#litigation or work-esque

[greysanguinity]

the human mind often felt as if it were a room, of sorts; the rooms varied from person to person, in space and darkness, and gary was no stranger to the occasional warehouse of a mind but this one, as he sits across from the lawyer, can only be described as monstrously cavernous. and empty, too. as if the cavern were dark, gutted of everything but the skeleton of the monster that lived, and breathed, around it. jonesy blinks, caught up in his own clumsy imagination when he realizes that he's being spoken to - directly. even if he can't see his eyes, gary can feel them through his mind, like sunlight through red stained glass.

❝     fuck me -   sorry, i didn't hear a single thing you said. let's start over, i was totally -   ❞ jonesy clutches his cane, rolling it over both his knees and then back towards his stomach. ❝       the pills they gave me for the surgery really fuck with my concentration.   ❞      @defectivexfragmented

[oscarpiastriwdc]

(if you are comfy ofc) can you speak a little bit about why you choose law school and how you ended up in your current practice area? i'm seriously considering applying next year (i've taken the lsat, done research, talked to people, even written essays lol) and i feel like a jd would be a natural extension of my current work but i've never taken any legal-esque courses and I'm afraid i'll hate it. i also think i would most like govt work but im not sure if that's what i actually will like. did you go in with legal experience? how did you find the adjustment? what made you want to go into your current practice area? anything u can share is very helpful and i wish u luck with ur new job! <3

Hi! Of course! Sorry this is very rambly, I wanted to write down all my thoughts so I'll put it under the cut.

I went straight from undergrad to law school. My sophomore year of college was when I first started considering law school as a post-graduation option. I started doing jobs and internships in the immigration law arena (immigration casework for a senator, refugee resettlement, asylum stuff), but didn't really do anything touching other areas of law. One of my undergrad majors was humanitarian studies, so I knew from the start my focus would be on non-profit/public interest/policy/ngo work. If I remember right I took maybe one "law" class? My senior year, I was deciding between law school, doing a masters in something else like public policy, or going straight into work for an ngo, and decided law school made the most sense for me. Some of the factors that I weighed were the versatility of a law degree against the non-versatility of a masters, availability of law school scholarships compared to financial aid for other masters programs, low salaries for ngo work, and job market security.

Going into 1L year I thought I wanted to do public policy work. I had liked the immigration work I'd been doing but was hesitant about doing it on a firm level and thought immigration policy would be a good fit. I did a policy fellowship the summer after my 1L year and hated it. In retrospect, some of that probably had more to do with the fact it was summer 2020 and I was miserable for other reasons, but all together it left me in a place where I was a bit panicked about what I would actually do after graduation. I ended up taking a job doing public defender work the summer after my 2L year on a "why not try it out" whim and absolutely loved it. I found the work exciting and engaging and realized I actually love being in court.

That set me up to do more criminal defense work my 3L year; I did criminal appeals stuff, federal pd work, and a bunch of other things where I was trying to get as much defense experience as possible. I also did some asylum work my 3L year, which was my first foray back into immigration related work since I had started law school.

When I was job searching, I only looked at public interest or PD work. The law firm life is not for me, so I completely steered clear. I ended up accepting a job with legal aid, where I've been the last two years. I've been doing civil rights work with an emphasis on Native American rights, which has combined elements of policy work, civil litigation, criminal law, and more. My biggest take away from this job is that I fucking despise civil litigation. I like the in court stuff but civil discovery makes me want to die. Besides that, I've enjoyed the criminal stuff and policy stuff I've done at this job, but the amount of civil litigation in my caseload has been killing me.

I wanted to find a new job for the sake of my blood pressure and to get away from civil litigation and for other personal reasons (geography lol) so when I started tentatively looking, I was set on doing pure PD work or doing something more specialized that wouldn't include general civil lit. Throughout the application and interview process I remembered how much I had loved doing immigration law and why that was what put me on the path towards law school in the first place. My new job is going to be doing asylum law with a non-profit, and I'm so excited.

All of that to say, I tried out different practice areas and have loved some and hated others, and everyone I know is still figuring it out, too. Two years out of law school, more than half of the people I know from law school have changed jobs or switched practice areas because it's so hard to know what it will actually be like when you're in the thick of it. One of the advantages of a law degree, in my opinion, is that it does provide that flexibility of a strong academic base that you can use to jump around and try out different things without having to get another degree or certificate. You can easily go in thinking you'll like one type of work, try it out your 1L summer, and then try something else out if you hate it, or find new paths you didn't even know were a thing until you're in that legal network.

Law school is nothing like the practice of law, especially not the first year. There are people who hate law school but excel in actual legal practice, or who enjoyed the intellectual exercise of law school but don't like the day-to-day minutia of being a lawyer. It can be overwhelming in the beginning, but once you're past the first year and you can actually pick your classes it's so much more interesting (I despised the 1L classes but genuinely enjoyed almost every class I took as a 2L and 3L). 1L year is not at all comparable to anything in undergrad, so as far as that transition goes, it can be a trial by fire, but you bond with your peers quickly because everyone else is also wondering what the fuck is going on.

One other thing I will say about deciding whether or not to go to law school is to seriously weigh the financials. I'm really lucky and don't have any law school debt. That's allowed me more freedom and alleviates some of the pressure. Friends and people I know who do have law school debt are in a position where they feel pressured into going towards big law or are more tied to staying at jobs they don't like, compared to people I know who are also debt-free or lower debt and are more willing to take risks. Unfortunately, the debt cloud really does completely change what post-grad life looks like.

Ahh sorry this is so long but I am happy to talk in more specifics about any questions you might have! Feel free to message me!

[mourning-again-in-america]

trying to work out what might work for weakening the "existentialness" of the "American values crisis" as to religious institutions and the religious generally without giving up the farm:

- legally codifying the ministerial exception, reaching a bit broader on quasi-expressive job roles to lock in janitors, cafeteria workers, maybe even try to get librarians and IT staff; this has holes due to previous RFRA litigation, but there can also be some RLUIPA-esque guarantees wrt federal funds

- exchanging a guarantee of "501c3 status is not federal funds for the purposes of the relevant civil rights acts" for more generous federal funds for state schools, provided they come with a charter school guarantee to put the teacher's unions in a pickle

- giving strong protections for religious owners as to what kinds of expressive products they may be required by state law to provide at their businesses while giving strong protections to employees to not make certain products that *they* have a religious "or other deeply held conscience-based" exception, unless such accomodation would be unreasonable, unreasonable being stronger than the protections in Groff v. DeJoy

not sure what else

[thepoliticalpatient]

Contact Governor Cuomo about his “mental health database” idea

Politicians on both sides of the aisle unfortunately seem to have latched on to mental illness as something they can use as a scapegoat for violence in the United States.

Particularly if you are in NY, I urge you to speak out on behalf of your friends and neighbors who suffer from mental illnesses, as 20% of the nation does. If you're not already aware, Governor Cuomo has called for the creation of a "mental health database" in reaction to the recent mass shootings. There are some implications to this that I would like you to think through:

- What qualifies a person for inclusion in this database? Will I be included because I've seen a therapist and taken meds for anxiety? Will you be included?

- Where does the government plan to get this information? Will they be raiding the offices of mental health practitioners and demanding patient files?

- What happens if this data gets breached? This information, if publicized, could be used to discriminate against people for employment, housing, etc.

- Won't fear of being surveilled cause those experiencing difficulty to be even less likely to reach out for help from their loved ones and medical professionals?

I have written a letter to Governor Cuomo expressing my opposition to this proposal. I'm not sure how much weight it will carry given that I'm not a constituent, but I hope if he receives enough complaints, he will reconsider this discriminatory and dangerous proposal.

You can contact his office at this link: https://www.governor.ny.gov/content/governor-contact-form

The text of my letter is below; please feel free to use it as inspiration for writing your own letter.

--------------

Dear Governor Cuomo,

We need a solution for gun violence and white supremacy-related domestic terrorism in this country, but a mental health database is not the right direction.

Every nation has people who are mentally ill, yet we are the only nation on the planet experiencing this rate of gun violence. This proposal scapegoats the disability community when, in reality, 75% of mass shooters are not found to be mentally ill (1) and people with mental illnesses are about 5 times more likely than the general public to be victims, rather than perpetrators, of violence (2).

Implementing McCarthy-esque surveillance of people with mental health disorders would only make them more hesitant to reach out to loved ones and medical professionals for support and treatment of their conditions.

Instead, I urge you to focus on common sense gun reform, such as the banning of assault rifles capable of killing dozens of people in a matter of seconds, and on our white supremacy problem in this nation. The shooting in El Paso was inspired directly by President Trump's rhetoric, with the manifesto parroting language like "Hispanic invasion" that Trump and Fox News have been using to dehumanize our immigrant neighbors for years. This type of hatred, which is not itself a mental illness, is the root cause of much violence.

If you insist upon connecting mental health to these acts of violence despite the evidence otherwise, I urge you to instead focus on the issue of mental health accessibility. The Affordable Care Act is currently under attack on multiple fronts - in the courts (3) and via executive action (4). If successful, insurance companies will once again be allowed to deny coverage to people with mental health conditions on the basis of health history. Additionally, Medicaid, which is the largest payer of mental health services in the nation, has gotten more difficult to access in recent years due to the implementation of work requirements and the continued refusal by many states to join the expansion program (5).

Demonizing the mentally ill is not the way to solve this complex issue. I urge you to reconsider your calls for a surveillance program.

Citations:

1. https://www.fbi.gov/file-repository/pre-attack-behaviors-of-active-shooters-in-us-2000-2013.pdf/view?mod=article_inline

2. https://psychcentral.com/blog/violence-and-mental-illness-victims-not-perpetrators/

3. https://www.theusconstitution.org/litigation/texas-v-united-states/

4. https://www.regulations.gov/document?D=HHS-OCR-2019-0007-0001

5. https://www.cbpp.org/research/health/taking-away-medicaid-for-not-meeting-work-requirements-harms-people-with-mental

[harry-sussex]

A note about the lawsuits:

Now that we know Harry is suing a small handful of magazine publications for a breach of privacy related to the personal lives of himself and his wife, there are a few things that I think need to be spelled out right now.

I’m seeing a lot of comments about Harry and Meghan and their privileges as a royal couple.  There is no denying that they lead a very privileged lifestyle that people like us could only dream of.  That, however, is absolutely no reason for the treatment that the Sussexes (particularly Meghan) have been facing in the press since their engagement.  None whatsoever.

Now, I’m seeing a lot of people saying something akin to the following with respect to the lawsuits: “Harry and Meghan are funded by the taxpayer.  They’re public servants.  They don’t have a right to privacy.  The media has an obligation to their readers to report whatever they deem relevant.  If Harry and Meghan don’t like it, they can cease any and all royal work, recuse themselves from receiving funding from the Duchy of Cornwall and the Sovereign Grant, and move back to America/move to Africa/move away from England and everyone will leave them alone.”

There are about five million things wrong with that statement.  Funded by taxpayer does not immediately equate to being required to share intimate details of their public lives with the public, for one - but that’s an argument for another day.  Everyone is entitled to privacy - public figure or not.  My primary issue, however, is the final italicized clause, one that I’ve read in similar veins on many forums since the first lawsuit and statement dropped the other day.

Right now, Harry and Meghan live in Frogmore Cottage, a royal property, which has some of the best security money can buy.  They are constantly surrounded by taxpayer-funded security - during both official and private business.  They obviously fund their private lives - clothing, vacations, etc. - privately, but the funds from the Duchy and the Sovereign Grant allow them a sort of peace of mind, safety, and comfort in their lives that they may otherwise be lacking.  

Private security is expensive, people.  Obscenely so.  Especially for three (or more) people, and especially for the next sixty or so years.

Now, let’s say Harry and Meghan have had enough.  They’re tired of the bowing and the curtseying, the “Your Royal Highnesses” and the strict rules, the dog-and-pony show that is being a member of the British Royal Family.  Let’s say, for argument’s sake, they want out.  They’re renouncing their right to taxpayer or otherwise royal funding, moving out of Frogmore, ceasing the use of the HRH, and bailing on royal life to get away from the institution and its confines.

Do people really think that would be it?  “Oh, they’re not getting money from the taxpayer anymore, so we’re not interested.”  Do people really think that it wouldn’t be an absolute witch hunt?  Assuming they basically were to say “that’s it, we’re out, we don’t owe you anything anymore so we’re not telling you where we’re going,” which, to be fair, sounds like something they’d say in that situation.  The press would use every resource they had to track down Harry and Meghan and their family.  Stalk their children - just like they did with George.  Terrorize them in their private lives - just like they did with Diana.  Except without the protection afforded to both George and Diana.

Now imagine the hysteria... but remove the taxpayer-funded security.  Remove the protection officers at all hours of the day and remove the royal residence with built-in features to protect them.  The press is hungry for them.  They stop at nothing to get what they want now... imagine if there wasn’t an institution or a system in between.  Imagine if there was nothing getting in the way of the press getting what they want.  No royal favor, no funded security, no secure home, nothing.  It’s just the press, Harry, and Meghan.  Fair game.  Imagine what it would be like for them?

Why should Harry and Meghan be forced to change their lives?  They have a position in life that frankly most people would die for.  Why should they be forced to give it up?  Why shouldn’t they do whatever they can to force the external forces to back off?  Demanding that Harry and Meghan change their lives punishes them for crimes they did not commit.  Forcing the press to back off punishes them for crimes they did commit.  The only way to do this, of course, is to file a lawsuit.

People forget, I think, exactly what William and Harry have gone through.  Spin it whatever way you want, but the press, like it or not, directly contributed to the death of their mother.  Their mother who could afford private protection, who did hire private security... security that, ultimately, failed to protect her.  Because of the press.  The same press stalking their children outside of schools, the same press printing malicious and cruel lies about their wives... is the same press that killed their mother.  Do you see?  Do you know why they are the way they are with the press?  That’s why.  The press killed their mother (however accidentally it may have been) and now, god forbid, they’re coming for their wives and children, too.  God forbid.  No wonder they are the way they are!  William and Harry are only looking to protect that which they now hold dear, after the press violently ripped the same from them a lifetime too early.

If the press was smart, they’d work to improve the relationship that they destroyed.  The onus should not be on either of the Wales boys to rectify that relationship - they’re not the ones who destroyed it.  Before Diana’s death, we got videos of the cousins, mini-interviews, photocalls at the palace with the babies... now, 22 years later, we get the occasional photograph.  A handful of public appearances in total over the course of all four kids’ lives.  That has to be a direct result of the contributions of the press to Diana’s death.  Like it or not, William and Harry’s secrecy and general reluctance to share any private moments publicly is a direct consequence of the role the press played in their mother’s untimely, violent death.

If the press wants access, then they need to prove they’re once again worthy of access.  They need to prove that the Wales boys can trust them, more than 22 years after the death of their mother.  The press needs to prove that they have changed.  The Sun, the Daily Mail... they’ve done nothing to earn Harry and Meghan’s trust.  Piers Morgan profits exorbitantly every time he posts a negative word about Meghan.  The Daily Mail and the Sun make absolutely insane amounts of money, printing the stories that they print.  The press, in reality, hasn’t changed at all since Diana’s death.  Not at all.

Don’t you see?  The press is taking advantage of the Wales boys and their families to make money.  Literally for the sake of the almighty pound.  They did the same to Diana, and look how that turned out.  If anyone else did that, there would be an uproar.  But all of a sudden, it’s okay because it’s the press?  Absolutely not.

If Harry thinks it’s worth the battle to go to battle for himself, his wife, his child, his brother, his sister-in-law, his niece and nephews, and for the memory of his late mother, then who are we to criticize it?  If Harry wants to go to war in order to preclude the press from taking vile advantage of him and his family for the sake of revenue, then who are we to decry him?  This is his life we’re talking about here - his life, and the lives of his family, who has already suffered enough because of irresponsible journalism.  If this is what he and his team think needs to be done to prevent another Diana-esque tragedy, then who are we, you know?

Another Diana-esque tragedy would undoubtedly hurt every single one of us here blogging about the Wales boys and their families.  God forbid, it would hurt the Wales boys and their families, though, infinitely many times more.

