, because he called me “Senor”.



: I find it curious that Major Howl snatched the rose before you could take it. Why did he do that?

: The major has always been a protective fellow. I think he was just doing his diligence as a royal guard. And given how he took the figurative bullet for me, I would say that he did his job well.

: Well, I can't argue with that.



: Your majesty. Prosecutor. Members of the court. Brace yourselves, because I have a revelation that will turn this trial on its head.



: That's not a revelation, Falcon.

: It isn’t?

: Of course not. We all know that the current ruler is Queen Regnant Isabella II, and that she has no children. The Queridos are obviously pretenders to the throne. Prince Juan's title is probably self-appointed.



: Aside from the prince of Spain, did you see anyone out of the ordinary in the Grande Galerie?

: Why, monsieur. The Grande Galerie is always inhabited by artists. Everyone there is out of the ordinary.

: Nonetheless, can you think of anyone who stood out?

: Is this question going somewhere, Jayjay? Or are you blindly stabbing in the dark?



: It's a perfectly fine question. Please answer, your majesty. Who did you see?

: Well, I don't know. I saw dozens of paintbrush-wielding, mustache-touting weirdos.

: Be specific, your majesty!

: I... I saw photographers and sculptors and sketchers and hipsters and.. and...Just what do you want me to say, monsieur?



: Badgering the king? Tut-tut. Absolutely disgusting behavior.



: Could you elaborate? What did you see in the Salle du Tibre?

: What did I see? Well, Roman stuff, mostly.

: I meant, aside from the Roman artifacts. For example, did you talk to someone in the room who wasn't a member of your entourage?

: You're reaching, Jayjay. The king already testified that he passed through without encountering anything of interest.



: I have reason to believe that this was a key moment on the day of the murder. I want the king to elaborate on exactly what and who he saw.

: Then I suppose that you will have to proceed, your majesty.

: Alright. Let me think. So there was that giant doorstop... and there was that copper urn thing...



: I was offered a box of chocolates by some peasant mademoiselle. I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but Major Howl was keen to accept a chocolate or two on my behalf.

: WHAT?!

: Hmm? Did I say something startling, prosecutor?

: N-no. Please continue, your majesty.

: I think the prosecution is startled because he just came to the realization that I was not spouting drivel in the previous trial session.



: To cut a long story short, your majesty, this mademoiselle may hold some relevance to the case at hand. Could you describe her?

: Really? She's relevant? Well, let me think... I didn't get a good look at her face. But she was a sorry-looking swan. Probably in her late teens or early twenties.

: A young, sorry-looking swan, you say. I don't suppose her name was...

: Mademoiselle Cygne?

: Cygne... That sounds familiar. Why yes, I think that was it! She was called Mademoiselle Cygne!

: I see. This is undoubtedly significant. Mademoiselle Cygne gave chocolates to Major Howl minutes before he died.

: Now just one minute! I see what you are alluding to, Jayjay. You're suggesting that the gifted chocolates killed the Major. But that line of reasoning holds no weight because the evidence is circumstantial.



: Yes. That much is no longer in dispute. But you still have not proved that the chocolates were poisoned. Without that, we must assume that the swan was merely offering a gift, rather than speculating that she is a murderer.

: Yes. YES! Shame on you, defense! Implicating a poor, innocent girl like that! Absolutely disgusting! Why, I ought to end this trial...

: Hold on! I do have evidence that the chocolate was, in fact, poisoned.

: I don't believe you, Jayjay. If you had a piece of evidence that significant, you would have slammed it down already. Present it.

: Well... I can't. It's not really the “evidence folder” type of evidence.

: Why am I not surprised?

: ...





: The drama was just getting good! Why did you all suddenly go quiet?

: Well, your majesty, it appears that the defense just had a realization of his own. That is, that he lacks the evidence to support his theory. Since he cannot continue with his argument, I believe the cross/examination has come to an end.



Xander77 fucked around with this message at 16:06 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: I’m not done yet! Let me present my evidence!


: Stop, Jayjay. Stop while you still have a little dignity. The results of whatever crackpot, pseudo-scientific experiment you performed do not constitute valid evidence. I think this trial is over, your honor.

: About bloody time. You may take your leave, your majesty.

: Very well. I am pleased that justice has been thoroughly served.

: Until the next assassination attempt, adieu, messieurs.

: I will now deliberate with the jury-



: The game punctuates startling revelations with a cymbals clash, but I can't be bothered to capture it. And youtube is really not forthcoming with properly dramatic 2-second clashes.



Trial Turnabout 2

: Sorry. I’ve always wanted to do that.

: Sparrowson! Are you okay?

: Yup. The doctor said that I have an iron stomach. Most of the poison passed straight through me. Speaking of which, I would like to testify on that poisoned chocolate issue. I even got a doctor"s note. See?



: You can't be serious, your honor. The contents of that note could turn this entire trial on its head. You must allow it.

: Why are you constantly arguing with me? I thought the job of a public prosecutor was to assist the judges.

: I told you, your honor. My job isn’t to get a guilty verdict. It is to ensure that justice is served.

: I swear, you are the worst prosecutor in all of France...

: Go ahead, Sparrowson. Read the contents of the note for the court to hear.

: ~Ahem~

: “This patient, Sparrowson, was submitted to Salpétriere hospital, where he displayed a variety of symptoms. These included profuse sweating, a rapid fever, and severe nausea. The patient was diagnosed with poisoning, probably originating from the plant known as aconite, a.k.a monkshood, a.k.a wolf's bane. When we questioned the patient, he admitted to having consumed a discarded chocolate wrapper potentially carrying the poison. Examining the contents of the patient’s stomach confirmed this to be true.”



: Uh, yadda, yadda... okay, here we go. “Signed, Doctor Falret”.

: Thank you, Sparrowson. I don’t think I'll even need to question you. Between your note and the kings testimony, every angle of the chocolate wrapper business has been covered.

: Awesome! W-wait, did you say the king is here?

: You can get his autograph later.

: Right.



: To be honest, I see little to cross-examine.

: Do your damned job, prosecutor! Cross-examine that little, annoying liar of a bird! Tear his testimony to shreds!

: Your honor, he has a note, signed by a medical professional, definitively proving that the chocolate wrapper from the crime scene was poisoned. We could nitpick the details, or delve into the doctor's credentials, but I fear it would be a waste of the courts time. Nobody wants that.

: GAH! So then, what the hell do we do now?

: We do nothing, your honor. This poisoned wrapper has introduced an element of doubt into the case. The prosecution must accept that.



: Tenuous. . .

: A step above circumstantial. You have proven a link. A not-wholly-illogical link. But you haven't proved beyond doubt that Major Howl was killed by the chocolate.

: You are still making far too many assumptions. Where is the empiricism that is required by any good court of law? Where are the witnesses who can back up your claims?

: ...







Bizet - Intermezzo from Carmen Suite No.1

: You...

: Sparrowson. Its great to see you on your feet, and you have been an enormous asset to this case. But what are you trying to pull off now?

: Surprise witness!

: Surprise witness?

: Yeah! I remember you mentioning that Cocorico liked calling surprise witnesses, so I thought we would beat him at his own game! I brought the flower girl, Mademoiselle Cygne, so that she can testify about Prince Juan's character.

: You're putting me in a difficult position, Sparrowson. Just moments before you arrived, we, the court, established that Mademoiselle Cygne is a possible suspect for this case.

: What? That can’t be right!

: Sparrowson, it's okay. Monsieur Falcon, I would like to testify.

: You want to testify? Do you understand what you are agreeing to?

: I do. I have accepted my fate.

: Prosecutor, do you have any objections to me calling upon Mademoiselle Cygne as a witness?

: No, none. Bearing in mind, of course, that you are here to defend prince Juan, not to convict Mademoiselle Cygne.



: I have no objections either. Please, proceed, witness. Speak the oath.

: The oath?



: I swear, your honor. I swear to speak without hatred and without fear, to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

: Good. Very good.

: Please state your name and occupation for the court record.

: My name is Catherine-Marie Cygne, and I am a flower seller.

: Mademoiselle Cygne, tell the courtroom of your activities on the morning of the 7th of January.

: Very well. I saw the king and his entourage enter the Louvre around 9 o’clock. I followed. When they came to a stop in the Salle du Tibre, I stepped forward and offered the king a chocolate. He refused. But a guard, a big dog by the name of Major Howl, was happy to oblige. The guard died because I, personally, had previously added poison to the chocolates.





: Why did you do it, mademoiselle?

: Why. . . Monsieur, people have tried to kill the king before, and people will try again. He is a vile man who has no respect or love for the people who suffer under him. I did it to better the French people.



: I don't believe that at all!

: Falcon, say something!

: Mademoiselle, are you being coerced or threatened? Speak freely.

: No, monsieur. I’m confessing out of my own volition. It is my guilt, and nobody else’s.

: ...



: I suppose that gets your client, Prince Juan, completely off the hook. Lucky you. So, shall we wrap this court session up?





: No. Not yet. I have further questions for the witness, your honor.

: Further questions? To what end? You've already proved your client’s innocence.

: I wish to uncover the truth.

: You aren't here to uncover the truth. You're here to defend Prince Juan. And you’ve done that job with a disgusting level of diligence.

: Nonetheless, I believe the mademoiselle has omitted something of huge importance. I wish to question her further.

: Something of huge importance...

: I won't allow it.

: Fine. Can I at least show something to the witness?



: Fine. If it will shut you up, I will let you show one magical mystery item to the witness. I can't imagine you'll have anything up your sleeve to change the flow of this trial, though.

: Monsieur Falcon, save it. I have nothing more to say.



: Please take a look at these, mademoiselle.

: Train ticket stubs?

: Look at the names.

: ...Papa and maman...



: They are. The tickets were arranged courtesy of the fox.

: Then... that means the wolf has nothing to hold over me. I can speak freely.

: Indeed. Go ahead, mademoiselle.

: What are you two muttering about down there?

: I’m amending my testimony, your honor.

: Members of the court. Everything I’ve said today has been the truth. I did go to the Louvre on the 7th of January. I did present a box of poisoned chocolates to the king. Except, it was not of my volition. I was threatened I was forced to carry out the task under threat of harm. You see, my family has been struggling to get by. The Winter has been harsh, and my flower business has been struggling. One day, a man approached me. A man I assumed to be kind-hearted. This man offered me two hundred francs to get us through the cold. But I could not afford to repay the debt. When I attempted to bargain with the man, and he offered me a deal. Assist him with murder, and he would drop all debts. Refuse, and he would ruin me and my parents. I obliged, because the alternative meant death for those I love. The name of the man who did this...



: ...

: ...

: ...

: HA! What a creative story. This is obviously a last-minute, desperate attempt at passing the buck. The sheer laziness of this girl to accuse a man she's never met before.... she's blatantly floundering!

: Indeed. I've heard dozens of these self-pitying yarns during my time as a prosecutor. Although admittedly, this is the first time I’ve seen a witness directly accuse a judge. Quite a brazen gambit. But in any case, these sorts of stories never turn out to be true. They are always proven to be fabrications born of desperation.

: I’ve never been more honest, monsieur.

: Listen, Mademoiselle Cygne. I would like to believe your story. But accusing a man - a judge, no less - of conspiring to murder the king is a hugely serious accusation. Do you have any proof to support your story?

: Proof?



: That contract would suffice as proof.

: The contracts were all verbal. He... he said the money was a gift, at first. And only later said that I had to repay him...

: Heh. How convenient. Of course this supposed contract doesn’t exist. The mademoiselle has no proof because her story is a blatant lie.

: Falcon, you have to do something! Do we have anything to link Judge Romulus to Mademoiselle Cygne?



: Members of the court, I know for certain that the mademoiselle's story is true. I can say, with certainty, that Judge Romulus has made contact with Mademoiselle Cygne in the past. I know this because, at this very moment, I am holding a key piece of evidence that links Judge Romulus directly to the crime scene!



: I think you should take a look at this, Séverin.

: Hmm? Me? You don't trust it in the judge’s hands?

: What? What is that?

: What does that piece of paper say?!

: This is a receipt for a box of chocolates... from “Lander Hagelslak’s Chocolate Emporium”... on the 6th of January... Made out to...





: The writing upon the receipt is clear. A man named Romulus bought chocolates on the day before the murder.

: And we've got Lander's own testimony to back it up.

: These chocolates happened to have been of the same brand and flavor as the ones that were used in the royal assassination attempt. By itself, this evidence would not be definitive. It would only suggest that the judge has something of a sweet tooth. But taken in conjunction with the mademoiselle's updated testimony...

: ...That would imply that the judge was directly involved in the assassination attempt!

: Judge Romulus! Do you have anything to say about this?

: Yep. That receipt’s not mine. I haven't stepped foot in a chocolate shop in years.

: You cannot be serious. The receipt is indisputable proof of your purchase.

: And even if you could dispute the receipt, we can just summon Lander to testify.



: What you have there is a scrap of paper with the word “Romulus” scrawled on it. Is it a forgery? Are there simply two men named Romulus living in Paris? I don't have a clue. What I do know, is that you have nothing to prove that I was the one i who signed that receipt.

: Does Paris have two wolfy-judges called Romulus? Because an eye-witness explicitly identified you.

: This is absurd. Do you want me to dig up court documents with your signature so we can undertake a handwriting analysis?

: Or, we could- (you get the point. This is dumb)

:That woldn't be possible. I believe his honor uses a rubber stamp for signing off on official court documents.

: Heh. That would be correct.

: Well, it's no matter. I don't need the judge's signature. I already have, in my possession, proof that the signature on the receipt belongs to Judge Romulus



: Oh, but first things first. I believe you dropped your pen, your honor.

: Oh yeah, that's literally the only way this bit of evidence would actually work. By having every single character act PW-levels stupid.

: Hmm? Oh, yeah, that's mine. Thanks, I've been looking for that thing everywhere.

: I thought as much. Madames and messieurs. Last night, I was assaulted outside Salpétriére Hospital.



: Oh, so that’s why you smell of fish. I wanted to say something, but I thought it might be rude.

: This fountain pen is is the very item l grabbed.



: D-did I say that this pen was mine? On closer inspection, I see I must have been mistaken.

: Save it, your honor. I am not here to press assault charges. What interests me most about this pen is the ink it contains. It is emerald green in color.

: And as we all know, only baddies write in green.

: Well, yes, but more importantly, it's a rare and unusual choice of ink color. I would venture that only a dozen people in all of Paris are arrogant enough to write in green. And I would venture that only one of those arrogant people is named Romulus.

: So Judge Romulus lacks respect for classic penmanship. What of it?

: Take another look at the chocolate receipt, Séverin. That receipt was signed...



: ...It certainly is quite a coincidence.

Trial Turnabout 2

: No! There is no more room for coincidence! There is no more doubt! There is only one narrative that can tie this ridiculous string of evidence together. On the 6th of January, you, Judge Romulus, bought a box of chocolates with a custom filling. That custom filling contained poison, originating from the flowers of Mademoiselle Cygne, a street seller who owed you a debt. On the 7th of January, you, Judge Romulus, leveraged that debt to force the girl to present the poisoned chocolates to the king. Then, an idiot of a man by the name of Juan framed himself as the murderer in order to take the fall in Mademoiselle Cygne’s stead. You pushed for Juan's guilt by priming a witness, Monsieur Toussaint Kingly. And when that failed, you pressured Mademoiselle Cygne to take full responsibility for the crime.



: Fine! I do admit it! I did it! I purchased the chocolates! I added the poison! I put a peasant girl in debt just so I could force her to take the fall! I was the one who wanted the king murdered! But there is not a drat thing any of you can do about it! I am the one who holds the gavel! I am the one who passes the sentences! With a snap of my fingers, I could have each and every one of you guillotined at the Place d’Austerlitz before nightfall!





: Attempting to murder a king... corrupting the Cour d'Assises...

: What an utterly repulsive individual.

: Don't touch me, you dirty pig! You have no authority over me!



: I'm not done!

: I'm not done with any of you!

: You’re all guilty! You'll see!

: A revolution is coming! The rebels will overrun Paris! The king and government will fall! The bourgeois will be slaughtered!

: We shall have a glorious Second Republic! A republic free of class! Where everyone is free and equal!



: Just another ranting lunatic, your majesty. Ignore him.



: ...

: ...

: ...

: What... what happens now?

:

: Uh...

: I... I guess I'm supposed to take over the president judge's duties? Well, given the surprising series of revelations that just took place, we believe that the results are clear.



: Not Guilty!

Victory Fanfare





: What... what happens to me now?

: Mademoiselle. It is clear that you were coerced. However, you still played a significant role in the kings assassination attempt. By all rights, you must be tried for your crimes.

: I see. I cannot argue.



: Consequently, I believe that most of the testimonies given during this trial session would not be seen as valid in a court of law.

: What does that mean?

: He’s saying you're free to go!

: Correct. As a prosecutor, I see no crime to prosecute.

: R-really? Thank you so much, monsieur!



: So... are my parents really in Vienna?

: I think so, but you would have to ask the fox for details. I don't know exactly what he arranged. Although, now that Judge Romulus poses no threat, I suppose your parents would be free to move back to Paris.

: Actually... I may follow them. To Vienna.

: You need a holiday after all this drama?

: Well, yes, but also I want to get away from here before... you know. Before the fighting starts.

: You mean the revolution Judge Romulus mentioned? He doesn't seem mentally stable, Pay him no mind.

: Its not just him, monsieur. In the streets, everyone talks of an uprising. If you were smart, you would clear out of here too.

: Thanks for the concern, mademoiselle.



: I see. Then, good luck, messieurs. And farewell. Maybe we can meet again when this has all blown over.

: Wait, mademoiselle! Don't you want to have a quick celebratory drink?



: So I guess it's ust you, me, and the fox. Right, Falcon?

: That sounds good, Sparrowson. Take Prince Juan back to the Aviary office. I need to sort out some paperwork with Séverin.

: Okie dokie.



: Everything went far better than I could have hoped But you surprised me at the end with that little lie of yours.

: Lie?

: "This trial’s testimonies are completely invalid”? Bullcock. You and I both know that this trial has produced ample valid evidence for Mademoiselle Cygne to be detained and tried. Even with the coercion accounted for, I bet she would still be found guilty of conspiracy or accessory to murder. So, why are you holding back?

: Hmm. You know, ten, maybe even five years ago, I probably would have prosecuted Mademoiselle Cygne. When I was fresh out of law school, I thought my role as a prosecutor was to condemn every potential criminal that came my way. I thought, “if the guilty person ends up behind bars or on the hanging dock, then justice has been served.” But as I gained experience, I started noticing the details.

: The details?

: The extenuating circumstances. The personal considerations.



: I hated it. So I changed my role. I decided that I should not strive to secure a guilty verdict, but to ensure that justice is served. I could prosecute Mademoiselle Cygne, and she would definitely be convicted. But that would not serve justice.



: You’re a good lawyer, Cocorico.

: You... Well, you’re not terrible, Falcon.





: Heh. What am I doing, still using that old accent? I of course meant, congratulations, Monsieur Falcon and Monsieur Sparrowson.

: It's no big deal. We were just doing our jobs.

: No, no. Your job ended when you proved my innocence. Everything after that was you going above and beyond your duties. Of course, I was counting on you to do so. A lesser lawyer would surely have stumbled or caved in. Oh, but before I forget. Your payment.



: Wait! Monsieur Vulpes. Before you go, something's been bothering me. Why did you come to us in the first place? Surely there are much more reputable lawyers out there who could have done a better job.

: Oh? More reputable than the falcon that stands before me?

: Uhh, yeah. Falcon's got a sucky track record.

: True, he does have a. mixed record, but his family name is hugely respected in the lawyering world. I chose Monsieur Falcon as my lawyer for that reason alone.

: Huh? Really? I’ve never heard of another lawyer named Falcon.

: Let’s not go down this road, Monsieur Vulpes. I don’t go by my old name for a reason.

: That is fair. We shouldn't be fixated on the past, should we? After all, it's already been and gone.



: You mean the revolution that the crooked judge mentioned?

: Indeed. I dare say that the wolf is right. A rebellion is coming, one way or the other. Listen, Monsieur Falcon. You’ll probably have a surge of work over the coming days. If you want me to dig up the dirt on anyone, please feel free to drop by my office at any time.

: Dig up the dirt?

: I am a private investigator. It's what I do.

: We'll bear it in mind. Thank you, Monsieur Vulpes.

: Good day, messieurs.



: Seriously, Falcon?

: What? I was just going to ask if you wanted tea or coffee.





Xander77 fucked around with this message at 16:13 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




Act 3 introduction (watch this)



Of course. How could I ever forget. The chanting. The violence. The smell of gunpowder.

July Revolution (Symphonie Fantastique, 5th movement)























Aviary Office







: Morning, Spa-

: No, wait, it's two in the afternoon. That means the official greeting is...



: Ugh. It's far too early for this level of roasting. Pass the Cabernet Sauvignon.

: No way. We've got important business to discuss, and I can’t do that if you’re half-drunk.

: Mon Dieu, give me a break. I haven't had a good night's sleep since the trial.

: Something on your mind?

: Actually, yes. It was what that wolf judge said.

: Pshaw. That guy was off his rocker. And besides, if we worried about every potential French revolution, we would never get any work done at all. Am l right?

: ... Yeah. Maybe you’re right. Worrying doesn't do us any good. Tell me about the “important business” you wanted to discuss.

: Oh? Oh, yeah. The business.



: This one's from the Paris police department. Fancy wax seal and everything.

: That is indeed a fancy seal. Well, go ahead, Sparrowson. You may have the honors.

: “Monsieur Falcon. Meet me on the rooftop cafe opposite the Place de la Bastille. I have a proposal. Regards. Inspector Volerti." Uh... that's it. How terse.



: A proposal from the inspector? Interesting.

: Do you have any idea what sort of proposal he has in mind?

: Not a clue.

: So... are we going to go meet him and find out?



: I don't know what sort of proposal the inspector has in mind, but we would be foolish to reject it without even hearing him out. Grab your coat.

: Alright! No dilly-dallying. I like it.



: I need to drop by the hospital at some point.

: What did you eat this time?

: No, no. It's not like that. Well, not entirely.. I need to pay for the bill from my last visit.

: Oh, that’s reasonable. Sure, we can pay a visit. But the inspector's call should take priority, I think.



: And back we go.

: Falcon. What are you doing?

: Procrastinating. I know that I should go talk to the inspector, but it's so much easier to just do nothing.



: For pity's sake! No procrastinating! No drinking! We're going to meet the inspector if I have to drag you by the tail feathers!









: Brr~

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

<<<<<<<<<<



: Who knows. Maybe the inspector likes the view because it reminds him of his days guarding the Bastille under the Ancien Regime.

: Wait, you think the inspector worked here during the Ancien Regime? Do you think that's how he got his war wounds?

: It was a joke, Sparrowson. I'm pretty sure the Inspector isn’t that old.



Leo Delibes - Gaillarde, Madrigal & Passepied from Le Roi S'Amuse

: Séverin! What are you doing here?

: Settle down, Jayjay. Just like you, I was invited here by the inspector.

: What could he want with all three of us?

: It is hardly unusual for the lawyers and police of France to collaborate. The Inspector probably has a big investigative role that requires all hands on deck.

: A big investigative role... sounds juicy.

: Oh, by the by, did you hear what happened to Judge Romulus?

: No, what?



: So he escaped justice...

: For now. But don’t fret. Nobody manages to escape the long arm of the law forever.



Hector Berlioz "Grande Symphonie funebre et triomphale"

: Ah. Good. You're all here.

: Excuse me, Monsieur Mister Inspector Volerti Sir. Falcon and I were wondering: did you get your injuries while defending the old Bastille prison?



: Don't drag me into this, you fool! I was joking!

: You impudent whelps! I'm not that old!

: I sustained these injuries when in the July Revolution, eighteen years ago.

: I was a royal guard. Just a lowly peon. The air was thick with gunpowder and blood.

: Oh, great; Now you've set him off.

We were given the order to charge at a rebel barricade. My comrades and I fastened our bayonets.

