Bane

December 01, 1993

Gina followed behind him, her casual gate in contrast to her blood blood smeared fingerless gloves, and spattered clothes.

Grifford smiled politely at her, his eyes on the smear of red that ran from her brow down to the bottom of her chin.

"It's not mine." She stepped over the unconscious guard as she approached the judge's desk.

"Try not to touch any of my furniture if you can help it."

Gina cocked an eyebrow, and pulled the chair out from her side of Grifford's desk. She paid no mind to the red stained handprint on the leather bound chair, and sat down. "Your honor."

Grifford's sighed. "Gina Guerrero. To what do I owe this thrilling pleasure?"

"Where's Cameron?"

"Working."

Gina placed her right hand open palm down on his desk. Grifford's winced at the wet sound of the leather as she pressed her palm hard into his desk. "Where's Cameron?"

"Miss Guerrero, that's business of The Order's. You're not Order, are you?"

She smiled, mirroring his expression. "Good. We're being civil then. For now."

"For now, yes. Enjoy your short lived victory. Surely you know help is on the way."

Gina drew a pistol with her free hand, parrying Grifford as he lashed out with a dagger. She pushed the pistol forward until the barrel nuzzled up against Grifford's chest. "I could miss every organ in your body, and still spray your insides out all over your pretty, clean office."

"The maid would get it cleaned by morning."

She grimaced. "You wouldn't be here to enjoy the restoration."

"It's just an office. It's just my life. I'm prepared to go if it is necessary." Grifford offered her a genuine, warm smile.

"...or no one has to die, and we can talk."

"You invaded my estate, Gina. I did not come looking for you. You came looking for me... so here I am, at the mercy of your gun. Speak."

"Last time. Where's Cameron Dean?"

Grifford raised a black gloved hand, and brushed the barrel of her Desert Eagle away from his chest. "I get it. You're strong. You're talented. You're all awash with love, and rage. I can't tell you where Cameron is. He's working."

"He's agreed to marry me. I've taken the rites and blessings. If there were trials, I just passed."

"If there were trials, indeed you would have. My men, did you kill any?"

"No. I used as much force as I needed to get to you."

"So we could talk."

Gina nodded.

"Did you bother to just pick up the phone? Call ahead?"

Gina shook her head, and holstered her pistol. "I had to show you what I can do."

"You fight like Bishop." Grifford noted her expression. "That is not a bad thing. Well, it would not be so bad were it not my guards you chose to use as your means to get my attention."

"I want into your Order."

"No."

"You promised Cameron. If I marry him, I'm in."

"No offense to your hardened sensibilities, but what in all creation makes you believe I would ever allow you into the Inquisition?"

"I'm already doing the job. Cameron and I will marry. All I want is legitimate recognition as part of your Order... and a pardon for Bishop. Whatever beef you had with him, it's over."

"If it were only so easy, yes?"

"I just laid out a small army of your best. I don't want anything from you, except Cameron, and a ticket into your order."

"...and what message will that send? Anyone can come kicking their way through the men and women of my estate, and bully me into submission?"

"Then lie."

"Lie?"

"You challenged me to get to you. I fought my way to your door as proof I'm worth your time."

Grifford shook his head. Gina could see headlights through his window behind him. "I don't know that you are worth my time. You break into my office making demands. You're asking a judge of The Order to lie on your behalf. This meeting is over."

"The hell it is!"

"Pine, or gold?" Grifford laughed.

"What?"

"A pine box, or a gold urn. How do you prefer your funeral arrangements? A gold urn is usually reserved for members of The Order, but given Cameron's fondness for you..."

Gina was on her feet, both pistols drawn and trained on Grifford. "Call them off."

"No."

"Then we'll both die right here, right now." She tightened her fingers on the triggers.

Grifford smiled. "Pine, or gold?"

"Open or closed casket, your honor?"

"Stop!"

The voice called from behind her, strong with a familiar authority. Gina switched her stance, a pistol trained on Grifford, and a pistol trained on the hunter standing in the office doorway.

He was broad-shouldered, his voice older, and calm. He had three others behind him, all in their faceless cowls. Gina kept her eyes on Grifford. "All of you then. We can all go together."

"Bartholomew Walker."

"...your honor?"

Grifford locked his narrowed, cold eyes on Gina's. "She passed."

"Judge?" Bart Walked relaxed, pulled his cowl free from his face, the long brimmed hat falling to his boots.

"...I challenged Gina Guerrero. If she could make it to my desk alive, I would consider granting her admission into The Order."

"A rogue?"

"The fiancee of our young Cameron Dean, Gerald's boy. He's working down in Collings."

"Shithole of an assignment." Bart Walker's shoulders stiffened. He sheathed his daggers, and the hunters behind him did the same.

"Sorry for the false alarm, Goodman. I needed witnesses."

"Your personal guard?"

Grifford lifted a thick white eyebrow at Gina.

Gina turned her attention to Bart Walker. Her heart raced in her chest. "They're alive. They'll be hurtin' for a good long while, but they're alive."

Grifford applauded slowly, his black leather gloves muffling the sound. "Young Gina here has already the rites and blessings. She can fight. Do you still need an assistant, Walker?"

"Until Karen and David return from Salem."

Grifford's feigned amusement faded, his hands falling to his sides, his expression, severe. "Very well. We will have to skip the celebration, given these special circumstances. Welcome to The Order Inquisition, Gina Guerrero."

"My oath of fealty?"

"You know the oath?" Both Grifford and Walker in unison.

"I have a good, and honest mentor."

Grifford nodded, and stood from his chair. He pushed it in, unsheathed both his daggers, and placed them next to a fountain pen on his desk. Grifford stepped around his desk, and Gina made small, cautious steps backward. She lowered her pistols and holstered them.

"Kneel."

Gina knelt at the boots of Judge Randall Grifford. He nodded, and stole a glance at Bartholomew Walker. Walker was unreadable. Grifford drew in a deep breath. "Recite the oath."