Love Triangle

Megan was seeing red. Anger rolled off her in powerful waves. She was bound to participate in the ceremony, but damn it, she didn't have to like it.

Megan entered the room first. Slowly. Deliberately. Her black robe billowed around her ankles as she moved. Settling herself in place, she pulled the hood over her chestnut curls and waited.

From the other side of the room, Charles entered. The black robes couldn't hide his athletic physique or cocky swagger. Although his face was hidden by the dark hood, she knew his lips were curved upward in an evil grin.

The third stepped into the room then. She had yet to master the art of levitation, instead walking to her place. With each step, the black robes shifted revealing smooth expanses of flesh. The black hood only seemed to emphasize, rather than shield, the sunshine of her hair.

The unholy trio stood still for a moment, each forming one point of a perfect triangle. Then Charles began speaking in an ancient language, the rhythmic chants placing a hypnotic spell on the room. As his first, it was Megan who began the ritual. She drifted forward to the dagger which had been firmly planted into the ground. She plucked the blade effortlessly from its concrete sheath.

Megan drew the blade across her palm when Charles' hooded form bowed to her. She bowed back, presenting him with the knife. Removing the hood from his head, he lifted the blade to the heavens. Then his tongue flicked forward like a serpent's, licking the droplets of Megan's blood, her essence, from the metal.

Megan accepted the blade back from him and drove it deep back into the ground. It was Blondie's turn to complete the ceremonial rites.

Sacrifice.
Offering one's self.
Acceptance.
Forever.

Megan's eyes bore holes into the back of Blondie's head. Charles was hers until this bitch came along. Predictably, when Chip offered the choice between death and immortality, Blondie chose their way of life. And now, if the ritual was complete, the three would be bound together. For eternity.

Blondie sauntered forward. Breaking with tradition, she shook the hood loose, staring up at Charles as she moved. She never took her eyes off him. Not when she knelt to pluck the knife from the ground. Not when she saw his expression turn to shock and then fear.

Poor girl never saw it coming.

Megan stood over the body, a long ceremonial sword swinging from her hand. Blondie disintegrated into ash, blown away on the winds. Megan was not one to be replaced.

His first.
His last.
His only.

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This week's theme thursday was "triangle." This is also a belated Magpie. And the second part of this story.

Picture Perfect

Chip moved around the room, checking all the angles, the lighting, making minor adjustments until everything was just perfect. When the scene met his exacting standards, he turned to his equipment. That too was subjected to intense scrutiny.

A stunning blond swept into the room. Black silk swirled around her ankles, which were encased in towering heels. Crimson lips turned upwards as surveyed Chip's handiwork. "Ready for me?" she asked in a voice that was pure seduction.

Chip nodded, momentarily unable to speak. Her voice rang out again, interrupting Chip's very unprofessional thoughts about his subject. "Where do you want me?"

Chip continued to gaze at her. A heavy metal door slammed as Megan, Chip's assistant, entered the room. She scowled, taking in Chip's obvious fascination with the blond.

Megan moved with swift efficiency, setting the blond's chosen mood music wafting through hidden speakers. She then positioned the blond before a full length mirror. Chip began snapping off pictures from different angles. Soon, the blond's robe hit the floor and her poses moved to the bed.

Megan turned her back on them. She never understood why Chip wasted his considerable talents on this crap. Boudoir photography. Like the name somehow made it more palatable. Just a bunch of desperate housewives, eager to strip down for the camera. The horny bitches were so grateful at the work Chip did for them, he wound up bedding most of them at the end of the session. Of course, repeat business was relatively limited for them...

Blondie giggled at Chip's suggestion that they go for something a little more daring. That was Megan's cue to spring into action. Reaching behind a cluster of pillows, she withdrew the restraints, securing each wrist firmly. Blondie's teeth nipped at Megan's neck teasingly when she learned down to adjust the restraints.

Megan's eyes flashed with fury but she quickly changed her tune when Blondie's tongue began to work the base of her neck. Megan gripped Blondie's hair, forcing those crimson lips against her own. Their kiss was hard, passionate. When Blondie moaned softly, Megan bit down on her lip.

The sweet ambrosia of Blondie's blood filled Megan's mouth. She savored the taste for a few blissful moments. A quick flick of her tongue over the blond's lip healed the wound as the venom began to course through Blondie's veins. Megan looked down at her, restrained and breathing shallowly.

She's ready for you now.

Chip abandoned his cameras and floated to the foot of the bed. Megan left the room, not caring to watch what would come next. After he had his fill, Chip would offer the choice of eternal life or death. Regardless of her decision, the woman who entered their studio would never be seen or heard from again.

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This week's theme was camera. Check out the other takes on the theme here...

Pencils give me nightmares

I remember it like it was yesterday...

I spent six hours in the car driving up to Albany, the corner of the state they send all of us non-New Yorkers. I sat in the room, trying to watch something mindless to keep my thoughts elsewhere. I gave up around 9.