If Harry (and his undoubtedly well-endowed legal team) thinks he can prevent such a thing from happening, then we should all be for it.  Period.  If these lawsuits could potentially save the life of even one person to whom the press craves access (royal or not), then we should stand with them.  

The public does not have the right to know each and every little thing about their representatives.  The press seems to think they are entitled to private information, and will stop at nothing to get the information they crave.  This is not the case, and a lawsuit is a great way to squash that entitlement.  A lawsuit is the only way to force the press into submission, into following a set of rules that protects the targets involved.  

If similar litigation was presented prior to Diana’s death, who knows what would have happened to her.  Who knows if such a lawsuit could have protected her?  We’ll never know, but it’s worth considering in light of recent events.

If this is the chance Harry is willing to take, then I - as an anonymous person who has never and will never face the type of hysteria he has - have to stand with him.  Stand with Harry, and Meghan, and Archie, and William, and Kate, and George, and Charlotte, and Louis.  That’s the way it should be.  That’s the way it has to be.

[doomonfilm]

Review : Bombshell (2019)

During college, I studied Radio and TV news, and if there was one thing I learned, it was that nothing gets in front of the bottom line... ethics, morals and good judgement somehow seem to vanish in the realm of the newsroom.  This is why it did not surprise me when, in the world of the 24 hour news cycle, the news became the news when Fox CEO Roger Ailes found himself accused of several instances of sexual harassment.  Jay Roach and company decided that this topic was not only timely, but ripe for dark humor, hence the production and release of Bombshell. 

In the run-up to the Donald Trump presidency, three women working for Fox News find themselves in three very different positions in their career.  Megyn Kelly is an anchorwoman covering hard news while trying to avoid becoming the news after her hard line of questioning to Trump during the Presidential debate landed her in his Twitter crosshairs.  Gretchen Carlson (Nicole Kidman) is a former anchorwoman rapidly falling down the ladder, finding herself transitioned to an afternoon opinion show before being unceremoniously fired.  Kayla Pospisil (Margot Robbie) is a former intern for Carlson looking for an opportunity to become an anchorwoman, and making the moves towards her goal after transitioning to a job on the O’Reilly Factor.  All three women, however, share a common trait : their victim status via sexual objectification, coercion and blackmail from Fox News founder Roger Ailes (John Lithgow).  Carlson, who already had plans to sue Ailes directly rather than Fox News in regards to her assault, moves forward with her lawsuit after her firing, and the wheels begin to turn as the search for victims willing to speak out against Ailes gains traction.  

For a film covering the self-identified bastion of ‘fair and balanced’ news that is Fox, the film itself is unfortunately fairly unbalanced.  It is entertaining, which is a plus, but the lofty and heavy topic is slightly undercut by the comedic approach that director Jay Roach has made his trademark.  Heavy accusations and salacious behavior are propped up beside fourth wall breaks, shakeycam cinematography and visual parlour tricks.  The schizophrenic tone of the film is further bolstered by a list of identifications for real world titans of the news industry, giving the film a slightly mockumentary, heavily expose’ feel.  Even the disclaimer at the beginning of the film sets a serious tone, which is directly followed by a sitcom-esque expositional introduction by Charlize Theron’s Megyn Kelly portrayal, using the aforementioned fourth wall approach no less.

That being said, the style points taken away from the film have a minor effect on the tension caused by the topics at hand.  Ailes is not only positioned as an opportunistic man that objectified large numbers of women in the name of the ‘visual medium’, but also as a paranoia-fueled power monger quick to flex said power to show everyone who’s boss, even if the Murdoch family that resides higher than him in the hierarchy does not support him or his power-hungry actions.  His hopes of influencing the masses rather than informing them are also brought to light, with his history of placing Presidents in the White House prior to founding Fox News becoming an ironic parallel to his forcing out of the corporation due to his immoral actions while Trump and his immoral actions ascend to the White House.  The old school way of fighting litigations and accusations with spin and intimidation is used to fuel the narrative, adding to the present tension and propelling the story forward as accuser after accuser straddles the line of coming forward and damaging their lives and careers, or remaining silent, which gives the audience insight on the human cost of Ailes’s actions.

As mentioned before, the cinematography can be a bit distracting at times, with the camera constantly zooming in and out, light uses of soft rack focus, and visual tricks like fourth wall breaks and kyrons used for humor.  Roach does manage to keep the numerous storylines balanced and coherent, helping the viewer navigate the numerous characters and points of view presented.  The makeup and hairstyling of Charlize Theron and the weight gain of John Lithgow make both of them nearly unrecognizable, and nearly every actor and actress in the film looks so much like their real life counterparts that they are easily identifiable prior to being given naming subtitles.  The casting agent on this film deserves at least a bonus, if not an award, because this film contains one of the most stacked casts I’ve ever seen.

Fans of ensemble casts are in for a treat, as Theron, Kidman and Robbie all step confidently into their starring roles, more than succeeding in their portrayals of their famous counterparts.  Lithgow locks into his calm and calculated manner, while simultaneously giving his creepy undertones occasional moments in the spotlight, much to the chagrin of his victims.  Mark Duplass stands out in one of the few non-news based roles, bringing equal parts charm and hard truth to the table.  Kate McKinnon turns in a strong dramatic performance while still managing to let her trademark natural humor shine.  Allison Janney brings a hard nosed edge to bounce against Lithgow, making her quite believable as a no-nonsense lawyer with absolutely no levels of intimidation found in her dealings with the Ailes character.  Performances by Connie Britton, Rob Delany, Liv Hewson, Bridgette Lundy-Paine and a handful more help drive the narrative forward, while appearances by Malcom McDowell, Nazanin Boniadi, P.J. Byrne, Kevin Dorff, Alice Eve, Spencer Garrett, Ashley Greene, Marc Evan Jackson, Brian d’Arcy James, Richard Kind, Tony Plana, Stephen Root and many more as newspeople, lawyers and politicians keep things exciting for the viewer.

Possibly due to my own expectations combined with my former experience in the world of news, I think I was imagining something different than what I was presented.  While not necessarily a bad film, it does (in my opinion) fall short of what it really and truly could have been : a proper reflection on some of the successes that occurred during the uplifting-turned-controversial Me Too movement.  Ultimately, I recommend going to see the film and making up your own mind, but as the fourth film I’ve seen in a little over a week, it does fall short in comparison to it’s recently released peers.

[italianartsociety]

The Piazzetta Provenance Project CFA: Raubkunst at the Ringling: A Catalogue in Absentia

Raubkunst at the Ringling: Franz Marc’s Schöpfungsgeschichtehas got a lot of attention. Surprisingly many responses have come from people who think they might be in possession of some Raubkunst themselves. I confer with two trusted colleagues on these tips, but we keep this information to ourselves. We’ve been tantalizingly close to some long-missing works we would all love to see returned to the public view.

I have found though that what most inquirers are seeking is not absolution but verification. I have been asked to authenticate two works by Franz Marc just in the past year. I am reluctant to do so in these conscience cases. For one thing, as the recent book by Stefan Koldehoff and Tobias Timm, Falsche Bilder Echtes Geld: Der Fälschercoup des Jahrhunderts - und wer alles daran verdientemakes clear, art forgers have become increasingly wily and technically proficient. The current interest in Provenienzforschunghas created almost as many opportunities for grift as the thieves and opportunist of the Third Reich did in the 1930s and 1940s. The well-meaning art historians who mistakenly declared the fakes by Wolfgang Beltracchi to be long-lost works by Georges Braque, Max Ernst and others have had their careers and reputations destroyed. There is a movement toward creating a professional standard for authenticating lost works, likely by a panel of experts in the work of the artist in conjunction with the formidable forensics of the Doerner Institut.

But for the moment in this respect we keep a low profile and our ears to the whispers in the wind.

While avalanches roar above, business continues below, on the tasks that canbe accomplished: reuniting artworks whose authenticity is unimpeachable with the families or museums to whom they once belonged. To that end, a researcher and writer is being sought to investigate the provenance of a quartet of quirkily shaped, sized, and framed 18th Century oil paintings associated with the work of Venetian artist Giovanni Battista Piazzetta (1682-1754). The genre pastoral scenes are in the collection of the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art in Sarasota, Florida, having been purchased by the museum in 1949. The destination for this research is the collaborative book project Raubkunst at the Ringling: A Catalogue in Absentia, scheduled for publication in 2020. A worthy publisher and esteemed contributors are already aboard, though like me, their expertise is in Modernist art, hence our quest.

The Piazzetta-esque works were sold to the Ringling by the German-Jewish art, antique, and textiles dealer Adolph Loewi, who operated galleries in the Veneto as well as New York City and Los Angeles. In 1939 Loewi fled Italy with his family, losing some of his files in the process. Whether the documentation for the Piazzetta-adjacent works was among those documents is not clear; in any case, no record of their provenance exists prior to the Ringling purchase.

As I’ve noted, because the Modern Art that had been declared entartete– degenerate – by the Third Reich was seized by the Germans from German government-sponsored museums it is – technically – not considered Raubkunst, stolen art, though certainly the Nazis profited from its sale. Works that were stolen from private owners and collectors, or procured through forced sales, are truestolen objects, and subject to return to the families of their original owners.

Even in seemingly clear-cut cases, this process can be challenging. In many instances, entire families were murdered in their homes or in concentration camps, and no heirs exist to lay claim upon what should have been prized heirlooms. The few remaining survivors of Nazi art theft or their descendants must file official claims with the German government or bring private litigation against museums and auction houses. Claims to works must be substantiated by proof of ownership – a paradox that ends many legal proceedings before they begin since receipts, ledgers, diaries, and documentary stamps were often destroyed, dispersed, or concealed by those who had stolen the artworks in the first place.

Recent books such as Simon Goodman’s The Orpheus Clock: The Search for My Family's Art Treasures Stolen by the Nazis (2016) and The Lady in Gold: The Extraordinary Tale of Gustav Klimt's Masterpiece, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer (2015) by Anne-Marie O’Connor detail the eventual triumph of the resourceful Goodman and Altmann families pitted against adversaries in museums and galleries over the course of lengthy and expensive court battles. Some cases turn less flamboyantly but more emotionally. The Austrian art dealer Lea Bondi-Jaray lost her beloved Portrait of Wally, a 1912 painting by her friend Egon Schiele, in the Anschluss in 1939. She went to her grave fighting to have the painting returned from private gallerist Rudolph Leopold who had acquired the painting in collusion with the Austrian government in 1954. Bondi-Jaray’s family continued the battle, eventually taking on no lesser adversaries than Ronald Lauder, the Museum of Modern Art, and Austria’s Leopold Museum. The case turned when the family produced pre-war photographs of Portrait of Wallyin Bondi-Jaray’s Vienna apartment, convincing the United States Customs Service to seize the painting  and United States District Court for the Southern District of New York Judge Loretta A. Preska to allow the case to proceed to trial. The Leopold Museum settled with the family in 2010.

Because of their appealingly peculiar nature and the seeming completeness of the grouping of four, it seems likely that the Piazzetta workshop paintings came from a private collection. But whose? The task of the writer-researcher who takes on this investigation will be to unravel this mystery. The outcome may be as simple as a lost receipt establishing a chain of custody that puts the Ringling in the clear, or as profound as reuniting the quartet with a family who thought them lost decades ago.

I began this project in 2016 when I discovered two woodblock prints by the Blaue Reiterartist Franz Marc (1880-1916) in the Ringling collection, identified them as Raubkunst, and eventually traced them back to their original owners in Stuttgart and Mannheim. My findings were accepted as a “closed case” this past February by the Commission for Looted Art in Europe. So the investigation has since expanded in scope, to say the least. I would welcome collaboration with, as well as questions and advice from, members of the “Raubkunst Research” community. Contact me and I’ll get back to you. – Jean Marie Carey

Circle of Giovanni Battista Piazzetta 1682 -1754), Pastoral Scene, c. 1750. Oil on canvas, (56.5 x 92.7 cm). The John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art, Object number: SN627-SN630.

[taesthetes]

Double-Cross (my heart and hope to die).

Flirting is not the best strategy to fall towards when you might be arrested. It may have to be your last resort if needed, but you have not reached that point of desperation. Well, not yet at least. But god damn, he looks like he would be a good kisser.

pairing: jung hoseok x reader genre: fluff type: enemies to lovers + police au word count: 9,202 words warnings: none author’s note: i hope the fbi doesn’t come after me for my questionable google searches for research. i understand there are proper police procedures, like not letting the witness go until the full statement is taken, and that abetting crime is an offense, but for the sake of this fic, please disregard that one bit.

➵ bangtan police unit: a collab with @milknotes

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 If your mother saw you now, she would be horrified.

Dressed in all black, from your black Converse to black jeans with a hooded sweater in a matching shade, you briefly indulge in your childhood fantasy of being a ninja as you nimbly leap across the three-foot gap between the closely situated two story, flat roofed buildings. Adrenaline rushes through your veins when you make it to the other side, a smile spreading across your face as you steady yourself. The dark colored backpack you had slung over your shoulders mutes the jangled noises inside it from the metal canisters you haphazardly threw in twenty minutes ago. You immediately grab either side of your bag, silencing the noise. Luckily, there are not many people out and about this part of the city at this time of night, thus lowering the number of any witnesses to a zero.

You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes well-adjusted to the nighttime, searching for any security cameras and guards patrolling nearby that you may have missed during your daytime survey. Your search proves fruitless, and you are satisfied, walking towards the blank billboard positioned on top of the building. Clambering up the ladder after putting on gloves, you reach the ledge extending from the large white canvas and drop your bag, unzipping it immediately to pull out several spray cans.

You had spotted the empty billboard a week ago on your way back from an interview at a coffee shop called Déjà Brew, and you have been itching to cover it in brilliant colors ever since. Dozens upon dozens of sketches were made in one of your moleskin notebooks, and you finally settled on the final design. The all-nighter you are about to pull for this artwork is going to be no different than staying up studying for the midterm you had for your Forensics Litigation class eight days ago.

You have always found great pleasure in the irony of being a graduate student attending a law school while simultaneously causing quite a few violations against the legal system as your city’s Banksy-esque Andy Warhol.

Putting on a disposable facemask to block the fumes, you then pick up a canister of blue spray paint and shake it before uncapping it. Taking a deep breath, you press down on the nozzle and begin the background of your masterpiece. So the fun begins. Creating art is almost therapeutic to you, and to be more specific, graffiti is just downright satisfying. It is your equivalent of the universal middle finger salute towards the legal system and towards the degree you so dearly hate. But, as your high school art teacher once said, you need a day job—i.e. accountant or lawyer or whatever stable job there is—to fund your night job, more affectionately known as being an artist. You bet your teacher never thought you would take her words in the literal sense, yet here you are.

The sound of a car rumbling down the street is heard, and instinctively, you get down flat on your stomach. Peering over the ledge, you see a police car making its rounds. It drives into the parking lot of the McDonald’s on the corner, and you groan, wriggling around in your position. An officer leaves the parked car, entering the garishly lighted fast food restaurant, and you want to beat your fist against the metal rungs in frustration. There is no way you are going to continue your art when the police are a few buildings away. You like the thrill that comes with breaking a few laws and the possibility of getting caught, but you certainly are not stupid. Stupidity does not go well on any resume.

You observe silently as the cop rushes out of the restaurant very quickly and hops back into his car, empty handed. You wait for the car to start and move out, but it remains parked. Finally, two cops—the one from before and a new one—emerges from the car and enters the restaurant. A few minutes later, they come out with a young woman in tow. You rest your chin on your hand, propping up your head, as you look on with slight interest. They begin to question her from the looks of it, and you almost tumble over the edge in surprise when the shrill protest voicing several NO!’s is heard along with a shrill cry for “Jooks” and “Kookoo”? You steady yourself and watch as the officers finally manage to calm the girl down and get her to sit in the backseat. When the patrol car starts up and leaves the parking lot, turning the corner and going out of sight, you finally rise up from your position. Stretching your arms for a moment first, at last, you turn back to your unfinished artwork.

