#the verdict

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter One

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: None (as of now)

A/N: I have eleven chapters of this written so far but a slew of changes to make and things to add. In order to not burn myself out, I won’t be posting this on any sort of schedule. None of this has been beta’d and I’m posting in the midst of a covid fever dream so if there’s any mistakes, simply ignore them.

The morning fog hung low over Paris, a delicate shroud that veiled the city in mystery and whispered of stories untold. Among the ancient streets and grand boulevards, a tale was about to unfold—one that would intertwine the lives of two distinctly different souls.

In the heart of the city, Vincent Renzi stood before the towering edifice of the Palais de Justice. His silhouette, a solitary figure against the sprawling architecture, was a testament to the weight he carried. At forty, Vincent had the kind of presence that commanded attention—not just for his refined appearance, but for the intensity that simmered beneath his calm exterior. Today, that intensity was sharper, fueled by the stakes of the case that awaited him inside.

Vincent was not merely a lawyer; he was a defender of justice, a role he embraced with unwavering dedication. The case he was about to undertake was personal, representing his friend Sandra, who had been caught in a nightmare she claimed was a fabrication. Accused of a crime as sensational as it was tragic—pushing her husband out of a window—Sandra's innocence was a truth Vincent held unshakeable.

As he made his way through the corridors of justice, Vincent's thoughts were on the battle ahead. The case was complex, tangled in a web of evidence and emotion, and it demanded not just legal expertise but a deep understanding of human nature. It was a challenge Vincent was ready to face, driven by a conviction that the law, in its purest form, was about protecting the innocent and uncovering the truth.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, an ambitious American lawyer was preparing for a journey that would change the course of her career. With a keen interest in international law and a hunger for experience beyond the confines of American courtrooms, she viewed the opportunity to shadow a French lawyer as a doorway to a new world. Little did she know, her path would lead her to Vincent Renzi, and together, they would embark on a journey that would blur the lines between professional collaboration and personal connection.

Paris awaited her with its charm and challenges, a city ripe with history and alive with the promise of adventure. As she packed her bags, she imagined the streets she would walk, the cases she would explore, and the people she would meet. Among those imagined faces was Vincent's, a partner in law she had yet to meet but whose reputation had preceded him.

The stage was set, the players drawn to their marks by fate and ambition. As the American lawyer's plane touched down on French soil, the first chapter of their story began to write itself, against the backdrop of Paris and the looming majesty of the French Alps. Little did they know, their encounter would be a confluence of minds and hearts, a trial of their beliefs and convictions, and a testament to the unexpected paths life can take.

____________________________________________

The chambers of Vincent Renzi were a world apart from the skyscrapers and modern glass facades that the American lawyer, Leah Bardin, was accustomed to. Nestled in a historic building whose stones whispered tales of centuries past, the office was a reflection of Paris itself—timeless, elegant, and steeped in stories waiting to be told.

Leah stepped inside, her senses immediately enveloped by the rich aroma of aged books and the subtle hint of espresso—a stark contrast to the sterile bustle of her New York firm. She was greeted by walls lined with volumes of legal tomes, certificates of commendation, and an array of photographs capturing moments of triumph and camaraderie.

At the heart of this sanctuary stood Vincent, his back to the door, engrossed in a mountain of case files that sprawled across his desk. The morning light streamed through the window, casting him in a silhouette that accentuated the deliberation in his posture.

Hearing the soft click of the door, Vincent turned, his gaze meeting Leah’s for the first time. In that moment, an unspoken assessment passed between them—a lawyer's instinctive evaluation of an opponent, colleague, and unknown entity all at once.

"Mademoiselle Bardin, I presume?" Vincent's voice broke the silence, his English tinged with the melodious accent of his homeland.

Leah extended her hand, the firmness of her grip belying the flutter of anticipation she felt. "Leah Bardin. It's an honor to meet you, Monsieur Renzi."

Vincent's study of Leah was brief but thorough. Despite his initial reservations about allowing an American lawyer to shadow him, he couldn't deny the determination that shone in her eyes. It was a look he recognized—a reflection of his own passion for the law.

