Summary:Anya Corazon seeks out some legal advice from Jen Walters. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Mondays are typically slow for the offices of Jennifer Walters. And by "offices" we mean "office," since there's only one and a waiting room. Jennifer is currently relaxing, taking a break from doing actual work to putter around on Twitter. She's got two accounts. Her business account as Jennifer, one of the tools that she used to help raise awareness for the anti-registration cause she worked so long and hard for, and a much more light hearted and humorous She-Hulk account that she recently started up, now that she can afford to be more light hearted and humorous.
What in the hell do you wear to see a lawyer?
This was the chief problem Anya faced when preparing to meet Jennifer Walters. Cut off jeans? Nope. Bondage dress? Nope. Nirvana t-shirt? Maybe. Nope. It was a real legitimate struggle; eventually Anya settled on a horrible purple dress that she was forced to wear to some recital back in High School. Horrible by her countercultural standards, perhaps, but to most people, it's actually quite lovely. Just above the knees, thin straps, not too low cut… the perfect mixture of style and conservatism.
It doesn't go too well with the red and black Chucks, or the pink mohawk on her head, or the backpack that's covered in patches ranging from funny to vulgar, but, at least she tried.
Walking into the office, she immediately feels comforted by the fact that it's not fancy. So, the young woman approaches the desk with a slightly awkward smile on her face and says, "Hi. Uh, Anya Corazon? I'm here to see Jen- Miss Walters."
This is so, so far from shooting dice in alleys, DSA meetings at NYU, and web slinging around East Harlem.
Jennifer looks up from tweeting to an almost hilariously mismatched Anya, and blinks at her, surprised. The green lawyer glances at her watch and immediately stands up straight and adopts a more professional air. "Miss Corazon! It's a pleasure to meet you." Jen is dressed business casual today. Dark purple slacks, white blouse, faux-pearl necklace. Her green hair has been tied back into a lazy bun, with thick strands escaping from it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says, extending a hand for shaking, and once that pleasantry is done, she gestures to a chair. "Please, take a seat and tell me what brings you in today."
"Hi," Anya says again, and her awkward smile becomes a bit less so as she's ushered into the office. "Well, I'm not in trouble," she's quick to point out, and casts her eyes about for a moment, as if questioning whether they really have privacy before taking the offered seat and setting her backpack on the floor.
"I mean, I'm not in trouble, but -" The young woman grimaces a bit at her own awkwardness. This is so remarkably unlike anything she has ever done before, and it shows. She chews on her lip for a moment, before abruptly throwing the facade out of the window. Her forearms come to rest on Jen's desk, and her eyes suddenly become sharp. "How much do you cost? And we've got client privilege, right? Or do I have to pay you first in order to have client privilege?"
"I work on a sliding scale," Jennifer says, sensing Anya's hesitation, and moving around to the door and locking it to make sure nobody barges in on them while they talk. "I'm sure that we can work something out that would fit your budget." She walks, now, to behind her desk and shuts the blinds, insuring their privacy. "And anything you say to me as soon as you walk through that door is covered by client privilege. Considering my clientele I take it very seriously."
She sits back down at her desk and closes her laptop so that she can give Anya her full, undivided attention. "Please, tell me what's on your mind."
The young woman nods her head a couple of times. She's no stranger to sliding scale, government assistance, things of that nature, but once assured of her privacy, she breathes a sigh of relief and sits back in her seat.
"This." Anya pulls out a cell phone, swipes it open, and opens her browser. The page is already open; a news site, from about a week ago, with a story on two masked vigilantes assisting NYPD in a hostage situation. "This," she says again, and swipes down until the article rests on a woman in black and white, standing with fists on her hips next to a NYPD Powered Crime Officer.
She swivels the phone around to show Jennnifer, and taps her finger next to the image of Spider-Girl. Eyebrows crawling upward, she looks up from the phone and says quietly, "That's me."
Jennifer leans forward to look at the offered phone, her eyes darting up between it and Anya a couple of times. "I see," she nods, settling back in her chair, not sounding too surprised at this revelation. Anya is far from the first client she's had that has a secret identity. "The law about masked vigilantes is still really …" she pauses trying to think of a good word. "Wiggly. Specifically what kind of concerns do you have?"
"I know," Anya answers, nodding her head while reclaiming her phone. The admission has her feeling relieved, safe, and yet even more terrified all at once.
"Wiggly," she repeats, and cant help but grin a little. It's very brief. "I mean… where do I start, ya know?" she asks. "Right there, I was helping a cop. I've been on two operations with SHIELD." She leans forward, eyes wide, her voice dropping in volume but rising in tone. "SHIELD!" She leans back, looking spooked. "I mean, they didn't ask for my name, but I gave them some of my tech, so, they know. They have to know. And, I mean, I don't really care, except… my family, my education…"
The poor girl is so tied up about all of this that she's not even bothering to formulate concrete thoughts.
Jennifer grins with Anya, "It's exciting, isn't it? I do really miss doing that kind of thing myself. I still get into it when the need arises though." She waves a hand to dismiss her thoughts and to get back on track. "I get where you're coming from, though. There are things you want to protect, and having a very definite line between your private life and your superhero life helps with that." She laces her fingers together and leans forward on her desk, "But other than being a confidant, which I don't charge for, how can I help?"
There is a moment where the young woman visibly relaxes. "It is, yeah. Like, really exciting." She shakes her head then, and tries to formulate a thought on why she's actually here.