: Suddenly, boom! Without warning, a gunpowder keg exploded. My comrades were dead. I was heavily wounded.

: That's when I looked up, and saw a looming figure standing between the gargoyles of Notre Dame. It was the Viridian Killer himself.

: ~Ahem~ This is a fascinating story, Inspector, but perhaps you could tell us why we are here.



: What I am about to tell you is to remain strictly confidential, you understand? It's a matter of national security.

: As you’ve probably heard, France is under threat from a... certain heinous group.



: Hipsters.



: Now’s not the time for joking, you two. The Inspector's obviously talking about the growing rumors of an uprising.

: Correct. A rebellion is coming.

: Indeed. Rebels. There’s a storm brewing in the shadows of Paris.

: (sic) for that bad transition.

: We, the Paris Police Department, have known about it for months. No, years.

: In every tavern and on every street corner, people talk of organizing protests and overthrowing the government.

: The king has ordered for public gatherings to be dispersed and newspapers to be censored, but the whispers of dissent remain.

: No surprise there. If you take away an angry citizen's ability to speak, they will just get even angrier.

: Indeed. And that's why its paramount that we find and strike at the heart of the rebel group as soon as possible.

: For that, I need your help.

: What exactly do you want us to do?

: Interview citizens. Scout locations. Find the secret rebel meeting location that has escaped the eyes of the police.

: Do we have any leads?

: Just one.



: Like the sandwich?

: What?

: The Croque-Monsieur. It's a hot sandwich. Cheese, ham, a little béchamel. Throw on some peppers if it’s Friday night.

: This has nothing to do with sandwiches! "Croque-Monsieur" is the alias of an accomplished and notoriously dangerous arms dealer!

: In any case, that's everything the Parisian police know.

: That's everything? That's all you have to demonstrate after years of tracking?

: ...

: Naturally, as a public prosecutor, it is my duty to help the police with their investigative work. I would be honored to lend any and all assistance.

: (Suck-up)

: That's very good to hear, Monsieur Cocorico. But what about you, Falcon?

: Well, to be honest, Inspector, I don’t quite understand why you're asking me. I'm a private defense attorney. I work for citizens who get stuck in legal trouble. Rebel-hunting isn't quite my forte.



: Look around you, Falcon. We are surrounded by corruption and incompetence.

: The judges are blood-thirsty wolves, the jailers are thieving ravens, and the national guard are sitting ducks.

: Look at the slackers and dullards who supposedly protect and serve this country. Nobody cares about justice any more.

: You saw my shameful display at the previous trials. Those are the results I produce with imbeciles to assist me.

: But you three... You care.

: Falcon, I saw you defending Dame Caterline and Prince Juan.

: I heard of your escapades around the city, frantically collecting evidence and interviewing witnesses.

: Frankly, you did more investigative work over the last month than I’ve seen any policeman do in a year.

: ...Not including myself, of course.

: But Dame Caterline-

: It doesn't matter. You have passion and conviction, and you aren't a total bird-brain.

: By my book, that makes you a fantastic investigator, even if that is not in your job description.

: So what do you say? Do you want to sit around your office, twiddling your thumbs until another pointless job offer falls into your lap?

: Or do you want to take this opportunity to do something great, and help us track down the animals who wish to harm our glorious nation?



: I don't think so. Sorry, Inspector.

: Come now, Falcon. Let's not make hasty decisions. What would it take for me to change your mind?



: I’m a private attorney, Inspector. Séverin is paid by the state, but I am not. I would be happy to collaborate with the government, but I need some sort of compensation.

: Ha! Of course. What was I thinking?

: How does fifty francs upfront and fifty more upon completion of your duties sound?



: I don't get out of bed for that sort of money, Inspector!

: Fine, fine. I could probably scrape a little more from the budget. How does seventy francs upfront and seventy on completion sound?



: That sounds just fine. I'm glad we could come to an agreement.



: I don't want to keep you any longer than necessary. You already have all the key facts of the investigation.

: Find the elusive Croque-Monsieur. Find where the rebels are congregating. Those are your two tasks.

: I will check up on your progress in three weeks’ time. See what you can accomplish by then.

: I'll be doing my own independent investigation into the rebel group, Jayjay. So I suppose this is a competition of sorts. ...Try to keep up with me.

: Don’t make me laugh, Séverin! I’ll have all the rebel leaders behind bars before you even have your first suspect!

: Come on, Sparrowson. We have a Croque-Monsieur to hunt!

: Okay! Let’s go!

: Heh. I knew a little competition would kick those bird-brains into gear.



: Not so fast, Cocorico. There is something else we need to discuss...





: This case can make a swift turn from "kinda difficult" to "basically impossible" if you ignore the blatant hints to check out the hospital first, so let's head there right now.









: Um, excuse me, Doctor Falret. I just wanted to thank you for, you know, giving me an antidote, and, uh, making me well, and stuff.

: It’s no trouble at all...Sparrowson, wasn't it? Of course, there is the small matter of the debt.

: R-right.

: Let’s see... one hospital bed... one dose of specialized antidote... expert medical care from the attending physician... The total comes to five hundred francs.

: Ah!



: Calm down, Sparrowson. I'm sure the doctors a reasonable man. He will surely allow you to pay in installments.

: Of course, of course.

: Oh, thank goodness. With my current wages, I should be able to fully pay off my debt by the twentieth century.

: Hey! Your pay isn't that bad!

: Now, now, there’s no need for quibbling. I have a suggestion. You messieurs are lawyers, yes? If you do some pro bono work for me, I may be able to knock the bill down a little. Maybe to, say... one hundred francs.

: Oh, that sounds much more manageable! What kind of legal work do you have in mind?



: That actually sounds quite fun. It will be a nice change from this Croque-Monsieur nonsense.

: Yes! Give us the details, doctor!

: There is a man I treated for a small injury a couple of years ago. He's been evading my attempts at collecting on his bill ever since.

: I wouldn't normally pursue medical bills so aggressively, but I know that the man is a successful inventor. He can easily afford to front the bill. I would greatly appreciate it if you would pay him a visit and strong-arm him into loosening his purse strings.

: Well, I'm not making any promises, but maybe we can swing by the inventors house, if we have a free minute.

: Thanks, Falcon!

: And thank you, Docteur. We will dedicate every waking moment to collecting this debt!

: Wait, I didn't agree to that!











Etude (Chopin - Etude Op 25 #5)





: I am. And you are...



: We’re lawyers, sent on behalf of Docteur Falret. We're here to collect a debt that you owe.

: It’s time to pay up, monsieur!

: Oh mon Dieu, I completely forgot about that. Listen, I would be happy to pay, but it looks like I don't quite have enough money on-hand.





: I have a brand new invention that will blow the doctor's socks off. It's a device that will completely revolutionize the surgical field!

: I imagine the doctor would prefer hard cash over some gadget.

: No, no. Trust me. This baby will easily be worth ten thousand, no, one hundred thousand francs. The doctor will love it.

: Oh, alright then. Hand the device over, and I'll pass it along to Docteur Falret straight away.

: Well... it's not that simple. The device isn't finished yet.

: It’s not finished?

: I know exactly what needs to be done, but I am missing some crucial parts. Perhaps, if you had some time to spare, you could help me out? Run out and collect what I need?

: What? No, monsieur, that’s absurd. If you have shopping to do, then you should do it yourself.

: Falcon, please! Help the man! I can't spend the rest of my life in debt!

: I think I might mark the cymbal-clash lines with sirens smilies next time.



: Great. I'll take notes.

: What is it that you need, monsieur?

: Let's see... I need a copper pot.

: A pot? As in, like a saucepan? What on Earth for?

: It's a necessary component of my invention. I can use it to build a portable electric battery. You see, when a zinc rod is suspended in sulfuric acid, accompanied by a copper surface, a current is generated...

: Save me your scientific mumbo-jumbo. One metal pot should be trivial to acquire.

: One ~copper~ pot.

: Oh, the copper part is important? Okay, one copper pot. I wonder where i we could find one of those.

: I've seen copper kettles at Les Halles market... although, those things aren't too cheap. I can’t help but feel that I saw a copper pot somewhere else...

: Hmm, what else... string! High-grade string, to bind some components of the device together.

: Seems simple enough. I imagine Les Halles market would have that in abundance.

: Can we really afford to blow our whole budget at the market, Falcon? Surely there's a cheaper way to acquire string.



: The string must be higher quality than that, monsieur. I need something that's fishing line-grade.

: Was there anything else that you wanted, monsieur? Some books? Confectioneries? Alcohol? Groceries, perhaps?

: No, no. That's everything.

: Alright. I’ve got it all written down.

{[Shopping list]} has been added to your evidence folder.



: I feel a little conned. We came here to collect on a debt, and left with a shopping list.

: We're going to follow through and get Monsieur Trouvé’s items, right?

:...

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 16:36 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.










: ...



Berlioz Symphonie Funebre et Triomphale

: Ah Cocorico. You're already here.

: You have news about the Croque-Monsieur? Or is this about... the other matter?



: Very good. Let's take a look...

: Now, could you please tell me what this is about, Inspector? What exactly are you looking for?

: Hmm...

: Look at this list of graduates. Do you see any names you recognize?

: Well, I see my own. Class of 1837. And I see that moronic prosecutor, Rupert Rabbington, under the class of 1846. Oh, and there's Jayjay Falcon's name under the class of 1832.

: Very good. Now take a look at this register page from 1829. See anything amiss?

: ... Well, I don’t see Jayjay's name... but I'm not sure quite what that implies, Inspector.

: The explanation is simple. Jayjay Falcon changed his name some time between 1829 and 1832. Right around the time of the July Revolution.

: And why would he do that?

: Why indeed.



: But Falcon? He is a bird of prey. It is in his very nature to draw his talons and lash out at those around him.

: I have no doubt that, when the pressure rises, he will show his true colors.

: I’m not sure if I agree with your personality assessment, Inspector. I have always suspected that Jayjay was a buffoon, an imbecile, and a troglodyte, but never would I describe him as a person of malice

: Hmmph. Time will tell.

: Do you need me for anything else, Inspector? Or shall I continue my investigation into the Croque-Monsieur?

: There is one more thing.



: A pistol? No thank you, Inspector.

: These are dangerous times. If you face a violent threat, you cannot hope to defend yourself with that riding crop of yours.

: I’m well aware. I just find that these ghastly things tend to escalate situations, rather than mitigate them.

: Hmph. That's what everyone says during peacetime.

: Take it. Thank me when it saves your hide.

: Fine, fine. I'll keep hold of it.

: Well, Monsieur Cocorico, you have been most helpful.

: I’m just doing my duty. Good day, Inspector.







Renard Vulpes (Charles Tournemire - 3rd Symphony "Moscow")



: Monsieur Falcon. Monsieur Sparrowson. I believe this is our first time meeting without disguises or pretenses, as it were. Oh, but first things first...

: Mousey, would you kindly fetch our guests some tea?

: Oh, of course, Monsieur Vulpes, of course! Messieurs, what sort of tea would you like? Chamomile? Darjeeling, maybe?



: Actually, some Darjeeling would be divine. Thank you, Mousey.

: Sure, Darjeeling sounds good to me too.

: Okay! One pot of Darjeeling coming right up.



: Lets get down to business. What is it that you two came here for?

: We just have a couple of questions.



: Monsieur Vulpes, have you heard any rumors of an uprising?

: Of course. These days, a man can't walk into a tavern without hearing angry men whispering about violence and revolt. I dare say that Paris may find itself in the midst of yet another revolution before the end of Winter.

: But what can you tell us about the dissenters, specifically? Do you know where they are meeting?

: I’m afraid I only know what you can read in the papers, monsieur. I know anti-government protesters were meeting out in the open until the government clamped down on large, public banquets. With the banquets gone... who knows where the dissenters went? Perhaps I can assist you with something else.



: Have you ever heard of a person called the Croque-Monsieur?

: And no, we aren’t talking about the sandwich. Unfortunately.

: The Croque-Monsieur...



: Yes! That sounds exactly like the person were looking for! Do you know him?

: Me, personally? No, monsieur. I just know of his vile reputation.

: I see. Then, do you have any idea how we can find him?

: Hmm.

: Meeting the Croque-Monsieur face-to-face is not easy. The man doesn’t make himself known to just anybody, after all...

: I know. I shall do a little investigative work of my own. Come back in three days, and I will tell you where and when you can find the Croque-Monsieur.

: That’s an enormous help! Thank you so much, Monsieur Vulpes.

: Of course, there is a price.

: A price?

: It is just a small fee. A mere thirty francs.

: Hey! We saved your derriere over that Prince Juan business! Is this any way to show your gratitude?



: I'm sure your intentions are noble, Monsieur Falcon, but I am running a business here. A fox has to eat. Thirty francs, and I guarantee I will find you the Croque-Monsieur. That's my final offer. What do you say?



: Here you go, monsieur.

: 134 francs left.

: Very good. As I promised, return in three days or later, and I will tell you where the Croque-Monsieur can be found. Rest assured that I will undertake my end of the bargain with care and diligence.

: I expect nothing less. Thank you, Monsieur Vulpes.

: It is my pleasure. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?

: That’s all. Have a pleasant day, Monsieur Vulpes.

: As to you, messieurs.

: The tea’s ready, Monsieur Vulpes, it's ready!



: Oh bother.









: Well, well, well. If it isn’t the rude lawyers. You know, you owe me, big guy.

: I... owe you?



: So the way I see it, you owe me two francs for the fishing line, and one million francs for saving your life.

: I don't have one million and two francs.

: Really? But you look so bourgeois... Alright. I tell you what two francs for the line, and we'll call it even.



: Fine. Here's two francs. Consider it a gift of gratitude for saving my life.



: Much thanks, monsieur. Now, why are you here?

: Why are we here? Oh, right. We have some questions.



: Have you heard of a man called the Croque-Monsieur?

: A man called the Croque-Monsieur... Nope. Doesn’t ring any bells. That’s a strange name, though. Did the man name himself after the sandwich, or was the sandwich named after him?

: I have absolutely no idea.

: I can only aspire to have a sandwich named after me one day.



: Stop. You’ll give us all heart attacks.



: So... caught anything good?

: Today? Not a kipper. This new fishing line is really good, but I’ve run out of good bait, so its practically useless by itself.

: That’s quite an issue.



: It... just might. Say, Monsieur Kingly. Since you aren’t catching anything, would it be possible for us to take that new fishing line off your hands?

: Sure. What's it worth?

: Didn’t we already go over this fishing line payment business?

: Yeah, but that was compensation for the old fishing line. If you want to buy this new line, that’s a whole separate matter. Also, I saved your life. Remember? And I was polite enough to not rub that fact in your face. Much.

: Fine, fine. So, how much did the new line cost?

: Ten francs.

: There is no way that that line cost ten francs.

: You’re right. It cost one. But I added a little mark-up.



: Hmm, I guess it is a bit. I tell you what, if you can provide me with some killer bait, I’ll give you the line for free.

: Killer bait? Like... worms?

: Sure. Worms. Sweets. Whatever. So What’ll it be? Do you have some bait, or do you just want to pay me the cash?



: We don't actually have any bait, but might as well give this a try.



: Could this work as bait, monsieur?

: No, not really. Do you have any real bait, or are you just going to pay me the cash?





: Excellent. And here's your line.

{[Fishing Line]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Wait. Hold on. Now I have no fishing line or bait! I did not think this deal through.

: Oh well. Can I help with something else?



: I think we're done here. Happy fishing, monsieur.

: Bye, Monsieur fisherman!









: A quick look at all the places that don't waste a day.







Not a creature was stirring. Not even a Mousey.

: Renard said he would have finished his investigation in three days, didn’t he?

: Oh. Yeah, I guess he did.

: ...Well, we’re too early, aren’t we?

: Yeah, I suppose we are.











: Uh, well...

: We need a little more time, Docteur.







: I see “Sacha Spider's Silverware Store”.

: Too pricey. Let's take it down a notch.

: Okay, how about that place over there? “Harry Hippopotamus’s Pottery and Haberdashery”...That name just rolls off the tongue.

: Still too pricey. We're buying for a mad scientist, not for the Queen of England.

: What about that little stand: “Rods Odds and Ends”. Looks cheap, and I even see a copper kettle in the back!

: Now we're talking. Excuse me, madame!



Saint Saens: Carnival of the Animals~Kangourous

: Wait... Those two look familiar...

: I recognize you. Weren't you two begging outside Chateau Criniére a couple of weeks ago?



: We put ya money to good use, see? We started a business! At Rods Odds and Ends, we sell everything!

: I suppose a congratulations are in order. It's no small feat to pull yourself out of the streets in today's economy.

: So... do we get a discount?

: A discount?

: Well, we did help kick-start your little enterprise. I suppose we are investors of sorts.

: Sorry, messieurs. No discounts. Ya gave us a donation out of the generosity of ya hearts.

: Because you are such nice people!

: But maybe we can help ya out. What is it that ya wanted?



: Do you have any string or fishing line?



: I think so. How much?

: Fifteen francs.

: Fifteen francs for string? Come now, that's ridiculous.

: It’s no ordinary string, messieurs. It's the string with a thousand uses! You could make a fishin’ rod. You could fix somethin’ that's broken.

: You could play cat's cradle.

: You could stitch some clothes with it.



: Okay, okay, you’ve both made your pitch.



: ...But its still too much. Sorry, but there's no way I'm spending fifteen francs on a piece of string.

: We understand. Did ya want somethin’ else, monsieur?



: Thirty francs.



: Thirty francs for a kettle? That's far too much.

: But this kettle is super fancy, see. Look at all ‘em engravings! It's nice and stout. Look at the handle!

: Look at the spout!

: With somethin' like this, ya can sip ya tea while pretendin' to be a hoity-toity bourgeois!

: Yes, yes, it's very fancy, but that's still more than we can afford. How does twenty francs sound?

: I'm not barterin’, monsieur. It's thirty francs or nothin’.





: And here's ya kettle. Pleasure doin' business with ya, monsieur!

{[Copper kettle]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Was there anythin’ else?

: That's all, madame. Thanks for all your help.

: Be sure to come back if ya forgot anythin’, monsieur!













Renard Vulpes

: Monsieur Vulpes. You've managed to dig up some good information, I trust.

: ... There is good news and there is bad news.



: Hit me with the bad news first.

: The Croque-Monsieur refuses to speak with anyone who does not know a secret password. And I'm afraid I was unable to procure that particular password.

: I see. That is a problem. So what’s the good news?

: If you want to meet the Croque-Monsieur anyway, I’ve learned that he lurks around the Rue des Marmousets on Friday evenings.

: The Rue des Marmousets? Oh, the monkey road, by Notre-Dame. That’s easy enough to get to.

: I apologize that I could not be of more help.

: It's no problem at all, monsieur. You've given us a fantastic lead. Rue des Marrnousets on Friday. I'll be there.



: I shan’t delay you two any longer. I’m sure you have a lot of investigative work to do.

: That we do. Thanks for all the help, Monsieur Vulpes.





: We're in 19th century Paris. Inventing a battery-powered device for a medical professional specializing in mental issues. I was quite certain I knew where the game was going with this.





Etude





: Yes, monsieur. The string and copper pot, exactly as described. Here you go.

: What... What is this? A fancy kettle? It’s made of copper, I suppose, but what an odd choice...

: It was a little tricky to procure the necessary items, but with a bit of asking around, we managed to find suitable substitutes.

: There's a general store down the street that sells string and discounted copper pots and the like. I assumed you would have gone shopping there.

: Mother. Fucker. YOU WERE RIGHT THERE. We discussed our shopping right in front of your fat walrus face. You participated in the loving conversation.

: ...

: ...





: Ta da! May I proudly present to you...



: (Trademarked. Patent pending.)

: ...It looks like a pair of kitchen tongs hooked up to a stewing pot.

: Agreed. I wasn't expecting something so low-tech and, well, bad.

: Hmm... perhaps a demonstration is in order. One moment, if you please.

: (Psst. Falcon.) (That thing looks like junk! This whole fetch quest has been a waste of our time!)



: (There’s nothing to be done, though. Lets just humor Gustave until we get an opportunity to leave. Cut our losses.)

: (What about my medical debt?)

: Time for a demonstration! Get ready to have your stockings blown off, messieurs!



: O-okay. That meat is a soldier.

: An oddly-shaped and potentially tasty soldier.



: So, our soldier is wandering through a battlefield, not a care in the world, when all of a sudden... BAM! The person has been shot! The musket ball has been embedded in the man's flesh!

: (I'm scared, Falcon. He slammed that metal into the meat like a mad man!)

: Quick, messieurs. You're a battlefield medic. The soldier is wounded, and you have precious little time. What do we do?



: I think your patient is dead on the operating table, monsieur. He's just a slab of meat now.

: Use your imaginations, messieurs!

: I’m imagining it lightly fried in garlic butter...



: Most battlefield medics would have opted for careful surgery. They would use a scalpel to carefully cut out the bullet. Now, I hear you wondering, “Monsieur Trouvé, surely there must be a better way?

: I wasn't-

: Well, wonder no more!



: And then, as I move the detector component over the meat...

: Is... is that thing humming?

: It is, monsieur. When the “electro-magnet” component of the explorer-extractor detects a piece of iron, the device vibrates and emits a soft hum.

: I must say, I'm actually impressed, monsieur. A device that can detect metal beneath flesh? That's innovative! I’ve never heard of such a thing before.

: Yeah! But why limit it to battlefield surgery? You could repurpose that thing to be some sort of treasure-hunting device! That would make you really rich.

: Hold your horses, messieurs, hold your horses. I'm not done yet. You have only seen half of the devices capabilities - the “exploration” part. Now, you can witness the second part... Extraction!

: Did... did that thing just...

: Yup. Sucked out that bullet like a pip from a grapefruit.



: So, what do you think? Pretty revolutionary, huh?

: ...I think that meat looks a lot less appetizing than before. It's practically exploded.

: I... I have no idea what to think. Monsieur Trouvé, you are a strange and mildly terrifying individual, but I cannot fault the innovation of your device.

[Explorer-extractor]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Ah, thank you, thank you. I'm sure the good doctor will approve.

: I'm hungry. Let's pick up some steaks on the way back to the office.





: Ok, let's go reap our just reward.





: Ah, you've returned. Were you successful?

: Well...

: Monsieur Trouvé didnt have any money. But he did give us something that he claimed to be extremely valuable.



: ...What is this?

: Monsieur Trouvé called it an Explorer-Extractor. He said that it would revolutionize the medical field.

: ...

: I don't quite understand how it works, but maybe I could demonstrate it, if you have a piece of meat and a lump of metal handy?

: ... Monsieur Falcon. Monsieur Sparrowson. I sent you to retrieve owed money. Instead, you return, several days late, with this... child's toy?

: Just forget it. Forget the whole task. It was foolish of me to rely on private attorneys, and it was foolish of me to assume that a crazed inventor would produce money when asked.





: Oh. He's gone.

: Sorry, Sparrowson. It doesn't look like you'll be getting your discount.

: Well, there go my year's wages. So... what do we do now?

: Get back to our investigation into the Croque-Monsieur and the rebels, I assume. We've wasted precious time on this fool’s errand.



: Quick update on our evidence:


Xander77 fucked around with this message at 17:08 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: Here for some shopping, are we?



: Actually, I was thinking of Mademoiselle Cygne. I know she’s not here now, but the area just reminds me of her.

: Oh, the flower seller. I think she moved away, Falcon. Didn't she say she was visiting her parents in Vienna?

: Oh yeah. Right. Let's move. We've wasted enough time here.











Louis Armstrong Ochi Chernyie (Dark eyes)

: Calm down, Sparrowson. I'm just here for information. Taverns are the first place people go to moan about the government. Therefore they are perfect rebel breeding grounds.

: Oh, that makes sense.

: Ah, it’s you two! What will it be today? Wine or beer?

: I'm afraid it's just questions for now, Madame Quanelle.

: We're looking for a man called the Croque-Monsieur. Have you seen him?

: Hmm... no, that name doesn't sound familiar at all.

: Okay. Have you heard any of your patrons bad-mouthing the government?