When the sky turns to shades of yellow and orange as the sun slowly begins to peek out amongst the skyscrapers, announcing the dawn of a new day, you finish the last curve of your signature in the far bottom left corner, using a small airbrush. The small, curled letters spelling out “Eden” shines due to the fleeting seconds of wet paint. You run your fingertips over the instantly dried letters, tracing every swoop and line with a satisfied smile before collecting your empty canisters and place them back into your backpack, shouldering the bag once more. You clamber down the ladder and deftly retrace your steps back down to ground level, pulling off the gloves and face mask and stuffing them into the front pocket of your hoodie.

Glancing behind you as you make your way back to your shared apartment, you grin as the first rays of sunlight hit the masterpiece you left behind.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 “They’ve done it again.”

Lieutenant Yoongi tosses the newspaper onto his desk, his badge glinting in the light, as he rubs his temple with his forefinger tiredly. The black bold letters emblazoned across the top stand out against the gray paper, announcing the pop-up of Eden’s latest work on top of an apartment building. A large photograph of the art piece is shown below the headline. Yoongi remembers passing by that blank billboard for several months now on his way to work. It is amazing how some graffiti work can skyrocket a supposed four digit value to seven digits, according to the advertising company who sold the board this morning.

“Who?” Hoseok sits in the chair across from Yoongi’s desk, one leg crossed over the other leisurely. He picks up the discarded newspaper, scanning the front page, as Yoongi answers his question.

“The graffiti artist, Eden. They left another painting on that billboard near McDonald’s.”

“It’s pretty.” Hoseok gazes at the picture beneath the black letters. With an asymmetrical background consisting of geometric lines mirroring architect blueprints behind it in technicolor, a field of sunflowers are painted onto the board. In replacement of the roots, there are lightbulbs hanging from the stem. “It’s a nice gesture towards solar energy.”

“Graffiti is illegal. Just because it’s pretty doesn’t mean law violations can be ignored,” Yoongi reminds him, leaning back against his chair and picking up another casefile to rifle through. “I know you like their art a lot, but Eden defaced public property, and this isn’t Venice Beach.”

“It’s not like they’re painting on highway signs and important monuments though. It’s just empty walls and unimportant places. They make the place look prettier and brings up tourism and value to the building owners. That flower shop—What in Carnation? was the name, I think—was about to close, but they painted the store's outer wall and brought customers back.”

“It’s still a violation.”

“So are you saying we’re going to arrest Eden? Start a press conference and announce the search for some mystery figure whose art the people enjoy?”

“No, that’s far too much work, and we have other more pressing cases to get through,” Yoongi sighs, “Just tell the officers on night patrol to keep an eye out, you know, on places like other empty billboards, open walls, and the likes. And that McDonald’s breaks aren’t allowed. We don’t want to babysit any more drunk exes.”

“But Jungkook brought you extra doughnuts as an apology today.”

“… Tell him to keep the McDonald’s breaks to a minimum of one patrol per week.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 Stepping out of the classroom after your last lecture in Criminology and Criminal Procedure, you say a quick goodbye to your friends before putting on your headphones and making the trek back to your apartment. Your professor assigned several case studies to read through and take notes on, and you luckily have a couple of hours to get started on them before your first shift at Déjà Brew. Passing under a familiar powder blue and white striped awning with gold trimming, you halt in your steps, debating with yourself for a few moments, before entering Sprinkles. You always study better in someplace that is not your home anyway.

The cozy interior is well lit with lights overhead that provides a soft, warm glow to the place. The d��cor gives off a sort of modern take on a 1950s diner atmosphere due to the black and white checkered floors and white counters with pale blue spinning stools to sit on along with several matching tables and chairs. However, your eyes are immediately drawn to the glass display cases exhibiting some of the prettiest doughnuts you have ever seen. You secretly check to make sure you are not visibly drooling.

 “Hey, _______!” Jisoo greets you happily as she places three pristine sprinkled doughnuts in a pale blue box behind the counter. A young man around your age sits by the counter, and his eyes, pooling with something akin to mischief and curiosity, flicker towards your approaching figure. You study him carefully from the corner of your eye as you wave to Jisoo before slipping onto one of the empty stools, a few seats away from the man. His silver, slightly messy hair nearly reaches his eyes, effectively covering his eyebrows, and his thin, patterned tie is somewhat undone over a white dress shirt with a few buttons already undone, loosely tucked into his dress pants. He gives you a bright grin, and you flush a little, but return his gesture with a smile of your own.

“Here you go, Tae.” Jisoo hands the completed box over to the man, and an even larger smile makes his way across his face before he thanks her.

“Thank you! See you tomorrow!” He waves at her before flashing you another easygoing smile and leaving the shop.

“So what’s happening tomorrow?” You send an impish smirk towards your friend, and her cheeks turn a rosy red.

“Nothing! He just comes by to pick up doughnuts for the police station every morning.”

“But it’s the afternoon. Does he inhale doughnuts or something?” You absentmindedly say, pulling your laptop out of your bag and onto the counter along with the printed out casefiles your professor handed out at the end of the lecture. Rummaging around the bottom of your bag, you take out your highlighters and pen and place them next to your laptop, turning on the device afterwards.

“No, he likes the sprinkled ones, but his boss, Yoongi, likes old fashion glazed doughnuts, and he usually gets only that type every morning for the whole squad. So he comes back later for the sprinkled ones.” Jisoo places a sugar powdered doughnut in front of you, and you thank her, making a mental note to slip a few bills in the glass jar labelled “tips” later. She always refused to let you pay her, but you manage to sneak in some money through tips when she is not looking.

“But he could get his sprinkled doughnuts in the morning still.” A sly look creeps onto your face before you continue, “He likes you.”

“Shut up.” Her face burns scarlet as she turns away from you. “He does not.”

“Yes, he does.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does.”

“No, h—Oh, hello, welcome to Sprinkles!”

Jisoo stands up straighter, smiling politely at the new group of high school aged customers, and you snicker quietly, ignoring the pointed look she directs at you. You start to focus on your work, powering through the thick stack of cases and highlighting the important pieces of information, writing notes of your own on the edges.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 Two weeks later, you are absolutely exhausted from the all-nighters and long hours at the library, but midterm season is finally over. You had finished taking your last midterm three hours ago in which you were proven correct that you should have studied the Wong Sun v. United States case in greater detail. But what is done is done, and your fingers are itching to grasp another spray can and paint your newest idea for a pollution piece on the wall near Cuppo Noodles. The canisters hidden in your bag clank against each other as you weave your way around other sleep deprived students coming home from late class midterms. The sun has already set, leaving the faintest traces of light behind, and it is only a short matter of time when the night sky will cloak over the city and provide you the perfect coverage.

You drop by the convenience store, deciding to treat yourself to some ice cream, as you wait for the number of people outside and within the vicinity to thin out. After all, the less number of witnesses the better. You find a place to sit in the front of the store, slipping onto the stool and placing your purchase on the counter table in front of you. From your vantage point, you can see through the shop glass, monitoring the social activity and scoping out the wall that can just barely be seen if you strain your neck a little to the right.

Scooping out a hefty amount of Ben and Jerry’s Everything But The… straight out of the pint and onto your spoon, you almost moan out loud when the sweet dessert hits your tongue. Indulging in one of your guilty pleasures should make you feel, well, guilty, but you do not. The ice cream is well deserved after two weeks of midterms. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. When the tip of your spoon scrapes the bottom of the carton, you look longingly at the other cartons stacked neatly in the freezer, almost beckoning at you to buy another one. But temptation is fleeting in front of desire, and you desire nothing more than to paint your piece onto the bricks. Noticing the lack of activity outside the now quiet street, lit up by the lampposts, you take it as your cue to leave, throwing away the empty cardboard container and stepping out of the convenience store. Briefly stopping to drop your bag at your feet momentarily, you pull on a dark zip-up hoodie and then put on the backpack once more.

From any passerby’s point of view, you probably look very shady, but no one is in sight. The majority of the people who frequent these streets are usually students who go to the university, and around this time, especially on a Friday night after many midterms came to an end, they are all much too preoccupied with beer pong and shots at parties on Greek Row a few streets over. Aside from the cashier wearing noise cancelling headphones who is more interested in the tabloid magazine she is thumbing through than the girl who was eating ice cream alone, you do not see anyone else around. With the odds in your favor, you easily make it to the wall, ducking into the small alleyway. It was not exactly a street, but more of a small walkway with small shops lined on either side. Setting down your bag, you pull out a pair of gloves and a facemask, donning them on, before reaching into your backpack and grasping for the purple spray paint can. You uncap the canister and begin to paint, a satisfied smile making its way across your face, hidden beneath the black facemask.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 No one, especially when they are drunk, ever notices the figure dressed in dark clothing who blends quite easily into the shadows. And the six people who had passed by you at various times throughout the night were very much intoxicated. The moonlight does not provide much light and works to your advantage, creating the cloak of darkness that you effortlessly merge into. You hold a flashlight in one hand and a spray can in the other. Four hours pass by easily, and you are three quarters done with your art piece by the time the clock strikes 2 A.M. The background and overall shapes and colors of each item have taken shape, and you are almost tingling with excitement to begin your favorite part: the details. Details make the art or break it. They bring any piece to life with just an extra splash of color here or an extra dash and line there.

Rummaging around your bag for the airbrush, you suddenly hear the incoming sounds of tires screeching against the asphalt. You look up, eyes widening when you spot two cars racing down the street at an alarming rate, and your mind somehow knows what is going to happen a split second before it does.

A resounding crash! is heard before the second car stops in its place and the first car rams against a fire hydrant with a sickening thud.

Heart racing, you wonder if you should go out there and check on the people. A deafening silence fills the air for the entirety of three seconds before loud screams suddenly fill the air as the two drivers emerge from their vehicles, surprisingly unscathed and unbelievably furious.

“You fucking bitch! Look what you did to my car! You’re gonna pay for this!” The man is seething as he stalks towards the woman, who looks up from her car against the hydrant with fury radiating from her skin.

“I’ll pay for it when you pay the damn alimony and child support!” the woman screams back. “Besides, you hit my car, asshole!”

“There is no alimony! My lawyer already told you that!”

“There will be after this new lawsuit!”

Hurriedly, you scoop all your supplies back into your bag as quietly as possible, zipping it up and carefully putting it on to avoid any of the cans from clashing. All the shops nearby are already closed, and no one else is close by. Your hand finds your phone in the back pocket of your jeans, quickly pulling it out and searching for the anonymous tip number with shaky hands. You dial it, and when someone answers, your voice comes out in hushed whispers.

“Hello? Yes, I’d like to report anonymously a car accident near Atwood Avenue and Bowman Street—Yes, Bowman Street. The car crash looks bad, but it doesn’t look like anyone is hurt—Yes, I can see them. They got out of their cars, and they’re screaming at each other… I’m afraid they’re going to get violent… I’m hiding right now—Yes, okay, thank you.”

A few minutes later, the sound of sirens are heard, and the police cars slow to a stop in front of the accident. The officers and EMTs step out of the vehicles, walking towards the arguing couple. The erratic pounding of your heart slows down considerably as you breathe a sigh of relief. The man, on the other hand, seems to have opposite feelings than you about the police showing up. He immediately starts running, and with growing horror, you realize he is running towards the alleyway you are cooped up in. You press yourself against the wall, huddling in the shadows of a large planter and some folded up tables and chairs.

The man runs past you without notice, and the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching forces you to burrow into your hiding space even farther. Two police officers, one who looks like he belongs in a gym and another with rather spindly legs, rush past you. After waiting a few minutes with bated breath, you stand up from your position, cautiously making your way out of the alley.

Only to be met with another pair of officers.

Immediately, you are blinded with a bright light, and you let out a noise of surprise, hand coming up to cover your eyes.

“Taehyung! You’re not supposed to do that!” A soft voice scolds the supposed officer who made you temporarily lose your vision. The light is immediately lowered, and you try to blink away the spots to see clearly again.

“Wait… I think I know her though. Were you at Sprinkles?” The officer with the flashlight peers intently at your face, and you squint, trying to make out his features before finally making sense of the situation. You recognize that silver hair. “Jisoo didn’t tell me her boyfriend was a cop.”

The flashlight falls with a clatter to the ground as Taehyung looks startled before suppressing a grin. “She called me her boyfriend?”

You rub your eyes slightly, blinking rapidly as your vision returns to normal. “No, I just assumed. You’re not her boyfriend?”

“No, he just wants to be.” The softer voice cuts in again before he can respond. A man dressed in the same uniform as Taehyung, but of shorter stature, comes into your view. “What were you doing out here?”

“I was out for a walk, and I heard running, and my instinct kicked in.” You shrug before shifting the bag on your shoulder a bit. “Can I go now?”

“You were out for a walk this late?”

You squint slightly and are able to make out the name on his uniform. “Yes. Is that a crime, Officer Park?”

“Wearing that?” Taehyung blurts out as he stares at your all black ensemble dubiously.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was talking to the fashion police.” Taehyung flushes and gives you a sheepish smile. You cross your arms over your chest. “Can I go now, officers?”

“Not yet. What’s in your bag?” Officer Park questions.

“My belongings.” Your irritation is about to bubble to the surface. This is what you get for trying to do a good deed and reporting an accident.

“May I see?” Officer Park comes closer, his hand reaching out, before you take a few steps back.

“Do you have probable cause?”

“Do you have something to hide?”

You open your mouth to answer when Taehyung pipes up. “Nevermind that. Did you see anything when you were walking? There was an accident. Did you hear anything?”

You pause for a moment. “I heard yelling and sirens.”

“Would you come down to the station to make a witness statement?”

“No.” You start to back away again. “I really need to go home now. I have classes the next day, and I need to sleep now.”

“Ma’am, you need to come with us.” Officer Park steps forward, grabbing your arm, and your eyes narrow as your body jerks back from his grasp. You briefly glance over to the ambulance where the woman sits in the back, seething, as an EMT checks her over. She throws over a glare that sends a shiver up your spine.

“You have a witness over there.”

“But she’s also involved in the accident. We need you to come down to the station.”

“Am I being arrested?”

“Jimin, wait.” Taehyung grasps Officer Park’s wrist, pulling him back, before turning towards you, pleading. “Please just come with us down to the station? The statement won’t take long. You’re not under arrest.”

You hesitate. Taehyung’s eyes are filled with sincerity, but Jimin looks like he is already ready to whip out a ticket for you with the way he stares you down. Your eyes flicker back to Taehyung, and you curse yourself for thinking of your friend at this moment. Gosh darn it, she really seems to like this Taehyung dude, you internally groan.

With a sigh, you nod, and Taehyung grins in relief before gesturing you to follow him to the car. Jimin trails behind you suspiciously, and you send him a well-pointed scowl, which causes his face to morph into one of surprise for a split second before he returns the look. You quicken your pace and hover around the car’s side with the passenger seat uncertainly as Taehyung gets into the driver’s seat, flicking on the police radio.

“So am I going to have to sit in the back?”

“No.” Jimin speaks up, leaning against the hood of the car. “We have to stay here and watch over the lady and wait for the other two officers to come back with our runaway suspect, so Taehyung is calling in for the sergeant to come pick you up.”

“Okay.”

A slightly uncomfortable silence overtakes the short lived conversation, and you pull at the loose thread on your sweater sleeve mindlessly. The sound of a car door slamming shut is heard as Taehyung comes around the front of the car and murmurs to Jimin that someone named Hoseok will be here in a few minutes. You assume he is the sergeant Jimin mentioned earlier.

Your assumption proves to be correct when a car identical to the two already here appears, and the man that steps out introduces himself to you. “I’m Sergeant Jung, but you can call me Hoseok. You’re our witness?”

“Yes… unfortunately.” You mumble the last part under your breath as Hoseok guides you to his car, opening the passenger door for you to slide in. You settle into the seat, clutching your backpack to your chest. Hoseok speaks to the two officers, and they gesture towards the alleyway, mentioning an Officer Jeon and an Officer Kim. The sergeant jogs over to the area, looking around for a bit with a flashlight, before returning with a frown. He shakes his head at something Jimin says before coming over and getting into the driver’s seat. He starts the car, and Taehyung waves at you, while Jimin still holds a look of suspicion directed towards you on his face.