"Please, call me Vincent. 'Monsieur Renzi' makes me feel like one of those ancient tomes on the shelf," he said, a hint of humor softening his features. "I understand you're here to learn about international law, but I must warn you, the case we're embarking on is not for the faint of heart."

Leah’s response was immediate, her resolve clear. "I didn't come all this way for an easy lesson. I'm here to learn, to contribute in any way I can."

Vincent regarded her for a moment longer, then nodded, the initial barrier of formality giving way to a burgeoning respect. "Very well. Let's get to work."

As they delved into the details of Sandra's case, Vincent was surprised by Leah’s insightful questions and her quick grasp of the complexities involved. Leah, in turn, was captivated by Vincent's depth of knowledge and his passionate advocacy for his friend.

Their first meeting, initially marked by caution, evolved into a dynamic exchange of ideas and theories. It was clear that despite their different backgrounds, they shared a common dedication to justice. As the day wore on, the foundation of an unexpected alliance was laid, their mutual respect a testament to the potential of their collaboration.

As Leah left Vincent's office that evening, the streets of Paris bathed in the golden hue of sunset, she felt an exhilarating sense of purpose. And for Vincent, watching her silhouette disappear into the maze of the city, there was an acknowledgment, however grudging, that Leah Bardin might just be the ally he needed in the battle ahead.

#vincent renzi fanfiction #vincent renzi x original female character #vincent renzi #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi fic #the verdict #hot lawyer save me

[countlessscreamingargonauts]

What I wish for Amber Heard is to find peace. Get intensive therapy. Attend a Family Violence Intervention Program. Learn how to love herself unconditionally.

What I wish for Johnny Depp is to maintain sobriety. Find peace. Stay single. Get lost in music. Find his self.

I believe Amber abused Johnny. I heard the audios. I saw the photos. I watched the trial. Men are abused. Women can be the abuser. Help men get out and speak up as you would a woman in the same position.

I dont hate Amber. I dont hate women. I have a severe distate and hatred of domestic violence and false allegations.

#Johnny Depp #The verdict #Amber Heard

[itcanbefilmed]

The Verdict (Sidney Lumet, 1982)

#the verdict #paul newman #james mason #sidney lumet #charlotte rampling

[harrison-abbott]

Top Ten Favourite Films

Taxi Driver (1976)

Brazil (1985)

Apocalypse Now (1979)

Phoenix (2014)

La Haine (1995)

Withnail and I (1988)

The Great Beauty (2013)

Oldboy (2003)

The Zone of Interest (2023)

The Verdict (1982)

#top 10 favourite movies #taxi driver #brazil #apocalypse now #phoenix #la haine #withnail and i #the great beauty #oldboy #the zone of interest #the verdict

[soapkaars]

this is kind of a series of questions in one big question but do you think any Peter Lorre characters have tattoos and if so, who is it, where do they have it, and what does the tattoo look like? (I kinda have this feeling that at least one of them has a tattoo that says "Kleine" (baby girl in german) in cursive and it's embellished with hearts)

Oh this is such a fun ask!! I spent way too much time on this and it’s three in the morning now but here goes!

First up is Victor Emmric from The Verdict:

Everyone’s favourite morbid illustrator from the Victorian era, if anyone has a tattoo, he surely does. I’m imagining a gothic Victorian vampire tattoo with an edgy snake across, and because Victor is somewhat of a wine woman and life man, he’s also got a very shitty tattoo drawn on in a drunken mood on his hip. Live every regret tattoo it has an ex-flame named on there, later corrected in another drunk mood with another ill-fated name

Next, there’s Marko from Black Angel:

Ever the sentimentalist, I think it’s extremely in character to have a tattoo on his chest with his daughter’s name on there. I’m thinking it’ll be something very simple, a bunch of roses for instance, because Marko isn’t one for grand gestures.

Kismet from My Favourite Brunette:

Our (my) favourite French-speaking, knife-wielding, civics test studying butler/gardener! This man is definitely tattooed, and I’m going all in. I’m giving him a badass French tattoo with obscure symbolism, knives, blackjack and hookers. A bizarre collection of symbolism only he knows and understands and something that’ll instantly intimidate mild-mannered photographers who fancy themselves to be a detective!