: Ah... sic?

: That’s true. But has anyone stood out?

: Well...





: Now, I'm not saying they are or they aren’t rebels, but they're doing far too much talking, and not enough drinking, if you know what I mean.

: I think I do. Thank you, madame. Let's see, where to go..



: The card players have the exact same dialog they had the last time around. No clues if you win. They're basically there in case you haven't won any of the previous cases, haven't negotiated an advance with Volerti, and still want to pay your way to victory this time around. Anyways, we're headed for the drinking room.





: Pierro, you know that she hates being called “mademoiselle”. You°re going to get stuck with guard duty again.

: Oh, right you are. “The madame” it is, then.Wait, she ain't married, is she? So why do we have to call her “madame”?

: Why don't you ask her yourself?

: No way! She would straigh' up eat me alive if I asked that directly!

: Wait. Hush up. Do you smell that? It smells like...

: Eavesdroppers.





: What were you two just talking about, before we rudely interrupted?

: Hmm. Well, I would like to include you in our conversation. But to be perfectly honest, I don't think that's any of your business.



: As a matter of fact, it is our business. You see, we want to fight alongside the rebels.

: We... we do?

: Listen 'ere, you-

: Hold on, Pierro. Let me handle this.



: Now, I don't know who you are, but I do know that your line of work involves a fair amount of investigation. Therefore, I must assume that you're some sort of detective or prosecutor. Am I far off the mark?

: ... Well...

: As I thought. Now, I don't claim to be part of any secret rebel alliance. I’ve never heard of such a thing. But if I were a member of any such hypothetical group, I would not allow the entry of a man of the law like yourself. Understood?

: ...drat. That’s a solid shutdown.

: Yeah. I’ll try asking something else. Monsieur, have you heard of a man called-



: (There's a slight chance that these guys might be rebels, right?) (So if we ask directly, they might be scared off.)

: (Good point. I'll try to keep it subtle.)



: Monsieur, I see you are carrying a rifle.

: Evidently.

: Who manufactured it?



: See? It's American, from the Springfield Armory. Model 1812. Percussion lock firing mechanism.

: An American musket, you say? That's certainly quite special. It must nave been hard to procure.

: Its true that you can't buy guns of this quality from standard street sellers, but if you know the right people. (sic, no "...")

: Please go on.

: Well...



: Ok.



: “The Book of Judges”? What is this, some sort of law book?

: The books subject is not important. Just take it.

: Oh, I see. It's THE Book of Judges, from the Bible. Old Testament stories of God smiting people and stuff. I appreciate the gift, monsieur, but I’m not religious.

: Nor am I.

: Then why are you-

: Just take it, ya idiot!

: Sentiment seconded.



: Code phrases?

: Pierro, please. I'm trying to be low-key, and I can't do that if you're mouthing off with that big beak of yours.

: Try to forget what my friend said. Just... with a little searching, and with the contents of that Good Book, you should be able to get what you desire.

: Is... is that a religious metaphor?

: No, monsieur. I'm being very literal.

[{The Book of Judges}] has been added to your evidence folder.

: Well, thank you very much for the gift, monsieur. But to be honest, I have no idea how this is supposed to lead me to our gun salesman.

: Ah. I see. Well, I hear that there is an excellent friar who performs Bible readings at Notre-Dame Cathedral. Perhaps, if you show the man your new book, he will be able to find you a particularly spiritual passage.

: Are you sure that this isn’t all a religious metaphor? I feel like you’re trying to convert me.

: I assure you, I’m as secular as they come, monsieur.

: Holy poo poo, we're rapidly approaching Phoenix Wright levels of cast stupidity.

: Friar at Notre-Dame Cathedral. Thank you, monsieur. I'll make a note.

: Was there something else that you wanted?

: Thank you for your assistance, messieurs.



: ... You two seem like decent fellows. You shouldn't get involved in this rebellion business. Just... do whatever you need to do with the Croque-Monsieur, and get out of Paris. That's what a smart person would do.

: I appreciate the advice, monsieur.







: Yep. Let's make a move.













Scaffolding lines much of the crumbling outer wall. Unperturbed, a handful of devotees are silently kneeled in thought. (sic?)

: Here for a little prayer, are we, Falcon? I had no idea you were the religious type.

: Don't be silly. I'm following up on Fontaine’s lead. We must find our mystery friar..

: Do you think its that hunched-over fellow over there? I bet it’s him. He looks super suspicious.

: It could be. Let’s show some tact-



: ... Do you know what tact is, Sparrowson?



: Are you here to confess your sins? Or perhaps you wish to join in our services?

: Actually, friar, we're here because-



: That friar... he looks eerily familiar...



: I don't see it.

: What?! Am I going mad? How can you seriously not see it?!

: Your friend appears to be upset.

: Don't mind him. He's just in a huff because he thinks you look like this judge we once met.



: Oh, good. I'm not going mad.

: Friar, would you say that you had a good relationship with Romulus?

: We were close. But as you may have heard, he got in trouble with the law recently. I haven't seen him in weeks.

: I see. I didn't mean to pry.

: It's no trouble. But tell me, why are you here, my brothers?

: Oh, right. Well, we have a couple of questions.



: What's with all the scaffolding? Is some sort of construction work going on?

: That's right. A little repair. A little renovation.



: But now we’re well on our way to restoring this holy place to its former glory.

: The Cult of Reason... the religion of Christianity... Hey, Falcon. What's the difference between a religion and a cult?

: Don't be rude, Sparrowson.

: Ah, don't worry, my brother. I understand how it is. To a young person, all ideologies look like gobbledygook in different packaging don’t they?

: Pretty much.

: Then maybe you'll come to learn the differences as you grow up. I promise, some ideologies are worth following to the very end. But let’s not talk any more about cults and ideologies. Did you want anything else?



: Friar, we have something that we would like to show you.



: Please take a look at this.

: I'm sorry. This means nothing to me.

: Oh. Well, let me try something else.

: Ok, let's...



: Nope. Despite what would be suggested by any semblance of logic AND what Falcon just said, presenting the wrong item just ends the day on the spot. Bulllllllllllllllllllllshit. Let's rewind and do it right this time.



: Could you take a look at this? We heard that you could give, uh... special passage readings.

: Ah, I see. You have your own copy of the Book of Judges. I think you will find chapter 15, Verse II to be particularly enlightening.

: Let's see... chapter 15... verse II... This chapter follows the journey of Samson, the heroic judge with divine strength.



: Please could you read the passage? (sic for lack of commas)

: Okay. “Three thousand men of Judah went to the top of the rock Etam.They said to Samson, ’Knowest thou not that the Philistines are rulers over us? What is this that thou hast done unto us? And Samson said unto them, 'As they did unto me, so have I done unto them.”

: “As they did unto me, so have I done unto them.” A beautiful sentence, Wouldn't you agree?



: It's poetic. A beautiful summation of justice.

: You understand the passage! That's delightful to hear. Yes, Samson was a great judge.



: Shophets were to be admired and feared. They made their own judgments and dispensed their own punishments. Ah, I'm starting to ramble, aren’t I? Okay, let's get back to the point. The key word of the day is “Etam”. That’s the name of the cave where Samson hid. The Rock of Etam.

: Etam. Got it; I’ll make a note.

: It's like a backwards “mate”. But I’m confused. What do we do with this “key word”?

: That is for you to learn on your own, my brothers. You appear to be intelligent. I am sure that, if you put your faith in the right people, you can uncover the truth.

: We'll see what we can do.

: Is there anything else I can help you with today? Perhaps you wish to make a confession?

: I think we’re done here. Thank you for your time, friar.

: Go in peace, my brothers.









: Is that him?

: It must be. Excuse me, monsieur!



: What's the pasword?

: The password? Uhhhh...



: Etam.

: Oh! I took you fellas for bird-brained cops, but you actually know the secret password. So, what do you want?

: Well, let's start with introductions. You are the Croque-Monsieur, are you not?



: Mon Dieu, people always get the pronunciation wrong.

: I'm not really hearing the difference.

: In any case, Monsieur Croc-Monsieur, my name is-

: Don't tell me, you idiot! Bringing up names can mess up an entire meeting! Why do you think I use an alias? Just tell me what you want. Drugs? Guns? Explosives? Slaves? Come on, I don't have all day.

: Well, to be honest, what I really want is...



: I know you've been supplying weapons to a rebel group. I want to know everything. Who they are. Where they are meeting. What they bought from you.

: Heh. If I sold out my customers, it wouldn't be good for my reputation now, would it?

: I suppose that’s true...

: Just kidding. Money beats integrity any day.



: Five hundred francs for information? That seems a little steep.

: Steep? This intel is probably worth fifty thousand francs to the Parisian police! I’m giving you a bargain. Listen, you pay me the full five hundred right now, and I'll tell you exactly when and where you can find the rebels.



: Do you take checks?

: Very funny. And no, I don’t take pocket lint either. It's cold, hard Napoleons only.



: Sainte merde! It’s the fuzz! Cheese it!



: Wait, wait! Monsieur Croc-Monsieur! Come back!

: Never fear, Falcon! I’ll tail the dastardly fellow!





: What's all this ruckus? Playing cops and robbers, are we, Jayjay?

: Are you blind, Séverin? That was the Croc-Monsieur! We were on the crux of extracting some vital information about the rebels, but your smug entrance just ruined everything!

: Hmm?

: That was the Croc-Monsieur? I never would have guessed.

: You don’t sound very concerned.

: Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m quite impressed that you managed to track down such an elusive criminal.



: More pressing than finding the rebels?

: ... Jayjay, I want you to answer this question sincerely and honestly. Did you go by a different name, prior to enrolling at Paris Law School?

: What? What does that have to do with the rebel investigation? Or to do with anything, for that matter?

: I would appreciate it if you just answered the question, Jayjay. I need to hear it from your own beak. Have you ever gone by a different name?



: I don't deny it. A man has a right to change his name.

: Indeed, a man does have that right. But why would a man do such a thing?

: I don't appreciate your accusatory tone. You sound just like Inspector Volerti.



: ...

: Answer me, Séverin! What is going on? What did Inspector Volerti say?

: ...



: Man... that croc can run.

: It appears that you two are making solid progress with your investigation into the rebel group. I'll be sure to let the Inspector know.

: Where are you going? We haven’t finished our discussion, Séverin.

: We have. I've learned what I came here to find out.



: What... ~wheeze~ what was that all about?

: It doesn't matter. Séverin is just poking his beak where it doesn't belong.

: Heh.. nosey... blighter.

: So, tell me about your little adventure, Sparrowson. You lost the Croc-Monsieur, I take it?

: Yeah... He looks... like a stumpy reptile... ~Wheeze~ but he ran... like a gazelle! I lost him... in no time at all...

: I see. Well, with the Croc-Monsieur's lead gone, our investigation has reached a dead-end.

: Not entirely... He dropped something... during... the chase...

: He dropped something? What, exactly?

: I'll show you... follow... me...





: I think you need to do more exercise, Sparrowson.

: Don't judge me.



: Ow.

>>>> : Ow.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>: Ow.



: No. My foot's hurting. I think I got something in my shoe.

: Well, grit your beak and bear it. This is around where you saw the crocodile drop something, right? Then let’s put on our investigation hats and find... whatever it is.



: The sign is difficult to read. The paint has faded. Tr... Trodel Fruitier?

: Tiuqde Fkuitier.

: There's no way it says that. You just made those words up.

: All words are made up, Falcon.

: ...



: An empty cart. Somebody has scrawled the word “Descartes” on it. The owners name, perhaps?

: I don't think so, Falcon. See the graffiti on the wall behind you?

: ... Deswall...

: Somebody thinks Desfunny.

: ~Sigh~



: “Noah's Bar. All animals are welcome!” “Except mosquitoes. You blood-suckers can go get your fix some place else.”

: Noah feels pretty strongly about mosquitoes, huh.

: Well... he has a point. I'm not saying all mosquitoes are blood suckers, but-

: Woah, Falcon! Keep it classy.

: I'm just stating facts...



: Does that street lamp look broken to you?

: Yep. I think all the lamps on this street have been vandalized. The ground is covered in glass from the broken panes. Oh! That explains why my foot is hurting.

: It does?



: Oh no! My good shoes are ruined!

: Well, I wouldn't say “good”. You paid twenty cents for them..

: File this away in the evidence folder.

: You... want me to file away the broken glass?

: Yep. I'm filing an official formal complaint to the government. Their faulty street lamp has ruined my shoes, and I am owed compensation!

: I think government officials have better things to do than worry about your twenty cent shoes, Sparrowson.

: We'll just see about that.

{[Glass shards]} have been added to your evidence folder.

: Are you satisfied? We have real evidence to find.





: It’s a list. “Forty Muskets... twenty pistols... gunpowder... three thousand musket balls...To be delivered to the Sleeping City." This is an invoice. I don’t see any names on here, but given the contents and quantities, the goods are probably intended for the rebels. Excellent find, Sparrowson.

: It was nothing.

: But “the Sleeping City”? Where could that be?

: Well, it’s a city that sleeps a lot. So somewhere in Spain would be my guess.

: I’m pretty sure that the location is not a literal city. For one thing, we already know the city where the rebels are gathering - it's right here, in Paris. ‘The Sleeping City” is a code phrase. Like a riddle.

: A riddle, hmm?

: Hmm.

: Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

: Well, I'm stumped. And "hmm"ing is getting us nowhere. We must find someone who can solve it. We need a person who is knowledgeable about all manner of riddles and puzzles.

: A know-it-all, huh?

: Precisely. In the meantime, I'll file this away for safe keeping.

{[CrocrMonsieur’s invoice]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Do you think the croc dropped anything else?

: I think we’re done here.

: Okay. I guess we can always come back if we think we've forgotten something.



: Time to...



: Time to investigate this.







Prelude ('Libera Me, Domine' from Gabriel Fauré's Requiem.)

: Don’t call me that.

: Ah, my apologies, madame. But what are your thoughts? Is the room suitable?

: It's dark, cramped, and more than a little macabre. But it will do.

: Excellent. I have hired private security to guard the entrance twenty-four hours a day. Rest assured, your weapons are safe.

: ... Tell me, friar, are we doing the right thing?

: Of course we are, madame. There cannot be change without bloodshed. No revolution without revolution. Surely you aren't having second thoughts.

: Of course not. I want nothing more than to serve justice to the corrupted rulers of this country. When the time comes...

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 17:40 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.










: Of course. All librarians like riddles.

: Seems like a bit of a stereotype, that's all I'm saying.

: Stereotype or not, we have to hope that it's true. That boffin is our best chance at getting to the bottom of this.

: Time to put our polite faces on. He's here now.

: ~Sigh~ Good day, Dromio and Dromio.

Carnival of the Animals - People with long ears

: Why, good day, monsieur. It's a pleasure to see you again on this fine day. Tell me, kind monsieur, do you like riddles?





: Er..

: You. It’s you, messieurs, you. You come in here, yammering and yelling, never stopping to close your beaks for one minute.

: Oh! Haha! Very good, monsieur.

: (Laugh, Sparrowson. We need to get into his good books.)



: (W-what was that?)

: (Sorry. I can't fake-laugh.)

: (Oh mon Dieu...)

: Stop this farce. You messieurs obviously have some inane riddle that you want solving, so let's hear it. Go on, spit it out.

: Oh, right. Well, uh... If we were to say that there is a place called “the Sleeping City” in Paris, where would it be?

: That's a new one...



: R-really?

: Of course. The riddle was trivially easy. There are plenty of locations that could be called a “Sleeping City”, but only one place earns that title in Paris.

: Oh? And where would that be?

: We know the answer, of course. Obviously. We're just fact-checking to make sure that you got it right.

: Think it through, messieurs. What kind of city is only inhabited by those who sleep all day and all night?

: Uh...



: I got it! Spain!

: Don't be daft, Sparrowson. Spain isn't a city. But perhaps the monsieur is referring to the capital of Spain, Madrid. Nice, sleepy, place.

: Spain? Madrid?! You two are remarkably dense, aren't you? “Sleep” is a metaphor. Actually, its one of the oldest and most powerful metaphors in the history of literature. It symbolizes death itself. “The Sleeping City” obviously refers to a city of the dead. A necropolis.





: Of course! The catacombs. The winding tunnels of the dead that lie beneath our very feet.

: Very good, monsieur. That's the first semi-intelligent thing you have managed to say all day. ...You have more questions, don't you?

: Oh yes.



: Can you give us a brief run-down on the history of the catacombs?

: ~Sigh~ The cemeteries of Paris were overflowing by the end of the last century. It was a mess, from what I hear. To create space, King Louis XVI ordered for old skeletons to be excavated and put into the unused mine tunnels that lie under the city. So, with a little renovation and many years of hard work, the mines were successfully turned into a subterranean mausoleum.

: So, what, its basically a grave for a few thousand skeletons?

: Millions, more like. Don't underestimate the size of the tunnels, messieurs.

: I know that the bourgeois like to tour the catacombs, don't they?

: Correct. It was quite the bourgeois tourist hotspot some twenty years ago. But if you were hoping to pay a visit, you are too late. The Church had all the entrances sealed shut fairly recently.

: Why would the Church do that?

: Believe it or not, they considered the turning of a mausoleum into a tourist attraction to be in poor taste.

: Oh, right.

: They shut down all the entrances? Really? Surely there must be one or two left untouched

: If there is such an entrance, it is not public knowledge.

: I see.



: I think we're done here for now. Thank you for your time, monsieur.

: Good day.

: If the Sleeping City really is the Paris catacombs, then there must be some way to get in...

: Hmm... An underground tunnel network would probably be connected to the city sewers, right?



: That's a good idea. Or maybe it connects to the Seine? Perhaps some swimming is in order...

: If you really wish to visit the catacombs, you would be best off asking those responsible for the closures.

: The... dead... people?

: ~Sigh~ The Church, monsieur. The Church would know if any unsealed entrances still exist.

: Oh. Right.













Wolves

: But the good word must be spread, my brother! We need as many supporters as possible. No more sulking in the shadows. No more cowering in the dark. We must rise up against our oppressors!



: Again? Tsk. What happened to yours?

: I lost it.

: So careless.

: Don't sweat the petty things, brother. Let’s focus on removing the obstacles that stand in the way of our fathers dream.

: Right. Like the annoying little bird who's been poking his beak into our business. He is dangerously close to uncovering our secret.

: You want me to take care of him?

: It would be in our interests. I have a trap in mind, but...



: Go hide.



: Actually, friar, were here for information. We want to learn about the catacombs that lie under Paris.

: The catacombs? You don't want to go there, my brother. It's a wretched and haunted place.

: I'm sure it is. But we know that the church was responsible for having the entrances sealed shut.

: So we figured that maybe there"s a super-secret friar-only entrance that only you know about.

: A secret entrance? That's an interesting idea... You know... you are not the first birds to have asked about that.

: We aren't?

: Yes, yes... a cockerel paid a visit yesterday.

: Perfect posture and snooty or one-eyed and scowling?

: The first. A prosecutor, I think he said he was. Anyway, I'll tell you the same thing I told him.



: Understood?



: Not really. You didn't tell us how to get into the catacombs at all.

: Nor will I tell you, my brother. Take the hint. You have no business there. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have a sermon to prepare. Be on your way.

: drat. Another dead end.



: Don't quit just yet. I managed to take something from the friar’s pocket when he gave his little warning.

: Seriously? Again? This is becoming something of a bad habit for you. Well, go on then. Let’s see what you pilfered.



: You found this pen? In the friar’s robes?

: Yup.

: Interesting. Actually, this is more than interesting. This is amazing. This is the exact same pen that Judge Romulus uses. It even contains the same green ink.

: Huh. Do you think its exactly the same pen, or do you think Romulus and Remus just have a matching set?

: I honestly don’t know. But I do know that this may come in handy. I’m going to keep hold of it.

{[Fountain pen]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: We're still at a dead end, though. My gut tells me that the friar is hiding something, but I can't get him to cough up.

: Its not like we can beat information out of him. Lets just go do other stuff, and maybe we’ll stumble across some more clues.

: Maybe you’re right. Let's go.







: Peddle ya pyramid scheme to someone else, bud. I’ve got a kid to feed.

: Madame, it's not a pyramid scheme! Madame? Take a leaflet, at least!



: Heh. A cult, is it? Not today, monsieur. I've already been in my fare (sic) share of cults.



: A member of the Cult of Reason, huh. Strange. I thought that cult died out way back in the old Revolution.

: Hey, Falcon. That person...

: He looks like a run-of-the-mill cultist.

: I can see that. But doesn't his face look familiar to you?



: He does look familiar. Actually, the resemblance is uncanny. Shall we get his attention?





: Uh-oh. He’s spotted us.

...

: ...

: ...





: Wait, monsieur! We would like a quick word!

: Come back! Teach us about the wonders of the Cult of Reason!

: He's gone.

: So, I'm not going crazy, right? That guy was the splitting image of Judge Romulus, wasn't he?

: I can't deny the similarity. Then again, there are plenty of wolves in Paris. Maybe there's no link at all. Either way, we have an investigation to conduct. Let's focus on that.

: Right. Where to first?









: I still don't see anybody around to interview.

: Yeah. I cant imagine this room being of any use to us. Unless we need any priceless Roman vases, of course.





: (Oh dear, oh dear, it's these guys again. Keep it together, Eric. Maybe they won't recognize you...)

: Excuse me, monsieur! It’s us! The philistines! Remember?

: (Were they talking to me?)



: (Yup. Definitely talking to me. Okay, deep breaths, Eric.)

: Hi!

: We have a couple of questions, if it's no trouble.

: Oh, it's no trouble. No trouble at all.



: Do you know anything about an uprising?

: An uprising?

: You know. People getting angry. Being violent. Overthrowing the government. Stuff like that.

: Goodness. No, I don't know anything about that sort of thing.

: Never mind then. Did you see the cultist outside?



: Uhh... yeah... he accosted me a few days ago. We chatted for a while. Not by choice, of course. But because I didn't know how to get out of the conversation. It got a little out of hand. He insisted that I take a pamphlet.



: And he even added his own signature. See? At the bottom there?

: "To my new bestest bud, Eric. Happy reading! Best wishes, Silvius.”

: Green ink too. What a fiendish color choice.

: That guy was such a slime-ball. We aren't even close to bestest buddies!

: At least we now know the cultist’s name - Silvius. Do you mind if we keep this pamphlet, monsieur?

: Be my guest. I don't want it.

{[Signed Cult Guide]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Did you want something else?



: It's no trouble. No trouble at all.





: Hey, Falcon, isn't that our old friend~



Goofy

: You promised to get my photographs put up in the Louvre! What happened with that? Where are my photographs? Huh? Huh?

: Uh, well...

: We've been a little distracted...

: We had this messy case...

: And now we’re investigating stuff...

: But I guess we can fit in some time...

: Oh mon Dieu. Forget it. I’ve only got another week to go, and then I’m done with this dumb job. So, what do you want? I haven't found any interesting bits of paper today, if that's what you were hoping for.

: Actually, we just wanted to ask a couple of questions, it you have a moment.

: I have a moment. Just the one, mind.



: Monsieur Robinio, do you know about an uprising?

: You mean, like, a rebellion? Yeah, I've heard rumors. There are a lot of uneasy people in Paris.

: What kind of rumors?

: Nothing specific. Just that there’s a group planning to form a huge protest before the end of February. Some say it might go violent. If you were wise, you would probably fly out of the city as soon as possible.

: So people say. Do you plan on leaving?

: I couldn't if I wanted to... no thanks to you guys. But in any case, I'm sticking around for the photograph opportunities. War time photography - imagine the possibilities!



: Sounds like a good way to get hit by a stray bullet.

: I guess. But all that danger just means that it'll pay really well. I’ve thought this plan through!

: Evidently.

: Anyway, did you want something else?



: Did you see that cultist in the Place du Carrousel?

: Yep. He's been hanging around all week. Today he tried to hand me a leaflet, so I told him where to put it.

: And where would that be?

: What?

: Where did you tell him to put the leaflet? Oh! Oh. I see. Never mind.

