Le Canard Joyeux

4-B (Égalité) is obviously meant to be the “best” or “good” ending, with 4-C (Fraternité) as the “okay” ending and 4-A (Liberté) as the “worst” or “bad” ending.

While the outcome for 4-B is definitely the most preferable for everyone involved (it’s the only one where Cocorico lives), it’s kind of, well... boring. I mean, the premise of the trial is novel and fun (in that you don’t actually have a hope of winning it and are not really trying to win it at all). I also like that Falcon and Sparrowson have a successful and thriving defense attorney business on their hands. But Falcon doesn’t really seem to have learned anything by the end of 4-B. He comes across as a largely static character. Whatever personal arc he undergoes really isn’t that prominent and is almost undermined by Falcon wanting to take a vacation rather than jump into all of the new work coming his way. It’s definitely the happy ending, and I’m glad it exists, but it also leaves me wanting more. As for 4-C, I really appreciate getting to see the approaching revolution from the perspective of the rebels. I enjoy all of the interactions between Falcon and Beaumort as she forces him to reevaluate his beliefs about justice and the justice system. However, depending on your choices and how you read Falcon’s actions (are Beaumort’s words really getting to him, or is he just playing along to save his own skin?), it’s not always clear whether Falcon ultimately turns rebel himself or if he’s just gained sympathy for the Second Republic and their cause. The “open” ending, with Falcon legally declared dead but clearly having survived the destruction of the barricade, is an interesting choice for sure. It leaves me with more questions than answers, though, and in this particular case, it’s a much more frustrating situation than a satisfying one. In my opinion, then, 4-A is the most interesting and therefore “best” ending to Aviary Attorney.

As a huge Sparrowson stan (Sparrowstan?), I absolutely love getting to play as Sparrowson for the majority of the act. Finally, my boy gets the respect he deserves and is granted his own license to practice law (temporary as it may be). And you get to play as the prosecutor! It’s utterly fascinating to be tasked with approaching a court case from the other side for once.

While I appreciate the way the Viridian Killer storyline is woven into the action of 4-C, the absolute drama of how it plays out in 4-A can’t be matched. Yes, the vigilante violence that Falcon commits is terrible. But the way he just breaks in the catacombs, his belief in justice and the world obliterated in an instant... it’s the tragic stuff that the best character arcs are made of. And the duel on top of Notre Dame! The ominous, gothic music and the escalating tension (you, as Volerti, have to choose to fire or not fire your gun after each count!)... it’s one of the most genuinely thrilling story climaxes I’ve witnessed in ages. 4-A is dark and tragic, yes, but so is all of the best French literature.

I do think the choices you make as Sparrowson during the conversation with Falcon at the end, however, play a huge part in determining your personal enjoyment of 4-A. For me, “I’m going to be a defense attorney.” and “No.” are the only acceptable answers. At the end of the day, one of my favorite aspects of Aviary Attorney is the relationship between Falcon and Sparrowson, so of course my version of Sparrowson is going to follow in Falcon’s footsteps (at least in terms of career); as Falcon himself points out, Sparrowson is good at “playing the hero.” Also, beyond not wanting to send Falcon to his death (whether or not he deserves it), I think it makes a lot of sense for “No Siding with Any Ideologies” Sparrowson to still be uncertain about what constitutes “justice” in this difficult and personal situation. (I’m also admittedly a sucker for a morally-gray man who’s spent time in a mental asylum, but that’s beside the point.)

Falcon:  Actually, why do you carry a riding crop, Séverin? I’ve never seen you ride a horse.

Cocorico:  I don’t know, Jayjay. Why do you, a thirty-something year-old with no health problems, carry a cane?

This exchange between Falcon and Cocorico in Act 2 is clearly poking fun at the fact that their character art, as out-of-their-original-context historical illustrations, features items (a cane and a riding crop, respectively) that don’t quite make sense for a defense attorney or prosecutor to carry into court. 

It’s interesting to consider why Falcon would carry a cane with him at all times, though. There’s something intrinsically genteel about carrying a cane, of course; it seems to demand some level of respect (which Falcon doesn’t always get from those around him). But I really like the idea that Falcon has some personal attachment to his cane, and that’s why he brings it with him wherever he goes. 

So what if it once belonged to his grandfather?

While Falcon may have cast aside his grandfather’s complex legacy by ridding himself of his original last name, the cane could serve as a last link or personal reminder of why Falcon chose to be a defense attorney in the first place.

While also being a terrible bird pun, Falcon’s first name, Jayjay, is clearly a reference to J. J. Grandville (1803-1847), the French illustrator and caricaturist who created the anthropomorphic character art used in the game. 

It only makes sense, then, for Sparrowson’s first name to similarly be a reference to the other French artist prominently featured in Aviary Attorney: Camille Saint-Saëns (1832-1921), who composed many of the songs in the game’s soundtrack.