Gino from The Chase:

Love or hate this film, I certainly love its weirdness and proto-Lynchian atmosphere. Gino is an Italian name, so I settled on some Neapolitan mafia tattoos, and I think they fit well with the character.

The General from The Secret Agent:

Does this man look like he makes well-thought out decisions? I’m imagining an early 20th century version of a tramp stamp: on the lower back just above his crack, a sword piercing a heart, a crudely drawn woman cleaved in two, and some latin meaning ‘shit bitch’. An edgy shitpost of a tattoo! Also to answer your question, this man is the most likely candidate to wake up one morning with ‘babygirl’ tattooed on his buttcheeks. The design of which I’ll leave as an exercise to the reader…

Finally, Abbott from The Man Who Knew too Much:

The man has a scar and painted hair. How would he not have a tattoo? But, being Abbott, it’s gonna be a map of the prison he last stayed (and escaped from). Also an anarchist black cat because I like it and I think he carries his politics on his sleeve.

I was too tired to draw more, so honorary mentions to:

Nick Dramoshag from Quicksand. He’s bitter, he runs an arcade, he drinks, he smokes, he’s a nasty crook with a switchblade… This is definitely a man with a faded sweetheart tattoo.

Marius from Passage to Marseille. He was a prisoner on Devil’s Island, I don’t think many would come away uninked from there. Maybe the amazing lockpick has a little safe in a heart tattooed on his arm?

Major Siegfried Grüning from Lancer Spy. My headcanon is that this guy eventually becomes The General, so he’s gonna have the ‘shitbitch’ tramp stamp and ‘babygirl’.

Mr Strangdour from Muscle Beach Party. The strongest man in the world, I think he might have some fun ones under that turtleneck of his.

#thanks for the ask! #peter lorre #the verdict #the chase #black angel #the man who knew too much #my favourite brunette #the secret agent #passage to marseille #lancer spy #muscle beach party #quicksand #drawing #doodle #this was FUN

[faustiandevil]

It’s getting close to midnight, so here’s my birthday present from me to me~ Because I deserve it~

Did y’all know that Victorians were nasty little freaks behind closed doors? I was actually inspired by one of the saucy imagery from back in the day and had to put everyone’s fav freaky artist, Victor Emmric in the saddle (HA). Also that’s very obviously not a sona representing me… that would be weird… let’s not get ideas...

Reference image under the cut.

#The Verdict #The Verdict (1946) #Peter Lorre #Victor Emmric #The Verdict Victor Emmric #Faustian Fables #Faustian Imagery #It's my birthday please be nice to me~ #I'm a little birthday boy~

[yes-im-a-simple-man]

mayhem as a person

#victor emmric #ngl im not sure why hes there but im glad he is #the verdict #peter lorre #old films #1940s #my edit

[peterlorrefanpage]

Peter Lorre promo picture for "The Verdict" (1946).

How debonair, how dashing, how sly, how seductive...

#peter lorre #The Verdict #film noir #crime drama #1940s movies #peter lorre movies

[cinemajunkie70]

A very happy birthday in the afterlife to Paul Newman!!

#paul newman #butch cassidy and the sundance kids #the sting #the hustler #the color of money #hud #the drowning pool #Harper #exodus #slap shot #the towering inferno #absence of malice #nobody’s fool #the hudsucker proxy #cars #actor #legend #movies #the verdict

[madelyntwiss]

Gotta love Peter’s artwork in his films!

#Peter Lorre #thank you mr moto #the verdict #mysterious mr moto

[goldenglobenoms]

Paul Newman as Frank Galvin - The Verdict (1982)

Golden Globe Award Nominee for Best Actor in a Motion Picture - Drama

#Paul Newman #The Verdict #Golden Globes #40th Golden Globe Awards

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter Four

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: mentions of parental death, mentions of suicide, sexual themes.

