The actors:
Arthur Kirkland (England)
Kiku Honda (Japan)
Lovino Vargas (Romano)
Yao Wang (China)
Feliciano Vargas (Italy)
Ivan Braginsky (Russia)
Alfred F. Jones (America)
Matthew Williams (Canada)
Pancrazio Agostino (Roman Empire)
Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia)
Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany)
Francis Bonnefoy (France)
Peter Turner (Sealand)
Basch Zwingli (Switzerland)
I did change a few last names, so they wouldn't be related. Namely Peter. I had to make up a name for Grandpa Rome, since he doesn't currently have a human name. Everything else is true to canon.
I won't reveal the names of each juror immediately. Try and guess who they are before the introductions! ^J^
Twelve men sat in a jury box, listening halfheartedly as the judge rattled on.
"Murder in the first degree—premeditated homicide—is the most serious charge tried in our criminal courts." He said seriously, staring over the jury box with piercing sea blue eyes. "You've heard a long and complex case, gentlemen, and it is now your duty to sit down to try and separate the facts from the fancy. One man is dead. The life of another is at stake. If there is a reasonable doubt in your minds as to the guilt of the accused ... then you must declare him not guilty. If, however, there is no reasonable doubt, then he must be found guilty. Whichever way you decide, the verdict must be unanimous. I urge you to deliberate honestly and thoughtfully. You are faced with a grave responsibility. Thank you, gentlemen." He bowed his head, blond hair falling into his eyes. The light glimmered off his name tag, reading 'Peter Turner'.
"The jury will retire." The clerk droned, and, almost hesitantly, the twelve jurors stood, filing out of the jury box and into the jury room. The room was furnished with a long conference table and a dozen chairs. The walls were bare, drab, and badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. Along one wall was a row of windows which looked out on the skyline of the city's financial district. High on another wall was an electric clock. A washroom opened off the jury room. In one corner of the room was a water fountain. On the table were pads, pencils, and ashtrays. One of the windows was open. Papers blew across the table and onto the floor as the door opened. Lettered on the outside of the door were the words "Jury Room." A uniformed guard holds the door open, his chin length blond hair waving in the gentle breeze. Slowly, almost self-consciously, the twelve jurors filed in. The green eyed guard counted them as they entered the door, his lips moving, but no sound coming forth. Two of the jurors went to the water fountain. A man with an aged look about him went into the washroom, the door of which is lettered "Men." Several of the jurors took seats at the table. Others stood awkwardly around the room. Several looked out the windows. A blond haired man with an odd cowlick, standing at the window, took out a pack of gum, took a piece, and offered it around. There where no takers. He mopped his brow.
"Y'know something?" He asked a tall man with pale blond hair. "It's hot." The man nodded, a smile pasted on his face. "You'd think they'd at least air-condition the place for the hero. I almost dropped dead in court."
He opened the window a bit wider. The guard looked them over and checked his count, the gun holster at his hip obviously full. Then, satisfied, he makes ready to leave.
"Okay, gentlemen. Everybody's here. If there's anything you want, I'm right outside. Just knock." He left, closing the door. Silently they all looked at the door as the lock clicked.
"I never knew they locked the door." Chimed a man that seemed to have his eyes closed.
"Sure, they lock the door. What did you think?" A man with white hair and red eyes replied, blowing his nose.
"I don't know. I just never thought about it." The man replied, his voice bouncy.
Some of the jurors are took off their jackets, the heat becoming too much for the extra layer of clothing. Others sat down at the table. They were still reluctant to talk to each other. The Foreman, a blond haired man with bushy eyebrows was at head of the table, tearing slips of paper for ballots. Another juror, a young man holding a stuffed polar bear looked out the window, as the two men by the water cooler start talking.
"Six days. They should have finished it in two." He raved, his voice punctuated by an Italian accent. "Talk, talk, talk. Did you ever hear so much talk about nothing?"
"Werr ... I guess ... they're entitred." The black haired man replied nervously.
"Everybody gets a fair trial." He shook his head. "That's the system. Well, I suppose you can't say anything against it."
He looked at the Italian nervously, nodded, and moved away from the water cooler. The man with the polar bear continues staring out the window.
"How did you like that business about the knife? Did you ever hear a phonier story?" The cowlicked man asked, still wearing a brown leather jacket with a pale yellow star on it.
"Vell, look, you've gotta expect that, kesesese." He cut himself off with an odd hissing laugh. "You know vhat you're dealing vith."
"Yeah, I suppose." He replied. "What's the matter, you got a cold?"