“So,” Hoseok clears his throat, and you turn to look at him. “What were you doing out here this late?”

“Did the police academy teach all of you to start a conversation with that, Sarge?”

“What?” Hoseok looks taken aback, and you turn forward, focusing on the white dashed lines on the black asphalt.

“Never mind. I don’t understand why I have to come down to the station. I heard screaming and sirens. That’s all. Do you really need me to write that down on a piece of paper?”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure? Are you doubting my ears now?”

Hoseok glances over at you silently before focusing on his driving. The rest of the ride remains quiet, and you pull out your phone, replying to a few unopened text messages. In particular, you send a message to Jisoo, telling her where you were and why. A flurry of worried texts appears on your phone, asking if you are alright and if she needed to come down. You send a quick message back, assuring her that you are okay and that you will keep her updated, before Hoseok pulls up in front of the police station.

“We’re here.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 The two of you are seated in a small room, similar to a conference room. At least you were not put in an interrogation room, you muse to yourself, settling down into the office chair. You had caught a glimpse of the stoic lieutenant in his office, and the piercing stare he gave you when he looked up made you walk closer to the sergeant in front. Said sergeant now slides a yellow paged notepad in front of you, placing a pen on top of it. Your backpack remains in your lap as you grab the writing utensil.

“Please write your name and what you saw and heard.” Hoseok states, and you give him a curt nod before printing your name on top and rapidly penning down the events that took place.

I was taking a walk around 2 A.M. when I heard a loud crash. There was screaming. The man threatened the woman, and the woman was yelling about alimony and child support. The woman said she would file a new lawsuit. I hid behind the dumpster. I was there for a few minutes before I heard sirens. I saw the man run past me and two officers followed behind him. I stayed there for a few more minutes before getting out of my hiding spot. Then, Officer Kim shined his flashlight in my face, and Officer Park interrogated me.

“There. Can I go now?” You watch cautiously as Hoseok picks up the paper and reads through what you have written. His eyebrows furrow slightly before he puts down the notepad.

“So, _______... are you sure this is it?”

“I wrote what I saw and heard, like you asked.”

There is a muffled noise near the door, and the two of you immediately look over, but hear nothing else. Wanting to resume the conversation, Hoseok hesitates before tentatively saying, “You see, we received an anonymous tip on that car accident. The officers were on the scene in less than a few minutes. The stores nearby were all closed, and you were the only one there, besides the two in the accident. So my theory is that you were the one who called.”

“That’s an interesting thought, Sarge, but you can’t hold me here for a theory. So I’ll be going now.” You move to stand up, but Hoseok stands up quickly situating himself in your line of path.

“Please. We only have the female in custody, but they’re still in pursuit of the male. You’re the only one who can provide an unbiased account of what happened.”

“I’m sorry, but I really have to leave.” You clutch your bag a little tighter to your chest, and Hoseok’s eyes flit towards the backpack.

“What’s in the bag?”

“My belongings. Officer Park already asked me this. Can you please move so I can leave?”

“May I see it?”

“No, you may not.”

“Are you hiding something?” He reaches out for your bag, and you pull back.

“This is my personal property, and you cannot search it without probable cause.”

“You’re on public property.”

“The bag has been in my possession this entire time and has not touched the floor. Are you really trying to argue that there has been some sort of property transference the moment I step on public property?”

The sergeant raises an eyebrow before pulling his hands back. “No, I’m sorry. But you were out for a walk wearing that?”

“There’s nothing illegal about taking a walk in dark clothes.” You pause. “Look, I came in here to give you a witness statement out of the good of my heart because Officer Kim asked. If you’re turning this into some sort of interrogation, then you have no grounds to hold me, and I will be leaving now.”

Hoseok sighs before motioning to the pad. “Okay. You can go now.”

He sits there lost in thought, tapping his finger against the surface. He contemplates over his next actions, carefully scrutinizing you. Hoisting your backpack over your shoulder, you walk out of the room before you hear him call out, “Do you need a ride home? It’s the least I can do for you helping us.”

You stop in your tracks. It is late after all, and walking back to your place at this time of night alone is not the safest decision. “Yes, please.”

You and Hoseok walk through the station wordlessly. You see the two officers who had run past you in the alley, locking up the man in one of the holding cells. The taller one raises an eyebrow towards Hoseok, who hand motions something towards the man with a nod. The two of you leave the building and reach his squad car, and you situate yourself into the passenger seat once more. Hoseok waits for your seatbelt to click on before pulling out of his parking space. You give him the directions to your apartment, and he punches it into the GPS.

“So are you a student?” Hoseok asks, and you stop fiddling with the small keychain hooked onto your bag.

“Yes.”

Hoseok suppresses a smile at your curt answer. “What are you studying?”

“I’m a third year law student.”

“Huh. Figures.”

You turn towards the sergeant. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s something ironic about a law student moonlighting as a graffiti artist, isn’t there?” he casually states, and your blood runs cold. You freeze in your spot for a millisecond before turning towards the man. A small smirk plays on his lips as he gently taps his finger against the steering wheel, waiting for the light to turn green.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw the art when I went to check the alleyway. I bet if I check your bag right now, I’d find spray cans and paint matching the paint on the wall. And, I believe I do have probable cause now to check it.”

He pulls over onto the side of the street beneath one of the street lights. The yellow glow casts various shades of light onto his face. You admit you would be shamelessly admiring his side profile had you not been in this current predicament, sweating it out at the moment. Flirting is not the best strategy to fall towards when you might be arrested. It may have to be your last resort if needed, but you have not reached that point of desperation. Well, not yet at least. But god damn, he looks like he would be a good kisser. Focus on the situation, you chide yourself, stop getting distracted by the hot sergeant.

“Unfortunately for you, Sarge, spray paint is generic. Hundreds of people buy it. Hypothetically, if I had some and it matched, it would be a coincidence.”

“Perhaps. But I have enough for reasonable suspicion.”

“What if I give you a full witness statement in exchange for letting me go on this hypothetical misdemeanor?”

Hoseok stays quiet, and you can hear your heartbeat thudding erratically in your chest. If this goes on your record, it will definitely result in a blow to your career’s credibility. You swallow hard, clutching your bag even tighter to your chest, as your hands form fists, nails pressing crescent shaped marks into your palms.

“Now that’s not really a fair deal, is it?”

“I would have to do a hundred hours of community service if I am charged. You, on the other hand, without the witness statement, would be involved in a civil suit between two people who are clearly in the midst of a bad divorce. Do you really want to be tied up with days, maybe months, of court appearance and paperwork? And you know damn well how long divorce lawyers will prolong their cases until they milk both sides dry of their money.”

You can see Hoseok swallow hard when the full weight of your words hit him, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You got him: hook, line, and sinker. You have the upper hand now. You had heard the lieutenant of the Bangtan Police Unit was a hard ass, but perhaps lady luck was shining upon you because you got the sergeant instead. Hiding your smirk, you continue, “And I can sue your officers—Officer Park and Officer Kim, was it? —for harassment. I will be suing for the way Officer Park was interrogating me earlier after Officer Kim nearly blinded me when I was walking back. Officer Park roughly grabbed my arm. I’ll also be needing the footage from his body camera as evidence.”

Hoseok nearly swears out loud. Jimin had always been a good officer, but his recent break up has clouded his judgement for the past few weeks. He decides to put out his last bargaining chip. “Now, let’s not be hasty here. I’m sure we can work this out… right, Miss Eden?”

All the cards have been pulled out now. The both of you have played your last pawn, but it is your turn to move. And hearing that moniker slip through his teeth, your heart drops through your ribcage for a second time that night. “What did you call me?”

Hoseok tilts his head to the right, a half smile peeking out on his face. “Eden. Who knew the famous law-breaking artist of our city is also a good Samaritan? That’s why you called in an anonymous tip. Because you were committing a law infraction yourself.”

“I’m not Eden. I’m a very big fan of their work though.”

He chuckles, “Really? So you’re telling me that if I drop you off at your address, you’re not going to go back to that wall and paint the rest? And I won’t find the Eden signature at the bottom? I know you artists are very particular with credit.”

You stay silent, and Hoseok smiles in satisfaction. “I thought so. How about this: it’s late, and we both need sleep. You can come back in the morning and give me a full witness statement. I’ll drop any charges on vandalism, and you drop that civil suit against my officers.”

“Any charges on vandalism?”

“Yes.”

You hesitate. “Will you tell anyone?”

“No, I won’t. I promise. Cross my heart, and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

You let out a tiny smile at the childish rhyme. “Why?”

Hoseok shrugs. “You called in the crime, while you were committing a crime, too. You were willing to get caught for the safety of others. I don’t know if that makes you a good person or an idiot. I’m still debating.”

“Hey!”

He chuckles, “Do we have a deal or not?”

“Okay, fine, deal.”

“Good. Now here’s my number. You call me if anything goes wrong, but try not to get caught, okay?”

“Wha—” You confusedly take the slip of paper he hands you, but your sentence cuts off short when you see the car is parked near a very familiar alleyway. Wide eyed, you look back at him as he shrugs before gesturing for you to go.

“I thought you might, you know, want to walk back to your place. From here. Instead.”

Scrambling, you open the door and step out, tossing the backpack over your shoulders. You step out onto the sidewalk before closing the car door. He rolls down the window, calling out, “I’ll be going back to the station now. Remember to come back in the morning. Stay safe and be careful, Miss Eden.”

You stand on the edge of the sidewalk, fingers curled around the scrap of paper, and watch as his car disappears around the corner. You smile softly to yourself before sending a quick text to Jisoo and entering the smaller alley street. Sliding the paper slip into your back pocket, you put down your backpack and pull out a white spray can.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 “Sergeant, you remember that girl you picked up for the witness statement?”

Jimin stands in front of Hoseok’s desk, clutching a newspaper in his hand. Hoseok slowly looks up from the paperwork scattered across the table surface, putting down the fountain pen with a small thud against the wood. Peering up at his officer, he quickly melds his face into one of indifference.

“Yes, what about her?”

His officer drops the inked paper onto his desk. “Look at this. Eden left another art piece on the wall of the same alleyway we caught her. Do you think she’s the artist?”

Unbelievable. The newspapers already swooped around the art like vultures. It has not even been five hours since he had dropped you off there. Emblazoned across the top in black and white is a large, bold headline about another Eden artwork cropping up in the city.

“I checked that alley with a flashlight, remember? I didn’t see this there when I looked around.” He taps the picture on the front page of the newspaper. Technically, he thinks to himself, what he says is true. He only saw the partially completed image then, not the entirely finished work.

“Maybe she was going to paint, but that accident happened. Did you check her bag? Maybe she went back and painted it after giving her witness statement.” Jimin persists, and for once, Hoseok wishes Jimin is not as thorough at his job as he usually is.

“Her bag was cleared. She’s coming back here sometime soon to give her statement. I personally drove her back. She gave me her home address. She also mentioned something about you grabbing her arm.” Hoseok raises an eyebrow at his officer, who immediately bows his head in shame.

“I made a mistake. I apologize, sir.”

“I convinced her not to file a civil suit. I know you’ve been… a little preoccupied with things outside of work, but please be more careful, Park.”

“Yes, sir. I will. Thank you.”

Jimin leaves quickly afterwards, and Hoseok lets out an inaudible sigh of relief. That was a close one. He picks up the newspaper, gazing down at the picture. The wall is covered with a beautiful sunset with a beach and mountains incorporated into the image. However, when he takes a closer look, the entire painted scenery is actually made up of crushed soda cans, candy wrappers, chewed gum, banana peels, and other items easily found in landfills and recycling centers. It is interesting, he muses, a small smile on his lips, sunsets are created from air pollution, yet they’re so beautiful, and you managed to depict the same concept with the scenery created entirely of garbage. A pollution piece is found within another pollution piece.

He carefully sets aside the newspaper before he sorts through the various files, stacking them into appropriate sections. He finds the file on the car accident and flips open the manila folder, pulling out the freshly printed images of the car crash. Copies of the lawsuits that were quickly faxed over are found as well, and he sighs as he reads through the transcripts and papers before staring at the pictures once more. It would have become another he said, she said case if you were not there to witness it, which would, without a doubt, become even messier with the ongoing divorce lawsuit. He is about to take a closer look at one particular photo when—

"Wow, you look terrible."

Hoseok looks up to see Seokjin, standing in front of his desk, and resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, he looks great. There is no surprise in that. "Thanks. I really appreciate that."

"No, it's just that—have you slept yet? Those eye bags are pretty dark."

“Hoseok, it’s eight A.M. Did you even go home at all? I thought I told you to take a day off today after that night case.” Yoongi appears at the sergeant’s desk and stares at the open casefile over Hoseok’s shoulder. “You’ve been overworking and staying overtime too much. You need a break.”

“Morning, Lieutenant. He’s just waiting for the cute witness to show up,” Taehyung says, grinning cheekily before holding out a box of Yoongi’s favorite sugary fried delicacies, “Want a doughnut?”

Yoongi quickly grabs one, but not without sending a frown towards the sergeant. “Are you seeing her? You know that’s against policy. We can’t get involved with anyone in an open case.”

“No! No, I’m not.” Hoseok hastily denies, cheeks burning. “I just told her to come by in the morning to give me her witness statement. And I thought it would be better if she spoke to the same person. For consistency, you know?”

Yoongi eyes him suspiciously before giving him a nod and starting his trek to his office. Seokjin follows behind him, prepared to give the lieutenant his weekly report. Hoseok quickly turns to Taehyung to give him the stink eye, but the mischievous, silver haired officer is nowhere to be found. The only sign of his past presence is the box of old fashion glazed doughnuts and sprinkled chocolate ones with one of each missing left on Hoseok’s desk. Sighing, he grabs one with the rainbow sprinkles and is about to take a bite when—

“Hey, Sarge.”

“_______!” Hoseok’s eyes widen before they dart around, and he is slightly flailing until his eyes spot the powder blue and white striped box. “Uh, doughnut?”

You smile before declining, “I actually had one before I came. My friend runs that shop actually. But thank you for the offer.”

“O-oh, no problem.” Hoseok gestures towards the familiar conference room. “Would you be more comfortable giving me your statement in there?”

“Sure, thanks.”

You follow behind him as he leads you towards the room, writing utensil and notepad in hand. The two of you quietly sit down, and he hands you the pen, pushing the notepad across the table surface towards you. You write down your account of the events carefully, the tip of your tongue sticking out slightly as you concentrate on scribbling down all the details you can remember.

Hoseok fidgets around in his chair, finally settling on a position before interlocking his hands and placing them on the table in front of him. He keeps his gaze on you, eyes flitting around curiously. He catches the way your hand pushes the soft flyaway tendrils of your hair behind your ear, the faintest color of marigold on the tip of your pointer finger. He smiles to himself when he sees your nose scrunches slightly for a moment as your eyes scan what you have finished writing.

“Here you go, Sarge.”

“Thank you.” He takes the notepad from you, looking over what you have written down and nodding in satisfaction. “This is really helpful. Thanks, _______.”

“No problem.” You stand up and start to leave the room, but stop. You hover in the doorway, wavering before saying at last, “Why did you let me go?”

“Hmm?” He looks up from the paper.

You repeat yourself, “You could have charged me. Why did you let me go?”

Hoseok tilts his head to the side, giving you a small grin as he rests his chin on the palm of his hand. “I decided that you’re a good person.”

“Oh.” The look of surprise that crosses over your face earns you a small chuckle from the sergeant. You stay silent for several seconds before asking the second question that has been on your mind for the past hours.

"How did you know it was Eden's work?"

His eyes twinkle before he gives you a small wink that causes your cheeks to warm up considerably. “I’m a huge fan of Eden. They’re making the city look more beautiful and raising awareness for environmental issues.”

You feel yourself flush even more as you duck your head sheepishly. You fiddle with the thin silver bracelet around your wrist for a moment before speaking up, “I have an art exhibition in a couple of weeks… Would you like to come?”

Hoseok beams, nodding his head. “I’d like that a lot.”

You give him a relieved smile before telling him the date of the unveiling and writing down your phone number. “How about we meet up at The Bean around 8 A.M. and walk over there together?”