A/N: happy Saturday! I have nothing to say except thank you to everyone who reached out with praise for this fic and urged me to continue. Big shout out to @luxlisbons who is constantly feeding me inspiration and listening to my neurotic ass. If you want to be added to my taglist, just let me know.

The arrangement that had begun as a matter of convenience had quickly transformed the dynamic between Leah and Vincent. Sharing Vincent's apartment brought them into a proximity that neither had anticipated, a closeness that underscored their days with an undercurrent of unspoken tension and unacknowledged attraction.

The mornings found them navigating the small kitchen together, a dance of shared spaces and quiet exchanges over coffee. These moments, charged with a palpable tension, were filled with lingering glances and the brush of fingers that neither could completely dismiss as accidental. The air between them was thick with something more than just the steam from the kettle—a budding desire that neither had yet dared to voice.

The first week bled into the second with ease as Leah and Vincent became acclimated as roommates. Leah, in the constant pursuit of finding a new temporary home, found herself discouraged each time she showed Vincent a listing.

“Bad neighborhood,” he would say, or “I don’t think that place suits you.”

Leah eventually gave up, falling asleep on the couch most nights when Vincent decided to work late in a quiet attempt to give him back his bedroom. Without failure, though, she would wake with Vincent asleep across from her on the chaise lounge. A testament to both their stubbornness.

As they delved deeper into the case, their evenings often stretched into late nights, with legal documents and books scattered across the living room table. The professional masks they wore during the day gradually slipped away in the privacy of their apartment, giving rise to laughter, shared stories, and the occasional bottle of wine that led their conversations from work to personal revelations.

"I've noticed the way you look at Daniel sometimes," Vincent broached the topic cautiously. "Do you have kids I don't know about?"

Leah shook her head, chuckling. "No, I just empathize with him. My mom... she committed suicide when I was a teenager. It's hard not to see his pain and not relate it back to my own."

Vincent nodded, his expression somber. "I'm sorry."

Leah waved off his apology with a smile. "Don't be sorry. I hate talking about it. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

Vincent shook his head. "It's okay. I appreciate glimpses into your world."

"What about you?" Leah inquired. "Any kids? Deceased parents? Any skeletons you want to share?"

"No kids that I know of. My mother is a publisher and very much alive. At least she was an hour ago," Vincent quipped.

"So that's who you were talking to. Sounded intense," Leah teased, referring to Vincent's animated phone call earlier.

Vincent chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Do you suddenly speak French?"

Leah shook her head, grinning. "Her tone was very motherly. She's quite loud."

"She can be nosy, but I always answer her calls. She keeps her distance," Vincent explained, blinking and clearing his throat.

"And your dad?" Leah probed. "Is he as nosy as your mom?"

"I wouldn't know," Vincent shrugged, meeting her gaze. "I've never met him."

Leah, suddenly embarrassed, felt the smallness and intimacy of the space they shared, shook her head, a tumble of apologies fell from her lips.

“It’s fine. Really.” Vincent reassured her, his hand reached out to pat her hand.

“Really put my foot in my mouth with that one.” She admitted with a nervous laugh.

“Is your dad alive?” Vincent asked, opening up the space to dive deeper.

“Unfortunately so,” Leah sighed, “at least he was the last time I checked.”

Leah grabbed her glass of wine sitting between the heap of legal papers on the coffee table, sipping generously from it.

“Long story.” Leah sighed and looked away from Vincent.

“I have time.” He said with a gentle smile.

_________________________________________

“Is it still awkward?” Kate's voice echoed from the phone resting on the kitchen table as Leah paced around the empty kitchen.

“No,” Leah admitted, “I mean, there have been a few incidents, but overall, it's not awkward.”

“Ooooh,” Kate quipped, “tell me more.”

Leah, her cheeks growing warmer with each passing moment as the memory replayed in her mind, sighed, “He was supposed to be out late for dinner with mom, so I decided to relax in the tub. The apartment was eerily quiet, and he just walked right into the bathroom while I was sprawled out like a stranded orca in the tub. We both just stared at each other, frozen in place, until he slammed the door and bolted. I wanted to waterboard myself!”

Kate burst into laughter as Leah covered her eyes.

