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Background: Someone has to keep all of Gotham's miscreants and mutants off of death row, and Sylvia is the one unlucky enough to do that. She was first in her class at law school, and could have become a highly paid defender for any of the mob families, but (foolishy, in retrospect) she decided to stick to her principles and defend those unable to afford an attorney.
Almost as if the universe was mocking her, the first client who came her way was a serial murderer with a hatred for women and and a clear case of schizophrenia. Nevertheless, Sylvia did her job, and her client was found not guilty by reason of insanity, put into Arkham only to escape just as so many others had. Sylvia took to drinking a bit after that, but tried not to blame herself- it had been a fair trial, after all.
It soon became clear that anyone sent to her who wasn't simply in for shoplifting or gang violence was going to be not only guilty, but still dangeous and probably deserving of the worst. But even as she grew into a bitter and jaded alchaholic working opposite prosecuters who were far more charismatic, she still forced herself to keep to her job- if she didn't defend these people, who would?
RP Sample: (paragraph form, 200 word minimum)
Alright, I can do this. First night out in a year, eating out with someone in a non-lawyer heavy environment, where no one bothers me with questions about the latest sociopath whose crimes are somehow my fault because I believe in the constitutionally protected right to a fair trial, with a lawyer provided to those who can’t afford one.
And do I get any thanks for it? No, all my damn clients blame me when they get so much as a fine. That damn PD, if she hadn’t screwed up my case I’d be out right now…
I’m not going to think about that now. I’m just going to relax, try and make myself look nice. I’m not going to look at my latest file, and I’m certainly not going to take a sip of something to steady my nerves. Hell, I’ll have enough of that later if this date tries to get me drunk.
Wrong attitude, I know. Maybe after all this time I’ve come to feel guilty about enjoying myself. Or maybe it’s that after all these conversations with the criminally insane, I don’t know how to function with anyone else. I may not even be able to make smalltalk that doesn’t involve asking about any potential witnesses.
Background: Someone has to keep all of Gotham's miscreants and mutants off of death row, and Sylvia is the one unlucky enough to do that. She was first in her class at law school, and could have become a highly paid defender for any of the mob families, but (foolishy, in retrospect) she decided to stick to her principles and defend those unable to afford an attorney.
Almost as if the universe was mocking her, the first client who came her way was a serial murderer with a hatred for women and and a clear case of schizophrenia. Nevertheless, Sylvia did her job, and her client was found not guilty by reason of insanity, put into Arkham only to escape just as so many others had. Sylvia took to drinking a bit after that, but tried not to blame herself- it had been a fair trial, after all.
It soon became clear that anyone sent to her who wasn't simply in for shoplifting or gang violence was going to be not only guilty, but still dangeous and probably deserving of the worst. But even as she grew into a bitter and jaded alchaholic working opposite prosecuters who were far more charismatic, she still forced herself to keep to her job- if she didn't defend these people, who would?
RP Sample: (paragraph form, 200 word minimum)
Alright, I can do this. First night out in a year, eating out with someone in a non-lawyer heavy environment, where no one bothers me with questions about the latest sociopath whose crimes are somehow my fault because I believe in the constitutionally protected right to a fair trial, with a lawyer provided to those who can’t afford one.
And do I get any thanks for it? No, all my damn clients blame me when they get so much as a fine. That damn PD, if she hadn’t screwed up my case I’d be out right now…
I’m not going to think about that now. I’m just going to relax, try and make myself look nice. I’m not going to look at my latest file, and I’m certainly not going to take a sip of something to steady my nerves. Hell, I’ll have enough of that later if this date tries to get me drunk.
Wrong attitude, I know. Maybe after all this time I’ve come to feel guilty about enjoying myself. Or maybe it’s that after all these conversations with the criminally insane, I don’t know how to function with anyone else. I may not even be able to make smalltalk that doesn’t involve asking about any potential witnesses.