“Sounds great.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 Hoseok’s phone buzzes a few hours later during his lunch break. He puts down his sandwich, peering down at the device. A tiny smile spreads across his face when he sees it is from you, several text messages popping up.

[12:13] you: hey sarge

[12:13] you: there’s something I don’t get

[12:13] you: when you saw it in the alley, there was no signature

[12:13] hoseok: yes what about it?

[12:14] you: then how did you know it was eden?

[12:14] hoseok: it was a hunch

[12:15] you: pretty accurate hunch you had

[12:16] you: did you study art styles in the police academy or something

[12:16] hoseok: nope

Hoseok’s fingers hover over the keyboard. He bites his bottom lip, contemplating for a few moments, before lightly tapping out his reply and hitting send.

[12:16] hoseok: have you ever seen the old walls on the east side

[12:17] you: yeah why

[12:17] hoseok: the art there is pretty old but

[12:18] hoseok: have you seen the ones by jhope?

Immediately, he sees the three bubbles pop up, and he holds his breath, waiting for your response.

[12:18] you: are you kidding me sarge

[12:18] you: you’re jhope???

[12:18] you: the collab pieces between jhope and agust d are still legends

Hoseok’s lips curl into another smile. Secretly, pride blooms in his chest. As an angsty teenager, he quite liked the thrill and fun that came with being a tagger. Of course, he had to stop after he decided to attend the police academy with his best friend.

Another buzz from his phone brings his attention back to you.

[12:19] you: wait then who’s agust d

He grins, glancing over at Yoongi. The lieutenant raises an eyebrow at him, but Hoseok just shakes his head before writing his answer.

[12:19] hoseok: you know the lieutenant?

[12:19] you: you’re shitting me

[12:19] you: oh my god

[12:20] hoseok: impressed? ^^

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

 Hoseok had finally taken a day off after much badgering on Yoongi’s part. Specifically, he took the day of your art exhibition off. Donning a dark washed, blue denim jacket with a loose striped shirt tucked into his ripped black jeans, he looks like any other passerby without his usual formal ensemble. The Bean is not too far from his apartment, and the weather was good, so he decides to walk over there. He is glad that the car accident case had been smoothed over and dealt with after a few days. The other cases he still has are more in the open and shut range, so he is not really losing sleep over any particular one. And he has been texting back and forth with you more often as well. In fact, he checks his phone as it vibrates and sees one from you.

[07:58] you: sorry I’m running a few minutes late but I’ll see you soon!

He sends back a short message, assuring you that it was fine. However, when he turns the corner, he finally sees a large crowd jostling around the bustling coffee shop, phones all out and taking pictures of whatever is in front of them. Hurriedly, he makes his way over, fearing the worst before edging himself through the mass of people before finally reaching the front of the crowd. And he gasps, eyes widening in disbelief and cheeks reddening.

On the wall next to the shop, a new mural is on display. The police badge has been painstakingly painted onto the bricks in multicolor along with the silhouette of a police officer that is unmistakably him. The word “Hope” has been written over and over again in a sort of chain link, winding around the badge and silhouette. The telltale signature of Eden is found in the bottom right corner.

His phone vibrates in his hand once more, and he looks down quickly to see another message from you.

[08:03] you: so what do you think of my art exhibit, sarge?

A smile blooms on his face as the corners of his lips tilt upwards, and he swiftly taps out a response and presses send, his heart nearly thudding out of his chest.

[08:04] hoseok: it’s beautiful

[08:04] hoseok: but not as beautiful as the artist ♡

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

  DELETED B99 INSPIRED SCENE:

Investigation: noise by the door Filed By: Jung Hoseok Persons of Interest: Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi Time: 02:43 A.M., during the collection of _______’s initial statement Place: Bangtan Police Precinct

“I heard Tae and Jimin caught an uncooperative witness for the car accident,” Seokjin casually says, lounging in the chair placed in front of Yoongi’s desk.

The lieutenant makes a noncommittal noise as he continues to peruse the files laid out in front of him. However, the somewhat noisy entry of two people causes him to look up. He catches your eye with a steely look, and he holds back a smile when he notices you sidle up closer to Hoseok almost instantaneously afterwards. The door clicks shut behind you and Hoseok, who had swiped a notepad and pen off his desk, and immediately, he and Jin speed walk quietly to said door.

“If the interrogation doesn’t go well, I have my guitar in the locker room. I can do the scream-and-strum strategy to make the witness crack,” Jin whispers, and Yoongi glowers and shakes his head vehemently.

“That didn’t work the first two times I let you do that. I’m not letting you try a third time.”

“Oh, c’mon, the third time’s the charm,” Seokjin whines and bangs his fist against the top of the file cabinet for emphasis. Immediately, he and Yoongi freezes at the realization of what he has done.

“Retreat,” Yoongi hisses, and the two of them make a run for it back to his office as noiselessly as possible. Jin shuts the door behind them as they huff and puff, bent over with their hands on their knees.

“Oh, man,” wheezes Seokjin as he collapses into the same chair from before. “Thank god I don’t have to take the physical again.”

Yoongi grunts in agreement. “I should probably lay off on the doughnuts.”

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 5 - An Olive Branch

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 3088

Summary: Impromptu peace talks commence between the reader and Castiel just in time for the return of the Winchesters.

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Sat at the kitchen bench with a mug of room temperature black brew on the table before him – untouched, but within reach of his fingertips where he first placed it upon sitting – Castiel stares without seeing at the local section of a Lebanon Times newspaper he found in the library so old the color of the paper borders on the pale yellow of ripening corn.

There’s a scout troop featured; a motley crew of pre-teens forever frozen in photograph form cleaning up a park on a sunny spring Sunday to celebrate Earth Day. The same jaundiced pig-tailed child – designated as Cindy M. of Kansas City, Brownie Troop 271 in byline – has been fishing with outstretched fingers for a castoff Styrofoam cup beneath a hedge for the past two hours. The report doesn’t indicate that the piece of litter ever made the short jaunt into the garbage bag clutched in her other hand that she drags behind where she poses in stooped smiling perpetuity for the picture – another of life’s unanswered mysteries; not that Cas is currently pondering said mystery.

The angel’s ears perk to the sound of your barefoot heels plodding in the hallway in gradual but steady approach. Evidently you’ve finished your investigation of the premises or, determining an escape attempt is impossible, given up. In either case, he hopes you didn’t find something more lethally effective than kitchen stuffs, brute bare-handed force, or unbarred emotion coincidentally thrumming an inner nerve of truth to wound him with; every such angelically injurious object he is aware of in the bunker is under lock and key excepting his personal blade.

There’s a chance he overlooked an unknown item in a dusty storage bin that you succeeded in unearthing in your explorations; it would be consistent with his luck – good fortune demarcated by a fundamental lack thereof. It would also be consistent with his epically bad week – an already rough run of ill fate since his expulsion from the Empty exacerbated by Lucifer’s continued liberty, the resurrection, rescue, and subsequent high-tailing from commitment to creation of his brother Gabriel, an unnerving run-in with Naomi, the angel agent of much of his enduring grief, and then learning that Heaven is one or two celestial lights gone dark removed from permanent and catastrophic foreclosure; and, of course, there’s the latest complication of you.

In an effort to appear unruffled given your imminent arrival, he readjusts his posture; straightening his sloping spine and, for reasons of unacknowledged self-conscious impulsivity, the skewed knot of his tie, he redoubles his blind examination of the newspaper. The resulting effect lends itself to one of a spring coiled to maximum tension ready to fly off at the slightest disturbance. He flips the page with an exaggerated rustle to prove his utter indifference to your presence when you halt at the entryway and hesitate to crossover the door jamb to descend the two steps into the space he occupies.

Hyperaware, you freeze in suspense of animation to observe the scene like a bird cornered after tumbling down a chimney and emerging indoors without the familiar freedom of the sky in sight. His similarly caged reaction fascinates you considering you’re the one trapped in an underground maze with locked exits and disorientated by the kidnapping slash plummet down a rabbit hole into an alternate universe; that is, if he’s to be believed – and it’s still a big if according to your muddled wits. At least the lark about being in a bunker appears to hold up under thorough examination.

In a preening motion, you brush the pad of your thumb over the glossy slip of a photo you discovered and hid in the roll of the oversized sweatshirt sleeve encasing your right wrist; you’ll soon see if his story stands up to closer scrutiny. You allow the angel has every reason to be edgy; you’ve physically assailed him – granted without any lasting consequences – twice. For all he knows, the third time’s the charm. You decide his increasing unease with each confrontation does lend a linear sense of credibility to the reality of the situation.

The bitter aroma of burned coffee tickles your nose. The coffee maker ceased percolating the beverage some time ago; left on, it has boiled down the liquid into pure caffeine concentrate. The heady result smells like welcome lucidity after your wanderings and ferries your feet of their own volition down the stairs and to the counter. You help yourself to a mug of the stuff. Gripping the heat radiant porcelain between your palms, lips pursed to blow a cooling breath across the russet shimmering surface, you recommence watching the wary angel.

Sensing your protracted silent stare, he makes a grand gesture of flicking to a new page and folding it in half with a noisier-than-necessary shake to examine with great interest through a narrowed gaze an advert at the bottom for a law firm boasting attorneys specializing in personal, automotive, and work-site injury related litigation – seems convincingly relevant given the prevailing impasse between you two.

You clear your throat just to be sure he knows you know you have his surreptitious attention despite the display to the contrary.

If it’s possible – and evidently it is possible – he stiffens further. Still, he maintains the charade of ignoring you.

You liked him better when he was playing considerate host to your starring role as ungrateful violence-prone guest. This – this total impassivity – lacks definition; it’s missing sharp edges for you to remonstrate bodily and emotionally against. It simply won’t do.

“So, I’m guessing it was you that healed me?” you ask the loaded question as though you’re two acquaintances making small talk. Bringing the mug’s rim to your mouth, you suck a small sip and swirl the acrid swill over your tongue; it wants sugar, but you’re simultaneously certain no amount of sweetness could save it.

“That depends,” he answers without tearing his squint from the faded newsprint in order to deliberately avoid fully engaging you in whatever verbal skirmish you’re trying to instigate.

“On?” Since he refuses to grace you with a gaze, you aim the query at the back of his head; his hair explodes from his scalp in an unruly collection of loose chestnut curls – not a Nazi-esque grease-tamed coif indicative of extreme control issues.

“On whether or not my answering affirmatively will aggravate you.” There it is – the steel of sharpened blade you want lashes out in the form of spoken sass; the gloves, so-to-speak, are off.

Recollecting the black leather gloved fingers of the other one of him, you cringe at the metaphor conjured by your mind and swallow the chafing memory along with a second sip of God-awful coffee. In comparison to the interactions with your arson-aficionado interrogator, this angelic iteration is positively charming. It’s the first time the two of them seem separate entities to you. There’s something distinctly softer about the seraph in front of you – the blunt of benevolence, rather than thorny malevolence, gilding his halo.

You round the table and drop onto the opposite bench into his lowered line of sight. Propping your elbows on the top, you extend a hand to rudely swat the paper out of his grasp. “Since when do angels care about how humans feel?”

He lifts his eyes to meet yours; a degree of doneness dulls the blue.

You can’t tell if he’s done specifically dealing with you, or just generally done.

The besieged intake of his breath is audible. He holds the lungful of air, mouth thin and tense, reluctant to offer any explanation for you to twist around as a weapon to stab into him in wordy retribution. Finally, mostly to dissuade your skeptical stare and his resultant discomfort, he grumbles, “I don’t want to quarrel with you. Your mind, it’s . . . in a very fragile state.”

“I feel fine,” you fib to armor your weakness. Abandoning your mug, inclining backward, you slide your arms to encircle your sides and shrug. Forget the fatigue – your brain feels like it’s being drawn and quartered through your ears with a winch. Any effrontery on your part at this point is a bluff, but you’ve learned the difference between life and death often relies on the lie.

“You’re not fine.” In a reverse of your retreating body language, he sets his elbows on the table and leans forward, tone scolding. “You nearly died. You need to take it easy. I can’t help you recover if you insist on acting so . . . combative. This may come as a stark surprise to you, but as long as you aren’t suffering physically in a manner I can mend, the persistence of your foul mood is the least pressing of my concerns. There are more important matters at hand.”

He’s not wrong; and if you’re not mistaken, he’s expressed a continued – impatient, yet nonetheless there – concern for your well-being despite his frustration. He’s unlike any angel you’ve ever encountered. You glower at him for a lengthy minute. Somewhere thirty seconds or so into the hushed trade of glares you decide to accept the roundabout articulated truce he offered. You give yourself a superfluous thirty additional seconds to change your mind, but it seems set on a conciliatory course for the moment. You reach out to retrieve your coffee and muse into the liquid before drinking a gulp. “You don’t talk like an angel.”

Mouth relaxing into soft pink pout, he assents to the cordial shift of atmosphere implied in the statement. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was an observation,” you correct, filtering another swig of brown sludge through your teeth. “What you said before, about me not being from this world – it’s true?”

“It’s true.” He bobs his chin once.

You admire the scruff of beard shadowing his strong jaw; he’s remarkably handsome when he isn’t a monster trying to massacre you from the inside out. Shy of the superficial attraction, you avert your eyes to the neglected newspaper at center of the table. “And Michael, he’s trying to destroy this world, too?”

“You heard my conversation with Dean.” It’s not as though he made any effort to cover it up standing directly outside the door you were barricaded behind.

Your pupils widen with a surge of fear when you look up at him. “You said it was safe here. Nowhere Michael wants to be is safe.”

A slouch curves his spine as he sinks back into the chair. “Then I suppose, strictly speaking, that makes it less safe here than I initially suggested.”

Hugging your arms to your chest to subdue a rising shiver, your fingertips touch the photograph you found. The angel passes your provisional litmus test thus far, but your curiosity remains unabated; and it’s a distraction from the shattered illusion of safety. You withdraw the photo from the confines of the sleeve’s fabric, place it on the table, and slide it toward him with your pointer finger. “That’s you, Bobby Singer, Ellen and Jo, and the other two men I don’t know.”

You met Bobby Singer once, and immediately you understood him to be a rightfully paranoid man who doesn’t surround himself with, as he likes to say, ‘Idjits!’ He’s supposed to be in Dayton where you were headed before this detour. And Ellen and Jo are no different; dauntless women, at least the last you heard of them, daring a bid to cross the wastelands of Texas to breach the wall south of the states with a band of survivors in search of elusive safety. If they associated with this angel – and they did according to the pictorial evidence – you want to know the reason.

Cas slants his neck to better peer at the picture although he knows the details well – it’s the black and white snapshot commemorating the night before the day he joined Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and the brothers to confront the devil to prevent this world’s apocalypse; the day he chose humanity’s cause over Heaven – over himself. He gathers you must have found the keepsake in the top drawer of his desk – one of only a few mementos he saves. Catching the corner of the photo, he spins it and glides it nearer. Unlike the mystery of Cindy M. of Kansas City and her discarded cup, there’s no guessing at the fate of the people frozen there in time; a minute wistful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“How do you know them? Have you been to my world before? Who are the other men?” Biting your lower lip, you stop yourself at three successive rapid-fire questions; you have many more.

The smile fades from his expression; his blues, sheened with sadness, rise to regard you. “Many of the same entities, human and angel, inhabit both worlds. These two men you don’t know, they’re the brothers Sam and Dean Winchester. We know destiny didn’t deign for them to exist in your world. But in this one, they stopped the apocalypse from happening.”

“And Bobby, Ellen, and Jo?”

“I think of them as friends. I like to think they felt the same comradery. Brave and selfless souls all.” Eyes darting down, he taps each of their anxiously smiling faces in turn. “They played their parts, courageous to the last.”

“Played. So they’re-”

He looks up, cutting you off with the straightforward location of their mortal souls. “In Heaven.” He doesn’t add the, ‘For now, for as long as Heaven is able to hold itself together.’

In the requisite respectful interlude of a quiet few seconds to honor the memory of the dearly departed, it occurs to you that if there were more than one of all of them, then there may be another of you in this world; and if there’s a you, then perhaps there’s the family you lost in yours. With this nascent knowledge of the possibility you could see your loved ones again, you begin to comprehend why the angel and his friends so adamantly want to keep you contained here in the bunker; and also, why you must get out.

