<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Judge Warwick<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 4, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Marguerite Tuerny, Closed<br/><hr/>The boy that greeted her – or rather, smiled silently – nodded at the question.  The slight nod revealed a ghoulish scar that crossed his neck, pale white where a blade had been dragged through his neck.  From the length and size of it, it was years old – and would certainly have brought him to the brink of death.  His eyes traced over the beautiful socialite, admiring her silently, and then he stepped back into the courtroom itself.  It was smaller than courts in the East, but the normal appointments of desks for prosecutor and defendant, a row of seats for observers and witnesses, the box for a jury and the high desk for the judge himself were all much as could be expected – they were functional over finely crafted, with only two doors that led off from the main court room.  One was marked 'Evidence,' and the second was marked 'Judge.'<br/><br/>Atop the Judge's desk sat a human skull.  Part of the bone had been shattered by a bullet that had traveled through the forehead, and a matching exit wound suggested the manner of the unfortunate owner's demise.<br/><br/>The mute teen smiled reassuringly, and pressed past the desk, knocking upon the Judge's door.  He smiled once more, picking at his clothes, then frowned and gazed at the door, knocking again.<br/><br/>There was a pained groan from within.  The boy's brow furrowed, and he knocked a third time, insistent.  There was the sound of glass shattering from the opposite side of the door, and another pained groan.  Concern seemed to light the boy's eyes, and he reached for the handle, testing it and then throwing his weight against the door.  Another, more agonized noise came from within, and he threw himself again, and this time the door made a snapping noise and flew open, the boy stumbling in a few steps, only to behold the Judge lying asleep on his desk – or recently asleep.  He looked up, blinking blearily, his eyes reddened by drink.<br/><br/>“God Almighty, Blue, what's the meaning of this racket?”  His voice was a croak, and his eyes unfocused.  They resolved, looking behind the mute bailiff to the woman who had followed him.  He glanced towards a clock set upon the wall, and rubbed a hand over his bald pate.  His face was weathered by living in the west, but even hung over there was a sharpness in his eyes, a hawkishness to his nose that made him a handsome older man, and the grey stubble on his jaw might have left him lacking in refinement, but enhanced the strength of it with a certain rugged charm.<br/><br/>He studied her for a moment, and then smiled.  “You must be Margeurite,” he offered.  “I... Nathan explained some of your situation last night, but that was...”  He hefted a bottle of Scotch, a fifth of it still remaining, and glanced down to the shattered tumbler beside his desk.  “Mmm... that was a few fingers in commemoration of a dearly departed friend ago.”  He gave a chuckle, setting the bottle down.  “Forgive my intemperance and my state.  I can't seem to recall your... last name, beyond that Hunter made it quite clear it wasn't Eklain.”  He gave a warmer smile, and offered a hand.<br/><br/>“Judge Warwick.  Blue - “  He reached into a wrinkled vest, withdrawing a coin and tossing it to Blue.  “Could you get us some thing for breakfast from the bakery?  And some tea?”  He raised an eyebrow, making certain it was agreeable to Margeurite, and gesturing towards the seat across from him.  “Have a seat, if you please.”<br/><br/>Behind the Judge were shelves upon shelves of battered, well worn legal texts, a few cabinets for paperwork, and his desk was mostly piled high with the files from other cases before him.