Participants:
| Scene Title | Anything But Syracuse |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Tasha and Joanna go law office shopping and discuss the near future and the perils of one road that could be ventured down. |
| Date | September 18, 2011 |
Somewhere In New York
This will be the third building that they have been to this sunday, a list of addresses on a single piece of paper. The first two were in places that while relatively okay, the building itself that the unit was in, left much to be desired and too much repair and renovation for what Joanna was willing to fork out. The second was far too big for what she and potentially another lawyer that she knew, would require.
Lightweight Trenchcoat, black flats, jeans and simple top, the dark haired version of Tasha was standing on her side of the car, looking up at the multi levels building that housed other stores in a more middle class neighbourhood. Office spaces for lease, and a promise of newly renovated. "I could transition nicely into it" Continuing a conversation that had started in the car as they had pulled up. "Specialize in registration offenses. I know the channels and people in the DA's office. It would be a simple segue"
Joanna looks over to Tasha, dark brows so immaculately waxed and shaped, looking for her daughters opinion. She'd left the DA's office two weeks earlier, took some time for herself and was starting to put into motion, working for herself - or one other. Much easier to be a lawyer with health issues when you're working for yourself as opposed to the city.
The petite teen closes her car door, and turns to survey the building, one hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun. The day is bright but growing chilly with fall in the air; Tasha is dressed simply and sedately, seeming to have grown out of the cartoon character sweatshirts and instead wearing a red cardigan with black skinny jeans.
She's still as thin as her father noted last time he saw her, cheeks hollowed above her stubborn jaw. "It looks nice," she says a little non-committally. "I'd feel better if you didn't specialize in registration stuff, though. I mean, they need all the help they can get, and you're the best, but… it's kinda like publicly declaring yourself pro," she says, bringing her hand up to her mouth to chew her thumbnail.
"SO in your infinate wisdom, what would you suggest?" A press of a button sets an alarm and she digs out the keys that they were handed over to look at the place. A gesture with her hand, and they're heading to the front doors with it's mailboxes all lined up inside. "Criminal isn't appealing, I don't want to have to go to that side of the coin" That and she doesn't think she could stomach the schedule. Not with never really knowing what kind of day she'll be having ahead of time.
"Are you afraid I'll be targeted? You do put up those posters" Joanna points out to her daughter. "Your father was in the DoEA and has been branded a sympathizer. I think it's a fair assumption that I will be painted with the same brush regardless"
"No one knows I put up those posters," Tasha points out under her breath, and she shakes her head. "The thing is 'registration offenses' is criminal in the eyes of the powers that be. Pretty much anyone with a power is a criminal, unless they're working for them as yes men. Look what happens when they stop saying yes. Look at dad."
The miniature Lazzaro tips her head, looking for any would-be landlord or lady, before looking back at her mother. "I don't know, Mom. I don't want you to get hurt, but I love you for wanting to help them." She offers a sincere, if not altogether happy, smile. "And it'd be hypocritical of me to tell you not to, so whatever you choose, I'll stand by you."
There is none, no landlord, just a look see and a trusting - mind you they had a copy of her information and ID's - of a former DA to return the keys when done looking around. "Criminals they may be, they're not of the… hard kind. Truth be told, I haven't made up my mind, I'm waiting on Posie to make up her mind and we'll pow wow from there, but she's been leaning that way too. Someone has to help them." But Tasha si worried that it might be her and she reaches over to squeeze her daughter's shoulder before stepping forward to open the door for her and gesture to the elevator. 'Second floor"
Tasha nods and moves toward the elevator, holding it open and pressing the correct button. "They treat them like they are. If it doesn't change… it's just going to get worse. They'll all be in prisons and camps, treated like they're not even human," she says quietly. "Hopefully we can keep it from happening… I don't know."
Tasha's voice sounds weary as she raises her eyes to watch the number above the door. "Maybe you helping will make the difference, though. Just… be careful." It's a near echo of the last thing she said to her father.
"Maybe I'll have to wear a kevlar vest to work and be more despised than a doctor who works at an abortion clinic" Joanna is in, face serious with those words as if she's giving every syllable serious thought. Would a lawyer working for those nailed by registration laws and evolved rights be on par with an abortion doctor? She looks over to Tasha, waiting.
"Is that even an issue anymore? It's 2011, not 1980," Tasha says with a shake of her head and a slight smirk. "Maybe as despised as an abortion doctor in Connecticut during the Reagan administration."
The elevator doors open with a ding and Tasha gestures for her mother to exit. "Seriously, though, you might have some fallout. I'd hope not much — I mean, we're all guaranteed an attorney and all that, but people don't seem to care much about the Constitution these days. They don't really want a lawyer who is going to try with these people, just one who will phone it in."
She follows Joanna out onto the second floor. "You could change your name to Atticus," she teases.
