A rainbow of colorful scalemates has been painstakingly arranged in a semicircle, each of them facing the single orange dragon plush in their midst. The pink light of the moon reflects in their button eyes. To most this would seem like a peaceful night like every other; the quiet, the heap of plush on the wood planks of the tree house and the rustling of pink leaves in the breeze. Yet to this scene, there is an underlying tension almost unnoticeable, a delicate mix of anticipation with a twinge of...fear in the air.

A female troll hums to herself, arms crossed behind her back and a white and red cane in her left hand. A grin spreads over a face as her unseeing eyes fall shut and she breathes in the overwhelming scents of her beloved friends. So many colors. So much deceit.

The Libra can't have to that, of course. She wouldn't be a true Libra if she couldn't eradicate such foul, festering evil. But she is wasting time with this tomfoolery; the audience is waiting. Justice has to be served.

She clears her throat in a professional way and breaks the silence with an unsettling chuckle.

She imagines the accused peers up to her with fright evident in those buttons and if she tries hard enough, her nose provides her with the sweet fragrance of fear, pulling her further into this little role play. What role play? There has never been one! This is reality! How silly of her.

"My, my. I must say that even in my long time employed as a legislacerator, I had yet to come across any crime as heinous as yours! It's sickening me to know that you can live with it. Is there anything you have to say in defense?"

Her own mind whispers words of despair ('I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to!') and futile pleadings and cries into her ear while she towers over the unfortunate scalemate (shivering, crying, pleading. Disgusting.). "Is that all?" she interrupts his scatterbrained monologue of lies. The soft material of his orange corpus looks harmless, fooling the eye.
Oh, but this proud neophyte legislacerator sees so much more. It's funny how the loss of her eyesight enhanced her senses and made her see things with her nose no eye could, not even vision eightfold.
This orange little fellow has the appearance of a saint, but his lies and filth reek, forming almost palpable gray-purple smears on the black canvas of her eyes.

Her near-permanent grin turns upside-down, the corners of her lips curl downward, her nose scrunches up at the stench and her eyebrows knit together, forming a crease in between.

"Neophyte Redglare has no more questions." An expectant sniff in the direction of His Honorable Tyranny. Her mouth waters once her senses detect the approval, the death sentence for the criminal to her feet. No, nothing is decided yet, she reminds herself.

The poor fugitive may have committed a crime, yet he deserves a last chance like everybody else. The Libra is fair after all; before the court everybody is equal, no matter if you have mud sifting through your veins or royal jelly.

In a split second, her trusty coin is held between her fingers, the scratched side glaring down on the sentenced plush. It's always the same and despite the routine, her vascular pump beats excitedly and once more, her sharp teeth reveal themselves in a crooked grin.

The gazes of her audience prickle lightly on her skin as she recites the practiced speech, the familiar words flowing from her mouth with ease. This is always the best part; the relief, the hope and the utter evil weaved together into a bittersweet smell. So intoxicating!

She flips the coin.

The clacking sound as the metal hits the ground echoes throughout the court and nobody dares to breathe.

She allows the taste of sweet, sweet victory to linger in her mouth for a second before she grabs for the noose. Because she sees no coin! She is blind, remember?
This orange scalemate is a case for the gallows.

The pitiful noises the sentenced one makes are heart wrenching, however she knows what crimes he is responsible for and merely cackles with glee.

With skillful hands, the rope is tightened around the toy's neck and she reaches out of her window into her personal gallows and hangs the criminal.
Such a beauty; the dead bodies dangling from the tree branches in peace, splashes of colors against the soft pink of the leaves, creating a gruesome piece of art.

She hangs some more scalemates; it's only fair. They have not yet turned against the law, but she can sense the deceit boiling deep in their stuffing. Balance is restored and the excitement has not yet left her body.

She pokes her nose out once more and tastes the death and justice around her. She then picks up the coin she left lying on the floor and her thumb brushes over the surface of it. Oops. Maybe the little orange bastard could've survived if she were to go by law.

BUT 1T'S NOT H3R F4ULT JUST1C3 1S BL1ND! H3H3H3!

Practice for writing Terezi :3 Feedback is very much welcome