“He kept apologizing profusely, and I begged him to pretend it never happened!” Leah rubbed her face and let out a sigh.

“There was also the time I peeled off my sweatshirt in the middle of the night and dozed off with a flimsy tank top on. I'm sure he got an eyeful then, but he was respectful about it. Unlike the time I woke up to find him in the kitchen, in his briefs, frying eggs, and it was staring at me, and I was staring at it. I had to step outside onto the balcony and pretend to admire the weather while I regained control.”

Kate, once again amused, cackled from her end of the call.

“Jesus Christ, Leah,” she exclaimed, “just fuck him already!”

Leah huffed and shook her head, “I highly doubt that will happen, Kate.”

“Nice people fuck every day, Leah,” Kate persisted.

“Maybe so, but not in this house,” Leah remained resolute. “Besides, he's kind. He went out and bought some apples when I mentioned that I like to snack on them in the middle of the night. I woke up one morning, and there was a bowl of them on the kitchen table.”

“You like him,” Kate remarked, her smile evident in her voice.

“As a roommate, yes,” Leah replied.

“I can picture you standing there, nervously biting your cuticles, pacing back and forth. You must be blushing like a dozen different shades of pink,” Kate teased, sensing Leah's inner turmoil.

“I told him about my mom last night,” Leah confessed softly, “and my dad and Charlotte.”

“Ah, yes, daddy and step-mother dearest,” Kate joked, “Eddie and Betty Machete. That's quite a load of baggage to unload on him.”

Leah shrugged, “He asked, and I told him. I'm pretty sure Charlotte isn't the first person to fuck and marry her best friend's husband. Ex-husband? It's still unsettling to me after all these years.”

“Did he share any juicy details with you?” Kate inquired.

“His mom had a fling in Ireland in the eighties and came back with him as a souvenir. He's never met his father,” Leah revealed.

“See, you've trauma bonded. Just make a move on him already!” Kate laughed.

“You're crazy. I have to go,” Leah playfully rolled her eyes.

“Don't call me back until you've fucked him!” Kate yelled out as Leah hung up.

_________________________________________

Leah was certain that Vincent was in love with Sandra. She had sensed it the first time she saw them together in Sandra's chalet kitchen. Vincent was making pasta, soothing her with soft coos as she cried over the triviality of Parmesan cheese. The day's drama had reached its peak as she sobbed into the open refrigerator door. It had seemed puzzling at that moment, but after spending so much time with Vincent and picking up on his little nuances, Leah was convinced. This realization became even clearer as she watched Sandra recount her meeting with Samuel through the camcorder's flipped screen.

"He was... he was one of the few people I knew who could change the atmosphere in a room just by walking in. I suppose that's what charm is, isn't it? I fell in love with his charm," Sandra said, reflecting on her feelings.

She spoke of not feeling understood by her family or friends growing up, of feeling truly seen only when Samuel came into her life. She longed for a time when that connection still existed, reminiscing on what was lost. Leah felt a deep resonance with Sandra's words, hanging on to every syllable as if Sandra was guiding her on a precarious tightrope, with the ground beneath widening, threatening to swallow her whole.

Vincent's lighter pinged from his seat near the window. Leah observed him lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke out the open window.

"Don't say it's gone," Vincent urged Sandra, prompting her to share how she and Samuel first met. She briefly recounted how he had landed a job at a London university and how they had moved there together. She praised his teaching skills and his ability to make everything vibrant and accessible. However, despite all this, Samuel longed for more, as people naturally do. It seemed as though he had chased his dreams straight out the window. Sandra contrasted her own ease with writing to his struggles with time management when working on his novel. Then, she recounted Daniel's accident in vivid detail.

Nour nodded along as Vincent offered suggestions, while Leah sat motionless, pondering whether everyone had a defining crisis in their life that altered them forever.

During a brief respite, Leah stepped outside for a breath of fresh Alpine air. The cold bit at her cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the indoors. She was soon joined by Sandra, who, in a rare moment of vulnerability outside of what Vincent had requested from her for the sake of the case, offered Leah a cigarette. The two women, standing side by side against the backdrop of snow and solitude, shared a silence that spoke volumes.

