Arrested in Love: UsUk Prisoner AU

18: Thanks, Jury.

And so it began. The jurors discussing Alfred F. Jones case. It wasn't the most fun ways to start out the day. For any of them. All twelve of them had a place they'd rather be at.

"So- it's come down to this. Not guilty? Four votes. Guilty, eight votes." Roderich Edelstein sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. How annoying.

The piano teacher's violet eyes flicked around the room, fiery in a way. "Who the hell thinks that he's guilty? It's obvious he isn't responsible for these crimes. He's too real. Cared about his brother too much."

"Are you joking?" Lovino Vargas spat, raising an eyebrow. It seemed every part of him was always angry. Even that uncontrollable curl. Lord only knew what that was all about. "He's not guilty? That's insane."

Antonio nodded. The Spaniard didn't exactly care though. He was sort of put up to the job. By Francis Bonnefoy, the cop from previously. It was a tricky case, and the man didn't personally think that Alfred was guilty but pay was pay.
"Alfred is- he is very guilty. There are many things that don't add up in his case. It's loco to think he didn't kill these people."

"We're getting nowhere here," Elizabeta coaxed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She wanted to go home with her husband and listen to him play the piano for hours. The Hungarian woman lived for his melodies. From arrangements like Canon in C for reminders of their wedding to the heart wrenching arrangements of Liebesleid - or Love's Sorrow for the loss of their baby.

"My little brother was murdered in cold blood." The Ukrainian woman spoke up, also standing up quickly. Not good on her- well endowed chest. Seriously how the hell did that happen? She would get a reduction because damn but she was poorer than a cow. Yes, a cow. Never judge a narrator.

"He couldn't have been, Miss. There was no way that he could've. We saw the forensics. Something was tampered with." An older Japanese man by the name of Kiku Honda quietly intervened.

"Need I mention Miss. Edelstein had a pretty solid case-" a Welshman with the last name of Kirkland spoke, pointing to the Austrian.

"I'm a man!"

And soon they began arguing, the Italian and Spaniard also arguing while other jurors watched. Suddenly a squeak rang out above them all, a smaller Finnish man looking over at a Korean man who had just groped him.

The Korean man was immediately met with pain as the Finnish male's boyfriend, a broody and disturbingly quiet Swedish man, pummelled the holy hell out of him for even thinking about touching his 'wife'. Good times.

"Okay! We need to get this shit figured out!" An Estonian man intervened in everything, the whole room silencing eerily that moment. "We will do it this way, who said guilty. If you say guilty, raise your hands to the sky." He instructed, looking around the room.

Slowly, eight hands were raised. They belonged to Lovino Vargas, an almost reluctant Spanish bastard—not my words—Carlos Machado, a Cuban man who simply didn't want to like Alfred so he voted to keep him out of his sight.

Soon Roderich realised his handwriting recognition skills were on point when he saw his wife's buried in the bundle: guilty.

Elizabeta Héderváry was a young and beautiful Hungarian girl with what you would say an obsession with cooking. But no, she simply loved her frying pan. She wasn't afraid to kick some ass if needed.

"Why, Elizabeta? What's the explanation for you?" The Austrian asked, dumbfounded.

"Well..It's simple really. No man that attractive deserves a second chance. Especially for murder. He's not too young to be a sociopath."