The Let's Play Archive

Aviary Attorney

by Xander77

Part 9: A new client


: ...But now it's midday on Monday, and there's still no sign of him. This is becoming a little concerning.

: I should probably go find him. His home would be a good place to start... but the bird brain never gave me his address. I'll just have to find him the hard way.

: Wait! Let's double back to the office, just in case we missed him.

: Nope. Still no sign of him.

: Ok, now for real.

: Do I look like a lost and found to ya? Buzz off, bird brain.

: ...Alright then.

: Excuse me, Rupert.

: Oh, it's you. The, uh, first year dropout.

: Hey! I didn't drop out!

: (I was forcibly ejected.)

: But that doesn't matter right now. I'm looking for Falcon. Have you seen him?

: Falcon? The guy who, uh, somehow blundered his way through the Caterline trial with the help of some, um, very dubious evidence? No, I haven't seen him since the, um, trial.

: Oh. Well, thanks anyway.

: ?

: ??

: Uh. Down here.

: Oh, there you are. It's Sparrowson, right?

: That's right.

: I heard about the case you were involved in. I never would have thought that the Baron was a murderer. He always treated me with the utmost respect. But then, I suppose it makes sense that the most ruthless killers are the ones who can put up the best facade.

: Yeah... I suppose so.

: Say, how's your friend doing? He seemed a little down last night.

: Oh, you've seen him?

: Yes. He was brooding in the corner of Le Canard Joyeux. Mumbling and drinking... it was a little depressing, to be perfectly honest.

: Le Canard Joyeux? That's the dingy student bar on Rue Jaune, right?

: It's not dingy. Just a little rustic.

: In any case, that's an enormous help. Thanks, mademoiselle.

: Any time, Sparrowson.

His nostrils fill with the pungent aroma of sour wine and bitter tobacco.

Quanelle's Tavern (Очи чёрные)

: Well ruffle my feathers if it isn't little Sparrowson. I haven't seen you in years! How are ya doing, hon?

: I'm feeling pretty good, Madame Quanelle. Thanks for asking. I'm actually here to find a friend. He's a big guy named Jayjay Falcon.

: Falcon? Yep, that sorry lump has been here all weekend. He's just been moaning and muttering to himself. Frankly, he's bringing the whole atmosphere down!

: I'll take care of him. Thanks, Madame Quanelle.

: It's no problem, hon. He's probably still in the corner of the drinking room upstairs.

: Not right now. I’m looking for my friend, Jayjay Falcon.

: Ah. Thank you.

: Hmm...No sign of him...

: I almost stepped on the big fellow! Uh... Falcon? What are you doing on the floor? Hey, Falcon! Wake up!

: ...

: Wow, the bird's completely out cold. He must have drunk this place dry. Let's see, how do you wake a drunk person...

: Nope. Nothing.

: ...

: Still nothing.

: Welp, I guess it's time for a rude awakening. Wakey wakey~

: Ah, good, you're up.

: ...

: Are... are you with us, Falcon?

: ...yeah.

: Feeling sober? We should probably head back into the Aviary office so we can get some work done.

: ...I don't understand it, Sparrowson.

: Huh?

: I thought I did everything right. I followed all the procedures. I found all the evidence. I presented the case beautifully. And yet, a guilty feline walks free while an innocent man sits in custody. What went wrong? Where's the justice?

: ...

: ...

: Sorry, Falcon. I don't have the answers. But what I do have is freshly-baked croissants from Pierre's Boulangerie.

: Croissants...

: Yup. They're waiting for you back at the Aviary.

: I'm sitting here, moping about justice, and you offer me croissants.

: Well, it's not just croissants. I got some pains au chocolat too.

: ...

: I could go for pains au chocolat.

: Fantastic! Then let's make a move!

Aviary Office

: I told you. Pierre's boulangerie on Rue Verdeis something else. Oh, that reminds me. The baker told me something interesting. Do you know what they call pains au chocolat in America?

: They don't call them pains au chocolat?

: Nope. Pronunciation difficulties. American is a whole 'nother language.

: So what do they call them?

: Chocolate croissants.

: Hello?

: Heh. "Chocolate croissants". What do they call profiteroles?

: Oh, I think those are still "profiteroles". But rather than custard, they fill them with ice cream and smother them in melted chocolate.

: ...

: Simply outstanding.

: Is this the Aviary Attorney?

: Can I speak to someone please?

: Well, what do they call crêpes?

: ..Did you just hear something, Sparrowson?

: Down here!

: Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there. What can I do for you, little one?

: Uh, oh gosh, where to start...

: Your name, perhaps.

: Mousey. My name is Mousey.

: And what can we do for you, Monsieur Mousey?

: I have this friend... and he has fallen under some legal turbulence.

: Legal turbulence? You mean he's been arrested?

: Uh, yes, I suppose so. They're saying he's a murderer, but he didn't do it! He didn't do it!

: That's quite a problem.

: The prince of Spain?! And you didn't think that was worth mentioning from the start?!

: I forgot, I forgot!

: I must ask, Mousey: Why did you come to us? I would have thought that the Spanish royal family would hire legal counsel with a little more...

: ...not terribleness?

: ...expertise.

: Oh, uh, the prince has great faith in your lawyering skills, Monsieur Falcon. He said that your reputation as a lawyer was renowned.

: Really? The prince said that?

:This is a great opportunity, Falcon. Surely you wouldn't deny a request from the Prince of Spain?

: Meh?

: Look, Falcon. I know you're still upset about Dame Caterline's trial, but more moping isn't going to help. The best thing you could do right now would be to occupy yourself with some meaningful work. This case will scratch that itch perfectly.

: MEH.

: Hmph.

: Good luck to you, messieurs!

: You aren't coming with us, Mousey?

: I have, um, I have other matters to attend to. But prince Juan is being held in the Conciergerie. I'm sure he will fill in all the details!

: Right. Let's make a move, then.

: Of course, I go right back to the offic-

: Stop messing around, Falcon. Let’s help out Prince Juan already.

: Ok, ok.