"Hah" Hah. Nice there. "Your father would be better named that. He looks like an Atticus" She reaches over, tweaking her daughters nose even as the floor opens up and they are spit out into a small lobby with halls going either way. A gesture left and they're heading that way, toward suit 204. "And that is the very reason that someone should be there, to try. Justice is blind, should be blind and everyone should be innocent till proven guilty and a genetic difference shouldn't dictate whether you are jailed or not" But of course, Tash knows this and as they come upon the appropriate suit, Joanna hesitates.
"Did I make a mistake Natasha? SHould I have stayed with the DA?" She wasn't in a financial position to retire, it was dicey to do what she was doing right now.
Her mother's uncertainty makes Tasha frown and she shakes her head, wrapping an arm around her mother's and snuggling against her as they head down the hall. "No," she says, and it's the most certain she's sounded of anything in the past year.
"You need to be able to make your own hours, and you'll make more probably in private practice," she assures Joanna. "Unless you get all sappy and tell all the bums you'll do it pro bono. But we'll be okay. I can get a job, and of course I'll help you with clerical stuff here when you need me." When she's not running around delivering supplies to safehouses and the like — that goes unspoken.
"Well, I'll limit the pro bono" That goes without saying. It'll be a couple months before it's up and running, she'll have to brush up on some knowledge that she didn't use while with the DA. "That's what we'll hire some unpaid interns to do for university credit" But if Tasha wants to have a job there, it goes without saying that she will be welcome to. "We'll be fine with money. I have more than enough put away. It's not like, what's the show, Harry's Law? Though I did look at a shoe store that had potential"
Tasha shakes her head at the allusion, but laughs a little at the thought of a shoe store. "You and your shoes," she says, glancing down at her own feet in their usual black Converse. "Somehow I missed out on that gene." Even Vincent had nice shoes — if not varied, they always were in perfect condition, like his suits — at least before he went on the lam.
She looks at the office they've come to see. "You'll have a lot of business, probably, with that specialty, at any rate."
"Not everyone can appreciate a good heel or wear one" A verbal consolation as the doors are opened enough to poke her head through then open it proper. IT's an office, nothing special. It will need different paint, furniture and other touches that will make it a proper looking lawyers office if this is the one that she ends up going with. "It would be steady business, but family law would do the same"
"I embrace my shortness and will avoid bunionectomy for all my years," Tasha says with a smirk, leaning against the door frame as her mother examines the interior of the office.
"Have you ever thought of leaving the city?" she asks, a little hesitantly, in case the question be taken badly. "It's kinda a pile these days. You could go to the suburbs or even another state. It'd be safer, probably." Of course, if Joanna was worried about safety, she'd have moved five years ago.
"You mean, go practice in syracuse?" Spoken like she was just asked to go and feel poor people in the slums of calcutta. NY has been her life, she couldn't imagine living anywhere else and she turns away from where she's envisioning a secretary's desk being to look at her daughter, left brow going up, up, up. "Blasphemous" She's teasing. "Would you rather I was practicing law in another place than here? Tell me the truth Tasha, I can take it and you're old enough and wise enough, I do value your opinion. And your dads"
Joanna's reaction earns a snort from Tasha. "Syracuse is not the only other option," she points out. The question has her quiet for a moment — actually thinking about her feelings, their ramifications, and her words before she speaks.
"Would I rather know that you're not in the most violent and most dangerous city in the Western Hemisphere? Probably. But I'd miss you and worry about you anyway, even if you were in some hippy peace loving artist commune in New Mexico where the most dangerous thing would be a bee hive in the garden," she says with a smirk. "I'm not going to tell you to leave. You're a big girl and all, and I'm not going to leave, so again, I'd rather not be a hypocrite."
Tasha is quiet for a moment, before adding, "I was one for too long with Dad, you know?"
"Then I'll leave, when you leave" Sounds like a pretty good deal to her. "What do you think" She sweeps an arm across the room, heading to look beyond the main door, the second lobby with it's door leading to a few offices and a small kitchenette. "Do you think that you in all your infinate taste could do something with this all?" Paint, furniture, exercise Tasha's creative mind.
Tasha doesn't say anything — the reason she won't leave is a painful elephant in the room that never gets spoken about unless Joanna brings it up first. Looking around the room thoughtfully, she nods. "We'll go over a color palette and I can start prowling around for reasonably priced stuff. I'll design you a logo for your business cards if you want. This your pick, then? I like it better than the one on Grady Street, I think."
She moves out of the doorway to the hallway once more. "If so, let's call the realtor guy and go get some dim sum. I'm starving."
"I like this location, the layout, it's not too far and won't cost me an arm and a leg" Joanne prowls in behind her daughter, nodding at what comes flowing our of her mouth, the corners of her mouth lifting as she see's and senses Tasha getting into it and the approval. "I'd be interested in seeing what you come up with" The upside to having an artistic daughter and being able to give her a variety of mediums in which to experiment.
Joanna dips her hand into her purse, drag out her cellphone then a business card. "You choose the place, call ahead, make sure we get a seat, I'll let him know that this is the place"