"Nah, it's a verbal tic of mine."
The blue eye man nodded sympathetically. "I suppose I have one of those. As a habit, I always call myself a hero."
"All right, gentleman." The foreman interjected. "Let's take our seats."
"Right. This better be fast. I've got tickets to a ball game tonight. Yankees-Cleveland. They got this new kid, Modjelewski, or whatever his name is." He mimed throwing a ball. "Shoom. A real jug handle."
They all sat down, except for the man at the window. The foreman took his seat at the head of the table, sending an annoyed look at still standing man.
"How about sitting down? The gentleman at the window."
He turned, startled.
"How about sitting down?"
"Oh, I'm sorry." He replied, sitting down sheepishly.
"It's tough to figure, isn't it? A kid kills his father. Bing! Just like that. Vell, it's the element. They let the kids run vild. Maybe it serves 'em right." The pale haired man said to the other pale haired man.
"Is everybody here?" The foreman asked, looking around the table.
"The old man's inside, on hon." A man with a rose clipped to his jacket stated.
The bushy browed man turned to the washroom door as the old man walked out.
"We'd like to get started." He told the man, frustrated.
"Forgive me, gentlemen. I didn't mean to keep you waiting." The man's voice was rich, but held an element of resignation.
"It's all right. Find a seat." He sighed.
He took a seat, and the rest of the table stared expectantly at the foreman.
"I suppose a few introductions are in order." He straightened his papers. "My name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm from England."
"My name is Kiku Honda. I am from Japan." Stated the black haired man with a Japanese accent.
"I'm Lovino Vargas. I come from Southern Italy." Said the Italian who had been talking to Kiku.
"My name is Yao Wang. I'm from China." Stated a man with brown hair in a ponytail.
"Ve~ My name is Feliciano Vargas. Lovino is my twin brother!"
Lovino muttered something under his breath about stupid brothers.
"My name is Ivan Braginsky, da? I was born in Mother Russia." Introduced the tall man with pale blond hair.
"I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I'm AMERICAN!" Shouted the blond with a cowlick.
The door unlocked, and the guard stuck his head in. "Be quiet in there. Since you are all doing introductions, my name is Basch Zwingli. I'm Swiss."
The guard exited, closing and locking the door.
"Anyway, my name is Matthew Williams, I'm from Canada."
"My name is Pancrazio Agostin. I am from Italy as well." Said the old man.
"The awesome me is named Gilbert Beilschmidt!" Cried the man sitting next to Matthew. "I'm from the awesome Prussia!"
"Mein gott, shut up bruder." Muttered the blond sitting next to him. "My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt. Gilbert is mein bruder."
"My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I am from France, the country of love, hon hon." He stated, tilting Arthur's chin up.
Arthur quickly pulled back and started speaking again. "All right. Now, you gentlemen can handle this any way you want to. I mean, I'm not going to make any rules. If we want to discuss it first and then vote, that's one way. Or we can vote right now to see how we stand."
"Let's vote now. Who knows, maybe we can all go home." Alfred said, leaning his chair back.
"Kesesese. Let's see who's where." Gilbert offered.
"Right. Let's vote now." Lovino said.
"Anybody doesn't want to vote?" Arthur asked, looking around. "Okay, all those voting guilty raise your hands."
Nearly everyone raised their hands immediately. Pancrazio hesitated, but raised his hand. Matthew remained motionless.
". . . . Nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . . That's eleven for guilty." Arthur counted. "Okay. Not guilty?"
Matthew slowly raised his hand.
"One. Right. Okay. Eleven to one, guilty. Now we know where we are."
"Somebody's in left field." Lovino sneered. "You think he's not guilty?"
"I don't know." Matthew said quietly, looking down.
"I never saw a guiltier man in my life. You sat right in court and heard the same thing I did. The man's a dangerous killer. You could see it!"
"The man? He's nineteen years old."
"That's old enough. He knifed his own father. Four inches into the chest. An innocent nineteen-year-old kid. They proved it a dozen different ways. Do you want me to list them?"
"No." Matthew replied calmly.
"Vell, do you believe his story?" Gilbert asked.
"I don't know whether I believe it or not. Maybe I don't."
"So what'd you vote not guilty for?" Alfred interjected, straightening.
"There were eleven votes for guilty." He replied sheepishly. "It's not so easy for me to raise my hand and send a boy off to die without talking about it first."
"Who says it's easy for the hero?"
"No one."
"What, just because I voted fast? I think the guy's guilty. You couldn't change my mind if you started talking during the revolution!"