Noticing the intense interest of the angel’s eyes tracing the contemplative lines of your features, you deflect the thought lest he eavesdrop. “Why do you keep the photograph then? You’re an angel, you could see them anytime you like.”

He looks at his lap, self-conscious of the personal query – he never really considered the why of saving the photo; it seemed then and seems now natural to him to retain it. “I suppose you’d call it sentimentality,” he redirects, defaulting to the reason a human would hoard such an article.

Undeterred, captivated by an angel exhibiting flashes of actual emotion, especially genuine empathy for and affectionate attachment to humans, you reformulate. “And what would you call it?”

Weaving his fingers together, he snorts lightly through his nose – this time the small emergent smile is a disingenuous sardonic spasm of lip to mask manifest pain; you’ve touched upon another nerve, and one still raw judging by his reaction. “I’ve been told it’s an inherent weakness,” he mutters.

“Now you sound like an angel.” The statement is an impulse you instantly regret – an instinct to inflict pain upon this exposed and vulnerable piece of him like he hurt you. Only, it wasn’t this him.

“I am an angel.” His voice is an indignant rasped whisper; his wounded affect accentuated by a dim of hurt hazing his eyes. It’s a conflicting sentiment – an angel who appreciates not being likened to his kin in mannerism and yet nonetheless fiercely identifies as one of them.

The contradiction piques your curiosity. You want, no, need to know the honest reason a billion odd year old being hangs on to this specific sliver of his history. “You’re avoiding answering me,” you pry, “why do you keep it? You.”

His thick lashes shutter as he looks inward. He sighs, “Perhaps to remind me of the choice I made then.”

“What choice was that?”

“I chose the path of free will – to decide for myself what is right and not have destiny dictated to me by others.”

“And what did you decide is right?”

After a leaden pause, his eyes blink open and settle on you – they shine an impossibly vibrant blue to your mute color adjusted vision; you’re sure even the summer sky of your distant sweltering memories never shone so clear and endless. His reply is earnest – honest. “I’m still trying to determine the answer,” he confesses. It’s a deep-seated insecurity he has never told another soul – something he has been afraid to admit aloud, something he maybe didn’t fathom himself until you asked him why and pried the answer through the regret-reinforced ramparts shielding his heart.

You sense the significance of the admission and in return gift him the one thing about yourself that in revelation might hold equally substantial meaning for him. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“My name,” you repeat, “it’s Y/N.” It’s an apology, too, for your earlier antics.

The angel’s pensive expression floods with a lightness of realization. He gets it – you’re proposing a fresh start. You’ve met now on a common ground; laying bare a patchwork of jagged scars and bloody wounds alike, you’ve uncovered two drifters, equally lost in their respective worlds searching for something good in the bad. Hoping – still hoping it exists.

A subtle smile quirks his cheek. “My friends call me-”

“Cas!” Dean’s well-timed shout resounds from the kitchen threshold. He tilts his head politely toward you in toothy grinned greeting. “Hey sweetheart!” Wagging a finger between you and the angel, the grin broadens on his freckled face. “Well, isn’t this cozy. Nice civilized tea for two and not a meat cleaver in sight.” He winks a jewel of glinting green at Cas. “I told you apologies work wonders, didn’t I?”

Sam looms over Dean’s shoulder and furnishes you with a curt nod as he lumbers past his brother. “Glad to see you up and about. Cas was pretty worried there about whether or not you’d ever wake up at all. We all felt terrible having to leave you here alone – you find my notes?”

Dean mutters something unintelligible under his breath about stupid freaking notes and wanders over to the fridge, visibly relieved to find it stocked with beer.

You eye the anomalous angel – pretty worried, indeed.  A smile eases into the curves and creases of your mouth as he makes the formal introductions.

“Sam, Dean, this is Y/N.” His blues alight on your marveling gaze. “Y/N, these are the Winchesters.”

Next: Ch. 6 - Healing Touch

[theexistentiallawyer-blog]

The 5 Ghosts of a Law Firm’s Past

Every law firm has them. Strike that -- every law practice, whether a government agency or a private practice law firm, has them. They are the five ghosts of legal past, and much like the three ghosts of Christmas past that drone over poor Scrooge in the story, they, too, have something to tell you. For what are we, as young lawyers, but the Scrooge’s of our own Christmas Carol? Preferably the Bill Murray version, but the animated Jim Carry version will suffice. So here they are, the five archetypal lawyers you will meet in almost any legal practice:

1. The Office Scrooge

The office scrooge is an easy one to spot. This is the lawyer that spends most of its time confined within the walls of its own office. The lights are often kept dim, and the boxes of files seem never ending. In the rare occasion that it leaves its own office, the office scrooge can be observed near the coffee maker or the lounge with a characteristic grimace on its face. Be wary of having a conversation with one too early in the morning (or, honestly, at any time). Its tenure as a lawyer has probably spanned over twenty years, so we’re talking about a partner or a chief prosecutor or something like that. Battle hardened and cynical, the office scrooge has seem some sh@t in its day, and the Korea-esque PTSD is visible. Need to know where a file is kept? Wondering about case law in a certain matter? This person probably isn’t your first go-to, unless you want to be sneered at and “buhumbugged” on your way to your cubical/windowless office. But do not be discouraged. Just like Scrooge himself, this person will come around as you move through your legal tenure at the office. You just might be surprised at how knowledgeable they can be, and willing to lend you a hand in the tightest bind. Like I said, they’ve seen some sh@t in their day -- they know a thing or two.

2. The Office Daredevil 

This one is certainly no exception in the law firm or legal department setting. A daredevil not in the sense of jumping a ramp with a motorcycle, but one modeled after the Marvel Superhero that is the icon of our profession (sometimes). For those unknowing, Daredevil is a lawyer-by-day and superhero-by-night. Every firm comes complete with one. At the risk of being too gender specific, this lawyer does usually tend to be a guy. One with a daily schedule that seems to go “meeting > gym > court > gym > depositions > gym > go shopping for tight tailored shirts > gym > nightclub.” Who knows, as a younger lawyer, this might even be you! Don’t get too excited, though, because the lawyer that fits this bill perfectly is usually a partner -- one with enough time and money to spend bodybuilding on weeknights and being a community hero on weekends. Although he might not fight crime per se, his heroics come in the form of marathons, charity 5K’s, and community service every single waking moment, complete with Facebook posts and all (because, if you help out the community and don’t post it on Facebook, did you even help anyone?).

3. The Litigious Lion 

Barista prepared the coffee with too much sugar? Breach of contract. Phone call from a bank while you’re on the treadmill? Violation of the FDCPA. Doesn’t really matter whether it is warranted or not, this character is always ready to sue. Over pretty much everything. So, you’ll often see this lawyer in the firm ordering lunch into the office. You might see them accidentally skipped-over when the associate makes a coffee-run. This is in no way by accident, because this person’s behavior has pretty much made isolated them from certain firm activities like lunch out, or happy-hour drinks at the local bar after work. This lawyer resembles that friend in your group that you accidentally forget to invite on the Friday night plans (every single Friday). You just can’t take them out, because whatever the situation they will find a way/reason to threaten to sue (even if it’s because they haven’t dressing on the side of the salad). Who fits this bill? Look for the senior associate that has been practicing for a few years, but finally received the jump from office-lackey to “we trust you with the trials, but please don't f**k this up.” The newfound power makes them want to file a complaint in every which way possible -- the word “settlement” does not exist in their vocabulary, to the dismay of all of the partners. So, he or she is left behind from the firm lunch outings, happy-hour events, with the hopes that they will take it down a notch before let out into the common population.

4. The Dude (Abides)

It’s true. We all have a “dude” in the practice. Now, he or she may not directly resemble the archetype that Jeff Bridges set forth in the cult classic film, but certain elements are still present. The dude will often dress too casually for the setting they are in. If you’re in a mid-sized, private practice firm, the dude might be caught in khaki slacks or a sweater-style jacket or blouse too often. If you’re in a government practice, it might resemble the same thing with the occasional pair of jeans thrown in the mix. Think the almighty corporate litigation firms are without their own “dude?” Think again -- they have a few dudes, their dudes are often dude-ier than the rest of them (or as the French say, “dudiér,” probably). They present well in their brooks brothers or bespoke suits, but no sooner than walking into their own offices do the ties come undone, the jackets thrown on the chair (despite a perfect coat rack in the corner) and the sleeves rolled up. All to the dismay of the firm principle (who does he/she think they are, anyways?). Sometimes, you might even find them in an oxford shirt with button-down collar and maybe a a few days’ worth of bird growth. Not enough of a beard to qualify as a “beard,” but just enough to say “I have slept passed my alarm all week long, otherwise I would have shaved.” This is a dead giveaway. What about those in the in-house counsel setting? Well, they are probably all dudes -- in fact, being a dude in the truest sense is almost a requisite to be employed as in-house counsel. Whatever setting they are in, the one sure-fire way to spot a “dude” is that they always, always abide.

5. The Louis Litt

Perhaps the last one you want to deal with, but find yourself in the closest contact with. As a new associate, summer associate, or even law clerk -- we all know the Louis. He or she is the attorney that is either in charge of the associates in a big-law firm setting (as Louis Litt’s character in the show “Suits” does), or an attorney in a private firm, government agency, or other practice environment that takes it upon themselves to...well...”foster your learning and growth as a young attorney.” Translated into English, this entails that they; bombard you with stories of how bad it was when they were an associate and good you have it, speak to you in a language of threats (which are often as hollow as a bird’s nest), and continuously refer to you not by name, but by endearing labels such as “you,” “my office, now,” or “what was your name? Whatever, file this by end of day” (because why would they learn it? You’re a glorified lackey with a Bar Card to them). As you gain experience, you will come to realize that the Louis Litt’s of our world are both a detriment to your existence and a much-needed check on those rare new associates that start day one with a “fear not, I have arrived” demeanor. We can all agree that these new associates, even members of your own cohort, are an embarrassment to all new lawyers and law school graduates alike. As they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Honorable Mention: The Michael Clayton

Why? Well, he or she is the firm’s fixer, just like George Clooney in “Michael Clayton.” The one you call when you’ve f**ked everything up. Which you will, at some point, do. Find this person. Love this person. Buy them coffee. They are your much-needed support.

[duaneodavila]

What About A De Minimis Cost Exception To Unauthorized Practice Of Law?

For a long time, I’ve wanted to come up with the definitive blog post on what constitutes unauthorized practice of law. I figured that if I could develop a clear set of principles, then I could create an online tool to help solos and smalls evaluate if a particular scenario constituted practice of law and thus, help keep them out of trouble. But after dozens of false starts and a bunch of research, I’m back to where I started – without any clear, comprehensive way to define the practice of law.

Before I offer up an alternative approach, here’s an example of a common definition of “practice of law” this one from People ex Rel. Chi. Bar Asso. v. Barasch, 406 Ill. 253 (Ill. 1950):

“The “practice of law” has been defined as “`the giving of advice or rendition of any sort of service by any person, firm or corporation when the giving of such advice or rendition of such service requires the use of any degree of legal knowledge or skill.”

Here’s the problem. Essentially, the Barasch case says that an activity is the practice of law when it requires the use of legal knowledge.  So, then what kinds of activity requires legal knowledge? The practice of law. In other words, the court’s definition is completely circular.

Other cases are more activity specific – and focus on characterizing one activity or another as the practice of law. Under this approach, courts have found UPL when a non-attorney engages in refinancing an existing mortgage without attorney supervision (Doe v. McMaster, 355 S.C. 306 (S.C. 2003)), preparing a deed for another (In the Matter of Easler, 275 S.C. 400 (S.C. 1980)) or doing anything more than simply typing a bankruptcy petition. In re Guttierez, 248 B.R. 287 (Bankr. W.D. Tex. 2000).  

Maybe someday an AI-powered robot will comb through all the cases dealing with unauthorized practice and develop an algorithm to assess whether a particular activity is UPL.  But I’m not hopeful. I’ve always thought that AI tools depend upon an underlying system of logic and rules in order to build an algorithm — but which are features that are utterly lacking from most regulatory decisions. Thus, it may be years before  rulings like these  will become comprehensible to machines. And so, as we wait for tech to catch up to help us figure out what constitutes the practice of law, I thought I’d propose my own concept which is this:

Any matter that involves courts, contracts, wills, advice on rights or obligations that has a value of less than $10,000 is not the practice of law.  Admission to the bar is not required to represent clients in this category of matters.

At first glance, my approach seems arbitrary, but here’s my thinking. One of the reasons that parties are often unrepresented in certain matters is because lawyers turn down cases that don’t make sense from a financial perspective.  Most lawyers won’t litigate a $500 breach of contract action because from an economic perspective, it doesn’t make sense to bill a client 3 hours of time at $300/hour to recover $500 in damage.  Given that most lawyers won���t take these cases on, are they property characterized as legal matters at all? (yup, I can do circular logic just as well as any regulator!).

The same is true for traffic tickets. Many consumers don’t bother fighting minor speeding tickets – even if they believe they have grounds to do so. Even if a lawyer were to accept the case for free, it’s not worth it for most consumers to have to take an hour out of their day to meet with an attorney, and then a morning off from work to show up at the courthouse – all to avoid a $100 fine. And most lawyers who might accept this kind of case would need to charge a few hundred dollars to make it even remotely economically viable. To be sure, traffic tickets have characteristics of a traditional legal matter – they involve parties rights and require an appearance before the court. But if lawyers aren’t willing to take the lower value traffic ticket cases, why bother to characterize them as legal issues?

Sure there are exceptions – situations where points apply or a license could be suspended – which ups the value of the matter. But as a general rule of thumb, why do we even glorify penny-ante matters that lawyers don’t want to handle by suggesting that they’re the practice of law?

Think I’m crazy?  There’s at least some data to back up my hunch. Take a look at the  Learned Hands, an online game developed by the Suffolk Lit Lab and Stanford Law’s Legal Design Lab  that asks users to determine whether a particular question (which are aggregated from Reddit) involves a legal issue, and if so, in what practice area. I played a couple of hours worth of Learned Hands and found that my knee-jerk reaction to most of the questions was “well, maybe there’s a contract issue here or a tort issue there, but what lawyers is going to take a case that involves a $200 dry cleaning bill?). 

What would be the effect of simply exempting matters smaller than $10k from the definition of the practice of law? For starters, we’d encourage development of more sophisticated AI-powered tools to handle these matters without having the chilling effect of a UPL claim hanging over these companies and investors. Here’s a real world example out of Florida which for the past two years has been battling TIKD, a sophisticated app that handles ticket defense for clients in one fell swoop. Clients pay TIKD the citation amount and the company then hires a lawyer to challenge the ticket. If TIKD wins and the ticket is dismissed and points aren’t assessed, it keeps the fee. If points are assessed, the consumer receives a refund. Because of data that TIKD aggregates and analyzes on the ticketing process, it pretty much knows in advance how many tickets will be dismissed or how many fines will be reduced, so it can make the numbers work in the way that an individual law firm can’t.

In January 2019, a report by a Florida bar referee concluded that TIKD’s services did not constitute the practice of law because TIKD did not represent parties in court. But the Florida regulators have challenged the referee report, arguing on brief that TIKD essentially offers legal services – i.e., ticket defense to consumers and therefore is engaged in UPL. And the regulators’ brief mentions one case where a consumer’s license was at risk of suspension because TIKD did not pay a fine. These kinds of outliers are often used to ban an entire business. By contrast, under my proposed approach, TIKD would continue to be allowed to handle low value cases while more serious cases with economic consequences – such as a license suspension for a consumer who relies on his license a job – would still need to be handled by a lawyer.

The second benefit to exempting low value cases from the definition of the practice of law is that it would open the door for lawyers to handle these cases. As I mentioned earlier, most lawyers can’t make a $500 case economically viable. But there may be ways to do it if lawyers could handle these small matters not only in their local jurisdiction but on a national basis. In addition, there are many lawyers such as military wives or retired lawyers traveling the country who find themselves temporarily in a new jurisdiction where they are not licensed and may even have to take another bar exam to gain admission. Currently, lawyers in this category can take work on a contract basis for as little as $40 or $50/hour. But financially, these lawyers would be just was well off, if not more so, if they could handle a couple of small fry FKA legal matters for two or three hundred dollars a case.