: Monsieur Robinio, what do you know about that guy? What's his story?

: His story? How should I know? He's just a cultist loser. The Louvre attracts those types of crazies all the time.

: I see.

: Did you two want something else?

: That's all. We'll let you get back to work, monsieur.



: Are we all done here?



: Yep. Let's make a move.

: Good call. We can always come back later, if we've forgotten something.









Murder!









Aviary Office

: Let's not dawdle, Sparrowson. Wer'e nearly there.

: Alright. Let me just deal with this letter first.

: Spam?

: I don't think so. It's..



: Séverin? Well go ahead, Sparrowson. Let's hear it.

: Jayjay. If this letter reaches you uninterrupted, then it means that I have been captured or killed by the rebels.

: ... What?

: Last evening, the Inspector gave me a tip-off of a midnight trade between the rebels and the Croc-Monsieur on Rue des Marmousets. I intend to watch from the shadows, but I know that such a mission is a dangerous one. Wish me luck.

: If this is the last correspondence you’ll ever hear from me, then I suppose I should end on a positive note. Falcon: you are a good friend and an excellent lawyer. I’m sorry for belittling you all these years. Kind regards, Séverin Cocorico.

: ...

: ...

: ......

:Is... is this for real? There's no way. This letter has to be some sort of setup.

: It’s Séverin's handwriting.

: Where do you think he is?

: I don't know.

: Why would he go alone?

: I don't know.

: But we have to go help him, right? I mean, if that trade was at midnight last night, and it's ten o'clock now... he might still be okay!

: Maybe. I don't know.

: Come on, Falcon. Pull yourself together! We've got to act fast while there’s still time on the clock!

: ... You're right.

Trial Turnabout 2



: R-really? Are you serious?

: Absolutely. I know we can do it. With all the investigating we've done over the last couple of weeks, I think we know the rebels better than they know themselves. We can find them. We can outwit them. And we can bring Séverin home alive.

: Wow! You're bursting with confidence! But where are we going?

: Was Séverin's letter not clear? He was investigating the Rue des Marmousets, so that's where we should start.

: Yeah. Yeah! Let's go!





: Come on, Sparrowson. Keep up.

: ~Wheeze~



: Right.



: “No loitering.” I guess we should move on.

: Be serious, Falcon.



: "Besson's Stationary. Come along for all your writing needs. Whether you need paper, ink, stamps-"

: What are you doing? Stop procrastinating, Falcon. Cocorico's life is at stake.



: There's a pool of blood here. It looks fresh.

: Cocorico's?

: ... I see drag marks heading towards that tunnel, which leads straight to the Seine. If I had to guess, someone was killed here last night, and their body was hastily disposed of in the river.

: ...

: But I see several sets of bloodied footprints too. Some are faint, but...

: They head that way, towards the main road.

: So he could still be alive?

: ... Let's see where the footprints go.











: It seems that way.

: Unbelievable...



: Where’s a friar when you need one?

: Forget the friar. Let’s keep following the blood trail and see where it ends up.

: Wait a minute, Falcon. Shouldn't we get the police involved before we go any further?



: You remember what Séverin wrote in his letter. The Inspector was the one who gave him the tip-off.

: Huh? What are you saying? That you think the police are in on this?

: At this point, anything’s possible. We have to stay focused on the trail...





: Man... I'm famished.





: Hey, isn't that the Conciergerie jail keeper... Quack?

: It's Kwark, ya dummies.

: I had no idea that you were a religious man, monsieur.

: I'm not. I had a career change. Private security pays much better than regular ol’ jail keeping, ya know.

: Monsieur. We don't have much time, so I'll keep it brief. We're following a trail that leads to the door behind you. We need you to let us pass.

: The door behind me?



: Ha! Ya idiots! That door leads straight to the catacombs. Ya don't want to go there.

: Catacombs...

: And besides, just because I know how to get in, doesn't mean I'm just going to let ya pass.



: ...You want a bribe, don’t you?

: Bingo. What ya got?



: Here. For your troubles.

: Ten francs? What, are ya trying to insult me?





: Monsieur. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I am short on both time and patience. Are you going to tell us pass, or do I have to beat you until you are unable to stop us?

: Jeez! No need to get violent, big guy! You can pass. The door’s right behind me. Go on.

: That's the door to the catacombs? It's that simple?

: Yeah. It's that simple. What, were ya expecting a hidden bookcase or something? Go on. Go look.





: I wonder... will they get lost and starve, or will they find the crazy lion girl and get shot? Either way, ain't my problem.





Catacombs

: Here...here goes nothing?

They begin the descent.

: ...

: ...

: I knew an underground passage would be dark, but this is ridiculous. I cant even see my hand in front of my face.

: Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, Sparrowson.

: ...

: ...

: ...

: Ah, I think that was the last step. Now it's just twisted tunnels ahead of us.



: Plus, you know, all the health benefits. And I would probably be calmer.

: Keep it together, Sparrowson.

: I know. I'll unravel this loose thread from my jacket. We can just trace the string to find our way back, if we reach a dead-end.

: Ah, good thinking. Just like Theseus and the Minotaur.

: Wait... there aren’t any Minotaurs in here, are there? Head of a bull... body of a bull... scary stuff.

: That's not... actually, never mind.

: It feels like there’s a gap in the wall here. I guess the path branches. I can feel a slight breeze coming from the passage to the left... The air seems a little more stagnant to the right...



: There's a chance that the breeze could be caused by an opening. Let’s head that way.

: Hey, Falcon. I don't want to dump on you or anything, but... When you threatened Kwark back there... that was pretty scary.



: No, I wasn’t scared of Kwark. You. I found you scary. I’ve never seen you get so angry before.

: Séverin's life is on the line, Sparrowson. Forgive me for showing a little emotion.

: Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.

: ...

: ...

: Oh, it looks like the path branches again.

: Are my eyes going funky from the darkness, or is there a glimmer of light coming from the right path?

: No, I see it too. There’s definitely some light on that side.



: It's definitely getting lighter. I can see my hands again.

Ghouls



: Hush. Listen.

: Voices?

: Voices. We're getting close.



: ... Terrified.



: There they are.





Catacombs

: Are you with the police? The royal guards? Speak, bird.

: ...

: Ma'am Beaumort, we've been here all night, and he simply ain’t talkin’.



: Justice. Heh. That word...

: Oh, the rooster finally crows?

: You want to know who I am? Fine. My name is Séverin Cocorico. I am a public prosecutor for the Cour d'Assises.

: ...

: Well Sevy, it's been a pleasure, but we can’t be 'avin’ spies runnin' around our base of operations now, can we? So without further ado, I ’ereby sentence you to-

: Wait a minute, Pietro. This is no ordinary spy.

: Cos he’s a prosecutor?



: Woah! Are you sure?

: I had my suspicions when I saw his smug air of arrogance. His holier-than-thou glare. But now that I know his name and occupation, there is no doubt.

: ...

: Do you remember, bird? Do you remember the trial of a homeless lion in the Winter of 1835?

: What was your father's name?

: Jean. Jean Beaumort.

: What were his crimes?

: His only crime was trying to feed a starving child.



: But he was seen by a policeman. Another arrogant cockerel like yourself, actually. So my father was thrown in jail. He was dragged to court. I had the privilege of watching the proceedings from the stands. I remember your sharp words.



: You didn't care about the consequences. You didn’t care about why my father did what he did. All you cared about was fulfilling your lust to see a criminal behind bars.

: ...

: My father received a sentence of five years. He died on his third.

: ...

: Do you remember him?

: Mademoiselle. In all my days as a prosecutor, I have seen over thousands of cases.



: You rotten connard! We’re all just insects to you, aren't we? Who cares if a child starves on the streets, as long as you put enough criminals behind bars to meet your quota. Am I right?

: ...

: Your silence speaks volumes of your guilt. Séverin Cocorico, you have been tried by the people of the Second Republic. We have found you guilty on the counts of conspiracy, of the murder of the Croc-Monsieur, and of the murder of my father, Jean Beaumort.

: Oh, I have been found guilty? Mademoiselle, if you want to shoot me so you can fulfill your revenge fantasies, then by all means, shoot me.



: A court of justice? Now there's a contradiction. Bird, you know nothing of justice.



: With pleasure, madame.

:...

: Falcon, we have to make a move! Say something!

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 18:04 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






: Alright. I’m going in.

: I’m coming too.

: No. I need you to get out of here. Go find the police. Royal guard. Anyone. I'll stall for time.



: O-okay. I’ll go get help.

: Do you have any last words. (sic for lack of question mark)







: He's right. This is a terrible trial. There's no evidence. No defense. No examination of the facts. You’ve dragged a man off the streets and decided his fate based purely on your own prejudices and whims.

: Who the cluck does this bird brain think he is?

: I am this man's defense attorney. I am Jayjay Falcon.

: Jayjay... What are you doing?

: Defense attorney? You’re a ravin' looney is what you are!



: Everyone, please, hear me out.



: Monsieur Fontaine, we've only met on a couple of occasions, but you seem like an intelligent and reasonable person.

: Why, thank you. I do consider myself to be reasonable.

: Then surely you can see something wrong with dragging someone off the streets and executing them without trial?

: Well... I want to see a better France, monsieur. A France with actual liberty for all. I don't enjoy violence, but I have no qualms with a traitor or two dying to achieve that noble goal. Means to an end, you know.



: For the good of France, and in the name of justice, he must be killed.

: Justice... there's that word again...

: Madame, I won't presume to know who you are or what you stand for. But shooting this man right now would not bring you justice. It would only serve to satisfy your desire for revenge.

: Justice... revenge... what's the difference?



: Rationality, madame. Justice is carried out on the basis of hard facts and logic. It isn't distracted by petty emotions.

: Even putting aside my emotions, I can see this bird's guilt.

: Then this is your opportunity to prove it, madame. Show that you're a leader who acts with reason, not brute irrationality.

: ...



: ... Fine, Falcon. We'll play this your way. We shall have a formal trial for the murder of the Croc-monsieur.

: Excellent. Shall we head back to my office and file the necessary papers?

: Don't take me for a fool. You'll walk us right into a trap. We shall have the trial right here and now.

: Right here? In the catacombs?

: It's as good a place as any. I suppose we'll be needing a judge...



: No thanks, Pierro. We’re trying to form a courtroom, not a circus.

: Aww.

: Just... go see how the security is doing, Pierro. We don't want any more spies wandering in.



: Perhaps I can help, madame. You know that I’m a pious man, after all.

: Okay, Remus. You can be our judge. And I will lead the prosecution.

: What about the jury? With due respect, I don't trust your peers to be impartial.

: Look around you. As we speak, we are being watched and judged by countless dead men and women. They shall be our jury.

: That may work as a metaphor, but in practical terms-



: After all, I am the one who holds the gun.

Catacombs (listen to this)

: Well, it looks like we are ready to get started. Ahem. The trial of Séverin Cocorico is underway. He stands accused of the murder of the man known as the Croc-monsieur in cold blood. Madame Beaumort, please explain the details of what happened.

: Very well. Last night, at the stroke of midnight, two gunshots were heard on the Rue des Marmousets. Pierro alerted us, and we managed to arrive before the police did. On the scene, I saw the man known as the Croc-Monsieur, a good friend of ours, lying in a pool of his own blood. Standing over the body, I saw the murderer, Séverin Cocorico, still clutching his murder weapon.

: Am I to understand that you did not witness the crime first-hand, madame? That you only saw the aftermath?

: Yes. But one of us did happen to see the incident itself...



: I am no pigeon, monsieur!

: He's a spy in any case. What say I execute ’im right now?



: He’s my assistant. He carries my bags and stuff.

: Falcon, I trust that you do not have any other assistants lurking around the corner.

: No, madame.

: Then take your lackey out of my sight.





: (What is it?)

: (I saw someone lurking in the catacombs. I think he was watching us from the shadows.)

: (Another rebel?)

: (I don’t know.)



: What's this? A political pamphlet?

{[Cult Pamphlet]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Well, I best be getting back to the patrols then.

: Not so fast, Pierro. You witnessed the crime first-hand, did you not?

: I did, Ma'am!

: Then you can be our first witness. Go stand in the center.

: Okie dokie.



: That won't be necessary. We trust you.

: Just tell us what you saw last night, Pierro.

: Okie dokie. I saw it as plain as day. The Croc-Monsieur was just mindin’ his own business on Rue des Marmousets. When all of a sudden, this ‘ere brute of a rooster appeared with his gun in hand. BAM! The rooster fired. The croc slumped to the floor. Using the last of his strength, the Croc-Monsieur drew his own gun. BAM! The croc fired back.

: So, to clarify: Cocorico shot first?

: Yes, Ma’am. No question there.

: What happened next?

: Well, I knew you guys - Fontaine, Remus, and you, Madam - were only a stone’s throw away, at the cathedral, so I ran to get your help. We all arrived back on the scene maybe a minute after I ‘ad left it.



: ‘s nothin’, ma'am.

: You see, Falcon? Pierro is not the sharpest knife in the kitchen...

: True, that.

: ...But he is honest to a fault. I would trust his word with my own life.

: I don't doubt the man's honesty, madame. Nonetheless, I would like to cross-examine the witness.

: Cross-examine... what does that mean?

: I don't claim to be an expert of the law. That was always my brother’s role in the family.



: Actually, it means that I would like to make sure that Pierro's story holds up under scrutiny. Yes, I will be asking questions. But only questions that directly relate to the case at hand.

: Clearly a pointless stalling tactic, madame. Shall we put an end to the trial?

: ... No. We will let the bird have his little cross-examination. But I'm warning you, Falcon: don't mess with me.

: Don't mess with you?

: If I get the slightest inkling that you are rambling to stall for time, I will end this trial on the spot.



: Yeah. I get it.

Cross-Examination



: You claim that you saw the incident as “plain as day”?

: Yup. Plain as day.

: How’s your eyesight?

: S’alright. My peepers work just fine.

: That doesn't sound particularly convincing.

: I went hunting with Pierre once. He had no problem spotting boar at eighty meters. Quite often he would spot game even before I did.

: See! My eyes are fine.



: We came back empty handed.

: Me and my big mouth...



: Now, Pierro, you say that this incident took place on Rue des Marmousets. I don't doubt that you were there. But where, exactly, were you standing?

: Well, let's see... I came from across the river... and then turned on to the Rue Saint-Landry... So, yeah, I was standing abouts where Rue des Marmousets meets the Rue Saint-Landry. The crossroads.

: That's a pretty ordinary street, from what I remember. It's around a minute's walk from Notre-Dame Cathedral, if I recall correctly.

: Hmm.



: What were you doing there?

: Just passin’ through.

: Okay, but where were you headed? For example, did you have business at the Conciergerie? Or were you heading home from the cathedral?

: To be honest, monsieur, I don't think that's none of your business.



: Pierro, you say that Monsieur Cocorico fired first.

: Yup. The bird's expression was stone cold.

: Did it look like Séverin Cocorico was feeling threatened prior to the shooting?

: Threatened how?

: Well, did the Croc-Monsieur have his gun drawn?

: I don't think so. The croc drew his gun, but that was only after gettin' shot.

: I see what you're trying to argue, Falcon. You think that this may have been a self-defense killing. It’s a fruitless line of reasoning. The cockerel approached the crocodile. He is the one responsible for the encounter.

: Still...



: You'll have to focus on the facts of the case. Find an inconsistency and prove them wrong!

: You’re right. Let's try a different strategy. With respect, Pierro, I don't believe you. Séverin Cocorico is not the type of person to shoot a man in cold blood. It’s not in his nature.

: His nature? His nature?! I've seen this bird's true nature, Falcon. He pretends to be virtuous, but inside he is a twisted, murderous piece of filth.

: ...

: Do you seriously want to stand there and lecture me about what a good person this man is?



: You say that the Croc-Monsieur drew his gun and fired back with the last of his strength.

: Yup. BAM!

: So you claim that Cocorico fired his gun, and then the Croc-Monsieur fired back. But is it possible that there was a third gunshot?

: I wasn't countin' or nothin', but nah, I think I would have heard a third gunshot, if there was one.

: I see. But what if-

: Don't try to claim that there was a hidden sniper upon a rooftop or any similar drivel, Falcon. None of us have the patience for that sort of yarn-spinning.



: Did the bullets hit Cocorico?

: No. He was uninjured at the time of capture.

: Well, he looks pretty injured right now...

: He took quite a beating. What of it?



: Sic for "despicible".



: Pierro, I would like to remind you that this crime occurred around midnight. In February. On an overcast, moonless night. In an unlit alley.

: What’s your point?



: It would have been dark. So dark, that you could not possibly have correctly identified the people involved!

: Hey! I swear I saw what I saw!

: Hold on, Falcon. You slipped up. You say that the alley was unlit, but I distinctly recall there being lanterns over Rue des Marmousets.

: Oh! That's right, that's right!



: You're right, Madame Beaumort. There are street lanterns over Rue des Marmousets. But they wouldn't have been any good.



Catacombs

: The street lamps over Rue des Marmousets were broken! They are completely non-functional. As proof, I present the glass shards that line the alleyway. These shards originate from the panes of the broken lamps.



: Those glass shards could have come from anywhere.

: You could send one of your underlings to see the broken lamps for themselves, if you want.

: And waste more time? I think not. This sounds like a stalling tactic.

: Excuse me, Madame Beaumort. I don't remember whether the street lamps were or were not broken, but I do remember that we had to use a torch to light up the scene.



: I’m just saying, Falcon might be right. It was particularly dark, so it's possible that there weren't any lit street lamps.

: Are you sayin’ I’m a liar? I thought we were buddies!

: Stop quibbling, both of you. Maybe the lamps were broken. Maybe they weren't. It doesn't matter. I know that Pierro's testimony is accurate because I, personally, saw the rooster at the crime scene one minute after Pierro did.

: One minute! That’s plenty of time for the real murderer to escape and for a passerby to stumble upon the scene, is it not?

: ...

: You must acknowledge that it is a possibility.

: I acknowledge nothing.

: There is an inkling of doubt. You know that there is the slight notion that Pierro may be misremembering what he saw.



: I'm not even a badger I wasn’t badgering-

: Onto the next witness! Madame Beaumort, do you have anyone in mind?

: I do. There is someone among us who is something of a gun connoisseur. A man who knows everything there is to know about the craft of weaponry.

: Oh, that's me again!

: Shut up, Pierro. Get off the stand.



: I call Fontaine forward.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 18:26 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




Eh, may as well put the update on a new page.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 12:03 on Oct 9, 2017

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: Very well.

: Now, Fontaine. Is it true that you are a gun specialist?

: Well, I hate to brag, but...



: Fontaine, let's stick to the guns that were found at the crime scene. Tell us about those.
: Oh, right. Very well. This is the gun found on Séverin Cocorico's person at the time of arrest.



: Lots of police and soldiers carry these dull things. It's a gun that says, “I am a reliable man of the law”.

: That sounds like our Cocorico...

: Does it? Cocorico always told me that the riding crop was his self-defense weapon of choice. It's strange that he had a gun in the first place.

{[Gendarmerie pistol]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: And this is the gun found on the Croc-Monsieur's corpse, clutched tightly in his hands.



: This is an exquisite and highly customized gun Its one of a kind. Whoever used this weapon knew their stuff.

: The Croc-Monsieur was a legendary arms dealer. It's no surprise that his personal weapon would be something so flamboyant.

{[Turnover pistol]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: ...But what's really fascinating about the Croc-Monsieur’s gun is the ammunition. See, the bore of the pistol has been fitted with a set of grooves-

: Please stop, Fontaine. I didn't call you up to hear you show off your gun knowledge. Tell us what you uncovered when you examined the Croc-Monsieur's bullet wound.

: Ah, right. Well, a lead bullet was embedded in the middle of the Croc-Monsieur's sternum, and appeared to have a straight angle of entry.

: So, in other words, the Croc-Monsieur was facing his killer when he was shot.

: The other interesting point was that the Croc-Monsieur’s outer clothes were singed.



: And how close does a person have to be to be burned by a muzzle flash?

: Less than three meters, I would say. Five at the very most.

: Then there is no chance that there was a rogue sniper on the rooftops. The Croc-Monsieur’s killer was standing in Rue des Marmousets themselves. As is plainly evident, only one person was found in Rue des Marmousets at the time of the incident.



: ...

: Well said, madame. I think you just unequivocally proved this bird's guilt.

: Not so fast. I would like to cross-examine the witness.

: I don't think so. You're overstepping your bounds, bird.

: Let the lawyer try, Remus.





: Is there any way to tell whether a gun has been recently fired?

: That is an excellent question. Yes, there are a couple of ways. For around a minute after firing, a pistol's barrel is going to be hot to the touch. That's a dead give-away. But you could also check for gunpowder residue in the barrel and chamber. That would indicate that a gun has been fired since being cleaned.

: So, by your own analysis, would you say that Cocorico's weapon was fired last night?

: It's... difficult to say. None of us thought to check the pistol's barrel temperature at the time of the incident. So we can't use that method. If I check for gunpowder residue now... I see a little in the barrel. That could indicate a recently fired weapon. But it could also indicate a lack of proper maintenance.

: So, basically, you don’t know whether this weapon was or wasn't fired last night. If we cannot be certain whether Cocorico even fired his gun, then this whole trial ought to be thrown out.

: Nice try, Falcon, but Cocorico is still our prime suspect. He was standing over the Croc-Monsieur's body with the weapon in his hands. If that gun is not the murder weapon, then what is?

: ...

: This isn't working. Try another approach, Falcon.



: Fontaine, I have a question regarding Cocorico's Gendarmerie pistol. Pardon my ignorance, but I am not a gun connoisseur like yourself. What do you mean by “caliber”?

: A gun's caliber is the width of its internal barrel, and the width of the bullets that it fires.

: So you would use 15mm wide bullets for a pistol with a 15mm wide barrel. That makes sense. Did the bullet embedded in the Croc-Monsieur's chest match the caliber of Cocorico's pistol?

: I don't know for sure. I didn't have the time nor the equipment to dig the bullet out of the Croc-Monsieur's chest. Besides, lead bullets fragment. It would be difficult to properly piece together a fired lead bullet to assess its caliber with any accuracy.

: Then it's possible that the caliber of the bullet in the Croc-Monsieur’s chest doesn't match the caliber of Cocorico's gun.

: Do you know that for a fact, Falcon? Or is this just more vapid speculation on your part?





: Fontaine, about the Croc-Monsieur's Turnover pistol... Is the gun valuable?

: Oh yes. Unquestionably. If one were to sell this, they would be set for a year...Not that I would sell a beauty such as this.

: Get a room.

: You were about to say something about the gun’s ammunition before Madame Beaumort cut you off. Could you give us the details?

: Oh, great. Now he’ll never stop talking...

: I'm glad you asked, Falcon! See, as you probably know, most bullets are just small, round, lead balls, right? But that's not the case here. This particular weapon uses an advanced, iron-tipped, aerodynamic, carefully grooved- Actually, it would be quicker if I just show you.



: It is very rare, top-of-the-line technology. Before last night, I had never seen one of these in-person before.

: Like I said before, the Croc-Monsieur was a legendary arms dealer. It only makes sense that he would have access to the latest weaponary. (sic)

: Where did you find this bullet, Fontaine?

: In the Turnover pistol's chamber.

{[Minié ball]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Hold on. I'm confused. I thought the Croc-Monsieur fired his gun, so how is it possible that his gun was still loaded with a bullet?

: A turnover pistol is double barreled. This means that it can hold two bullets at once, ready to be fired in quick succession.

: Ah I see. The Croc-Monsieur fired one bullet, but died before he could fire the second.

: I trust that you have no more questions about this matter, Falcon. We've wasted enough time already.





: Fontaine, you say that the Croc-Monsieur was shot in the chest, at a straighten angle. May I have a diagram?

: Yeah, let's do that! Dramatic forensic recreations!

: No, you can't have a diagram, you bloody idiots. I do not have the patience to watch you draw lines on a chalkboard to work out the location of a mythical second shooter. Use your heads! The gunman was standing right in front of the crocodile!

: R-right. Of course.