It was Sandra who broke the quiet, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and defiance. "You remind me of a cat, you know. A black cat—slinky, chic, and a bit intimidating. But ultimately harmless." Her comparison, unexpected yet oddly accurate, drew a surprised laugh from Leah, the tension between them easing.

Leah took a slow drag, considering Sandra's words. "A black cat, huh? I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose. They're survivors, after all."

Sandra's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile, a glimmer of the woman she might have been before tragedy had taken its toll. "Survivors, yes. But they're also misunderstood. Feared for no reason other than superstition."

The conversation, meandering between confessions and observations, offered Leah a glimpse into Sandra's soul—her fears, her regrets, and her defiant hope for vindication. For Sandra, the moment provided a rare connection, a sense of being seen beyond the accusations and the public persona crafted by the media and the court.

As they stamped out their cigarettes and turned to head back inside, the brief camaraderie forged in the Alpine chill left a mark on both of them.

_________________________________________

It was Vincent who suggested that Leah ride back to Paris with Nour before it got too late. He wanted to have a private conversation with Sandra, and although Leah felt a tug in her chest and her internal monologue firing on all cylinders, she didn't resist much. "Attorney-client privileges," she told herself, even though she couldn't recall ever sharing a drink or personal history with the people she had represented.

Nour chattered about the case for most of the journey back, while Leah tried her best to engage in the conversation. However, it was evident that something was amiss. Leah couldn't quite pinpoint what it was or why she felt the way she did.

The apartment was dimly lit when Leah returned, with only a few rays of light streaming through the kitchen window, casting a stripe across the living room. She quickly shed the day away by washing her face and changing into an old collegiate sweatshirt before settling on the couch with a glass of Chablis to unwind. As she slowly drained the bottle of Chablis, she reflected on the weeks spent with Vincent and Sandra. Their dynamic became increasingly clear in her mind, stirring a jealousy within Leah that she had only experienced as a teenager caught in the turmoil of an unfaithful father and an emotionally unstable mother years ago.

"Ancient history," Vincent's words echoed in Leah's thoughts.

As she drifted off to sleep, the last thought on Leah's mind was what was truly unfolding in Sandra's home and why it was affecting her so deeply.

________________________________________

Leah, never a heavy sleeper, was immediately awoken by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Despite Vincent's attempts to be quiet, his efforts were useless. Slowly sitting up on the couch, she switched on the tableside lamp as the bathroom sink began to run. A few moments later, Vincent emerged in the living room, offering her an apologetic smile as he observed her rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" Leah asked, to which Vincent nodded in response.

"What's the dynamic between you and Sandra?" Leah shifted on the couch, observing as Vincent's eyebrows arched upwards in surprise.

"What are you talking about?" Vincent questioned, tilting his head. "I'm her lawyer."

"I'm not stupid, Vincent." For some reason, Leah felt compelled to delve deeper. "You paid her for bail."

Vincent, confused by Leah's sudden change in tone and line of questioning, gave her a quizzical look. "Only a portion of it."

Displeased with his response, Leah shook her head. "I wouldn't go to such lengths for a client."

"She's a friend," Vincent explained.

"‘Ancient history,’” Leah echoed his words back at him. “You don’t describe a friend as ‘ancient history.’”

“What's the matter? Why does it concern you?” Vincent inquired, slightly puzzled, moving closer to where she was seated on the couch.

"It just struck me earlier as I reflected on the past few weeks that something hasn't felt right, like I'm on the outside looking in. But then I saw the way you looked at her earlier. And then it hit me," Leah said, casting a heavy glance at Vincent.

"What hit you? What are you trying to say?" Vincent asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Are you defending her because you genuinely believe she's innocent, or because your feelings for her have clouded your judgment?" Leah questioned.

"I'm standing up for her because she's my friend, Leah. Because I believe in her innocence," Vincent explained.

A bitter laugh escaped Leah. "Friendship can blind us, Vincent. We're trained to read people as lawyers, but sometimes the truth is staring us in the face."

