Beastars: The Discover Check

Chapter 141: Another Day in The Life of A Court Lawyer

“Let’s make this quick,” Vaasman said, sitting down at the table. “I have court which I have to be at in two hours and it’s a forty-five minute drive.”

He made as much noise in scraping the metal chair against the cement floor and banging his briefcase on the table he and his client had. He clicked open the case and shuffled the papers out before slapping them on the table between him and the flying fox to his left. He then slammed the top closed and snapped it shut before putting it next to his chair. He then crossed his fingers in front of him on the table and stared across the room at a panel of hospital lawyers. They all looked back with the usual air of arrogance that came with their position. Pigs. Literally and metaphorically speaking. He breathed deeply, turning his attention to the doctor sitting next to the table. He looked him up and down once. Now he was ready.

“My client wishes to end her treatment,” the fox said. “Under the basis that she has not been getting proper care or treatment. She has the right to deny treatment-”

“Under the condition that she is mentally sound enough to do so,” the toucan smiled. It was a stupid smile. Pure looks to make him seem like an innocent little bird. A horrible performance. 

“And is she not?” Vaasman asked.

“The treatments at this hospital take time and she is not yet done,” the bird said. “She has yet to show any indication that her IED has subsided to a level that makes it safe for her to return to society and not cause further harm to herself and others.”

“I mean no disrespect doctor,” the fox said, glancing at the lawyer. “But the word hospital implies treatment.”

“And she is getting treatment,” he responded. Again, more for his lawyer’s than to make and argument. They could be running in circles for hours and Vaasman really wasn’t in the mood.

“Is she less crazy?” he asked, putting on a much better show of his own for the doctor and panel of pigs. The chiropteran next to him looked his way in a small pang of hurt. He brought his hands under the table.

“Excuse me?” the doctor asked, taken aback but not breaking that damned smile.

“As a result of your treatments,” he said, putting the last word in air quotes for his client to see what he was playing at. “Is she less crazy?” 

The pained look melted away.

“Crazy is not a medically recognized term Mr. Vaasman,” the doctor rebutted. “As I just explained, Lola has what the DSM refers to as Intermittent Explosive Disorder.”

“Then please tell us,” he asked. “Is she less intermittently explosive?”

“She has improved,” the toucan said.

The fox raised a hand and motioned to the doctor, looking straight at the table of lawyers across the room.

“But again,” he said. “Not to the point that she can leave this institution safely.”

The fox sighed and leaned forward a little, looking down to his clasped hands.

“To what do you attribute this improvement?” the fox asked.

“Primarily the pharmacological regiment,” the toucan answered, straightening up with pride.

“Pills?” the fox asked, in faked awe.

“Twenty-five milligrams each of three different antipsychotics administered three times daily.”

The fox almost vomited at the clearly rehearsed line of dialogue. But it had been said and was now on record.