: Is it at all possible that the bullet reflected? Bounced of a piece of metal, perhaps?

: Well,that sort of thing can happen. I've heard of soldiers getting shot in the back from bullets deflecting off cannons and debris and what-not.

: So it could have happened here?

: Well...

: Falcon, are you saying that you actually know that the bullet reflected off something, or are you just speculating?



: Fontaine, you mentioned that the Croc-Monsieur's clothes were singed

: Right. His vest and jacket were slightly burned from the close-range muzzle flash.

: I would like to see them.

: What, his clothes?

: Yes. Bring them out so that I can do a proper examination of the evidence at hand.

: Falcon, you idiot, we didn't strip the Croc-Monsieur down to his skivvies. We took his gun, and I think Pierro took the change from his pockets, and then we left the body in the alley. ...Fully-clothed, if that wasn't clear.

: Ah I see. My mistake.



: Could the burn have been caused by something else?

: Like what?

: Ash from a cigar, perhaps.

: Well...

: Hold on, Fontaine. Falcon, are you saying that you know the burn was caused by something else, or is this just blind guesswork?





: Not yet. Where is the other bullet?

: What other bullet?

: The fired Minié ball. There were two shots that night, remember? One from the assailant, and one from the crocodile.

: I scoured the scene for a couple of minutes, but I couldn't find it.



: Madame Beaumort, did anyone find the fired Minié ball in Cocorico's body?

: In his body? You are asking if Cocorico was wounded by the bullet? No, that much is plain to see.

: So again I must ask, where is the fired Minié ball?

: ... Well I don't have any clue. What are you trying to get at, Falcon?

: Isn't it obvious? If the bullet wasn't embedded in the alleyway wall, and it wasn't embedded in Cocorico, then that means...



: The bullet hit the murderer - the real murderer! It must still be embedded in whoever attacked the Croc-Monsieur.

: A ludicrous notion.

: It makes perfect sense! The double-barreled Turnover gun! The missing bullet!

: Fine. I'll humor you. Let's say that a bullet did indeed hit the real perpetrator. What of it?

: Well, its only been a few hours since the shooting. Presumably, the person will still have the bullet lodged in them.



: That’s reasonable. But we don't have time nor resources to search every citizen of Paris to uncover an injured gunman.

: You don’t have to search everyone in Paris. I believe the murderer to be someone in this very room.

: Oh? You think we have a traitor in our ranks?

: This was obviously a planned attack. Someone invited Cocorico and the Croc-Monsieur to the same place at the same time in order to create a setup. Only someone with a rebels connections could engineer such an event.

: This is ridiculous. Are you really saying that someone in this room was shot last night? That's clearly untrue.

: A bullet wound can be concealed. Perhaps if you all were to take off your shirts...

: No. I'm not having everyone in the room strip down to their knickers just to cater to your outrageous theory. If you can't think of a more reasonable way to prove your stray bullet theory, then we end this damned trial here and now.

: A... more reasonable way?



: I have a more reasonable way!

: What are you thinking, Falcon?

: Isn't it obvious? We have the perfect way to uncover whether someone has been shot. It's a genius solution!



: ...

: ...

: ...

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 20:01 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: Are... are you serious, Falcon? You’re relying on the invention of a lunatic?

: I’ve never been more serious.



: It looks like a children's toy.

: I assure you, this is no toy. It was designed to find and extract metal embedded in bodies. A battlefield bullet finder-and-remover, if you will.

: I'm intrigued. So, you’re saying that you just swing that device around... and it finds a bullet in a person?

: Yes. Sort of. I don't know, we haven't had a chance to practice with it, really.

: Madame, these birds are playing you for a fool. There is no way that such a device exists.

: We have seen this device work with our own eyes. Sparrowson shall demonstrate.

: M-me?!

: Although, he will need something to demonstrate it on..





: Observe: I place the bullet in my closed fist. It now represents the fired bullet that is currently embedded in the murderers body.

: ... Allegedly.

: Now, Sparrowson will demonstrate what happens when my hand is scanned with the Explorer-Extractor device.

: So, I just do this, and...

: It's humming and buzzing. Is it really detecting that bullet?

: Absolutely.

: What an intriguing device...



: P-please don't. You remember what happened to that steak, right?

: My, my. What is this feeling? It feels like...



: Don't let it get to your head..

: Okay. I'm convinced. Falcon, Sparrowson, you may perform a cursory scan of each of us with that device of yours.

: You must stop humoring these morons, madame. What good is this doing us?

: Remus, they may be morons, but this test will grant us certainty of the rooster’s fate. I can afford that time.

: (Hey, Falcon. What will happen if the murderer is someone not present in this room?)

: (It most likely isn't.)

: (What?!)

: (I'm stalling.)

: (Falcon...)

: Get a move on, you two.



: Let us end this trial right here and now! You can get the justice you so crave!

: Don't worry, Remus. My patience for this bird brain is wearing thin too. When this asinine scheme of his fails, he will face the consequences. Lackey bird, scan the rooster first. He is the prime suspect, after all.



: ...

: ...

: ...

: ...

: I'm not getting any reaction. That means there is probably no bullet lodged in Cocorico. So... he's innocent, for sure!

: No. All it means is that this bird was not shot by the hypothetical bullet. Don't forget, this is all speculation on Falcon's part.

: ...

: Madame, I must insist that you end this. It is a fool's errand. We have other matters we must attend to.

: Remus, you let me worry about our time management. Pierro, you go next.

: Alrigh', alrigh’, get it over with.

: ...



: No surprises there, right guys?

: Let's see. Next, we shall test...

: Madame, I implore you-

: You're being awfully lippy, Remus. Why don’t you go next?

: Me? That is really not necessary, madame. I don't want to participate in this ridiculous child's game.

: This is no game. And I'm issuing you an order to cooperate.

: I refuse.

: ...

: ...

: ...

: Pierro. Please restrain Remus.





: With pleasure, ma’am.









: Sparrowson. Do the test.

: ... Uhh... Falcon? I'm not getting any reaction.

: That... that can’t be right. Do it again.

: ...



: The utter nerve, to manhandle a man of the cloth like that..

: As I said on the floor, madame, I was with you and Fontaine for the entire evening. I could not possibly be in two places at once.

: ... It's true. You were sitting in my line-of-sight exactly when the murder was supposed to have taken place.

: As was I.

: Right. Fontaine was sitting with us too, so that rules him out. And I know that I didn't perform the murder, obviously. Which means that every suspect has been accounted for.



: ...

: You realize what this means, don't you, Falcon? Your little test failed. Your hypothetical bullet theory turned out to be unsubstantiated speculation. Pure guess work.

: Shall we end the trial, madame?

: Wait! There must be someone we're not accounting for. I just know it... there is someone else who could have been the shooter..



: Frére Remus, how is your brother? The man named Romulus?

: My brother? He was forced to flee the country by our oppressive government.

: You and I know that that isn't true. Your brother is still in France. In fact, I think he's lurking in these very catacombs right now.

: An absurd notion. Your theories are getting more and more outlandish, Falcon. Where is your evidence?

Oh, I know, I know! I can answer this one.



: “An Introductory Guide to the Cult of Reason”?

: Thank you, Sparrowson. Now, Frére Remus, does this pamphlet look familiar to you?

: No. I've never seen it before in my life.

: Are you sure? Are you sure it doesn't belong to your brother, Romulus?

: No. There are many cultists in Paris. Maybe it belongs to one of them?

: Falcon, I'll take your word that your lackey found this pamphlet in the catacombs. But Remus is right. You have no evidence that the man known as Romulus is the one who dropped it.



: Wouldn't be the first time.

: Actually, madame, I know for a fact that that pamphlet belonged to Romulus, and I can prove it!



: A little while ago, while visiting the Louvre, I saw a man who looked very much like Romulus handing out pamphlets. As you can see, the pamphlet from the Louvre is identical to the pamphlet from the catacombs, except for one important detail.



: N-no way! My brother wouldn't do something so foolish...

: Do you see? Right here, on the cover page? That is Romulus's signature.

: I admire your tenacity, Falcon, but something is blatantly wrong with your evidence. We know that the brother of Frere Remus is named Romulus. But this Louvre pamphlet of yours is signed “Silvius”.

: Clearly an alias. Romulus is on the run from the police, so he must have changed his identity.

: That's a plausible theory. But it’s unsubstantiated. How do we know that this pamphlet was signed by Remus's brother?



: This fountain pen-

: H-hey! Where did you get that?!



Trail Turnabout 2

: Wow, Remus. Your mouth is almost as big as Romulus's. Anyway, I believe this is yours. Sparrowson happened to find this pen in your robes just a few days ago.

: You mean he stole it.

: Let's not argue over semantics. What's important - and what you just admitted - is that you and your brother both owned pens just like this one. See, these pens are unique in that they contain green ink. A very unusual choice of ink color.

: A very evil choice too.

: Well, yes, but more importantly...



: Since there are only two pens, there are only two possibilities. Either Frére Remus has been signing off on atheist, cultist propaganda...

: I would never do such a thing!

: ...Or his brother has been using his identical pen to sign cultist propaganda, the same type that was found in these catacombs.

: Impossible! My clumsy oaf of a brother lost his pen a week ago!

: Oh? So then the only explanation is that you lent him your own.

: N-no, you see-

: It doesn't matter how you cut it, friar! One way or another, you and your brother are tied to the cultist pamphlet! Admit it! Confess!

: Falcon! Enough. You've made your point. You are asserting that the friar’s pen ties him to the cultist pamphlet. I get it.

: This... this is all tenuous, wouldn't you say, madame?

: No question. Falcon has suggested a theory that hinges upon a theory that hinges upon yet another theory. It's not hard proof by any measure. He may very well be wrong. But at least he's logical. His theory is self consistent.

: W-what are you saying, madame?



: Oh, down the catacombs tunnel, through the fork on the left-hand side..

: Fontaine. Pierro. Go see if you can find anyone dawdling where they shouldn't be.

: Yes, madame.



: ...

: ...

...

: ...

: ...

: In a moment, one of two things will happen. Either Pierro and Fontaine will return empty handed, in which case I'll have no choice but to execute Cocorico.

...

: And then I would have to execute you, Falcon. And you, Sparrowson.

: Us?!



: ....

: I didn't sign up for this.

: Or... Pierre and Fontaine will return with a prisoner in tow, in which case..

: We would be free to cut Cocorico down and skedaddle?

: ....

: Surely not, madame. You’re not going to let these three just walk free after everything that's happened here. Remember what this rooster did to your father?

: Hold your tongue, friar. If it turns out you’ve been deceiving me all this time...

: Ma'am Beaumort! Look who we found!



: Uh oh.

: Uh oh.

: Well, well. We really do have a ghost in the catacombs. Introduce yourself, wolf.

: Very well, mademoiselle. My name-

: Madame.

: Right. Madame. Whatever. My name is Silvius-

: Don't you mean Romulus? That alias isn’t fooling anyone, ~your honor~.

: Alright, alright. I am Romulus, twin brother of Remus, and loyal servant to the rebel cause. That's the whole truth.

: ...

: He's. .. he’s telling the truth, madame.

: ...



: I have a lot of questions. Both for you, Romulus, and for you, Remus. I don't appreciate being lied to.

: It seems that you have your hands full, so we will just be taking our leave..

: Not so fast, Falcon. Your theory is still unproven. If it turns out that Romulus has no bullet in him, then you would have no evidence that implicates him of the Croc-Monsieur's murder. Cocorico would still be the prime suspect.

: B-bullet? In me? Ha! Ha ha! What are you guys on about?

: Spare me. Fontaine, hold him down.

: Hold me down?



: Sparrowson. Do your test.



: It's buzzing! It's really buzzing around his shoulder!

: I see blood. There’s definitely a bullet wound there.

: That's... that's an old bullet! An old war wound! I got it fighting in Algeria in ’36!

: Obviously a desperate lie.

: My brother is being completely honest, madame. He's a veteran! He was shot in battle!

: You know, I could just extract the bullet right here and now. That would remove all doubt.



: Extract that sucker, Sparrowson.





: Wow. Sucked it out like a pip from a grapefruit.



: There is no mistake. This is an iron-tipped Minié ball, just like the one in the Croc-Monsieur's gun.

: Do you realize what this means, madame? It clearly demonstrates that Romulus confronted the Croc-Monsieur before Cocorico arrived.



: You're right. I made a mistake. I haven't forgotten what the rooster did to my father. But this bird clearly had no part in the killing of the Croc-Monsieur. Therefore, I cannot honestly call him an enemy of the Second Republic. Your friend is free to go. Fontaine, cut the rooster down.



: Thank you, madame.

: For what?

: For giving us an opportunity to show you what justice looks like. Before, you asked what the difference is between revenge and justice, and I replied, “rationality”. Well... I can see how much effort it must have taken to hold back your emotions and let rationality dictate your actions.

: ... Pierro and Fontaine will help carry your friend to the tunnel entrance.



: These toothless, old, dogs? I think I'll manage.

: Of course.




: “Cultist” is such a strong word. Listen, mademoiselle-

: Don't “mademoiselle” me. I shall be asking the questions here.

: Tell me, friar. Are you a cultist too?

: Madame, I am just a humble servant of God-

: Ugh. I never realized how poisonous your words are you've been spewing lies since the very start, haven’t you?

: Madame...

: At least tell me why you two killed the Croc-Monsieur.

: Because-

: Allow me, brother.



Tchaikovsky - Marche Slave, Op. 31

: We want exactly the same thing as you. We want a world without class. A world without false rulers and gods. A world where only the reason of man reigns. A world of true equality and fairness! That is what you strive for, no? But you cannot achieve such a goal without violence. Your methods are too passive! Too naive! So we set up a situation where you would be forced into action. Make the government look like murderers to the rebels, and make the rebels look like murderers to the government! Then, you would be forced to take up arms!

: ... Another lie.

: But... that was the truth!

: You claimed that you want equality. But you just want a world where you stand above everyone else. A world where carnivores reign.

: Heh... you got me. But can you honestly say that you never wanted power for yourself? You're a carnivore too. Don’t deny it.

: ... No. I've never wanted power. All I've ever wanted was a world where no child has to grow up without a father. Did you know that the Croc-Monsieur was something of a family man? He once confided in me that he had five children and a late wife.

: I had no idea.

: ...

: Tell me, Romulus. Do you have children?

: ... Me? Pfft. No. Mademoiselle, I-



BANG!



: B... brother?



: Get out of here.

: Y... you aren't going to kill me?

: I ought to. You are the worst kind of person. A man who'll cling to any ideology to claw his way higher. But I know that you weren’t the one to pull the trigger on the Croc-Monsieur. Maybe there's a slither of goodness left in you.

: I... I...

: Go.



: Is this what justice looks like?





Xander77 fucked around with this message at 20:08 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






: Oh man, oh man...



Aviary Office

: “We're executing this punk, mob justice, rah rah rah!” But you were all like...

: “This isn't how we do things in France, chicken-pluckers!’ And then they were all like-

: Sparrowson. Let’s get serious for a moment.

: Serious? You just pulled off the craziest lawyering move in the history of French law! We should be celebrating!

: We don’t have time to pull out the champagne. Didn't you see the anger in the rebels’ eyes? Didn't you feel the tension in the air? We're just days away from violence breaking out onto the streets!

: Hmm? Oh, yeah. I guess another revolution might be around the corner. But what exactly can we do? We already told the police everything we know. Unless... you’re not thinking of arming yourself to the teeth and fighting the rebel forces yourself, are you?



: A case? For whom?

: At their core, all historical revolutions center on trials. A nation's rulers are tried and held accountable for their crimes. But you saw the horrendous “trial” that took place last night. Nobody cares about due process when emotions are running high. Regardless of the outcome of the revolution, we need to make sure that everybody has an equal opportunity for justice.

: That makes sense. So whats the plan? We head to Quanelle's tavern and hand out some business cards?

: Think bigger. Who will the rebels target?

: The... king?

: Exactly.









After filling in a pile of forms, the two are led to a waiting area.

: Are you here to see the king?

: That’s right.



: Take... a number?

: Yup. Just wait your turn.



: That’s right. How did you-

: Hey, I know you! You're the prime minister! Monsieur Guizot!

: Oh, wow. You’re right, Sparrowson. It's an honor to meet you, prime
minister.

: Spare the formalities. You two are here to offer the king legal aid, aren't you?

: Yup. We're going to offer him assistance for the upcoming rebellion.

: Let me give you a word of advice: don't bother.

: Excuse me?



: One would think that seven assassination attempts would be enough for a man to learn that he is detested.

: With all due respect, prime minister, I think the king of France is mature enough to not let his ego get in the way of senses.

: So one would think.



: That's us. It was a pleasure meeting you, monsieur.

: Good luck. You'll need it.





King Louis Philippe

: Good day, your majesty.



: ...

: ...

: ...

: Can I help you with something?

: Oh. I probably should have prepared a speech before-hand. That would have been smart, huh?

: Just wing it.

: Right! Let's see... how to start...



: Your majesty, what I am about to say is of the utmost importance. Please listen closely.

: Okay. I'm listening.



: Across the whole city, everyone of every class is getting angry. Merde's about to go down, yo.

: S-such vile language!



: We are sure that such a pitiful revolt will blow over in no time at all. Nonetheless, we would like to humbly offer our aid as lawyers. We may be of great use to the throne in this troublesome time.

: ... Hmm. I think I understand.

: You do?

: I understand that you are a pair of con-artists attempting to screw a self-made bourgeois (sic) out of his hard-earned cash!



: Beloved kings tend to experience fewer assassination attempts.

: Beck! Have these two crooks thrown in jail. Maybe that will teach them a thing or two about respect.

: Right away, your majesty.

: You can't be serious.





Goofy

: Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten me into.

: There's no need for the attitude, Sparrowson. We won't be in here for long. Once we receive a court hearing, the judges will no doubt dismiss our charges instantly.

: And how long will it take for us to get a court hearing? Tell me that.

: Uh... a week or so, I’ll guessing.

: ... Hmm.

: I can see why that might be a problem. The revolution could be in full-swing by then. What to do, what to do...

: We could try escaping.

: Don't be ridiculous. Nobody has ever escaped from the Conciergerie before.

: Ah, but nobody has ever locked the genius Sparrowson and his witty lackey, Falcon, into the same jail cell before.

: It’s an absurd suggestion.

: Got any better ideas?

: ... Okay. Let's break out of prison.

: Fantastic.



: A ledge! Give me a leg-up, and I can grab on and shimmy my way over... somewhere.

: Let's be honest, Sparrowson. Neither of us have the physical prowess to shimmy anywhere.



: A fireplace. It's been bricked up, so escaping up the chimney isn’t an option.



: There's a bit of a scrap metal in this hole. I think it broke off an iron shackle. We could dig through the stone walls with this! See? ?It's all scratchy!

: That may actually work... if we had a decade or two.

: So that's a “maybe” on the stone-digging scheme?

: Well, I’ll keep it in mind in-case the king decides to go all Count of Monte Cristo on us.



: Look, Falcon! A loose brick! We could wait for a guard to transfer us to some place, sneak up behind him, and then, and then..

: And then we get a death sentence for murder. I think not. Let’s search a little harder.



: There's a little dent here. One of us could hide.

: Hide? What would that accomplish?

: Well, a guard would eventually come in and be like, “where's the other prisoner?” And then we use the momentary confusion to push him over and escape!

: Do you really think an experienced guard would be confused by a prisoner hiding in a little hole in the wall? We can do better.



: I give up.

: So soon?

: Yes. Trying to escape from a notoriously inescapable prison wasn’t the smartest plan we have ever devised.



: That voice... that condescending tone...



Severin Corico

: Séverin! Are you alright?

: Yes, yes. I'm fine. The injuries I sustained were mostly superficial. The doctor advised me not to do anything strenuous any time soon, but he gave the all-clear for returning to my job.

: So, tell me. Why did I get a memo informing me that Jayjay Falcon and Sparrowson were being held in the Conciergerie for treason?

: It’s all Falcon's fault!

: Naturally.

: I figured that, if a revolution is inevitable, then we should do our best to ensure that the uprising proceeds in an organized manner. The less bloodshed, the better.

: Okay. So what did you do?

: We offered the King our assistance. We said that we would defend him in court, if and when such a need arises.

: Well, we didn't quite use those words..

: Tsk. This isn’t the first time the king has had someone imprisoned for something so pointless. What a pig-headed fool. Consider your charges dropped.

: Alright! Let's get out of here.

: Hold on. You've caught my interest with this idea of yours. A bloodless revolution... You are absolutely right in that, if the king is captured, the citizens will devolve into an unruly mob of animals. We should prepare for a formal trial. No, we should preempt it.

: We? You’re going to help us?

: Of course. This isn't a task that can be handled by two birds alone.

: What do you mean by “preempt”, Séverin?

: We go on the offensive. We charge the king with crimes against the French people before the rebels can even act.

: We can do that?

: We can certainly try. I'll start building a case against the king. My argument will be focused on the kings gluttonous and irreverent fiscal policies. His lack of commitment to his socio-political promises.



: And, obviously, his denial of universal suffrage.

: Obviously.

: How am I supposed to defend the king from all that?!



: So I suggest that you take a different approach: appeal to the kings character. Try to win peoples’ hearts with tales of the beloved Citizen King.

: He hasn't been called the Citizen King for, like, ten years..

: It was just a suggestion. But consider this: you don't need to win the case. You just need to make a strong enough argument that the trial is fair. All that remains is ensuring that the King can be peacefully brought to the courthouse when the protests start to turn violent. That’s a job for the police and royal guard. I'll inform Inspector Volerti of our plan so that he can prepare accordingly...At least, I would if I could find him.

: Inspector Volerti is missing?

: Apparently. He's taken an informal leave of absence since Wednesday.

: Hold on, Falcon. One thing eludes me. As you probably figured, Inspector Volerti had me perform an investigation into your past. He thought you were the Viridian Killer, crazy as it sounds. And, well, I'm sorry for doing that. It was quite invasive of me. But I can't help but wonder... Why did you change your name around 1830?

: Because. .. I was ashamed, I suppose. I had a family name to live up to. My grandfather was something of a successful lawyer. So when I turned up to my classes at law school, people would gawp at me. They would say, “wow, you have big shoes to fill," and, “your grandfather would be proud”. But I was a terrible law student. Mediocre, at best. I knew that, deep down, I would never be half the man my grandfather was.

: Fascinating. I had no idea who was your grandfather, if you don't mind me asking, Falcon?

: ...




: I see. Well, let’s not dilly-dally any longer. We have duties to carry out.

: Right! We’re going to find anecdotes, and were going to defend the king, whether he likes it or not!











: Okay. Here we go. Neighthan never lets us down for useful information. I’m sure hes got something interesting and pleasant to say about the king.



Donkey

: Perhaps you will surprise me today, and actually ask to take out a book.

: Nope, just the usual today. An endless stream of questions.

: You two need an encyclopedia. Well, go on then. Ask whatever drivel you want to ask.



: Have you ever met King Louis-Philippe?

: I have. As a matter of fact, he occasionally drops by this library to check out books. ...Unlike ~some~ people.

: What sort of books does he check out, monsieur?

: Thick books. I believe the last one he checked out was “An Expansive History of the Macedonian Empire”.

:I had no idea that his majesty was interested in academic history.

: I'll make a note: “King Louis-Philippe is a well-read and intelligent man."



: This leads me to believe that the king may just use them to stand on during speeches.

: ...Oh.

: We'll just leave that part out.

{[Neighthan's story]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Was there anything else?

: From your well-educated standpoint, is King Louis-Philippe a good leader, as far as leaders go?

: Well, I can’t fault the kings pro-business spirit. The big industry leaders love him.

: Oh! This sounds promising.

: Of course, this comes at the expense of everyone who isn’t a bourgeois. The wealth divide is stronger than ever.

: Maybe not.



: And of course, in terms of leadership and charisma, the king is about as personable as a rotten pear..

: That’ll do, monsieur. A simple “no” would have sufficed. Thank you for your time and patience, monsieur.

: Hmph. I look forward to your next round of idiotic questions.