"I guess… here's the thing. That cop? She was totally cool with me. SHIELD is calling me up asking for my help. And I got some invitation to join this research organization, as… well, not as me, but as Spider-Girl." Folding her hands so that she can fidget a little, she looks at Jennifer with an underlying anxiety written in her eyes and across her face.
"So, what happens if I'm trying to save someone, or stop someone, and I do some property damage? What if some cop tries to nab me for that, or for vigilantism in general, and I run? What happens if I… if I mess something up and someone ends up seriously hurt, or… or worse? What do I do then? I mean, these are things that are keeping me up at night. You know, when I'm not out there, keeping an eye on things."
Jennifer listens attentively, nodding occasionally. When the girl is finished, she leans back into her chair and lets out a breath. "Those are concerns you share with a lot of other people. Unfortunately there isn't a clear answer here. For the most part, Spider-Girl, as a legal entity doesn't exist. You can't put a warrant out for Spider-Girl. You can't sue Spider-Girl, because all Spider-Girl is is Anya Corazon in spandex, so there's a bit of a buffer there as long as nobody finds out who you are."
She sits and thinks for a moment. "Really the only thing that can be done is to arrest you, since you don't need proof of identity to do that, and once arrested they'll need to find out who you are, which is much easier when you're in custody than when you're out in the field, and from there they can charge you for whatever crimes they can think of."
"As bad as that sounds, the reality is that most of the time the vigilante is acquitted, for much the same reasons law enforcement agencies don't even get charged for property damage and the like while taking action while on duty."
While Anya is listening, she can't help but smirk a little at the mention of spandex. "It's actually spider silk," she corrects, but not to be rude; she's particularly proud of it.
As quick as that, however, Anya is listening again. She nods her head a bit, then angles it to the side. "Because… if you're trying to save the corner store owner from getting shot in the face, but you fuck up his store in the process, it's… kind of a dick move to sue you when you just saved his life." It's not the best comparison, but it's the first thing that came to this girl from East Harlem's mind.
"I did look up some things when I was building my drone," she remarks. "New York is one of those states where you can make recordings of audio and video without consent, so, as long as I keep Arana running and monitoring me, I've got video. If, like…" She gestures with her hands, trying to understand. She's a very smart young woman, but not where the law is concerned. "If I did somehow get busted, I could use those recordings to defend myself?"
Jennifer chuckles at the very specific example that Anya gives her. "It is kind of a dick move," she admits. "But New York is filled with dicks, and most insurance companies have superhero collateral damage clauses in them now, so on a practical level, they'd get more compensation from their insurance than going through the time, trouble, and expense of going to trial."
She nods when Anya talks about her drone. "Absolutely, though you'd have to be careful because they may also be used as admission of guilt, since both sides will have access to the evidence."
Anya slowly nods her head, and the last thought is troubling to her. She looks down, as if feeling some of that guilt right now. "So… I gotta make sure, if I'm gonna do that, I gotta do it straight." She looks back up and seems convicted.
"I'm not from the best neighborhood, you know," she admits. "There's kind of a general rule; you don't mess up someone too bad. You don't put 'em in the hospital, but, sometimes you teach them a lesson." She shrugs. "Two punches instead of one. One for extra measure. Make sure they really got the point." She shrugs. "It's the language there, you know? That… could really be bad. Right?"
Jen purses her lips in thought, "I …. wouldn't recommend assault as a teaching tool." She shakes her head, "But I get where you're coming from. One extra punch can be the difference between self defense and assault, however. If the perpetrator is already incapacitated, then that's where you need to stop. Especially if you're endowed with superhuman strength. It's something I have to be careful with all the time."
Truth is, Anya thinks about it all of the time. She chews on her lip slowly for a moment, before nodding her head. "I hope it doesn't sound stupid. But it's just… good for someone to know. By my choice, not because I did something dumb, like try to web someone up without putting my mask on first." She shakes her head and blushes. "It's not like I think I'm gonna get in trouble, but it's been… bothering me. So, I guess I know who to call if it ever happens."
"You're not the only person who's come to me who's just really looking for somebody to confide in," Jennifer smiles sympathetically, "It's the client/attorney privilege. That's something we have in common with therapists." She says this pointedly, as if to highlight that there are other, perhaps better qualified people to confide in. "But I'm here to help." She pulls out a business card, flips it over, and scribbles a number on the back of it before sliding it over to Anya. "That's my private number. Call me if you need a lawyer or a Hulk to back you up."
Anya rubs at the back of her head for a moment, but then something seems to dawn on her. The light bulb visibly goes off, one could say. She reaches to accept the card with a nod, and says, "Well, let's hope I never need to make that call, yeah?" she asks. "But if I do, we'll make it count." She stands up, tucking the card away. "I, uh… thanks. You know. For everything."
Jennifer stands up too, and walks around behind Anya to unlock the door to the little waiting room for her. "It's been my pleasure, Anya," she says sticking out a hand for a parting handshake. "And next time, just dress as yourself, okay? You don't have to get dressed up to come see me, and it'll make you feel more comfortable."
"… So in other words I can finally burn this dress." Anya positively beams at that, and shakes Jen's hand vigorously. "Oh and hey. If you ever wanna get that thrill back… I'm up in Spanish Harlem. Promise not to be territorial."
For all anyone in the waiting room knows, they're talking about girls being girls. You know. Boy hunting.