Lawyers have been trying to define what constitutes the practice of law for a century or more – and have never gotten much further than the Potter Stewart-esque “I’ll know it when I see it” test. But what we do know – or can easily figure out – is the types of cases lawyers take and decline for economic reasons. And since we know that many lawyers won’t accept certain matters – like traffic tickets or tiny contract disputes or even uncontested divorces with minimal property or small estates – then why bother to call it the practice of law at all?

Image courtesy of Shutterstock

Related

What About A De Minimis Cost Exception To Unauthorized Practice Of Law? republished via Above the Law

[junker-town]

69 things Gronk should do in retirement

Nice.

Rob Gronkowski announced his retirement on Sunday, and honestly he’s living the dream. Dude had to work nine years, made enough money for 10 lifetimes and now he’ll get to do whatever he wants, all at age 29.

There’s plenty of examples of sites that say changing careers at 30 is a good idea — so to that end I want to help Gronk plan for the next 35 years of his working partying life with some helpful tips on what I think he’d be good at.

69 things Gronk should do in retirement.

Volunteer and help people.

Sit on a beach and drink for 20 years.

Join WWE as an on-again, off-again star and partner with his friend Mojo Rawley.

Become a park ranger.

Get deep into POGs and become a world champion in that.

Star in a travel show titled Gronkin’ Around.

Build a log cabin with his bare hands and tell people for the next decade about how he built a log cabin with his bare hands.

Ice cream for breakfast?

Go back to school and become a surgeon, just to record people’s reactions when they find out they’re being operated on by Gronk.

Become the next Master Chef.

Run a small, but successful wiki explain the Peppa Pig multiverse.

Start a supplement company, but the supplements are just booze.

Wrestle a dolphin.

Try to find Bigfoot.

Launch into space with the help of Elon Musk.

Try to trademark the number 69 and viciously litigate anyone who says “nice.”

Run for president ... of Norway.

Become a male model.

Organize a music festival in the Bahamas.

Run across America.

Run around in circles a whole bunch.

Run to Circle K and buy all the Gronk energy drinks.

Guest star on every daytime soap opera.

Become a dog handler.

Make the world’s largest omelette.

Run a Ponzi scheme.

Plead ignorance when he gets arrested for running a Ponzi scheme.

Get a presidential pardon for his Ponzi scheme.

Run another Ponzi scheme.

Write a book detailing his time running Ponzi schemes.

Limbo.

Form a company that makes robots and beat those nerds at their own game.

Hang around Bill Belichick’s house and burst though the door at inopportune times like Urkel.

Start a chain of burger restaurants with his brothers called “Gronkburgers.” All the burgers are made out of butt meat.

Write a children’s novel.

Become the world’s oldest esports star.

Become the world’s youngest cribbage star.

Raise a lost whale in captivity then burst into tears when it’s finally time to free it.

Haunt Tom Brady’s house.

Roll around in the hay. Literally. Just Gronk, an old barn and a whole bunch of hay.

Become a male stripper.

Join the XFL.

Return to the NFL to help a team in need.

Manage a Dunkin’.

Open a chocolate factory a live a child-like Willy Wonka-esque life.

Become a recluse and grow a massive beard of bees.

Learn what was actually eating Gilbert Grape.

Play though every Kingdom Hearts game.

Start his own podcast version of Love Line.

Join the Coalition for the Liberation of Itinerant Tree Dwellers.

Adopt 101 dalmatians.

Start his own comic about a lazy orange cat who hates Mondays and loves vodka, Gronkfield.

Find D.B. Cooper’s treasure.

Live a year in Antarctica.

Get trapped in his garage by fallen newspapers. Then see how many times he can bounce a ball in a day and try to break that record.

Live at Disney World.

Get a guest role in the remake of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.

Steal the Declaration of Independence.

Start a raiding guild in World of Warcraft.

Successfully lobby to get “tight end” added as an official, legal name title.

Make a large hadron collider in his back yard and collapse the universe.

Run a banana stand.

Go on Dancing With The Stars.

Settle down in the suburbs.

Become best friends with a helper monkey named Stewart.

Live in a igloo for a little while.

Get into cryptotaxidermy (SORRY).

Find the lost city of Atlantis, then realize he just ended up at Atlantis, the resort in the Bahamas.

Just do something really nice.

[roselesliesource]

You could forgive Rose Leslie for finding it rather trying to have the same 5 words incessantly yelled at her in the street – even if those 5 words are ‘You know nothing, Jon Snow’ and came as a result of her stellar 3-year stint on Game of Thrones. But it turns out that Rose is so very nice as to insist she actually likes it. ‘It’s a lovely thing to be on the receiving end of,’ she says. ‘I feel so lucky, a, to have [a catchphrase] and, b, to be a part of a show that is universally adored.’ It’s a sunny spring day, but the east London warehouse we’re shooting in is so inexplicably cold that even a person who grew up in a Scottish castle (that would be Rose) is gripped by the chill. Still, she poses gamely around the freezing space to show off SS17’s key deconstructed pieces to their best advantage. From the big fashion hitters to the titans of television, Rose’s ascent to stardom has come via some of the modern era’s most celebrated shows: her breakout role Gwen in the first season of Downton Abbey, then Thrones’ Ygritte, Wildling warrior and doomed love of Jon Snow. Now her flawless record continues with The Good Fight, the much-anticipated The Good Wife spin-off and a newly minted hit. The series follows Christine Baranski’s Diane Lockhart as she moves to a new law firm after her plans to retire fall through (she loses all her money in a Ponzi scheme run by a close friend); Rose plays Maia, Diane’s beloved goddaughter and offspring of the Ponzi schemer. Here, she shares style advice, reminisces about Ygritte’s costumes and tells us about Maia’s ‘pretty good fight of her own’. Everyone seems to have gone wild for The Good Fight. Do you think that’s down in part to how very current it feels, exploring subjects like fake news and even opening the pilot with Diane Lockhart watching the Trump inauguration? Rose Leslie: ‘Yes, and I’m certainly incredibly proud of the fact that [showrunners] Robert and Michelle King decided to be bold enough to take on the administration in terms of highlighting what they feel needs to be brought to people’s attention. In the pilot, I think that with nothing being said, you can project whatever your own feelings are to Donald Trump being sworn in. Diane Lockhart’s face is so beautifully blank – you were able to project whatever your own thoughts were onto her face and be like, “Oh my god, this must be what Diane is feeling.” I thought that was very clever.’

The series is set around a law firm and your character Maia has just passed the Bar – did you have to do your legal homework before filming? ‘I kind of took artistic license with Maia being relatively new and green when it came to the world of court. I realised that I could lean a little bit on her in this being her first time as well as my own, so it was okay that I was a bit jittery and nervous about taking somebody down in the witness stand. And I did learn the meaning of some words, words I had an idea of – litigation, arbitration and affidavit, but I had to really cement their meaning into my head for when I was speaking them, because to not know what the hell you’re talking about would be shambolic on my behalf.’ You were working with the glorious Christine Baranski and Bernadette Peters – amazing role models for an actress. Did they live up to expectations? ‘They both have the most incredible spirit of generosity [and] hold themselves with such grace. They are so friendly, so welcoming and professional, to the point where they nail it in a couple of takes. You end up being like, “Holy shit, I need to up my game because I’m opposite Bernadette Peters.” And she was such a darling of a lady, and I feel very much the same with Christine, who from the off was incredibly warm towards me. I realised that this was something new that we were embarking on together, it’s an ensemble piece and she wanted me to feel very welcome on this set she knows very well.’ You seem to play very strong characters. Maia is a fighter, Ygritte was a warrior of a woman, even Gwen in Downton Abbey refused to settle for the status quo… ‘I would say certainly the characters that appeal to me most are the women who are thrown out of their comfort zone. Seeing them grapple with their new situation – realising they have backbone and being able to fight against the tide – you could term that as strong. Maia finds herself in this extraordinary, atrocious scenario of no longer trusting her father, with whom she’s had an incredibly close relationship with, realises that he has scammed hundreds of millions out of innocent people, ruining their lives and also jeopardising her career, which she has fought very hard for. I rated her for being someone who wasn’t self-involved with her own desires, and decided to take the approach of showing that she is as good as her peers, despite having an incredible advantage in life with her parents being billionaires.’ The Good Wife was renowned for its style, does The Good Fight follow suit? ‘I would be doing Dan Lawson an incredible disservice if I didn’t praise the ground he works on – he was the costume designer on The Good Wife and he is also with us, so tonally, expressively you’re getting a similar vibe. I feel like it’s fashion-forward in showing the power that one can convey with and through fashion, in complementing what one feels in the scene with what you’re going to wear, and as a result showing the viewer how the character feels in that particular episode – let’s say there aren’t any bold colours or patterns, because actually Maia’s feeling very dour and her low self-esteem is coming through in the clothes and the drab colours that she’s gone for. Dan is a master at pulling that off.’ Of all your roles, whose costumes do you like best? ‘I’m not good in heels! So I would have to say give me the flat boots in [Ygritte’s] battlegear. I loved wearing armour and having a bow and arrow, and just being a bit dirty and grubby. But my god I’ve been given some beautiful pieces in The Good Fight: I had the most beautiful Alexander McQueen two-piece and a Helmut Lang overcoat – the woman [Maia] has the most incredible wardrobe! So I’ve had a lot of fun in being able to wear something I would never have the chance to in real life, because as an actor you’re not really gonna be wearing office attire day-to-day.’ Which character has a style closest to your own? ‘‘If you had asked me when I was 22, I would most certainly have said Ygritte, whereby she was more of a tomboy-esque person. But I’d like to think I’m slowly ebbing towards Maia, and the maturity that she has, now I’m a 30-year-old woman…’ You looked amazing in Christian Dior at the Olivier Awards – do you enjoy getting dressed up for the red carpet or is it a chore? ‘It’s fun, it’s so fun! To be fair you’d be hard-pushed to look someone in the eye and say you don’t enjoy someone faffing around you for 2 hours and making you feel lovely. And I really enjoy getting ready because it’s a team effort – it takes a whole village!’ And finally, which of today’s looks would you most like to take home? ‘I had the most beautiful striped Loewe dress on, with the collar off-kilter and a wraparound on the waist and billowed shoulders. I do think it’s a little more interesting when things are offbeat; I’m drawn to that in what I wear, and also it applies to different aspects of my life. You’re not following the obvious form – I rather enjoy that.’

[roselesliedaily]

Make The Cut

Actress Rose Leslie on life after Game of Thrones and her latest role

You could forgive Rose Leslie for finding it rather trying to have the same 5 words incessantly yelled at her in the street – even if those 5 words are ‘You know nothing, Jon Snow’ and came as a result of her stellar 3-year stint on Game of Thrones. But it turns out that Rose is so very nice as to insist she actually likes it. ‘It’s a lovely thing to be on the receiving end of,’ she says. ‘I feel so lucky, a, to have [a catchphrase] and, b, to be a part of a show that is universally adored.’

Words by Hollie Moat, Photography by Tom Craig, Styling by Poppy Kain

It’s a sunny spring day, but the east London warehouse we’re shooting in is so inexplicably cold that even a person who grew up in a Scottish castle (that would be Rose) is gripped by the chill. Still, she poses gamely around the freezing space to show off SS17’s key deconstructed pieces to their best advantage. From the big fashion hitters to the titans of television, Rose’s ascent to stardom has come via some of the modern era’s most celebrated shows: her breakout role Gwen in the first season of Downton Abbey, then Thrones’ Ygritte, Wildling warrior and doomed love of Jon Snow. Now her flawless record continues with The Good Fight, the much-anticipated The Good Wife spin-off and a newly minted hit. The series follows Christine Baranski’s Diane Lockhart as she moves to a new law firm after her plans to retire fall through (she loses all her money in a Ponzi scheme run by a close friend); Rose plays Maia, Diane’s beloved goddaughter and offspring of the Ponzi schemer. Here, she shares style advice, reminisces about Ygritte’s costumes and tells us about Maia’s ‘pretty good fight of her own’.

Everyone seems to have gone wild for The Good Fight. Do you think that’s down in part to how very current it feels, exploring subjects like fake news and even opening the pilot with Diane Lockhart watching the Trump inauguration?

Rose Leslie: ‘Yes, and I’m certainly incredibly proud of the fact that [showrunners] Robert and Michelle King decided to be bold enough to take on the administration in terms of highlighting what they feel needs to be brought to people’s attention. In the pilot, I think that with nothing being said, you can project whatever your own feelings are to Donald Trump being sworn in. Diane Lockhart’s face is so beautifully blank – you were able to project whatever your own thoughts were onto her face and be like, “Oh my god, this must be what Diane is feeling.” I thought that was very clever.’

The series is set around a law firm and your character Maia has just passed the Bar – did you have to do your legal homework before filming?

‘I kind of took artistic license with Maia being relatively new and green when it came to the world of court. I realised that I could lean a little bit on her in this being her first time as well as my own, so it was okay that I was a bit jittery and nervous about taking somebody down in the witness stand. And I did learn the meaning of some words, words I had an idea of – litigation, arbitration and affidavit, but I had to really cement their meaning into my head for when I was speaking them, because to not know what the hell you’re talking about would be shambolic on my behalf.’

‘The characters that appeal to me most are the women who are thrown out of their comfort zone. Seeing them grapple with their new situation – realising they have backbone to fight against the tide.’ 

You were working with the glorious Christine Baranski and Bernadette Peters – amazing role models for an actress. Did they live up to expectations?

‘They both have the most incredible spirit of generosity [and] hold themselves with such grace. They are so friendly, so welcoming and professional, to the point where they nail it in a couple of takes. You end up being like, “Holy shit, I need to up my game because I’m opposite Bernadette Peters.” And she was such a darling of a lady, and I feel very much the same with Christine, who from the off was incredibly warm towards me. I realised that this was something new that we were embarking on together, it’s an ensemble piece and she wanted me to feel very welcome on this set she knows very well.’

You seem to play very strong characters. Maia is a fighter, Ygritte was a warrior of a woman, even Gwen in Downton Abbey refused to settle for the status quo…

‘I would say certainly the characters that appeal to me most are the women who are thrown out of their comfort zone. Seeing them grapple with their new situation – realising they have backbone and being able to fight against the tide – you could term that as strong. Maia finds herself in this extraordinary, atrocious scenario of no longer trusting her father, with whom she’s had an incredibly close relationship with, realises that he has scammed hundreds of millions out of innocent people, ruining their lives and also jeopardising her career, which she has fought very hard for. I rated her for being someone who wasn’t self-involved with her own desires, and decided to take the approach of showing that she is as good as her peers, despite having an incredible advantage in life with her parents being billionaires.’

The Good Wife was renowned for its style, does The Good Fight follow suit?

‘I would be doing Dan Lawson an incredible disservice if I didn’t praise the ground he works on – he was the costume designer on The Good Wife and he is also with us, so tonally, expressively you’re getting a similar vibe. I feel like it’s fashion-forward in showing the power that one can convey with and through fashion, in complementing what one feels in the scene with what you’re going to wear, and as a result showing the viewer how the character feels in that particular episode – let’s say there aren’t any bold colours or patterns, because actually Maia’s feeling very dour and her low self-esteem is coming through in the clothes and the drab colours that she’s gone for. Dan is a master at pulling that off.’

Of all your roles, whose costumes do you like best?

‘I’m not good in heels! So I would have to say give me the flat boots in [Ygritte’s] battlegear. I loved wearing armour and having a bow and arrow, and just being a bit dirty and grubby. But my god I’ve been given some beautiful pieces in The Good Fight: I had the most beautiful Alexander McQueen two-piece and a Helmut Lang overcoat – the woman [Maia] has the most incredible wardrobe! So I’ve had a lot of fun in being able to wear something I would never have the chance to in real life, because as an actor you’re not really gonna be wearing office attire day-to-day.’

Which character has a style closest to your own?