Renard Vulpes

: Visitors, Monsieur Vulpes, visitors!



: We’re doing very well, monsieur. But we don't have much time, so let me cut to the chase. We're collecting positive anecdotes about the king. Would you happen to have any?

: Positive anecdotes, hmm? How curious. As it happens, I have met the king twice. Once, as you know, I was in my Juan Querido persona.

: Oh, right. Of course. I don't think that story will be any use to us. What was the other incident?

: I can tell you. But there is a price.

: Are you serious? You’re such a moneygrabber.

: A fox has to eat, monsieur.

: Fine, fine. How much do you want? Forty francs sound good?

: Ten thousand.



: I, uh... I don’t have that kind of money, monsieur.

: Ah. No matter. I'm sure you'll think of some way of repaying the debt.

: Between that and my medical bills, we should be ready to afford basic things like food by the year... four thousand?

: Let's not worry about the debt for now, messieurs. Let me just tell you the story. It was several years ago. 1841, I believe. I was lingering around the Ile de la Cité. I was in the pursuit of an investigative lead, so I had adopted the persona and outfit of a sickly beggar. That's when I was approached by a kind-faced man. It was the king himself! He took a twenty franc coin out of his pocket.

: The king gave money to a sick beggar? Or at least, someone who looked like a sick beggar? That's great! We can use that!

: I'm not done, monsieur.



: Then he pocketed the coin and left.

: Oh.

: I'll make a note. “Gave financial advice to the poor and needy”.

{[Renard’s story]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: I hope that anecdote was of some use to you, monsieur.

: It might be. But I don't feel that we got ten thousand francs’ worth of material.

: I see. No matter. Just keep me in mind if you ever see a potential client.

: We will. Have a pleasant day, monsieur.









The Three Tenors - Medley: "Ochi Chernye"/"Caminito"/"La vie en rose"

: Ah, just the dodo I wanted to see. Madame Quanelle, quick question: have you ever served the king of France?

: ...



: Good one, hon. That's hilarious.

: Heh.



: I can't wait to serve the king of Denmark! Ha ha!

: I think that was a “no”.

: And I think you might be right.



: The assholes in the card room have absolutely nothing new to say.



: Inspector Volerti?!

: ...



: Hello, inspector.



: JAY... JAY... FALCOooo~

: Y-yes?

: I think... I think I made a mishtake.

: I'll say. Do I see two empty bottles of Russian vodka? Its a mystery how you’re still standing.

: No! Listen. This... thisssss is important.

: Inspector, maybe we should have this conversation when you’re a little more sober.

: NO! No, Falcon! Listen.

: Falcon... I thought... Falcon... I thoughtyouwere the Wardenkirra...

: The what?

: The Viridian Killer!

: The... the man who injured me in the.. in the Juwai Reeebushun.

: You thought I was the Viridian Killer? How did you even come to that conclusion?

: I saw that... that you changed your name around eight... eighteen thirty and... I, and...

: You made an assumption.



: I'm shorry, Falcon! It wasss a mistake!

: Do you... forgive me?



: Yeah. Sure. I forgive you for assuming that I'm a mass murderer, and then for nearly getting me and Severin killed in order to prove it.

: Oh, thanoo... thankyou, Fffffalcon.

: Now, listen closely, Inspector. I have a favor to ask of you.

: A favor? For yooouuu, Jayjay... anything.

: Maybe we should wait until the inspector is a little more coherent.



: I must pay my debt.

: Excellent. So, Séverin and I are planning a case - a very big case - against the king of France. We intend on trying him before the rebels can get their hands on him. When the rebellion starts, we would like you to bring the king to the courthouse.

: ...

: Inspector?

: ...



: This isn’t treason, Inspector. We're ensuring the safest outcome to an inevitable revolution.

: You are tree... you treesonou... you are treassoun...

: You are sssscum!

: Told you. Incoherent.

: Yeah. I guess you were right, Sparrowson. Well, Inspector, maybe you should contact us if you change your mind... and once you’ve sobered up.



: And back again.











: Time for some shopping, Falcon?

: Maybe later. For now, we need to find people who've spoken to the king. He's been known to pass through Les Halles on occasion, so if we're lucky..



Saint Saëns Carnival Kangaroo

: We remember. Are you keeping well, madame?

: Absolutely. Never been better. So what can I sell ya today?

: Information. We're looking for positive stories about the king. I don't suppose that you have any?

: The king? No. I haven't got nothin’ to say about the king.

: The king's a... a...



: Quiet, child. Ya know what they say about the king havin' spies everywhere.

: S-Spies?!

: Calm down, Sparrowson. The rumors of the king having an elaborate spy network are patently untrue.

: Then how do ya explain the shut down banquets, huh? The government's clampin’ down on anyone who dissents, ya know.

: Let's get this conversation back on track. Joey, can you tell us why the king's a smelly egg thief?

: My name's not Joey..

: It's nothin’ you need to concern ya'selves with, messieurs.



: Please go on, madame.

: Don't worry. We aren’t spies. At least, I don’t think we are...

: I know. I trust you guys. See, a couple of years ago, we were runnin' a shop. An antiques and odds and ends shop.

: And... and... we had an egg...



: We were pining (sic?) on making a nice tidy sum from it.

: I see. An investment egg. So what happened?

: Well, one day, we were visited, by the king no less. And old King Lou-Phil shows an interest in our egg. So we were thinkin' this would be our chance to make bank, right? But then the geezer just goes and waddles off with it!

: Without paying you?

: Oh yeah. He paid us alright.

: What's this?



: I think this is British. One of those crazy imperial unit coins from a crazy imperial country.

: I have no idea what the British-French exchange rate is, but can we buy this off you, madame?

: Put ya wallet away and keep it. It's worthless to me.

{[Sautanne's coin]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Losin' that egg bankrupted us. It put us out on the streets.



: That's excellent to hear. Anyway, we must take our leave. You’ve been a huge help, madame.

: We're going to go kick that king's butt and get your egg back!













: Finally. It’s about time someone around here appreciated my skills.

: Your ~fishing~ skills, right?

: The term is ~angling~, wise guy.

: This has nothing to do with fishing. Let me cut the preamble. We are looking for people who have positive stories about the king. Would you happen to have any?

: Stories, huh? You came to the right guy. I have a whale of a story for you. So, the other day, I was fishing, and I caught this monster of a catfish. It was two meters long, easily.



: Oh, sure. I drag a ninety kilogram falcon out the water, and everyone buys it. But I claim to catch one big fish, and suddenly everyone's a skeptic.

: Please continue your story, Monsieur Kingly.

: Oh, right. So, anyway, the king of all people happens to be walking by with his entourage. And they all clapped and cheered and came over to see the fish. And then the king says, “’I'm hungry. Let's cook this fellow up.” And then he just walks off with my fish! Can you believe that?



: I can believe that. It seems like something a royal penguin would do.

: Did you at least get paid for your fish?

: Oh, yes. One of the royal guards was nice enough to flip one franc my way.



: Ah ha! So the king supports the local fishing industry. I'm writing this down!

{[Toussaint's story]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: I have no idea if this story will be of any use to us, but we appreciate your time, monsieur. Good day to you.

: Bye, Monsieur fisherman!

: Hey! Don't call me a fisherman!









: Excuse me, Judge Maxime.

: Oh, hello Falcon.



: Really? I’m gaining a reputation?

: Hey! I helped too!

: Of course you did, uh... Robinton?

: Sparrowson.

: Right. Sparrington.

: Judge Maxime, I don't suppose Monsieur Cocorico has filled you in on what we've been working on since then.

: No, he hasn't.

: Hmm... how to put this...



: We're planning a trial, of sorts. We intend on forming a case against, uh...

: The king!

: Right, and uh...

: We want you to adjudicate!

: A trial against the king? Interesting. What are his exact charges?

: I'm not sure, to be perfectly honest. That seems more like Séverin's territory.

: Hmm. If you aren't even sure of that, then I don't think you’re quite prepared for this trial...



: I see. Well, thank you anyway.

: Let's make a move, Sparrowson.

: What about our judge?

: It doesn't matter. Let's focus on building a solid defense case for the king, and we can wing it from there. Maybe we can even hold the trial without any judges at all. Just Cocorico, me, and the king in the middle.

: It's strange. Falcon, you're like your grandfather... and yet, you're nothing like him.



: Well, I wouldn't say “knew”. I was just a teenager when he was causing havoc in the courtrooms. But of course, I am familiar with his work.

: Falcon, I find your career choice peculiar. Your grandfather worked so hard to prosecute King Louis XVI, and yet here you are, rigorously working to defend your own king. Just like him, you would make an excellent prosecutor. So why did you choose the rocky path of the private defender?



: To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe I just wanted to take myself out of my grandfather's shadow. I want to carve my own path as a lawyer. I don’t want to be a poor imitation of an old hero.

: Quite understandable. Oh, just look at the time. I'm due back in the courtroom. But before I go, let me just say that I would be happy to adjudicate your trial, Falcon.

: Really? That's fantastic! Thank you, your honor.

: It’s no trouble.



Xander77 fucked around with this message at 20:56 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.










Aviary Office





: Séverin? How rude. Don’t they teach you to knock-

: No time for bickering, Jayjay. It's time!

: Time? For what?

: The trial, you dunce!

: Already?

: A large protest has started to form at the Place de la Concorde. No doubt, it’ll turn into an unruly mob before long. The spirit of revolution is in the air. We must act now. I’m going to start the necessary preparations at the courthouse, so I need you to get the king from the Palais-Royal.

: You want me to drag the king to the courthouse? I’m not even sure that I could drag him from his chair.

: Use diplomacy, you dolt. I'm sure you’ll think of something.

: Right. Come along, Sparrowson. We have a king to defend.









Falcon and Sparrowson rush across the city. Scores of angry eyes watch the pair's every movement. Cocorico was right: the spirit of revolution is in the air. Outside the Palais-Royal, a crowd has started to form. The royal guards watch in nervous anticipation.

King Louis Phillipe





: You again? Shouldn't you be in jail?

: There's no time for that nonsense!

: Your majesty, we need you to come with us.

: Why?



: There's a trial-

: Well why didn't you say so? I love trials! Ooh, am I needed to give a testimony? Please say it's so!

: As a matter of fact, your majesty, yes, I think you will need to give a testimony.

: Oh, goody, goody, goody. Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!







: Did anyone spot us?

: I don't think so. Its still early. The crowds are only just starting to form. With any luck, we can get this trial over with before anyone realizes what's going on.

: You...



: You treasonous scumbags! You actually captured the king!

: Captured?

: Clearly a joke, your majesty.

: Ah. Very subtle. I like it.

: So it's true. You do intend to hold a trial.

: Your actions are utterly despicable. You are all on the same level as the filthy rebel dissenters.

: Do you intend to stop us, inspector?

: ... On any other day, I would. You are rotten law-breakers through and through.

: I want nothing more than to see you tried and punished for your traitorous stances.

: But I owe a debt. To you, Falcon. And to Monsieur Cocorico.

: So you’ll let us pass?

: ... I have ordered for a dozen national guards to set up a perimeter around the entrance of the Palais de Justice.

: The rebels will inevitably catch word that the king is here.

: They will try to storm the building. And when they do, we will be ready to hold them off.

: That's amazing. Thank you, Inspector.

: ... Go on. Before I change my mind.



Trial Opening

: Alright, settle down everyone, settle down.



: Where you are is perfect, your majesty. Now, is everyone here?

: Jayjay Falcon, present. The defense is ready, your honor.

: Séverin Cocorico, present. The prosecution is ready, your honor.

: Ooh, this'll be good. I wonder who's on trial.

: Are the jury all here?



: Everything seems to be in order. The court is now in session for the trial of King Louis Philippe.

: Ooh, that's me!

: ...



: Calm down, your majesty. We’re simply prosecuting you for a short list of thirty-two crimes against the French people.

: What is this madness?!

: Did you set me up to this?!

: Well, yes and no. We're your defense, your majesty.

: I'm so confused..

: The process is simple. I'll state a charge that is being leveled at you, and present my evidence for the charge. You - and your defense - will then have the opportunity to present their own counter-evidence.

: I’m even more confused..

: Just let us do the talking, your majesty. We're doing this for your own good.



: Let us proceed. Prosecution, present the first charge.

: King Louis Philippe, you are being charged with neglecting the lower classes of the nation. Your continued support of Guizot's outdated policies have resulted in an ever-growing wage gap. Poverty is rampant. Animals are forced to turn to begging, thievery, and burglary just to survive. How do you justify this vile attitude?

: Goodness! You're going straight for the jugular, aren't you? I... I'm a good person! I don’t hate poor people.



: Please allow me to do the talking, your majesty. Séverin, the king is far kinder to poor people than the general populous has been led to believe. Some would even describe him as a generous philanthropist.

: Who? Who would describe him as a “generous philanthropist”?

: S-some would.

: You're going to have to do better than that. Show me an example. Just one example of the king being generous to a poor person.



: I would like to present this story. It is the account of a person who was a sick and starving beggar. One day, this beggar was approached by the king. Did the king offer the beggar money? No. He offered something far better. He offered the beggar financial advice.



: Where is that beggar now? He runs a successful business that can pull forty francs from a single client transaction.

: Amazing. And the ex-beggar attributes the king for his radical transformation?

: Well, he didn't say so directly... but it was implied.

: Interesting. Would you mind telling us the name of this person?



: He's a man named Renard Vulpes.

: Oh, Renard Vulpes? The trickster and con-artist who runs that deplorable private investigation service?

: You're familiar with him?

: Of course. That fox has been meddling in trials and disturbing investigations for years.



: Oh dear...



Outside the Palais-Royal, protesters charge at the buildings gates, effortlessly overcoming the royal guards. Looters take the opportunity to overrun and ransack the building.

: Where on Earth is that accursed king?

: Pierro!



The prime minister and the king both fled before we even started our assault? How is that even possible?

: Madame Beaumort! I’ve found someone who may be of use.



: A royal guard? Nice find, Fontaine. Speak, duck. Tell us where the king is.

: Ha! You think me a common turncoat. I would have you know that I am the mighty Officer Beck! I would sooner die than betray my country!



: The Palais de Justice! A couple of lawyers came and took him to the Palais de Justice!

: That was easy. Pierro. Fontaine. Gather the crowd. We're marching on the Palais de Justice.



: What are we up to? Charge twelve? Please continue, prosecutor.

: Very well. King Louis Philippe, you stand accused of crushing small businesses in favor of supporting wealthier industry giants. Such a nepotic attitude only serves to discourage people from forming their own enterprises.

: I disagree. As a self-made businessman, the king has constantly shown his support for all businesses, big and small.

: Another ludicrous assertion from the defense. Prove me wrong, Jayjay. When has the king ever shown support for a grassroots business?





: Angler.

: Sorry, angler, who recently caught an enormous catfish from the Seine. Some say the fish was as large as two meters. Upon catching the fish, the king congratulated the man and offered him compensation for his efforts.

: “Compensation for his efforts”? You mean, he bought the fish.

: I-in so many words, yes.

: Well, putting aside how weak an example that is of a man supporting local businesses, I see a much more pressing issue...



: What if he had killer bait? Like, say, a box of high-end chocolates?

: Ludicrous! Nobody would be stupid enough to use chocolates as fishing bait!

: This would probably work better if you actually gave the fisherman angler some chocolates back in act 3.

: You guys can't be serious...



Outside the doors of the Tribunal de Grande, Inspector Volerti watches the ever-growing crowd of protesters. The national guard poise their bayonets, keeping the angry mob at bay.

: Disgusting rabble, the lot of them.

: Oh? It looks like the guards are letting someone through.

: An emissary of the rebels? Or perhaps one who considers themselves a leader?



: I am.

: I came to talk to you directly. I feel we can settle this maturely. No violence. No casualties.

: Wouldn't that be marvelous.

: We only have one demand. That is, that you stand aside and let me escort the king out the building. Grant me that, and I will order the crowd to disperse.

: ...

: I don't know if this is your first revolution, mademoiselle, but it certainly isn’t mine.

: If your protesters want the king, then they will have to get past the line of national guards. And I don't think your people have the skill, equipment, or raw numbers to accomplish such a feat.

: ...



: ...





: I believe were up to the last charge, are we not?

: Correct. Charge thirty-two. King Louis Philippe, you are accused of being an imbecile! You are mentally unfit to run this country.

: No need to get personal!

: It isn’t a crime to be an idiot, Séverin.

: Thankfully. If it were, we would all be doing hard time right now.

: Illegal, no, but it does raise the question of why we are giving an idiot so much power. Let's not follow the example of Great Britain, who let the mad king, George the third, rule for decades past his prime.

: King Louis Philippe is neither mad nor stupid. He is an intelligent and competent individual.



: Your majesty, please...

: You’ve chosen an impossible battle, Jayjay. The kings idiocy is widely accepted. I urge you to prove me wrong. Show me one shred of evidence that the king is not a blithering idiot.





: Picture books don't count, Jayjay.

: Oh, I had no idea that “An Expansive History of the Macedonian Empire” was a picture book.



: Hmm. Perhaps a test is in order.

: T-that won't be necessary...

: What was the name of that book you mentioned? “An Expansive History of the Macedonian Empire”? Tell me, your majesty, where is Macedonia?

: Where?

: Yes. I’ll even make it easy. Just tell us the name of the continent. What continent is Macedonia in?

: ...

: You can do this, your majesty.

: It's a one in seven shot... can he really do it?

: ... I want to say “Africa”... But...



: London!

: Oh mon Dieu...

: I think we're done here, your honor. As I have demonstrated in excruciating detail, the king is incompetent, lazy, stupid, and occasionally malicious. He isn't fit to run a bakery, let alone a nation.

: Very well, prosecutor. Does the defense have anything to add?



: Yes, your honor.

: ... I've got nothing. I've defended this man to the best of my abilities, and I have nothing more to say.

: Very good.Then I shall now converse with the jury.

: We shall determine precisely which crimes the king is guilty of, and decide on an appropriate punishment.

: P-punishment?!

: Lawyer man, you have to do something! I'm scared.

: Calm down, your majesty. The whole purpose of this trial was to see that your punishment is fair and fitting.





: That mademoiselle is returning. How naive.



: Once again, I ask that you let me pass. Let me extract the king without issue, and then we shall be on our way. I warn you: the protesters are getting rowdy. Any moment now, they might charge on their own accord.

: Your commitment to pacifism is admirable, but you are brimming with naivete, mademoiselle. Be on your way.

: ...







: You...You're the friar who gave me tip-off about the Croc-Monsieur.

: Was my information no good, Inspector? Did I not say how and when you could reach the Croc-Monsieur?

: You omitted a few details. Your words almost killed a few acquaintances of mine.

: Well, Inspector, it seems that you and I agree on something. This wolf has a forked tongue.

: There's no need to direct your hatred at me, madame. I came here to give you a gift. A peace-offering.

: You have nothing to offer.

: I most certainly do. Did you know that the tunnels of the Sleeping City Wind straight under the Palais de Justice? It's true!



: What are you prattling on about?

: How much gunpowder do you think it would take, madame? Fifty kilograms? One hundred? Hmm. Maybe two hundred kilograms, just to be safe.

: Friar... tell me you didn't...



: Running will do you no good, you brother-killing pute!

: You’re bluffing. There will be no explosion.

: You would like that to be the case, wouldn't you, Inspector? But unfortunately for you, the Viridian Killer emerges one last time!

: YOU-







: I must congratulate you, Jayjay... no... Falcon. You argued excellently. I’m as unsure of the penguin's fate as you are, but one thing is for certain: you could not have done your job any better.

: Thank you, Cocorico.

: After a small amount of deliberation, we have come to a decision.

: We find the defendant, King Louis Philippe, to be-



: Mon Dieu! What was that?!

: An explosion! It sounded like it came from right outside.



: For pity's sake, spit it out, monsieur!

: Rebels! Its the rebels! There was a big explosion at the entrance, and rebels are pouring into the building as we speak!

: You heard the rabbit. Everybody clear out.

: Your honor, quickly. What was the verdict?

: Really? In a time like this?

: There is no better time.

: Exile! Now get out of here. Court is adjourned!

: ...

: A valiant effort, Falcon, but we’re out of both time and options. If the rebels want the king so badly, they can take him.

: Y-y-you can't say that!

: ...

: The rooster's got a point, Falcon. Let's just turn the king over and let him receive his dues. We’ve done all we can.

: ... No. You two give up far too easily.

Trial Turnabout 2



: Renard's place? What can he do?

: If anyone has the power to make the king disappear, it would be that conniving fox.

: Yeah. Yeah! That might just work! Come along, your majesty.

: Oh dear, oh dear...

: Come on, Cocorico. No time to dawdle.

: I’m staying. For there to be any chance of your ridiculous plan succeeding, someone must stay behind to delay the rebels.

: Cocorico...

: Go. I’ve got this.

: ... Good luck.



: That damned wolf nearly killed the lot of us...



: It's a pleasure to see you again too, madame.

: Don't get snarky. Where is he?

: You’re too late. The king has long left the building. For all I know, he could be halfway to Guadeloupe by now.

: So he's already gone... drat. There goes my opportunity to enact justice.

: Enact justice? You should have seen the trial, madame. Everything was official, professional, and logical. It was the most brilliant display of justice that I've ever seen.

: But the king...

: ... Is in the process of receiving a fitting punishment.

: ... Cocorico. Did... Did my father receive a fitting punishment when you were the prosecutor at his trial, ten years ago?

: ... No, madame. But every day since then, I’ve strived towards justice. And I shall continue to do so for the rest of my days.

: ...







: ~Huff~

>>>> : ~Puff~

: This is taking forever...





: It’s that friar!

: I'm not going to let you take another step towards the king.

: I didn't come here for the king. I came to kill you, Jayjay Falcon!

: Very well. Sparrowson, take the king and hurry to Renard's. I'll handle this monster.

: Are you sure you'll be okay?

: I can handle one crippled wolf.

: Okay. Come on, your majesty.

: ~Huff~



: Heh. Of course not. That was to take out the murderous pute who killed my brother.

: Madame Beaumort...

: She was the madame who pulled the trigger, but it was your words that sentenced him!

: And I would do it again. You and your brother are heinous individuals.

: Call us what you like. It doesn't matter any more. Your blood must pay for his! An eye for an eye! That is the way of the judges of old!

: You don't appear armed.

: I don't need a gun or sword to kill you! There are one hundred kilograms of gunpowder beneath our very feet! One more step, and this entire area will go-





: Vile scum.



: You look a little... singed.





Renard Vulpes

: I did. It seems the rumors are true, Mousey. The revolution is in full swing.

: Go on. Get in there!

: Visitors, Monsieur Vulpes, Visitors!

: I wonder who-



: ~Huff~, ~huff~, are you, ~huff~, Monsieur Vulpes?

: I am. And this is my companion, Mousey.

: It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your majesty.

: I must admit, I rarely have a gentleman of your caliber in this office. Please, have a seat. Mousey, fetch his majesty some tea.

: Right away!



: Ah yes. A new identity. A new face. Indeed, I can make that happen. Of course, there is a price.

: How much?

: Normally, such a service would cost one hundred francs. But for you, your majesty... ten thousand.

: Ten thousand francs?! I don't carry that sort of money on my person!

: Ah, I’m sure you can find a way. That crown on your head and egg in your hand would surely be enough to pay for this exquisite service.

: Hmph. You are a crook, Monsieur Vulpes.

: Now, now. Let's not call each other names. We are both grown men. Now let’s see, you'll need a disguise. Ah, here we go! Go put this on!



: Hmm... Mousey, could you come in here for a moment please?

: What is it, Monsieur Vulpes? Oh! Who is this cockatoo? Where did King Louis Philippe go?

: You see, your majesty?

: It's... it's that convincing?

: Of course! But we'll have to give you a new name and identity to match your new look. We need a name that is original yet ordinary. Subtle yet exquisite...

: John Smith?

: Brilliant, Mousey! Monsieur, your name is now "John Smith”. You are an upstanding English gentleman.

: ...Je... je mappelle John Smith...