"I don't want to change your mind. I just want to talk for a while. Look, this boy's been kicked around all his life. You know, living in a slum, his mother dead since he was nine. That's not a very good head start. He's a tough, angry kid. You know why slum kids get that way? Because we knock 'em on the head once a day, every day. I think maybe we owe him a few words. That's all." Matthew rambled.
Matthew slowly looked around the table. Some of them looked back coldly. Some couldn't look at him. Only Pancrazio nodded slowly. Francis doodled steadily. Yao untied his hair and began to comb it.
"I don't mind telling you zis, kesesese. Ve don't owe him a thing. He got a fair trial, didn't he? You know vat zat trial cost? He's lucky he got it. Look, ve're all grownups here. You're not going to tell us zat ve're supposed to believe him, knowing vhat he is. I've lived among 'em all my life. You can't believe a vord zey say. You know zhat." Gilbert ranted.
"I don't know that. What a terrible thing for a man to believe! Since when is dishonesty a group characteristic?" Pancrazio said wisely. "You have no monopoly on the truth—"
"All right. It's not Sunday. We don't need a sermon." Lovino interrupted.
"What this man says is very dangerous—"
Feliciano reached across the table, placing his hand on Pancrazio's arm. The Italian's touch seemed to calm him. He took a deep breath, his face relaxing.
"I don't see any need for arguing like this." Yao said, retying his hair. "I think we ought to be able to behave like gentlemen."
"Right!" Alfred barked.
"If we're going to discuss this case, let's discuss the facts."
"I think that's a good point. We have a job to do. Let's do it." Arthur ordered.
"If you gentlemen don't mind, I'm going to close ze vindow." Ludwig stood, turning to close the window. "It vas blowing on my neck."
"Kesesese..." Gilbert snickered quietly.
"I may have an idea here. I'm just thinking out loud now, but it seems to me that it's up to us to convince this gentleman—" Francis pointed to Matthew. "—that we're right and he's wrong. Maybe if we each took a minute or two you know, try it on for size—"
"That sounds fair enough." Arthur interrupted. "Supposing we go once around the table."
"Okay, let's start it off." Alfred said, reclining.
"Right. I guess you're first, Kiku.
"Oh. Werr..." Kiku looked around nervously. "I just think he's guirty. I thought it was obvious. I mean nobody proved otherwise."
"Nobody has to prove otherwise." Matthew pointed out. "The burden of proof is on the prosecution. The defendant doesn't have to open his mouth. That's in the Constitution. The Fifth Amendment. You've heard of it."
"Werr, sure, I've heard of it." He replied, flustered. "I know what it is. I ... what I meant ... werr, anyway, I think he was guirty."
"Okay, let's get to the facts." Lovino said, jumping in less than a second after Kiku stopped speaking. "Number one, let's take the old man who lived on the second floor right underneath the room where the murder took place. At ten minutes after twelve on the night of the killing he heard loud noises in the upstairs apartment. He said it sounded like a fight. Then he heard the kid say to his father, 'I'm gonna kill you.' A second later he heard a body falling, and he ran to the door of his apartment, looked out, and saw the kid running down the stairs and out of the house. Then he called the police. They found the father with a knife in his chest."
"And the coroner fixed the time of death at around midnight." Arthur supplemented.
"Right. Now what else do you want?" He asked, the odd curl on the right side of his head bobbing angrily.
"The boy's entire story is flimsy." Yao started. "He claimed he was at the movies. That's a little ridiculous, isn't it? He couldn't even remember what pictures he saw."
"That's right. Did you hear that?" Lovino turned to Yao "You're absolutely right."
"Kesesese, vat about ze voman across ze street? If her testimony doesn't prove it, zen nothing does."
"That's right. She saw the killing, didn't she?" Francis questioned.
"Let's go in order." Ordered Arthur, getting very frustrated.
"Just a minute. Here's a voman who's lying in bed and can't sleep. It's hot, you know. Kesesese, she looks out ze vindow, and right across ze street she sees ze kid stick ze knife into his father. She's known ze kid all his life. His vindow is right opposite hers, across ze el tracks, and she swore she saw him do it."
"Through the windows of a passing elevated train." Noted Matthew.
"Kesesese. And they proved in court that you can look through the windows of a passing el train at night and see what's happening on the other side. They proved it."
"I'd like to ask you something. How come you believed her? She's one of 'them' too, isn't she?" Matthew accused.
Gilbert rose, stalking over to Matthew. "You're a pretty smart fellow, kesesese."
"Now take it easy." Arthur said, standing.
