She doesn't enjoy this abuse. Franziska doesn't enjoy it one bit as her whip flicks across the cheek of her opponent. She doesn't enjoy how it calms her mind and brings her up to the surface of the case again. She doesn't enjoy it when she hears people gasp at her cruelty. Not one bit.
Or so she tells herself. It is simply a brace, a crutch she is forced to rely on to make up for her own inabilities. It has its uses. It gives her the crowd's attention again, and it silences the defendant. She can even recall an instance when she was young and still living in Germany when she was able to stop a fleeing culprit by entangling his legs in her whip.
Yet the effects it has on her mind are by far the most useful. Even just running the cool leather through her hands and hearing it snap can calm her when she's upset. But it is, she admits with some difficulty, the act of inflicting pain that helps the most. She's no sadist; anyone who suggests as much gets a face full of whip and an earful of "fool"s. But seeing the fleck of blood on someone's face, the shock in his eyes, and the change in his attitude as pain sets in settle any pain she herself has. Losing her brother, betrayed by her father, all but alone in the world…
No, it's okay. Because when has she ever been anything but alone? Her father was cold even as her mentor. Her brother was distant, always focused on something or someone in his past. Besides, at least she can take comfort in the knowledge that she only whips men, those that can handle it. Right?
She focuses her eyes on the defense attorney seated across from her in the crowded courtroom. He is making yet another idiotic argument. Belligerent fool. Franziska coils up her whip and slaps it across his cheek in a flash. She smiles. She must admit the whip has its uses.