: Hmm, that's no good. We will have to work on your English accent. Repeat after me. “My name is John Smith.”

: Mai naime eez... Jean Smeeth.

: Wow! Did you grow up in London, your majesty? Your accent is impeccable!

: R-really?

: Tell him, Mousey.

: I didn't understand any of it, so it must have been perfect English.

: Disguise, name, accent... I think were all set. Are you ready, Mister Smith?

: I don't think so...

: Of course you're ready! Flee, Monsieur, flee! Take a horse to Callais, and from there, hire a boat to take you to the shores of England!

: Do you think he will make it to England, Monsieur Vulpes?

: With that disguise, Mousey, I think our client would be lucky to make it down the street.









Aviary Office





: Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to get up!

: Give me a break. My legs are killing from running all over Paris. Besides, we just had the case of a century. I think we're allowed one day to relax. Let’s play some Jacques-Noir.

: Falcon, don't make me hate you at this point.

: Nuh-uh. Look at this stack of mail we have to reply to. Inspector Volerti has asked us to sign off on some paperwork regarding the death of Frére Remus.



: And Madame Beaumort has asked us to help establish a constitution for the Second Republic, if you can believe that. Plus, we have, like, a dozen requests for legal work from other citizens of Paris. I guess word has gotten around about our involvement in the kings trial, huh?

: Mon Dieu...

: So much to do... but all I want is to take a holiday...

: Hey, Falcon. Do you think we’re about to see some changes?

: Changes?

: The old king is gone. The prime minister's resigned. The Second Republic is kicking off. I'm just saying... do you think this could be the start of a new era of peace for Paris?



Aviary Attorney - Egalite (4B) ending

: I don't think so, Sparrowson. As long as there's poverty on the streets and corruption in the government, people will always have an urge to rebel.

: That’s such a cynical thing to say. You're probably not wrong, though.



End Credits

: Let's go pick up some breakfast.

: Sounds good. I feel like pains au chocolat.



























You have reached the end of route B - Egalité. The ending you received was determined by the decisions you made in Chapter 3. Try tackling the trial in the catacombs differently in order to see a different ending.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 21:16 on Jun 23, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: As the game just noted, you get different versions of act 4 depending on what you do at the end of chapter 3. Ending C, Fraternité, happens when you fail to save Cocorico's life. Let's go ahead and do that.



Catacombs

: The most obvious way to lose the trial is to avoid getting Gustave's Explorer-Extractor. But that would require replaying most of chapter 3, so that's something we'll leave for another time. Let's just make some seemingly reasonable objections instead:



: Torturing someone for any reason is horrific. I cant believe that none of you had a problem with it.

: You hypocrite. Do you know what the French legal system does to suspected rebels? Beatings. Whippings. Sleep deprivation. Mutilation. Sometimes the police even break out medieval torture devices. They act like we still live under the Ancien Régime.

: Yeah, and now you're no better.

: Spare me your infantile judgement. Do you want to stand here and lecture us, or do you want to carry on with this trial?

: ...

: As I thought. Proceed.



: What were you doing there?

: Just passin’ through.

: Okay, but where were you headed? For example, did you have business at the Conciergerie? Or were you heading home from the cathedral?

: To be honest, monsieur, I don't think that's none of your business.



: It most certainly is my business. Your reason for being there could be a key factor in this case.

: Pierro was running an errand for me.

: What kind of errand?

: A work errand.

: What kind of work errand could be done at midnight?



: I think you two are overstepping your bounds. Like Pierro said, this matter is none of your business.

Madame Beaumort scowls.

: No more stupid, probing questions, Falcon. Stick to the case at hand, or I end this trial. Understood?

: Fast forward to Fontaine's testimony.

: Fontaine, I have a question regarding Cocorico's Gendarmerie pistol. Pardon my ignorance, but I am not a gun connoisseur like yourself. What do you mean by “caliber”?

: A gun's caliber is the width of its internal barrel, and the width of the bullets that it fires.

: So you would use 15mm wide bullets for a pistol with a 15mm wide barrel. That makes sense. Did the bullet embedded in the Croc-Monsieur's chest match the caliber of Cocorico's pistol?

: I don't know for sure. I didn't have the time nor the equipment to dig the bullet out of the Croc-Monsieur's chest. Besides, lead bullets fragment. It would be difficult to properly piece together a fired lead bullet to assess its caliber with any accuracy.

: Then it's possible that the caliber of the bullet in the Croc-Monsieur’s chest doesn't match the caliber of Cocorico's gun.

: Do you know that for a fact, Falcon? Or is this just more vapid speculation on your part?

: I know that the caliber could not possibly match.

: Interesting. Prove it.



: Quit your tomfoolery, Falcon. If you make a claim, then I expect you to be able to back it up.

Madame Beaumort scowls.

: He's floundering, madame.

: Agreed. I've heard enough of these rambling theories. Falcon, your respect for your comrade is admirable, and you displayed great valiance by leaping headfirst into the lion’s den. But you have failed to convince me of this bird's innocence.

: Madame Beaumort, I implore you-

: Not another word. We humored you. We set up a court and went through the motions of a trial. And now, the rooster's guilt has been formally proven.

: We have more evidence-

: Enough! The trial is over!



: We have found you guilty on the counts of conspiracy, of the murder of the Croc-Monsieur, and of the murder of my father, Jean Beaumort.

: Madame, please-

: Jayjay. It's alright. I’ve made my peace.

: This is far from alright.

: Dying in the name of a new republic... at the hands of rebels... there are worse ways to go.



: Séverin-





: ...

: ... Tend to the body, Pierro.

: Yes, ma’am.

: Do you plan to kill us too?

: Why would I do that? You two have done nothing wrong. I see no reason for you to be tried, let alone executed.



: No, no! We promise to keep our beaks shut. Right Falcon?

: Ah, but we cannot trust the word of potential traitors. Madame, for the good of France, we must execute the birds right now.

: Some man of God you are...

: I hate to admit it, but you have a point, Remus. This is an unpleasant situation. Hmm... what to do, what to do...

: ...

: Okay. I know. I’m going to give you a choice. You have two options. The first is that I shoot you right here and now. That's not something either of us particularly want, but if it must be done...

: What's option number two?

: You join us. We need lawyers to help bring the new republic into fruition. Your skills would be very much appreciated.

: Our skills?

: Somebody has to draft new laws. Somebody has to file the paperwork to secure the new Republic's internationally recognized legal status. Somebody has to prosecute the officials who corrupted this country. Wouldn't that be a glorious job?

: You mean... prosecute the prime minister? Or the king?

: We can discuss the specifics later. For now, I need to hear a decision. What will it be?



: Fine. We'll work with you.

: Good. Then a verbal contract has been made.

: So... what happens now?

: Pierro and Fontaine will lead you to Le Canard Joyeux. I will finish up here and meet you in two hours. Needless to say, they shall be keeping a close watch on you. Don't even think about running.

: Of course.

: Then we're done here. Fontaine, lead the way.

: Yes, madame.

: Come along, you two.



: I do trust them. Throughout that trial, I got the impression that Falcon was trying to deescalate the situation. Avoid violence. Such a viewpoint is naive, but it is exactly what we need in this revolution.

: But they will betray you-

: If they are stupid enough to even raise one feather against me...







: You can come out now, brother.

Wolves



: Better than we ever hoped for. The rooster is dead, and the madame has tasted her first blood.

: Heh. Amazing. Completely worth getting shot for.

: A meddlesome falcon tried to disrupt the execution-

: Falcon?! Really? That tenuous wretch...

: Don’t worry. He floundered and bumbled around hopelessly. The madame thinks that he's of some use, but really, he's as good as dead.

: This is marvelous. Every piece is falling into place. Our dream will be a reality in no time at all.

: To Reason, brother!

: To Reason!





: ...

: ...

: ...

: I hope you don't harbor too much hate for the madame. I know that the rooster was your friend, but the madame does what she does for the good of France.

: ...

: ...

: Boy oh boy. This is awkward.

: It is a bit. Perhaps a round of drinks are in order. After all, this is a tavern. What do you two say?



: I'll take a wine. Make sure it’s a stiff one.

: I'll take two.

: Very well.



: My round?! No way. It’s your turn.

: Turns don't matter. You still owe me for that omelette I generously paid for last Friday.

: Yeah, well, you owe me for that coffee on Tuesday.

: Okay, so that's thirty cents of coffee deducted from a sixty cent omelette. Plus the twenty-five cent peanuts you swiped from my pantry.

: Hold up. I ain't so good at men'al arithmetic..

: (Listen, Sparrowson. You need to go.)

: (Go?)

: (Yes. I’ll create a distraction, you head straight for the back door.)

: (Is that such a good idea?)



: (If we both run, these two will probably shoot us in the backs.) (So the way I see it, one of us running is the most viable option.)

: (Falcon-)

: (Don’t argue. Once you're out, find Volerti and tell him what you've seen.)

: ... (Okay)

: So it's agreed. You get this round, and I'll owe you two cents.

: Yup. And I'll hold you to ‘em two cents. Be right back. Don’t you two move or nothin'.



: Anyway. I don’t feel like sitting in silence. Let's talk to pass the time.



: Fontaine, I have a gun question.

: A gun question? Do go on.



: What's better: flintlock or percussion cap ignition systems?

: What a delightful technical question. But I'm afraid there's no dispute here: percussion caps are the future, hands-down. You see, flintlocks are unreliable. A little light drizzle, and the ignition system no longer functions. The gun becomes worthless!



: But a percussion cap will always work, as long as its built correctly, and as long as the gun has enough gunpowder. I suppose there is the matter of material cost. How much does a brass cap cost compare to flint and steel? It's a little pricier, I think.



: Hey, where’s the li’le one?

: The little one? He's right... Oh. Merde. I lost him.

: You lost 'im?! How did you lose 'im?! I was gone for two minutes!

: I think I dropped the ball on this one.

: I'll say! The madame's gonna string us up for sure. Actually, we should make up a cover story. We can't let her find out about this.

: You can't let me find out about what?



: Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum over here weren't paying attention and let Sparrowson walk casually away.

: About twenty years too early for that reference.

: M-madame...

: We can explain...

: I swear, I give you two bozos one damned job... ~Sigh~ It doesn't matter. That little bird was dispensable for our plans. But Falcon isn't. What's important is that he is still here.



: Agreed. Falcon, let me quickly fill you in. As you probably know, we are planning to form a protest. An enormous protest on the fourteenth of this month. We intend to draw a massive crowd at the Place de la Concorde, and then we shall march across Tuileries garden.

: A march across Tuileries... you intend to storm the Louvre?

: No. The Palais-Royal. That's where the king and prime minister will be residing. I would like it to go peacefully, but...

: Peaceful uprisings have a habit of turning violent, don't they?

: Exactly. And we can't let the leaders of this country escape amidst the chaos. They must be tried for their crimes against the French people. On that note, I want you to lead the prosecution.

: You want me to prosecute... the king of France?

: The king and the prime minister. They are both responsible for the rampant inequality that plagues this country. On the day of the revolution, we will drag both of those overpaid bourgeois onto the streets, and you shall prosecute them then and there.

: I think I understand. Prosecuting the pair for... crimes against humanity, I suppose. It could certainly be done. If I were to interview a lot of citizens, gather a lot of evidence, file some paperwork... I could probably prepare a case in around two months.

: We don’t have the luxury of time. Use your ingenuity on the day, just like you did in the catacombs.

: You can't be serious...

: There is no alternative. The wheels of the revolution are already turning, and the revolution will ignite in under a week. The question on my mind is, what do we do with you until then?



: After seeing the atrocious job you two did guarding the little bird, I think not. I’ll just have to guard you myself, Falcon. You shall spend this week at my side while I complete our preparations.

: At your side? All day and night?

: Absolutely. I'm not going to let you out of my sight for one minute.

: That seems excessive. You can trust me, madame.

: No, I can't. You've promised to help me, but I know that you don't actually believe in the cause of the Second Republic. If I give you one grain of freedom, you will undoubtedly flee.

: ...

: This meeting is over. Come along, Falcon.











: He created a distraction, and I sneaked away and went straight to the police. Then you called a meeting, and well, here I am. So... yeah. That's the whole story.



: That's right.

: ...And Falcon revealed his true colors as a traitor.

: A... traitor? No, no, that’s not right, inspector. Falcon's not a rebel. He's just playing along so he can save his own life.

: Don't be so naive, Sparrowson. Put the puzzle pieces together.

: Falcon willingly leapt into the lions den for the specific purpose of siding with the rebels.

: He let you escape because he could see that you weren't truly sympathetic to the rebel cause.

: That doesn't make sense at all. Falcon’s never shown a rebellious streak.

: ...

: Tell me, Sparrowson. What do you know about Falcon's past?

: Not a lot. He's a private person.

: Has he ever told you what he did during the July Revolution? Before he changed his name?

: Before he... no, he hasn’t told me anything, really.

: ...

: Sparrowson, let me tell you about the man they call the Viridian Killer...









: Les Halles, huh. Let me guess. You have a weapons supplier somewhere around here.



: Actually, I’m here for groceries.

: ...

: There's no need for that look. You think that just because I'm a gun-toting rebel, I don't need to buy food?



Kangaroos

: Well, well If it isn't Sautanne and little Gambade. You’re growing bigger every time I see you.

: Ma'am, you have to hear this. Something big went down here yesterday.

: A policeman! A nasty, ugly policeman!

: Let me guess. He was bullying people into revealing secrets on the whereabouts of the revolutionaries.

: Well, that’s how it started, ma'am. Same ol' bullying tactics. He was pushin' round this ol' beggar rat who hangs around the market sometimes. But then, when the rat wasn’t speakin’ up, the policeman drew his gun and shot him!



: Yup. But then the coward cop went an’ ran before we could turn on him.

: I find this difficult to believe. A policeman wouldn't openly shoot a beggar without just cause.

: Open your eyes, Falcon. This is the regime us Parisians live under. We are ignored by the government, oppressed by the police, and hanged by the courts. Why do you think I'm fighting so hard to make a change? We can't put up with this sort of bullying.

: ... No. This can't be right. Something has to be missing from Sautanne's story. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions, madame?

: Sure. Ask away.

: Make it quick, Falcon.



: What did the policeman look like?

: Well, I didn’t get a good look, but...

: He was tall and ugly and mean-looking, and, and..



: One eye?!

: Yup. Had one of them pirate patches.

: There's no way...

: Ring any bells, Falcon?

: I know a man who fits the description... but it simply couldn't be him. He's a bitter individual, but he's morally righteous. I can't imagine him shooting an innocent person so recklessly.

: Don't let your bias towards the justice system affect your judgment, Falcon. If you think you know who did this, then please, name and shame him.

: I think I should bite my tongue until I'm a little more certain.

: Did ya want to know anything else, monsieur?

: If a policeman did shoot an innocent person, then there would surely be an investigation.

: Ha! Your naivety knows no bounds, Falcon. You think the police care if one of their own is out of control?

: Actually, there was one bloke asking around. But I don't think he was a policeman.

: Oh? Go on, madame.



: Renard...

: A friend of yours, Falcon?

: Something like that. We should probably pay him a visit to see what he’s up to.

: Pay him a visit? I suppose we can set aside a little time.

: Did ya want something else?

: Just who was this beggar rat?

: I didn't really know him well, monsieur. None of us did. He was kinda a loner who hanged around, asking for scraps of food and cents. I don’t even know his name.

: That's so sad. Did he have no family? No means of support?

: Falcon, do you have any idea how many beggars there are on the streets of Paris? How many people go hungry? How many people are forced to turn to crime?

: I'm well aware, madame. I'm asking these questions to see if there was perhaps some reason why that particular rat was killed.



: That it is, monsieur. Is there any other way that I can help?

: That’s all, madame. Thanks for all your help.

: No problem. Anything to help Ma'am Beaumort!

: We'll try to get to the bottom of this, Sautanne. Just... make sure to stay safe when the revolution starts. Stay inside. Keep Gambade safe.

: Of course, ma’am. You stay safe yourself, y’hear?











Renard Vulpes

: Visitors, Monsieur Vulpes, visitors!



: Sleazy?

: Madame, my back-alley office is perhaps a little cluttered and eclectic, but I resent the accusation of sleaze!

: Uh... maybe I should do the introductions. Monsieur Vulpes, this is Madame Beaurnort, a, um, friend of mine. Madame, this is-

: Renard Vulpes, private investlgator, at your service. It is a pleasure to meet you, madame.

: ...

: Ah, how stoic. I'm sure you have some pressing question to ask, Falcon, but before we get started there is something I must tell you. Monsieur Sparrowson dropped by earlier. He informed me of your situation.

: Sparrowson? Is he alright?



: Just as I thought. It appears that your lackey has solidified his position as a traitor to the Second Republic, Falcon.

: Perhaps. Perhaps not. Sparrowson doesn't strike me as a person who sides with any ideology. But, you know, he asked me the most peculiar question. Would you like to know what it was?

: Of course.

: Such information is quite valuable. It would cost, say... thirty francs.



: Yeah, yeah. I know how this works. Here's your money, monsieur.

: Very good. So, on to the question... Sparrowson asked if you were the Viridian Killer. The one responsible for the random bombings during the July Revolution, eighteen years ago.

: Why on Earth would he ask that?

: Perhaps the Inspector had been telling him stories.

: So what did you tell him?

: The truth, of course. That is, that I have no idea who the Viridian Killer is, but that I knew that it couldn't possibly be Falcon (sic).

: Oh? And how do you know that I’m not the Viridian Killer?



: Anyway. I’ve started my own investigation into the Viridian Killer. It's fascinating stuff. Apparently he was seen in multiple places at once, which leads some to believe that “he” was actually more than one person.

: Huh.

: And do you know why they call him - or should I say, them - the "Viridian” Killer?

: Viridian is a greenish color, isn’t it? No, I don't have a clue. “Crimson Killer” would be a much cooler name.

: It appears that no one knows the origins of the name. Which leads me to suspect that he - or, indeed, they - chose their own name.

: This is all fascinating. Truly, fascinating. But perhaps we can return the conversation to why were here.

: Of course. Monsieur Vulpes, we heard that you were investigating the murder at Les Halles.

: I was. That victim was a friend of Mousey’s.

: More of an acquaintance, really...

: Well, we want to know if you managed to uncover anything. Did you find any leads? Any juicy clues?

: Not as such.. it’s quite a peculiar case.



: I did.

: You know what that implies, don't you, Falcon? You only know of one police officer - or, indeed, one person - who wears an eyepatch.



: The Inspector... But that can’t be right. You wouldn't describe him as a murderous man, would you, Monsieur Vulpes?

: Murderous?I don't know. He's certainly passionate about finding the Viridian Killer. Who's to say that he wouldn't kill in the pursuit of his arch-enemy?

: ...

: Falcon, I want to solve this mystery as much as you do, but time is pressing and we have other matters to attend to. We must take our leave.

: Understood. Until next time, Monsieur Vulpes.



: Um, Monsieur Vulpes... That lioness looked pretty angry.



: ...







: Let me think...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>





: ... But the crowd will be fairly large and slow. It may take twice, maybe three times as long to make the move...

: Having a logistics problem, madame?

: Perhaps. The plan is to walk the crowd from here, through Tuileries, to the Palais-Royal. But if we take too long to pass through Tuileries, the police will trap us in. We could be flanked and slaughtered.

: That is quite an issue.



: Why not just get the protesters to meet at the Palais-Royal itself?

: Because the Place de la Concorde is an ideal meeting location. It's enormous and easy to get to.

: I see. But even if you got, say, half the protesters to meet at the Palais-Royal, you would cut down on traveling time.

: I get it. A smaller crowd would be easier to direct across the garden.



: That bird-brained parrot would probably just shoot the idea down, right?

: Probably. But I appreciate your input. I don't know if you genuinely want to help, or if you're just telling me what I want to hear out of fear, but... thank you, Falcon.

: It's no problem, madame. For the Second Republic, right?

: Right. For the Second Republic.









: The king is probably in there as we speak. Probably sitting in his highchair, stuffing his bloated face with cake and wine while he boasts about being the perfect Citizen King...

: Did you come here just to moan about the king?

: No. I've come to assess the potential battleground. On the day of the rebellion, I might order Pierro to set up a barricade over there. What do you think?



: Of course. It's the perfect place for a defensive garrison. We can gather furniture from nearby buildings, build a wall, and position rifles to fend off the police. When the time is right, it will serve as the ideal location to launch our assault on the palace.

: So you weren't just throwing empty words in the tavern. You actually do intend on dragging the king out of the palace through violence.

: Of course. He will never abdicate on his own volition.

: ...

: It's not as if I want to see bloodshed, Falcon. It's necessary. It's inevitable. I mean, we have to be realistic. There is no way to bring change to a country without using violence, is there?



: I don't think there's any way. Throughout history, great change has only ever come about with great sacrifice. Wars. Assassinations. Executions. No country has been won over through passive demonstrations alone.

: I see. So it’s as I feared.

: But that doesn't mean you can't try. Violence can work as a last resort, not as a first call to action. Set an example for the kind of nation you want to see.

: ...



: At least, until it's clear that violence is inevitable.

: That's good. That's a good compromise, madame.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 11:27 on Jun 25, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.










: Everything is coming together. As we speak, Fontaine is gathering the protesters at the Place de la Concorde. Pierro is making preparations to build and arm a barricade near the Palais-Royal. Just as a precaution, you understand. The only question that remains is, are you ready?



: Absolutely. Bring on the revolution, I say!

: That's the spirit.





Falcon and Beaumort arrive at the Place de la Concorde. The air is thick with the chants, shouts, and cheers of hundreds of protesters. A line of mounted soldiers stand shoulder to shoulder outside the entrance of Tuileries.



: The desire for revolution runs deep in the city.



: Then we can all storm the building and drag that cocky king out his chair.

: There's been a change of plan. We're still going to protest. But we're going to do it peacefully. No firing from behind barricades. No violence. No capturing the king or prime minister.

: Madame? Are you feeling alright?

: Quite alright, thank you.

: But what of your desire for a better France? You cannot achieve that without bloodshed.

: We can certainly try. Falcon convinced me.

: Falcon?



: ... I see. So that's how it is.

: Excuse me, madame.

: I think the friar disapproves of the new strategy.

: He probably thinks I've gone soft... and maybe I have. But I'm not deviating from this path. Even if each and every rebel leaves my side.

: Don't worry, madam. You aren't alone.



Wolves

: Ugh... this stupid bullet wound.



: What's the news, brother? Is everything in place?

: We have a problem. The mademoiselle refuses to use violence. She's turned timid.

: Turned timid? How?

: It appears that the lawyer, Falcon, is something of a lion tamer.

: Jayjay Falcon? That bird is proving to be more trouble than the rooster, I swear...

: Brother, listen. If there is no violence, then there will be no power gap. One leader will just peacefully replace another. We need chaos for our plan to work.

: Guess we'll have to follow through with our contingency strategy. I'll find the victim. You find the suspect.





: Look at those scum. Foul vermin, the lot of them.



: They lust for violence.

: They don't look too violent to me.

: Trust me. This is just how the crowd looked before the July Revolution.

: It only takes one crazed individual, and the entire crowd will explode into a frenzy.

12

: No time for pleasantries, Inspector. You're needed urgently on the Place de la Concorde.

: Me? Why not ask one of the officers on active guard duty?

: There's no time to explain. Any minute now- Ah! Do you hear that gunshot? It's already begun!



: Inspector, I really don't think you should be trusting this friar. Has a two-faced wolf.

: Frere Remus has provided me with reliable information in the past. I trust his judgment.

: But Inspector-

: This isn’t up for discussion, Sparrowson. I have a duty to uphold.

: Stay put. I'll be back in no time at all

: But... but...

What should I do now? ...





: It was nearby too.

: So the friar was right. Violence really is an inevitability...

: We haven’t reached that stage yet, madame

: I can't afford to take chances. Not now. Pierro. March the crowd to the Palais-Royal and construct the barricade.

: Yes, ma'am.

: Fontaine. Falcon. We’re going to find the source of this disturbance.