Lovino stood up, walking over to Gilbert. "Come on. Sit down. What're you letting him get you all upset for? Relax." He chatted with Gilbert at he led him back to his seat.
"Let's calm down now." Arthur said, sitting and turning to Feliciano. "It's your turn."
"Ve~ I'll pass it."
"That's your privilege." He turned to Ivan. "How about you?"
"I don't know." He said slowly. "I started to be convinced with the testimony from those people across the hall, da? Didn't they say something about an argument between the father and the boy around seven o'clock that night?"
"I think it vas eight o'clock. Not seven." Ludwig corrected the Russian.
"That's right. Eight o'clock. They heard the father hit the boy twice and then saw the boy walk angrily out of the house. What does that prove?" Mathew asked.
"Well, it doesn't exactly prove anything. It's just part of the picture, ja? I didn't say it proved anything."
"Anything else?" Arthur asked.
"No." He answered, walking over to the water fountain.
"All right. How about you Alfred?"
"I don't know, most of it's been said already. We can talk all day about this thing but I think we're wasting our time. Look at the kid's record. At fifteen he was in reform school. He stole a car. He's been arrested for mugging. He was picked up for knife-fighting. I think they said he stabbed somebody in the arm."
"Ever since he was five years old his father beat him up regularly. He used his fists." Matthew defended.
"So would I! A kid like that." Alfred attacked.
"You're right. It's the kids. The way they are—you know? They don't listen." Lovino's voice turned bitter. "I've got a kid. When he was eight years old he ran away from a fight. I saw him. I was so ashamed. I told him right out, 'I'm gonna make a man out of you or I'm gonna bust you up into little pieces trying.' When he was fifteen he hit me in the face. He's big, you know. I haven't seen him in three years. Rotten kid! You work your heart out . . ." He paused, embarrassed. "All right. Let's get on with it."
"We're missing the point here." Yao said. "This boy—let's say he's a product of a filthy neighborhood and a broken home. We can't help that. We're not here to go into the reasons why slums are breeding grounds for criminals. They are. I know it. So do you. The children who come out of slum backgrounds are potential menaces to society."
"You said it zere. I don't vant any part of zem, kesesese."
Feliciano clenched his fist, before shooting up, knocking the chair back, his amber eyes blazing. "I've lived in a slum all my life—"
"Oh, now vait a second!" Gilbert tried to placate the angry Italian.
"I used to play in a back yard that was filled with garbage. Maybe it still smells on me."
"Now let's be reasonable. There's nothing personal—" Arthur tried to calm Feliciano down.
"There is something personal!" He shouted, before he seemed to realize what he had done. He sat down, closing his eyes as a fierce blush coated his cheeks.
"Come on, now. He didn't mean you, brother. Let's not be so sensitive..." Lovino said, reaching over Yao to pat his shoulder.
"I can understand his sensitivity." Ludwig said carefully.
"Now let's stop the bickering. We're wasting time." Arthur said, severely annoyed. "It's your turn."
"All right. I had a peculiar feeling about this trial. Somehow I felt that the defense counsel never really conducted a thorough cross-examination. I mean, he was appointed by the court to defend the boy. He hardly seemed interested. Too many questions were left unasked." Matthew started.
"What about the ones that were asked? For instance, let's talk about that cute little switch-knife. You know, the one that fine up-right kid admitted buying." Lovino mentioned sarcastically.
"All right. Let's talk about it. Let's get it in here and look at it. I'd like to see it again, Mr. Foreman." Matthew requested.
Arthur gave him a funny look, but stood and walked to the door, rapping on it sharply. Basch opened the door, looking in. Arthur whispered something to him, then Basch nodded, before closing and locking the door.
"We all know what it looks like. I don't see why we have to look at it again." Lovino argued, annoyed. "What do you think?"
"The gentleman has a right to see exhibits in evidence." Yao presented.
"Okay with me."
"This knife is a pretty strong piece of evidence, don't you agree?" Yao asked Matthew.
"I do."
"The boy admits going out of his house at eight o'clock after being slapped by his father."
"Or punched."
"Or punched. He went to a neighborhood store and bought a switch-knife. The storekeeper was arrested the following day when he admitted selling it to the boy. It's a very unusual knife. The storekeeper identified it and said it was the only one of its kind he had in stock. Why did the boy get it? As a present for a friend of his, he says. Am I right so far?"
"Right."
"You bet he's right." Lovino interjected. "Now listen to this man. He knows what he's talking about."
