Crudcombe versus Hartfelt and Goodwin

Alvis was not a man to openly admire members of the opposite sex, but he was instantly impressed and felt completely out of his league. No wonder, he thought, she had three names, she deserved them and needed them, to go with her outfit. Goodwin sat heavily at the table, almost banging down his portfolio as he nodded to those opposite and directed Alvis with his free hand to sit at the end; that is the furtherest away from Mrs. Whitfield Cornby Browne end. Alvis immediately felt the scales tip against them, despite having the great brain of Goodwin nearby; there were three of them and that fellow in the middle with the elongated head looked, frightening. “Fearsome,” said Goodwin, with a nod. “Goodwin,” Fearsome said also with a nod. These were the great adversaries lining up at the gate, ready for the battle of wit and wisdom; it was a good time to be legal thought Goodwin. “My client, Cuttlebone,” said Goodwin. “My client Mrs Whitfield Cornby Browne,” said Fearsome and Alvis had to admit it sounded far grander than his introduction. The room went silent; the people on the opposite sides of the table weighing each other up. Alvis tried to get a look at Mrs. WCB, but she kept her face down. A small bell sounded somewhere and a side door opened at the rear of the room. In came a woman wearing so many gold bangles and they jangled so much she could have done part time work with a marimba band without have to purchase an instrument. She stood with the door open and about twenty seconds later the shrivelled patient Alvis saw at room six shuffled in. At least Alvis thought it was the same shrivelled patient, but this in fact was the great judge Beenbriter. The shrivelled patient Alvis had seen was also not a patient, but a fellow Mediation judge, they just all looked like small, shrivelled patients that needed intensive medical care, and this was actually very close to the truth. The woman left without a word closing the door behind her and the shrivelled patient, we now know as the judge, stood looking after her at the closed door for a full fifteen seconds before he slowly turned to look into the room. Gradually he seemed to recognise something or someone before he shuffled toward his position on the elevated bench at the back. All the people in the room stood and looked toward the great man; he raised a withered hand and said, “Proceed,” in a voice that sounded like a soprano’s F above high C, except with the force of a small tin whistle. Then as if that had taken the last strength from him, he slumped down behind the bench and appeared to Alvis to have disappeared from the scene. It is customary in law matters for those that have brought the case to open the case. That is, they go first, so without further argument Fearsome gave forth. “Mr. Goodwin, it is our case that your client is a cruel and unusual man. This was good; Fearsome had a reputation for putting it as well as any. He had the ability to call a scratch, a deeply wounding gash, a pat, a deadly painful blow or a sniffle, a tremendous outpouring of deep emotional grief.