Bane

December 2, 1993

Gina made her voice deep. "It's a drawing room. A hearth. A stein. Man, you really need to relax. Doesn't the order own a strip club, or something?"

"Gina!"

Gina grinned. "That's better."

Bart shook his head, and set his stein on a coaster on the end table. "Oh, sure. It's all fun and games for you, right? Run and gun your way into the order by force, and suddenly you're old money. "

"Puto, what the fuck did you just say to me? You think I want to be like you? Shit, I wouldn't mind living to the age of retirement, but you've got a stick up your ass as wide as it is long. How do you walk?"

Bart Walker sighed. The impertinent wretch. As bad as Clay, stubborn as David, and foul mouthed as Karen. He liked her. "There's a reason for everything, and if you're going to survive in the order after the shit you pulled at Judge Grifford's, you're going to have to learn how to fit in."

"Really? How did that work out for Bishop? Or Divinae? How did that work out for any of the poor bastards at the lodge when some witch bitch burned it down around them? Did any of you learn anything at all?"

Bart glared.

"Stop pretending you're mad. You like me. You like the way I do things. Fuck, your precious traditions are so important, they're getting you killed. Your numbers are dropping to extinction levels, you've got a church that wants you gone on one side, a mean ass witch on the other, and you're worried about steins, and hearth, and drawing rooms like any of that shit matters out there."

"Propriety has its place in The Order."

"Bullshit, that's a cop out. Propriety makes you predictable. You do the shit you do because it's the way it's always been done. You developed bad habits, patterns, and complacency. Yes, Bart. I know big words. I went to school like any of you did. I got decent grades. Three times a week I studied my martial arts. I was a better fighter at ten than most of you at twenty, except for the mojo you get in your advanced schooling. Tell me, and I mean this... tell me how that held up against Lillian Plow, or Bane?"

Bart slumped back into his seat in stunned silence, and Gina scowled, chugging back her beer. The damned house was still decorated with the gypsy's furniture.

"Damned right you don't know what to say. You spent your life treating your next generation- your kids - like subordinates, delivering orders with the expectation they're not questioned. Look where it's gotten you."

"I'm still here."

Gina cocked her head. "Sure, you're still here. I get the feeling you've broken the rules a few times."

Bart only stared.

Gina felt her cheeks getting warm. "Look where it got Bishop... but, no. You're right. I'm the one with a lack of propriety. I'm the one who won't play crucible to your Order's personal Salem."

"...that's where you're wrong. It's not my Order. It's our Order. Mine, yours, David's, Karen's, and Cameron's Order."

"Well, I'm not here for prestige, birthright, blood or binding. I love Cameron Dean, and he was mine before he was yours. I'm here to keep him alive, and if keeping his dumb ass alive means I have to keep all your dumb asses alive, that's what I'm going to do... but I'm not going to do it your way, or their way, or his way, or even Bishop's way. I'm gonna do it my way, because my way's kept me alive so far, and it works."

Bart nodded. "They'll sing songs about you when you're gone. You'll fight hard, and you'll die, Gina."

"Sometimes we kill them." Gina raised her beer and finished the contents. She wiped her mouth with her forearm. "Sometimes they kill us. It's not when we die, or even how we die, Walker. It's why we died, and what we died for. Thats all that matters."

"I have a task for you." Bart Walker pulled a large yellow envelope from his faded black duster. "I know you can fight. I know you can run your mouth, but are you ready to put yourself to the test?"

"Name it."

"Convince the rogue element here in Driftwood to go. Get them to leave. I read your report on Mark and Penelope. They bit off more than they could chew. It nearly cost them their lives. "

"...and Bishop?"

"Grifford is willing to grant him a full pardon if he leaves."

Gina kept her gaze steady, but she could hear - she could feel - that teenaged defensive tone spreading inside her. "If he leaves his estate."

"If he leaves Driftwood. Convince your Bishop to leave Driftwood, and take up residence in Pridewater. He can take Mark and Penelope with him."

"You expect me to ask my mentor, my friend, to pack up and leave?"

"Bishop's rogues are upsetting the balance in Driftwood. It's a delicate balance. Convince them to take a station in Pridewater."

"...and what do they get out of this?"

"Admission to The Order, Gina."

"What does The Order get out of this?"

Bart scratched at the back of his neck. "Expansion."