"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a simple matter really. It's not an overzealous subject, it's not something that we've never seen before; it's not something we've never even heard before. This, by all means and counts, is the most common crime in the world. The crime of dehumanizing a person for our own gain." Madam Tutso paused and allowed her words to sink in for the 10 individuals who sat in front of her; she knew she had them; she always did. "They were portrayed as unworthy of human decency and compassion. Bound to their ancestors' sins, here to cleanse their bloods for rebirth." She took two steps to the left; the clacking of her modest heels heard loud in the auditorium. "And when we were done with them, when they didn't have any more to give, we left them out to dry." She had debated with herself countless nights whether or not she should have used "we" in her arguments. She hadn't done anything to them, she hadn't been the one who had robbed them out of their youth, out of the lives they could have had. But she had stayed awake night after night and had gone over document after document while sipping on her favorite bourbon and had finally come to a conclusion. "We made it impossible for them to choose another life; there was never a choice; never. We dressed them up, handed them rifles and weapons, marked them for the entire world to see, and now," she stopped pacing and stood very still in front of the jury. Ten sets of eyes had been glued to her mouth, and she felt so many more burning a hole behind her head. She might have not shoved the weapons into their hands, but as a member, as someone with high power, she had done nothing to take the weapons back either. "And now, six of them are dead. One is missing; she might as well be dead. And two are imprisoned in enemy's soil, waiting to be tried." She took a deep breath and tried to push away the images of those two poor souls caged like animals by the enemy. "And from the images that we have seen of them, I wish that they were dead too."
Madam Tusto was known for her opening and closing arguments. Stories were told about how she had won a case in her opening argument, and many more about how members of the jury and audience had wept during her closings. She knew how to use words, and she knew how to deliver them. But for the sake of this specific case, she had been short of words. She hadn't known how to articulate the immense rush of feelings she'd bore over the past few weeks, since the day this case had been brought to her attention. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever think that one day, she would hide away in the solitude of her home, with a bottle of bourbon, and heave in anger and frustration. She would have never thought that one day, she would look at images of the outcast, of the most unwanted individuals in their community, and feel a blinding pain in her chest.
She never thought that her heart would break for them.
And now, on the 15th day of the trial, the pain had lessened, replaced by determination and rage. Six of them were dead, all in the line of duty. One had been missing for eight weeks, and two had been captured by the enemy. Five weeks ago, a portal had been opened by a representative of the other side, asking for permission to speak with the Queen. The Senshi had been wary of that because the Queen had been dealing with a national dilemma, and they didn't want to burden her with more bad news.
"Show us what you must." Sailor Uranus had hissed.
The representative had a mischievous smile on his face, an evil smile. And then, without warning, the image of his face had changed to an image of the two outcasts hanging upside down in a cage. Their arms hung loose, the girl's hair floated in the air, and blood seeped from every inch of their bodies. Madam Tutso hadn't been there herself, but she was told later, that a chorus of swears and disbelief had mingled together, laced with Sailor Mercury's pained cry and the princess's angry snarl.
That boy and the girl, the outcasts, had been the team's best asset; that's probably why they hadn't gotten killed. The boy's lover, who had been disowned by her family because of her relationship with him, had been the one who had begged Madam Tutso to do something for them. "Please, please. I know him; I know how kind and gentle he can be. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to die like this." She had cried.
Madam Tutso had never been swayed by tears. She had been a lawyer for decades, and if she wanted to get emotional, and choose her cases based on who cried more, she would have never made it to the top; because in her experience, those who cried more were the ones with the losing case, or they would make it much more difficult for her to defend them, because they were too emotional and couldn't keep their tears at bay even if their life depended on it. Madam Tutso didn't like emotional folks; she looked down on them, and couldn't understand why someone would choose to open their mouth and wail, when they could take a deep breath instead and face their problem head on.
But that day, as the boy's lover wiped away her tears with her slim fingers that seemed too fragile and too young, something had twisted in Madam Tutso's heart. This girl had given up everything to be with the man she loved; she had given up her parents, her siblings and her comfortable life, because her heart couldn't bear the thought of not being with him, and Madam Tusto praised her for it. She had been young once too, and perhaps just as stupid; but isn't that what youthfulness meant? To feel more, to insist more, and to love without thinking of any precautions?
"What do you want from me child?" She had asked the girl.
"I want you to bring them back home. I want the whole nation to know what is happening to them. I want them to know that their blood is on our hands. On all of our hands."
And suddenly, the weakling girl in front of her had transformed to an advocate with a sole purpose of saving a life; and Madam Tusto would be damned if she didn't pave the way for her.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is not a witch hunt. We are not bringing a suit against the government to win a case." Madam Tutso clasped her hands in front of her and stood very still. "We are bringing this matter to our community's attention, to raise awareness about the very foundation of our society." She stared at one specific juror; an old man who had been leaning forward in his chair the entire time. "We cannot hope for prosperity and a bright future, as long as we are bound to a dark past. We cannot move forward until we realize that we need to stop punishing the outcasts for someone else's sins. We have spent decades finding ways to integrate them within our society by cleaning their souls, when we should have focused on putting a stop to this inhumane structure. We made them our shields, for them to protect our land and our lives with their blood, and that is," She sighed heavily; she always did that at the right moment, "that is simply not right." She looked at each one of the jurors, and then walked back to her table, where her associate handed her a document. "That is why we move to include the Crown in our suit as well." She handed the document to the judge and ignored the hum and murmurs of the auditorium.
"Madam Tutso, I want to be clear that I understand this correctly." The judge said, even before the prosecutor could open his mouth. "You are bringing a suit against the government and the Crown?"
"Yes, your honour. That is correct." She raised her voice over the protests of the prosecutor. "The Queen and the King, and also, their most trusted advisors; the Senshi."
Madam Tutso had known from the start that this wasn't going to be an ordinary case. She had known that she may lose her credibility, and her reputation over it; and not just because she had chosen to defend the outcasts, but because in order to do so, she would have to tarnish the name of their beloved Queen and King. She had thought long and hard about this, and every time, she would remember Queen Serenity's kind eyes, and her warrior strength; she would remember the wisdom in the King's every fibre, and the love he garnered for his people. Was it worth it? Were the outcasts worth this trouble?
"This court is now in session." The judge gavelled.
Madam Tutso sat on her designated chair, and when the confused mumblings and angry whispers of the audience didn't quiet down, she thought to herself: "What have I done?"