Panic gripped my insides. I had to pack for the next day. Grabbing my gallon-sized ziploc, I carefully filled it with the essentials: tissues, admissions ticket, license, lunch money, a bottle of water and a bottle of soda, a small package of skittles as a snack. What was I forgetting?

Holy shit! I have no fucking pencils! Where are my damn pencils?

I tore my hotel room apart trying to find them. Twenty minutes later, my search met with success and the box of #2 pencils were located. I emptied them out on the floor.

Fuuuuuuuuck!

No points. None of the things were sharpened. Another frenzied search turned up my sharpener. I looked at the clock and cringed, knowing that my neighbors were probably as frantic as me, if not worse, and might try to kill me if I interrupted their last second studying (or worse, sleeping) with the sounds of my sharpener.

I debated a few more minutes, finally deciding the sharpener would be less offensive at 9:30 pm than 6 am. I had brought two of my pencils to a fine point when *boom* *boom* *boom*

My door almost came off the hinges from the force of someone's fist pounding. Tentatively I opened the door to find a very pissed off looking guy, eyes frantic and blood shot. "Did I hear a pencil sharpener in there?" He demanded.

"I am so sorry!" I stammered. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll stop!"

The big guy broke into a huge toothy grin as he brought forward a fist of unsharpened #2s. "I've been looking for a sharpener! No one has one. Please? Can I please come in and use yours?" He asked sheepishly.

I opened my door to him, and about twenty other people that night, figuring I could use all the good karma I could get...

The next morning, we cautiously stepped into our own respective hells, armed with our wits, plastic baggies and #2 pencils, to take day 1 of the bar exam.

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Check out the other Magpie tales.

Candy Kane

She grew up tough as nails. It was the logical consequence of being born to parents who saw it fit to name their daughter "Candy Kane." The kids on the playground were cruel. Looking back, that was nothing compared to the abuse she took in middle school from barely pubescent boys. But the high school boys with their raging hormones were the worst.

Candy could remember the taunts as she walked down the hallway. The mocking voices as they sing-songed, "Sugary sweet and so good to eat" as she walked by. During graduation, one idiot thought it would be a RIOT to blast "lollipop" through the public announcement system as Candy took the stage to accept her diploma.

Despite numerous threats to her parents her name would be changed the second she turned 18, Candy kept the moniker. It was part of who she was. Part of the woman she became, in spite of the stripper name.

Candy shook her head, clearing it of images of the past. She took to an entirely different stage as her signature music blared through the speakers, working the crowd with your standard bump and grind. She paused to shake her ample tits before a man hoping not to be recognized as the county's presiding judge before swinging from the pole midstage, her g-string full of bills.

Candy swung her long legs above her head, flinging herself upside down. She continued her routine, a picture of pure seduction, as her eyes worked the room. There in the dark corner of the room, she found her target.

Righting herself, she strut off the stage, grabbing a bottle of champagne off the bar as she passed. Candy took a quick swig before straddling the man. He looked up and her with amused bravado, allowing her to tilt his head back with a firm tug. Champagne poured freely from the bottle and he greedily lapped up the bubbly flowing down his face. Candy rewarded his efforts with a lap dance.

At the end of her set, she returned to him. Pulling him from his seat, she led her to the dark depths of the club's back room. Her corner of this realm was full of plush leather couches and a well stocked bar. He poured himself a scotch before settling in on the cushions. The flickering candles only emphasized his eyes, heavy lidded with lust. Candy surged forward, voice teasing as she asked, "Do you remember me, love?"

He shook his head, clearly unable to place her. "I've seen you here every week this month. You're so fucking hot," he slurred, reaching for her.

Candy lowered herself to his lap, running her hands appraisingly up his arms. She leaned forward in to him, their lips inches apart. When he closed his eyes and attempted to close the remaining distance, she drew back her fist. The impact broke his nose and brought tears to his eyes. "Shit! What was that for?" He demanded.

Candy stared down at him, the man who had fueled so many of her teenage fantasies. The football player who refused to date the cheerleader just because her name was "Candy Kane." Something like that would mess with his perfect image.

"Now you're not perfect either." Candy stood, shaking her curls over her shoulder. With a satisfied smile on her lips, she walked out of the club.

Forever.

Bitter sweet

I remember so many times my dad would tell me, "The system isn't perfect but it's the best one we have." And my response would be: "well then, why doesn't someone fix it?" He'd look down at me with a smile and ruffle my hair. Sometimes he'd tell me that someone far wiser than him would have to work out that solution... And other times he'd tell me that sometimes there are problems without solutions.

I became a lawyer because I wanted to help people. I actually wanted to do criminal law once upon a time...fight for the wrongfully accused and all that. But things don't always turn out as planned. I've been very firmly entrenched in the world of corporate litigation for years now...

I was happy to escape from the personal injury department. Every so often, they suck me back in when they need help and I need the hours. This case I've been working (and bitching about) is a boat case. The defendant buys a new boat and invites my client out for a spin the next day. My client gets on the boat a healthy, active, vibrant 54 year old. She got off with a broken back.

The 30 year long friendship was ruined. She can barely lift five pounds now and her job involves moving and rearranging furniture. At the end of the day, she's just completely wasted and in so much pain.