"Next, the boy claims that on the way home the knife must have fallen through a hole in his coat pocket, that he never saw it again." Yao continued. "Now there's a story, gentlemen. You know what actually happened. The boy took the knife home and a few hours later stabbed his father with it and even remembered to wipe off the fingerprints."
The door's lock clicked, and Basch entered carrying a knife with a very distinct handle. Yao stood, taking the knife as Basch left, locking the door behind him.
"Everyone connected with the case identified this knife." He held the knife up. "Now are you trying to tell me that someone picked it up off the street and went to the boy's house and stabbed his father with it just to be amusing?"
"No." Matthew disagreed, shaking his head. "I'm saying that it's possible that the boy lost the knife and that someone else stabbed his father with a similar knife. It's possible."
Suddenly, Yao flicked open the knife, stabbing it into the table.
"Take a look at the knife. It's a very strange knife. I've never seen one like it before in my life. Neither had the storekeeper who sold it to him." Yao argued.
Slowly, Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out an object, holding it under the table as he stood up.
"Aren't you trying to make us accept a pretty incredible coincidence?"
"I'm not trying to make anyone accept it. I'm just saying it's possible."
"And I'm saying it's not possible." Lovino interjected once more.
Matthew calmly reveals the object, flicking opening its blade and stabbing it into the table next to the tagged knife. They were exactly the same.
The rest of the jurors stared in silence, shocked looks on their faces. Except for Feliciano, who had an almost dreamy look.
"What are you trying to do?" Lovino shouted, slamming his hand on the table.
"Yeah, what is this, kesesese? Who do you think you are?" Gilbert said, as a canary flew in through the window, landing in his hair.
"Look at it! It's the same knife!" Feli said, seemingly amazed.
"Where did you get it?" Yao yelled as Matthew.
"I got it last night in a little junk shop around the corner from the boy's house. It cost two dollars." He replied, still with a calm face.
"Now listen to me you pompinara! You pulled a real smart trick here, but you proved absolutely zero. Maybe there are ten knives like that, so what?" Lovino asked, infuriated.
"Maybe there are."
"The ragazzo lied and you know it!" His English was slipping in his anger.
"He may have lied." Matthew turned to Gilbert. "Do you think he lied?"
"KESESESE! Of course he lied!"
"Do you?" He asked Yao.
"You don't have to ask me that. You know my answer. He lied."
"Do you think he lied?" He turned to Feli.
The hazy smile dropped from his face, and he looked down. "Ve~ I don't know."
"Now wait a second. What are you, the guy's lawyer? Listen, there are still eleven of us who think he's guilty. You're alone. What do you think you're going to accomplish? If you want to be stubborn and hang this jury he'll be tried again and found guilty, sure as he's born." Alfred shouted, standing up.
"You're probably right." Matthew said, never losing his composure.
"So what are you going to do about it? We can be here all night."
"It's only one night. A man may die." Pancrazio mentioned.
America took a long look at the silent Roman. Matthew glances over at the juror to his left, sending him a small smile.
Silence permeated the room for a few moments, before it burst into chaos.
"Well, whose fault is that?" Lovino demanded.
"Do you think maybe if we went over it again, da? What I mean is—" Ivan started.
"Did anyone force him to kill his father?" Gilbert quizzed, the bird in his hair twittering madly. "How do you like him? Like someone forced him!" He grumbled to Lovino.
"Perhaps this is not the point." Pancrazio said, trying to placate the group.
"Ve~ No one forced anyone. But listen—" Feli said quietly.
"Look, gentlemen, we can spitball all night here." Francis stated.
"Werr, I was going to say—" Kiku started, only to be interrupted by Alfred.
"Just a minute. Some of us've got better things to do than sit around a jury room." Arthur's eye twitched at his mangling of the English language.
"I can't understand a word in here. Why do we all have to talk at once?" Yao inquired.
"He's right. I think we ought to get on with it." Arthur ordered, trying to be the voice of reason.
Matthew sat there silent..
"Well, what do you say? You're the one holding up the show." Lovino asked angrily.
"I've got a proposition to make." Matthew proposed.
Feliciano listened closely to Matthew. If his eyes had been open, he would've been staring at him.
"I want to call for a vote. I want you eleven men to vote by secret ballot. I'll abstain. If there are still eleven votes for guilty, I won't stand alone. We'll take in a guilty verdict right now."
"Okay. Let's do it!" Alfred agreed.
"That sounds fair. Is everyone agreed?"
They all agreed. Matthew stood, moving to the window.
"Pass these along." Arthur said, sliding slips of paper down the table.
AN: And that's the end of Chapter 1! I hope you like it! Chapter 2 should be out VERY soon.