‘‘If you had asked me when I was 22, I would most certainly have said Ygritte, whereby she was more of a tomboy-esque person. But I’d like to think I’m slowly ebbing towards Maia, and the maturity that she has, now I’m a 30-year-old woman…’

You looked amazing in Christian Dior at the Olivier Awards – do you enjoy getting dressed up for the red carpet or is it a chore?

‘It’s fun, it’s so fun! To be fair you’d be hard-pushed to look someone in the eye and say you don’t enjoy someone faffing around you for 2 hours and making you feel lovely. And I really enjoy getting ready because it’s a team effort – it takes a whole village!’

And finally, which of today’s looks would you most like to take home?

‘I had the most beautiful striped Loewe dress on, with the collar off-kilter and a wraparound on the waist and billowed shoulders. I do think it’s a little more interesting when things are offbeat; I’m drawn to that in what I wear, and also it applies to different aspects of my life. You’re not following the obvious form – I rather enjoy that.’

[socialjusticeartshare]

The Decision Faced By Families In Immigration Detention: Let Your Children Go Or Stay Together

In May, a mother in Dilley, Texas, was asked a question that no mother should ever have to answer.

Ever since she sought asylum in the United States, the mother and her 3-year-old child have been incarcerated. On August 13, the family will have been in detention for a full year, according to the mother’s lawyer, Shay Fluharty, who spoke to Romper.

Right now, the mother is watching her toddler grow up in jail. The child is physically and mentally broken. Ever since the pandemic began, the mother has been relegated to sporadic, limited interactions with her pro bono lawyer on the phone. She fears contracting COVID-19, not only for the health implications, but also because it would isolate her from other detainees for weeks, further cutting her off from information.

That day in May, without an attorney present, the mother was asked to sign a form with the following question, paraphrased here:

Would you give consent to let your child go free without you?

All of the mothers in Dilley were asked the same question in a fashioned trailer courthouse. The question was also asked in Karnes, a facility in Karnes City, Texas, according to Andrea Meza, director of Family Detention Services at RAICES, who spoke with Romper. Children are also being detained at Berks facility in Pennsylvania, where families were recently denied release in spite of the outbreak.

The July 17 episode of “This American Life” interviewed a different mother in Dilley under the pseudonym Yiret, who has an 8-year-old son. Yiret was simply told by an Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer: "We need a signature from you guys.”

She told “This American Life”: “He didn't say separate, but we're not dumb.”

In the episode, ICE officials told Yiret that her son would be safer away from the detention facilities and the virus. The parents banded together and did not sign. Their decision could mean further detention and trauma for their children. But the question terrified everybody, including the children in Dilley according to Fluharty. Family separation was a looming possibility, again.

In 2018, Americans raged when they heard the cries of children who had been ripped from their parents’ arms at the Mexico-U.S. border under Trump’s “zero-tolerance” immigration policy.��Family separation was legally halted by a federal judge in June 2018, thanks in part to the public outcry. However, separation policies continued to operate. The Trump administration separated more than5,400 children from their parents from July 2017 to October 2019, according to numbers tallied by the American Civil Liberties Union. Six children are known to have died in custody after a decade of no such deaths. It is a humanitarian disaster.

Then, in 2020, everything got worse. COVID-19 has spread throughout detention centers, with 4,038 cases reported by ICE to August 3, while the pandemic and clashes over police brutality have put the border crisis on the backburner in the American consciousness. Meanwhile, thousands of detainees have been infected.

Recently, a tinge of hope was conjured and then dashed. In June, Judge Dolly Gee of the Central District of California ruled that the American detention centers were dangerous for children and ordered all children who had been in custody more than 20 days released by July 17, either with their parents or other suitable guardians with parental consent.

The deadline passed. Nothing. The deadline was postponed to July 27. Yet, the roughly 124 children in custody have not been released. Dozens of families are still pouring into the U.S. detention centers and into Trump’s legally murky, unsafe U.S. Migrant Protection Protocols program, aka the “Remain in Mexico” program, on the Mexico side of the border. A vast majority of the detained families at Karnes facility are Haitian according to RAICES.

Every time this request has come up, it's the family that asks for it. It should never be chosen by the government.

ICE, which is taxpayer-funded, has increased its spending from $3.3 billion in 2003 to $8.4 billion in 2020, according to the Department of Homeland Security Budget. Its greatest expense is housing detained immigrants.

The delay is not logistical. Asylum seekers are not considered a flight risk nor a threat by immigration experts. ICE has released complete families together in the past, even under Trump. Typically, released detainees go to their family members’ homes in the U.S., according to Meza. Or, they enter sponsorship programs, shelters or ICE’s Alternative-to-Detention programs, which include ankle monitoring or home visits. Some families have been released after interviews with asylum offices, says Meza.

“The fact that they’re releasing people with interviews just further undermines [ICE]. You're releasing some families, so clearly you can do it,” says Meza. “These [migrants] are people who traveled all across the world to get here. There’s a lot of racism that’s inherently tied to this narrative of ‘oh, what do we do with them while they roam around the country?’ With services, they will be fine.”

The delay is instead due to ICE’s legal roadblocks and deliberate inaction.

ICE exploited the fact that the California ruling had jurisdiction only over the children in detention under the 1997 Flores Agreement. The agency could have used its sweeping legal authority to release the families together, according to Meza, who cited federal regulation 8 CFR 1236.3 which stipulates that incarcerated juveniles and parents can be released simultaneously on a “discretionary, case-by-case basis.”

Instead, the agency posed the Sophie’s Choice-esque question to detained parents: allow us to release your kids without you, or stay in prison as a family.

“[The ultimatum] exists and it doesn’t at the same time, because ICE has not released any information or numbers of people who are seeing this question,” says Meza. “It's important to note that ICE is choosing to put people through these processes in the middle of a pandemic… they pretend like they're backed into a corner.”

One attorney, Peter Schey, has been criticized by other immigration attorneys working on Flores cases for voicing his support for the question, saying that many of his clients would rather the option to release their children to legal guardians.

Meza argues that while some parents have asked for their children to be released in this manner, ICE’s methods of imposing this question without an attorney present is coercive, not to mention traumatizing.

“Every time this request has come up, it's the family that asks for it. It should never be chosen by the government,” says Meza. “Parents know what's best for their kids. It's in a sense disgusting that there are positions out there that the government should be asking everyone about this.”

Furthermore, ICE did not receive the mass consent from the parents that it was seeking, according to Meza. As far as RAICES knows, all of the parents said no.

This put the agency in contravention of Judge Gee’s ruling to release the children.

“Democracy is barely hanging on, and we’ve been relying on the federal judges to uphold the constitution and constitutional rights and protections,” says Kate Lincoln-Goldfinch, an attorney whose firm represented migrant parents facing separation at the T. Don Hutto Residential Center before the pandemic. “The Trump administration is not following the orders of the judicial branch, which is the first step in the crumbling of our democracy.”

ICE has refused to speak to media time and again. In response to questions from Romper, ICE responded via email: “From an ICE spokesperson — Due to pending litigation, ICE is unable to comment.” Upon request, ICE refused to divulge the name and position of their spokesperson, which is usual for a public, taxpayer-supported entity.

According to Fluharty, the lack of transparency, the tortuous detention for migrant families, the dashed hopes and never-ending legal battles are part of ICE’s deliberately opaque strategy to deter migrants from trying to enter the country legally.

“The government is using things like indefinite detention or family separation to break people down and ultimately lead them to abandon their claims for asylum and perhaps give up,” says Fluharty.

Activists, immigration lawyers and at least one former ICE official who spoke with NBC’s Jacob Soboroff believe that, at the heart of it, the delay is based in unconscionable cruelty.

“This is all planned and premeditated, and [the Trump administration] knew exactly how this would play out,” says Lincoln-Goldfinch. “The only thing they may not have anticipated was public outcry about family separation.”

Gee has since deemed her June ruling “unenforceable” by the July 27 deadline due to ICE’s inability to acquire parental consent, leaving the families in legal limbo.

In July, RAICES filed a complaint to the Department of Homeland Security to release the parents from custody due to inadequate health care at the centers. At least seven children and 14 adults have been confirmed to have tested positive for COVID-19, according to the complaint, although the self-administered testing methods in the facilities have been sharply criticized as inaccurate. U.S. District Judge James E. Boasberg denied the complaint, saying that ICE has provided masks, disinfected surfaces and isolated infected parties in detention, though he conceded that ICE “continues to fall short of full compliance with its policies in practice.”

In another policy thread, Trump has fast-tracked deportation without due process. The policy is currently being challenged by nonprofit immigration groups in the D.C. District Court of Appeals.

And on, and on.

Incarcerated and separated children face a lifetime of attachment disorders, toxic stress, and trauma.

“It’s hard for me to keep up and it’s my job,” says Lincoln-Goldfinch. “I can only imagine for the rest of the American public, to stay up to date is difficult enough if there’s not a pandemic going on.”

When asked if a change in administration would turn the tides during the 2020 election, Fluharty wasn’t sure.

“Horrible is relative, and neither the Trump nor Obama administration has done right by these people,” said Fluharty, who mentioned that President Barack Obama was the first to introduce family detention to curb asylum requests. “I do think our government has learned quite a lot since. I just hope that we don’t have to wait until a mother and a child dies from COVID-19, or that families feel no other option but to separate from their children for people to know that what we fought against in 2018 is happening again.”

The mother in the Dilley detention facility doesn’t know about all of these political and judicial jousts. She can only wait and worry as her children approach their one-year anniversary in detention.

The damage that America has done to her children, and is currently doing to her children, comprises Type III trauma, a form of trauma with lifelong and neurological impacts, studies such as this 2018 BMJ Paediatrics Open paper have found. Incarcerated and separated children face a lifetime of attachment disorders, toxic stress, and trauma, a continuum of distress that settles into a disaffect of “fear without resolution” once attachment to the parent has been severed. Yet, the intense public outrage has all but disappeared.

“It’s perhaps accessible for a mother to imagine being ripped away from their child. That’s a human experience most people can understand,” says Fluharty. “It’s difficult to imagine what it’s like to have your daughter speak her first words in jail or have a quinceañera in detention. People are waiting for family separation to happen to be outraged, but detention is causing harm right now.”

Meza suggested that sympathetic Americans call their representatives to demand that ICE release the families together. She also suggested helping local organizations that are aiding migrant families. Mothers may be interested in Sueños Sin Fronteras, for example, which provides reproductive health services to women on the border.

Lincoln-Goldfinch says that while we may be able to change course, America is forever tainted.

“Family separation, the remain-in-Mexico program and family detention are going to put a stain for hundreds of years on our country for the way that we failed once again to protect migrants.”

Article Source

[maxwellyjordan]

Symposium: How to count to one

John Knepper is a private attorney based in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He previously was chief deputy attorney general of Wyoming. He filed an amicus brief on behalf of the Susan B. Anthony List in support of the respondent in June Medical Services v. Russo.

Marks v. United States instructs that when a majority of the justices cannot agree on more than the outcome, “the holding of the Court may be viewed as that position taken by those Members who concurred in the judgments on the narrowest grounds.” Much of the immediate analysis of June Medical Services v. Russo has therefore focused on Chief Justice John Roberts’ concurring opinion. Indeed, the chief’s concurrence makes it difficult not to consider the effect of his opinion: He cites Marks in a footnote when discussing Planned Parenthood v. Casey.

The chief justice is not the most important jurist in this case, however. That honor goes to the district court judge in the Middle District of Louisiana. Both Justice Stephen Breyer, writing for a four-justice plurality, and the chief defer to the district judge’s findings of fact as dispositive. That judge’s view of the world-as-it-exists can be challenged only when “clearly erroneous.” And according to the five justices who voted to strike down Louisiana’s abortion law, the mistake made by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 5th Circuit was a lack of proper respect for the district court’s findings of fact.

For the plurality, the six-day bench trial on the motion for a preliminary injunction established that Louisiana has “no significant health-related problem that the new law helped to cure.” The chief justice views this fact as irrelevant. Nothing in Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt or Casey calls for analysis of the benefits of regulation.

The district court also held, however, that Louisiana’s law burdens the abortion right because four of the state’s full-time abortion providers are unable to obtain admitting privileges at nearby hospitals. And even if the abortion providers could obtain admitting privileges, the plurality questions whether they would be able to maintain this affiliation if they provided abortions only at off-site locations.

Bound by the factual findings of the district court, the chief justice concurs.

The chief justice notes that the legal requirements of the Louisiana law are nearly identical to those of the Texas law that was struck down in Whole Woman’s Health, but it is not clear how this is relevant to his concurrence. In response to the dissenters, he explicitly agrees every litigant should have a fresh opportunity to litigate the facts of a new case. The risk of inconsistency—different results for similar state laws—arises not from Louisiana’s policy choices but from the Supreme Court’s decision in Whole Woman’s Health. That decision was explicitly an as-applied challenge. The court could not consider broader, pre-enforcement issues because the Texas plaintiffs had already lost a pre-enforcement challenge and had abandoned their appeal.

The chief justice’s motivating concern appears to be that the federal district court found that the effect of the Louisiana law would be at least as restrictive as the Texas law. This was enough. The district court’s decision displays no clear error, so its conclusions about the Louisiana law’s effects “bind us in this case.” “I cannot view the record here as in any pertinent respect sufficiently different from that in Whole Woman’s Health to warrant a different outcome,” the chief writes.

As Justice Samuel Alito points out, however, the critical factual determination in June Medical is not whether every Louisiana abortion provider obtained admitting privileges at a nearby hospital. Several have not yet done so. The question is whether the abortion providers will ever be able to obtain admitting privileges. On this point the record is murky. The abortion providers are not identified, and neither are the faceless hospital employees who—in the view of the district court—made the credentialing process “Kafka-esque.” (As an attorney who has been involved in health care law from several perspectives, I would ask the participants whether this is their first experience with the American health care system.)

Properly understood, the critical fact decided by the district court is not a fact in the world-as-it-exists at all. It is a prediction that abortion providers cannot survive the law’s new regulatory requirements. And the merit of this prediction depends on one’s perception of the hospital committees that review applications for admitting privileges.

For the plurality, the physicians on these committees are, at best, economic protectionists working to limit competition and ensure that insurance reimbursements for follow-up care flow to their own coffers. They may also be, the plurality suggests, anonymous non-government actors who have been stealthily empowered to eliminate abortion services altogether.

For three members of the dissent, privilege review committees are one of the many processes mandated by the federal government to improve patient care and reduce medical errors. (Antitrust attorneys, take note: the justices may be unanimous in the view that economic protectionism is a poor reason to deny hospital admitting privileges.) When one provider steps away, another physician will see an opportunity to earn money. The record in this case shows, for example, that two Louisiana abortion providers were an ophthalmologist and a radiologist, respectively. These physicians chose to re-orient their careers, and others might choose the same path. The review by privileges committees ensures quality health care by physicians who have relevant training and experience.

This is the real difficulty with June Medical. The chief justice’s view of stare decisis is “contextual.” It is fact-specific. In Louisiana, the district judge decided the facts, and his vision of Louisiana health care is the only one that matters. The logical question for other litigants is: Who will decide the facts in my case? The most celebrated factfinder in our constitutional framework is the jury, but the Supreme Court’s Seventh Amendment jurisprudence permits litigants to avoid a jury by seeking only an injunction. It is not at all clear that the defendants could have demanded a jury trial for the facts here.

The horn has sounded, and the race to the courthouse has begun. Forum selection has always been part of case analysis, but now it is essential. June Medical makes the district court’s factual predictions so critical that it would be irresponsible not to consider every option. While it is too early to know how litigants will react, one should not expect the states to continue to passively defer to abortion providers in the choice of venue.

Forum selection will be important for another reason as well. In dissent, Justice Clarence Thomas points out that, just two months ago, in Ramos v. Louisiana, three justices rejected the Marks analysis. They concluded that, in some cases, a concurrence may be so different from the plurality that the court has no controlling opinion at all. Abortion providers will undoubtedly cite Ramos to argue that the chief justice’s concurrence in June Medical is entitled to no weight. And they will renew their argument that Whole Woman’s Health created a new paradigm for abortion litigation. This legal argument will be decided, in the first instance, by a district court judge.

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