Our case imploded mid-trial. Our expert sucked on the stand and ended up conceding that he would have done the same thing as the defendant if confronted with the same situation. (It's hard to prove negligence when your expert says that.) It was also clear that the judge liked the defendant.

I couldn't wait for this trial to be over. I was desperate to get back into the office. To deal with my own clients. To be back in the land of business disputes and construction litigation.

But I didn't want the case to end like this. The client spent all weekend freaking out that she'd wind up with a broken back, getting nothing and owing us our litigation costs. So the case settled. The entire settlement goes to reimbursing the firm for the costs it fronted. And the client nets nothing.

I feel so badly for her.

I know she'll be fine. She's a survivor and has been through so much. This will be one more thing she overcomes in her life.

But at the end of the day, I have to wonder...did we really help her? Or was this just an example of how lawyers, despite having the best intentions, sometimes make a bad situation worse?

Bite me.

Show of hands... Who thought this was another vampire story from the title of the post? Sorry to disappoint, but I need to vent.

So here it is Thursday night. I have over 50 hours in on this trial already this week. And tomorrow morning, the alarm will go off at 5 and I'll leave the house around 6 and who the hell knows when I'll get home. I've barely seen my family in 2 weeks. You could say this trial is kicking my ass...

I can deal with the long hours. And with the weekend coming up, I'll catch up with my family. Andrew will remember that he has a mother and I'll spend more than 2 minutes with hubby while we're both awake and somewhat functional.

I know that most attorneys, by the time they make partner, have forgotten what it was like to be a young associate. They forget what it was like to be down in the trenches. Associates are universally overworked and under appreciated. It's part of the job. It sucks... but you deal, hoping for the bigger rewards and the larger pay off down the road.

What I can't deal with is being treated like a damn pack mule. Yes, I'm young. And I don't have a ton of experience. And I'm a woman.

But I passed the same fucking bar exam that these old, gray men did. (In fact, if you took a poll, I probably took and passed MORE exams than they did...) Just because I have tits and lack male genitalia does NOT mean that all I'm good for is carrying your bags.

I was LIVID today in court when I was told instead of conferencing the case with the magistrate that I should go back to the courtroom and pack up his bags. But that wasn't enough. After I lugged two computers, two overstuffed binders and two dep transcripts upstairs, I had to go BACK downstairs to locate a computer disc and "whatever else he might need."

It took all my self control not to scream or reach out and throttle him. I mean, I've busted my ass for this man. I learned freaking admiralty law in a week to write the trial brief. I wrote the brief (which he forgot about) in one day, sending my family off to Great Adventure without me... I learned 2 years worth of litigation in 2 weeks to second chair your trial. To do this, my family went on vacation without me.

I got him the cell phone number of a key witness for us. Without that information, there wouldn't have been a meeting over the weekend where we learned vitally important facts about the case.

I gave him an amazing line of questioning for the cross of the defendant today. He hadn't even thought to explore that area!

I had to tell him - a man who has been practicing law longer than I've been alive - what the legal standards and burden of proof are in this case... and that we have to put our side in first...

And he has me carrying his freaking bags???

I'm a team player and all... but I did NOT go to law school for this...

Someone Forgot to Check the Calendar...

It may be Monday but the whole reason why we weren't at work today was because it's Memorial Day. Courts are actually closed. The office was actually closed.

It should have been a day full of this...



And this...

And, now that hubby is back, a whole lot of this...

But someone apparently forgot to check the calendar and missed the fact that it's a national holiday. So at 6:00 tonight, instead of enjoying having my family home from Maine, I was rolling into the office in the rain. I'm not talking a few raindrops. I'm talking a huge freaking drenching rain so that by the time I got from my car to the door, I was soaked.

Our trial starts tomorrow and someone thought it would be a good idea to teach me Trial Director the night before the trial. Now, if you know anything about me, you know how bad of an idea this is... I can do basic stuff... but you don't want to rely on me to run the technology for your trial! We have other attorneys who are good at all things tech. I am not one of them.

I managed to load all of our exhibits onto the trial laptop and I decided it would be a good idea to play around with the program and see if I could actually pull up the exhibits, enlarge portions of it, scroll through the enlarged portion and do the basics of what this really cool program can do.

I clicked on what I thought was the button to bring up the presentation mode of the program and...


...the fucking power went out.

Don't you know the first thought racing through my head was "WHAT THE HELL DID I DO?" Because it would be just my luck that I knocked out the power somehow by clicking the wrong button (even though that wasn't even remotely possible).

Fortunately, my mom gave me one of those kits you're supposed to keep in your trunk that has all kinds of emergency roadside stuff, including a little flashlight. So the two of us are in the office, huddled around this tiny flashlight for an hour trying to get ready for the trial.

We looked ridiculous. I managed to escape after being alone in the dark with this guy for an hour. I have to tell you, what happened tonight is pretty much typical of how all the trial prep has gone on this case.

Wish us luck tomorrow... It's going to be one hell of a show.