: I'm moving as fast as these old legs will- Mon Dieu! A body...



: I think the gunshot came from over here-



: Falcon?! Well, well. I should have known that the Virdian Killer would have had a part in this.

: Inspector, I'm not-



: Madame, thank goodness you're here! I saw the whole thing. This poor, innocent mademoiselle was approaching the police line with her hands in the air. When all of a sudden, this brute of a police inspector yelled, “get back you filthy rebel!” He drew his gun, and shot the bird point-blank through her heart.

: What is this nonsense? What are you prattling on about, friar?

: Thank you for your input, Remus. It hardly surprises me that a member of the police would be the one to cast the first stone.

: I think were all being a little rash. Let's just take a breath, examine the situation, and-



: You wear an eye-patch. You only have one eye, Inspector.

: How observant.

: Tell me, were you the policeman who killed the rat at Les Halles too?

: Les Halles? What are you talking about?

: Two incidents of a one-eyed policeman gunning down an innocent victim. There is no way that that is a coincidence. What we have here is a filthy, corrupt individual who takes pleasure in oppressing the common citizen. Am I right, Inspector?

: ... I really shouldn't be surprised that a stupid rebel makes stupid assumptions and comes to stupid conclusions. But open your damned eyes, mademoiselle. I’m not the assailant here.

: Don't call me mademoiselle. Or stupid, for that matter. Your guilt is plain to see. Given the circumstances, I ought to judge and execute you right here and now..

: Falcon! Don’t just stand there, gawking. Vouch for me!



: Madame, I know this man. His name is Inspector Volerti. He is ruthlessly law-abiding. So much so, that I cant envision him shooting a man without just cause.

: Oh, shut up, Falcon. I’m done with your idealism. I listened to you. I took your words to heart about avoiding violence. And now a girl is dead.

: Well, I’m done taking chances. Remus. Help me escort this invalid to Pierro’s barricade. I'll decide his fate there.



: Come along, Inspector.

: Fontaine. Falcon. Deal with the corpse. Meet us at the barricade when you’re done.

: There’s... there’s no way that this was the work of the police.



: An isolated gunshot? This far away from the police line? It doesn't make any sense at all. But that's rebellions for you. They're messy affairs. Sometimes innocents get caught in the crossfire, and there's no reason for it

: ...

: Well, there's no use dawdling. Help me get the corpse off the streets.

: Not yet. I'm going to examine the body first.

: Examine the body?

: We agree that this wasn't the work of Inspector Volerti, right? Then there might be some clues on the corpse that point towards what happened.

: An impromptu coroner's examination, eh? Fine. You have two minutes. After that, were heading to the barricade, whether you're done here or not.



: It's a longshot... but maybe this girl is faking her injury. Just for the sake of thoroughness, I really ought to check for a pulse.

: Right. .... No. Nothing.



: Everyone's been so fixated on who did this that nobody's stopped to ask who this girl was (sic, missing coma).

: I don't know, monsieur. Given her clothes, she's probably just another working girl.

: “Just another”?

: I didn't mean to sound glib, but its true. This is one mademoiselle among the thousands who live in Paris. Who was she? Where did she work? Will her family miss her? I don't know. But in the long run, I don't think anybody will care.

: I care. I can't afford not to. I don't know who this mademoiselle was, but I'm going to see to it that justice is brought about for her death.



: What's this mark? It almost looks like...



: Probably the mademoiselle's.

: One fun possible deviation from the PW format would be NOT HAVING EVERYONE ACT LIKE A DROOLING IMBECILES ALL THE TIME. You can just have characters besides the protagonist state "yeah, there's no way the victim could have put her hand there". Jayjay would have the chance to shine his unique intelligence at some other point.

: I don't think so. It's the handprint of a left hand on the girl's left shoulder. There’s no way a person could comfortably reach that spot on their own back.

: I suppose so. But if the handprint doesn't belong to the girl, then who does it belong to?

: The murderer. It has to be. The question on my mind is, why is the handprint made in blood? Did the murderer sully their hand on the girl's gunshot wound? Or were they injured prior to the shooting? There’s so much to uncover here, and no time for a thorough investigation.

{[Bloody handprint]} has been added to your evidence folder.



: This is the bullet wound, right? What can you tell me about it, Fontaine?

: Well, it looks like the bullet took a fairly straight angle of entry through the mademoiselle's back. The shooter was probably standing right behind the victim.

: What's the bullet size? You know, its caliber?

: Let me guess. You're hoping that the caliber of the bullet is different to the caliber of the Inspector's gun. That would conveniently get that one-eyed police officer off the hook, wouldn't it? But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I couldn't possibly know a bullet's caliber without having a good look at the bullet itself.

: So... you need to see the bullet itself...



: Help me retrieve the bullet, Fontaine.

: “Retrieve?” You mean, dig it out.

: I assume you have a little more experience in this area than I do.

: Well, you’re not wrong there. Fine. This will only take a moment.

: ...

: Here you go. One used bullet.



: Why's that?

: The bullet fragmented upon impact, monsieur. I gathered all the pieces, but I cannot assess its diameter with any accuracy. Still, I would guess that it was... thirteen to seventeen millimeters. Sorry I can't be more specific.

: That’s an enormous help. Thank you, monsieur.

{[Fragmented bullet]} has been added to your evidence folder.



: Very good. Let's move this body off the street. Then, we must hurry to the Palais-Royal.

: ... Rest in peace, mademoiselle. I'll see to it that justice is done.



: Heh. Everything's going just as planned.

Tchaikovsky - Marche Slave



: Excuse me, monsieur!

: What do you want? I’m busy.

: Don't you recognize me, monsieur? I know that my disguises are a little more complex than yours, but I assumed you would recognize Prince Juan when you saw him.



: Prince Juan?!

: Indeed. And you're Judge Romulus, the corrupt wolf. I know what you did. You tried to assassinate the king. You shot the Croc-Monsieur. And just moments ago, I saw you murder a maiden at the Place de la Concorde. You truly are a vile individual, aren't you?

: Yeah, yeah, yeah. As if you have any proof for any of that stuff. I'm outta here.



: ...

: On any other day, would gut you where you stand, fox. But as it happens, I’m a little busy today.

: Oh? The Viridian Killer is too busy to kill me? Is that the truth, or is that bullet wound of yours starting to affect your prowess? You must have lost an awful lot of blood.

: What do I do... What do I do...



: Hello, Monsieur Vulpes.

: Ah, Monsieur Sparrowson. Perfect timing.

: Who now?

: Oh. You’re that fledgling.

: I guess this is what they call being stuck between a rock and a hard place, huh?

: Monsieur Sparrowson, be a dear, and help me restrain the Viridian Killer.

: This guy?! He's the Viridian Killer?! He looks more like Judge Romulus to me.

: Well, you would be right about that too.



: OWW! Mind the wound!



: Very nice take down, Monsieur Sparrowson. You may want to check his pockets for weapons. He is something of a notorious killer, after all.

: Of course. Let's see what we've got here...



: A pistol. Probably the one used to kill the maiden, I suspect. What else can you find, Monsieur Sparrowson?



: ... Oh no. This is bad. Very bad indeed.

: I don't get it. What's wrong with an eyepatch?

: There's no time to explain. Mousey!

: What is it, Monsieur Vulpes? What is it?



: Tell him that this belongs to Remus's brother. Hurry now.

: Right away, Monsieur Vulpes! Right away!

: I must go too. I need to find the other half of the Viridian Killer pair before something terrible happens.

: Wait, Monsieur Vulpes! What am I supposed to do with this guy?



: ... What a strange day.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 11:32 on Jun 25, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.






Outside the Palais-Royal, the rebels have constructed a makeshift barricade out of furniture, branches, rocks, and anything else they can find. From behind the wall, the rebels taunt the police and royal guards with chants, (sic for the comma)





: I will see each and every one of you hanged for your flagrant disregard of the law!

: Your stubborn attitude is disgusting. A few days ago, you were seen at Les Halles. Witnesses saw you murder a beggar in cold blood. Today, a friar has testified to seeing you murder a girl, again completely unprovoked. I don't know why you continue to plead your innocence...



: Madame Beaumort, stop! The Inspector didn't shoot that mademoiselle.

: Keep your beak closed, Falcon. I’m done listening to your suggestions. This policeman is as guilty as every other monster in our decrepit justice system. It's my duty to execute him.

: Madame, Falcon has uncovered some pretty convincing evidence. I would recommend that you hear him out.



: Five minutes is precious in a time like this. I can't afford it.

: What if you’re wrong? Are you willing to see another dead innocent?

: ...



: Thank you, madame.

: Having my life saved by the Viridian Killer...

: How humiliating.

: Quiet, pig. Your life is mine until I say otherwise.

: Okay. So, first of all, let's recap on what Frére Remus had to say...

: Wait, where is that friar? He’s a key witness to this crime.



: Business?



: Man oh man. Those barricades are looking pretty scary. But I mustn't fear. For I am a brave duck!



: Ah! You scared me, monsieur... uh... monk?

: Friar, actually. Frére Remus. Listen, officer. I have something of great importance to tell you. I was just passing by the rebel camp, and I overheard a conversation.

: Oh? This sounds good. Do go on.

: They said they were going to launch an assault very soon. And when they do, they're going to rain hellfire on the palace.

: O-oh no! It's just as I feared. Waddle we do?!

: Its simple, officer. As soon as you hear the first gunshot, you need to retaliate. Hit them with everything you've got. Every cannon, every rifle, every piece of artillery. Don't leave a single piece of the barricade remaining. That is the only way you can be sure to survive.

: Ah! Total annihilation. I like it. But friar, I’m confused. Aren't you a Christian?

: Yes. So what?

: I don't know. It's just that your idea doesn't seem very... Christiany.

: Ah I see. You think this is a moral issue. Let me tell you a secret, my dearest duck friend. There is no God. No overarching morality or higher plan. No heaven to save the righteous or hell to punish the sinners.



: Th-that's an awful lot to take in.

: Then let me simplify. It's you or them.

: It’s... me or them...



: Forget about the friar, Falcon. We all remember what he had to say. Present your case based on what you can recall.

Trial Opening

: Okay. I will.

: But you may want to wipe that mouse off your shoulder first.

: Sorry, wipe what? Oh, it’s you, Mousey.



: Um, thank you, Mousey. What is this?

: An eyepatch! It was found in Remus's brother's clothing!



: Where is Romulus?

: There's no time, monsieur! Just take it, take it!

{[Eyepatch]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: I have to run, monsieur. But you have to do your best! Monsieur Vulpes and Sparrowson believe in you!

: Sparrowson! You’ve seen Sparrowson? How is he?

: There's no time, monsieur! Good luck!

: Are you quite done, Falcon?

: Very much so. Let's begin this... “trial”.



Trial Turnabout

: Okay... so let's remember what the friar said...



: Let's talk about the victim. What was her name?

: We don’t know. Nobody knows. Just one more nameless girl stamped out under the boot of tyranny.

: That’s tragic.

: Very much so. And I want to see a world where it never happens again.



: Isn't it possible that the girl was acting threatening, and that she was killed in self-defense?

: Don't blame the victim, Falcon. It's tasteless.

: But we must consider-

: Falcon, I don't think there is any scenario you can conjure that justifies an armed policeman gunning down an unarmed girl. I strongly advise you to choose another topic.



: The friar said that the girl was approaching the police line at the time of the shooting. We should be asking why the girl would do such a thing. It doesn't make any sense.

: Perhaps she wanted to hurl insults at the police. Perhaps she just wanted directions. I have no idea what her intentions were, but in any case, her death was the outcome. That's what we must focus on.



: Now, as I recall the main police line was at the entrance to Tuileries in the Place de la Concorde. That's around where we were waiting. But this incident didn't occur there. It was a good fifty, maybe one hundred meters away.

: So what?

: So what? It’s a severe discrepancy in the friar’s account of events.

: Maybe there was a police line there, but it moved. Maybe the friar was mistaken, and it was just a single officer. Does it really matter?



: Frere Remus claims that the Inspector drew his gun. Tell me, madame, did you even find a weapon on the Inspector at the time of his arrest?



: Oh. I see. But is it possible that that gun was planted?

: That's a standard-issue percussion lock Chatellerault Gendarmerie pistol. That's exactly the type of gun I would expect a policeman to carry. Sorry, Falcon.

: Madame, what caliber is the Inspector's weapon?

: What caliber? I don't have the faintest-

: Fifteen millimeters. That’s the standard caliber for a Gendarmerie pistol.

: And what caliber was the bullet found in the mademoiselle?



: I'm afraid that's the most accurate measurement I can make, given the circumstances.

: If the bullet were seventeen millimeters in diameter, then it wouldn't fit in the Inspector's fifteen millimeter gun. That would immediately free the Inspector of all guilt!

: It certainly would... if the bullet were seventeen millimeters. But Fontaine just said that the bullet was “between thirteen and seventeen millimeters”. That's quite a large range.

: But if it were seventeen-

: If it were thirteen or fifteen, then the Inspector's guilt would only be confirmed further. You’re holding onto the shred of hope that the bullet is actually seventeen millimeters, but you lack any real evidence. Let's move this along.



: Frére Remus claimed that the girl was shot pointblank in the chest. Was there really only one shot fired? I'm surprised that the incident didn't spark a full-on firefight.

: Falcon, you were as close to the incident as I was. How many gunshots did you hear?

: One.

: Well then.



: The girl was clearly shot in the back.

: I know. I remember seeing the bullet wound for myself.

: But that's quite a glaring inaccuracy in the wolf's testimony.

: It is an inaccuracy. But it is an irrelevant inaccuracy. Does it really matter if the girl was shot in the front or the back? Either way, a girl died at this pig’s hands.



: It does matter. If the girl were shot from the front, then this might indicate a police confrontation turned ugly. But if she were shot in the back, then what? This could indicate that someone targeted and assassinated her before she could even react.

: That doesn’t paint the Inspector in a particularly flattering light, Falcon.

: Madame, you’re missing the point. A shot to the back breaks the currently established narrative. The girl was targeted and murdered in a stealthy, professional attack. Therefore, this was not an ordinary police confrontation.

: You've made an assumption, Falcon. You’ve assumed that, just because the girl was shot in the back, she must have been stealthily killed. There are other possibilities. Perhaps the girl was scared by the police, started running away, and was shot in the back as she fled.

: That scenario isn't possible. If the girl were running away, then she would have been at least a couple of steps away from the killer at the time of the shooting, right?

: Right.

: But I know that the killer was standing right behind the victim. They were less than one meter apart when the gun was fired.

: They were standing that close? How could you possibly know that, Falcon?



: Well, I assume any bloody stain would belong to the victim. A mark made with the girls dying breath, perhaps.

: No. It was the print of a left hand on the girl's left shoulder, near her upper back. The angle and positioning of the print indicate that it could only have been caused by another person.



: I see. That's quite a theory. But Falcon, you've left an important question unanswered: why was the hand-print bloody? The print was made with the victim's blood, yes? So it can't possibly have been made prior to the shooting. And if that's the case, then my suggested scenario is still possible: the girl may have been running from the police when she was shot.

: No... I'm... still trying to work out the details. But l know that the print was made prior to the shooting. Maybe the shooter was injured and his hand was already covered in blood?

: Tsk. You talked big about “breaking the established narrative”, and now you present me with that baseless drivel. Well... Where do we go from here? How does this handprint nonsense really affect the situation?

: ...

: Heh.

: Do you find something funny about this situation, Inspector?

: I do. This whole “trial” is patently absurd. It's an animal court through and through.

: But there was something particularly funny about that last exchange.

: You were both so focused on when and how this handprint was made that you missed the larger issue.



: Oh. Right. Of course.

: ...

: Well, madame? What do you say to that?

: ...

: ... Maybe... the handprint came from an accomplice... or maybe it had nothing to do with the incident... or...

: It feels good to see someone else speculating wildly, for a change.

: Okay. Fine. I don’t have a solid explanation. I must concede that it's possible - maybe even likely - that the person who left that mark was the murderer. Therefore, as much as it pains me to say it... I must concede that the Inspector probably did not shoot the girl.

: So, that's it! The Inspector is off the hook!



: What incident is this?I know nothing about it.

: Ha! As if you don’t know. A beggar rat was shot and killed in Les Halles a few days ago. The attacker was described as a scowling police officer who wore an eyepatch. Sound familiar to you?

: ...

: Go on, Falcon. Explain the pig out of this one.

: Until five minutes ago, I was at a loss. But I was recently presented with a piece of evidence that makes the answer all too clear: this was a false flag operation.

: False flag? Explain yourself, Falcon.



Trial Turnabout 2

: Madame, what do you know about Remus's twin brother, the man known as Romulus?

: Not much. Only that he was forced to flee the country by our oppressive government around a month ago.

: That's a half-truth, madame. You see, it is correct that Romulus is being hunted by the police. But I've had the suspicion that the wolf was lurking in Paris itself... although,I never managed to find definitive proof of this. Anyway, it turns out that my suspicion was well-founded. He was recently apprehended... I think...

: You think?

: I don't know the details. But it doesn’t matter.



: An eyepatch...

: Romulus has perfect vision. Why would he need something like this? There is only one plausible explanation. It is part of a disguise. Something to conceal his identity and make him appear as someone else.

: A disguise... you’re saying that Romulus shot the beggar rat... just to frame this police Inspector?

: Exactly, madame. Its no coincidence that Frere Remus happened to find the very same Inspector just as another murder occurred today.

: So... Remus was in on it too. Two wolves, working together to make this policeman look like a murderer. ... But... why? Why would they do that?

: To rile you up, madame. To make you lust for violence. And if your actions today are anything to go by, I would say that they succeeded.

: ... drat. I've been so stupid. How did I let myself get so misled by a couple of wolves?

: This trial is over. Go, Inspector. You’re free.

: It's about time.

Juste Volerti



: Of course. It would be criminal to confine an innocent man any longer than necessary. Even if the man is a bitter, stubborn pig.

: Falcon!

: Y-yes?

: I don't understand you. You're stupid. You're reckless. But you fought beak and talon for my freedom.

: I’m starting to suspect that you really aren’t the Viridian Killer at all.

: It certainly took a long time to pass that fact through your thick skull. Inspector, if you’re still hunting that villain, maybe you should speak with Renard Vulpes. When this is all over, I mean. I hear he’s been doing some research into the Viridian Killer. Maybe he knows something.

: Maybe I will.

: Madame. It appears that your gang of rebel filth don’t intend on assaulting the palace any time soon.

: I’ll relay that information to the artillerymen. Maybe we can keep a peaceful stand-off going until this blows over.

: Thank you. I appreciate that.

: All of you. Stay out of trouble.



: We're going to continue our protest. Peacefully. We’re going to stand here, chanting and shouting until the prime minister and the king both step down out of sheer humiliation. It might take days. Weeks. But if we manage to change this country without one more person being harmed, then-



Wolves

: Madame, I just saw the police Inspector strolling out of here, unharmed. Why did you let him go?

: That’s simple, Remus. We all had a discussion...



: O-oh?

: How many lies have you fed me, friar? Just how much damage have you done to further your own goals? Did you help your brother kill the beggar rat in Les Halles? Did you watch the girl die by the Place de la Concorde? Now that I think about it, even the Croc-Monsieur's death was surrounded by details that made little sense. I don't know what to think anymore.

: You know that this guy’s a scumbag, at least, madam. I say, shoot 'im!

: Pierro's right. We won't judge you for killing this man, madame.

: It's the least I deserve for my sins. Go ahead, madame.

: ...

: What are you waiting for? Pull the trigger! Do it!

: ... Falcon. You have proven yourself as having clear judgment. What do you say?



: Madame, you know what the right thing to do is. Show us what kind of leader you wish to be.

: ... You’re right.



: ... Wow. This is amazing. Completely unprecedented. You've buckled all of my expectations, avoided every temptation, and opted for an option that shouldn’t even exist. Well done, madame. Well done, Falcon. You have demonstrated the power of pacifism in its purist form. But unfortunately for both of you...



: Everyone, get down!



: ... Suicide...

: Shootin’ himself in the head? What a loony.

: Hardly a surprise that the wolf would be too cowardly to face a real punishment.

: ... This isn’t right...

: It's not the solution I wanted either, Falcon. But I can't say I'll mourn the friar's death.

: No. That’s not what I meant. I meant that it doesn't make sense for him to kill himself so abruptly. And that comment of his...it was almost like...



: I think we need to get out of here. All of us. Right now.

: You’re right.



Aviary Attorney - Ending 4C

(Watch this)

: Ah! That was a gunshot! Really close too... I... I can't afford to hesitate! It's me or them!



: No way! I... I can't afford to take chances. It's me or them!

Aviary Attorney - February Revolution (Liszt - Totentanz)

















: ... Can anyone hear me?



: Hello? Anyone? ....

: I'm here,madame.

: ...Falcon? Heh. Of all the people. I think...I made a mistake, Falcon.

: ...

: Where did I go wrong? Was it when I pulled the trigger just now? Or was it earlier, when I shot that prosecutor?



: ...I've made a lot of mistakes.

: We've all made mistakes, madame.

: Most people's mistakes don't spark bloody revolutions.

: ... Can you move, madame?

: ...

: ...









: Dear Monsieur Vulpes, I am writing to you from the Demiaou Railway Express. Modern technology truly is amazing!



: The king fleeing to Britain? The Second Republic taking over? It's all crazy stuff. Anyway, before I left, you asked if I knew what happened to Falcon. Well, I got my hands on a copy of the official police report, and it says that Falcon died during the attack on the barricade. But it also says that the police didn't find a body, same as Léonie Beaumort. Weird, huh? Rumor is that he was probably blown away by cannon fire, but that doesn't sound right to me.



: So, in my opinion, he's still out there. It's possible, isn't it? Anyway, I should wrap this letter up because I'm about to reach my stop: Vienna. I'll let you know how Mademoiselle Cygne and her parents are doing. Maybe you should come pay a visit sometime?



End Credits

: What is it?

: P.P.S. Delicious. That’s what.

Xander77 fucked around with this message at 11:40 on Jun 24, 2018

Xander77
Apr 6, 2009

Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.




: A brief interlude before we get into the worst ending, exploring the adventures of the worst lawyer. Let's have a brief vignette collection of fails throughout the game:

: I don't suppose you'd happen to have some spare change?

Kangaroos



: Sorry, Madame. I haven't a cent to give, just like everyone else these days.

: No worries messieurs, I understand. God bless ya both.

: I thought you were more of a giving type, Falcon.

: Times are tough, Sparrowson. Certainly, I have a franc to give today, but tomorrow-







: Something wrong?

: That little kangaroo kid stole my wallet!

: Heh.

: It's not funny! Where did they go?!

: Let it go. They probably needed it more than you did.

: Gah! That won't stop me from giving them what-for if I see them again.

: Come on, we've got business to do.





: So what shall we do? Do we just... take this?

: We've come this far. We may as well “borrow” it.

{[Studio photograph]} has been added to your evidence folder.





: Some kids did it. Little weasel types. We saw them.

: Yeah! Weasels! They were all like, “Let's break into this art guy's house”. And we were like, “No, weasels! You cannot do that because that would be illegal!” And then they were like-

: We chased them off. That's the important thing.

: Well, thank you, I suppose.

: Let's make a move. Trial day is approaching fast.

: Right. Let’s go.



: Tooroorooroo...



Trial Turnabout

: I can't do that.

: Well, I suppose you could be a little more delicate with your words.

: No. I mean, I can't do that because our evidence was illegally obtained. If I were to present it, Monsieur Robinio would ask how we acquired it, and the whole trial could derail. In a worst case scenario, I could lose my legal license, and we would be arrested for theft.

: Oh. Well, we don't want that.

: No. No, we don’t. I should tread lightly.



: Let's fast forward to the first day of Prince Juan's trial, and see how we can screw that one up. After all, screwing up Caterline's trial is objectively a good thing, and utterly unfitting of the worst lawyer.

: Surely you meant to say 10 o'clock?

: I beg your pardon?

: You clucked... like a chicken...

: Jayjay, do you really want to kick off this trial by picking on petty pronunciation peculi