Leah shook her head incredulously. "And you sent me down the mountain with Nour. Usually, you want me right there with you, just to have another perspective."

Vincent's eyes widened in disbelief. "Leah, what is this really about?"

Leah's tone turned sharp. “If there's something between you and her, I need to know. I want to trust your judgment, not your feelings."

Vincent shook his head, frustration evident. He pushed his hair back, a mix of emotions crossing his face.

Leah's voice softened, yet held a steely edge. "Did you fuck her tonight? Was that why you sent me home early?"

"What if I did?" Vincent retorted, noticing the jealousy etched on Leah's face. "How would that concern you?"

Leah stood up abruptly, tossing aside the blanket on the couch as she stormed past Vincent and into the bedroom.

"Enough of this," Leah exclaimed as she rummaged through her suitcase. "I refuse to be a part of this. It's unprofessional, and I want no part in it. You can do as you please, but I'm leaving."

She hastily slipped into a pair of jeans while Vincent observed her from the hallway. Brushing past him again, she retrieved her belongings from the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" Vincent inquired, looking puzzled.

"I'm leaving," she replied, stuffing her suitcase full.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

"To a hotel, maybe a hostel," Leah replied, pulling the sweatshirt over her head and tossing it into the suitcase, leaving her in a thin tank top. "I don't know."

Vincent approached her as she struggled to close and zip her overflowing suitcase, its contents spilling out haphazardly as she packed in a frenzy.

"What's gotten into you?" he questioned. "What's all this about?"

"I don't know, I just—" Leah paused, meeting his gaze, her eyes searching his face. "It hit me today that you're so blindly in love with her that if she had pushed Samuel out the window in front of you, you'd defend her to the end."

He grasped her shoulders, drawing her closer as he looked into her eyes intently.

"Do you want me to fuck you? Is that what this is about?" he asked, his expression serious despite the taboo nature of his question.

"That's exactly it," Vincent shook his head as he spoke. With nimble fingers, he swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans.

"Say it," he paused, looking up at her. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to look at me like that," Leah confessed. Despite her uncertainty, she let her emotions guide her, baring her soul to the man before her.

"I do," Vincent murmured, drawing her closer. "I have. I am."

Taglist: @weakling-grace

#the verdict #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi fanfiction #maitre vincent renzi #vincent renzi x original female character #swann arlaud #vincent renzi

[marvelousbelladonna]

Laudna’s idea for an apology message for the Verdict

#critical role #cr spoilers #marisha ray #campaign 3 #laudna #the verdict #c3e22

[itcanbefilmed]

The Verdict (Sidney Lumet 1982)

[theoscarsproject]

The Verdict (1982). An outcast, alcoholic Boston lawyer sees the chance to salvage his career and self-respect by taking a medical malpractice case to trial rather than settling.

Between Paul Newman and Sidney Lumet, this movie is soaked in talent, but I don't know! Something about it didn't quite work for me. Courtroom dramas are hard to pull off, but Lumet's basically the king of them, so it was a bummer that it didn't quite land. Still, the performances are great across the board, and the movie has its moments, but yeah, I wish I enjoyed this more than I did. 7/10.

#the verdict #1982 #Oscars 55 #Nom: Picture #Nom: Director #Nom: Actor #Nom: Supporting Actor #Nom: Adapted Screenplay #Sidney Lumet #barry reed #David Mamet #paul newman #charlotte rampling #jack warden #James Mason #america #american #courtroom drama #crime #7/10

[soapkaars]

The Ace of Cups

Starting off a new suit in a new style (but the same colours), here we have the ace of cups!

This card is a pretty damn good card: abundance, creativity, intense relationships, success, love… as our chosen Lorre character would put it: ‘wein, weib, und gesang!’ (Wine, women, and song!)

So, who else but that dashing artist of the macabre, Victor Emmric from The Verdict? With an easel behind him for creativity, a bouquet of flowers for love, and a skull for… well, life is short, so be sure to seize the day!

“I am very good”

#peter lorre #victor emmric #the verdict #peter lorre tarot deck #ace of cups #carpe diem #seize the day