Spartan enters the fashion boutique with a jingle of the bell above the door. The door is about to close when in walks the Red Victor behind his king. Spartan has no doubt that the Victor would have insisted on going in first if they were walking into anywhere that wasn't Freehold owned/related.
As Spartan enters he looks around, but more then that he feels around, Terri's mantle would be present if she was. Spartan posts up by the counter and waits, not patiently, but waits none the less.
Rook's expression hadn't shifted from the locked hardness it had settled into the moment he'd recovered from Fairweather's magic. The fact that the situation had only compounded, getting worse and more intense with the knowledge that he held the potential key to the problem and could not bring it up, would not bring it.
Because no father would sacrifice one of their children, to save themselves. That sort of thinking was selfish, cowardly.
And at the same time, it was not easy to look into the eyes of the Freehold, and know that if Fairweather should move against them, there was something he could have done.
But the fact was simple. Rook was not an evil man. The moral code he held himself to, harder than steel, was the only way to negate his nature, the call of the Board. If he allowed himself to make a sacrifice play with a life he did not own, then he knew the slope, and the destination at the bottom. It was easy to think of others as pieces, just pieces in a game that he was part of, and weaker because he was a Rook, and they only pawns.
The Metalflesh's steely silence wasn't broken when he entered - nor was the oppressive, vicious heat of his mantle, pressure cooking on and on, warring with anything it encountered. He hadn't spoken since they had parted from Katrin and Swilla.
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So sorry, I completely missed this...
Inside the boutique, the beginning of Christmas was coming with many decorations about the foyer of red and green. Trailing around the staircase that led upstairs were trails of holly, safe to touch. The last thing Terri needed was some idiot making a lawsuit against her for a pricked finger. However, not all of it was fake, and the thistles that were high and out of reach without fae help were as real as she could find.
As the two Summers reached the upstairs, it was more of the same, and they could see Terri balancing quite perfectly on a small ladder while putting the finishing touches to the Christmas tree near to the fitting room. At the movement, she glanced round, and smiled warmly as she recognised Spartan and Rook.
"Hey guys, what brings you two to my humble store? Fancy a soda or coffee?"
"How very festive." Spartan says looking to Rook, then looking to Terri as she arrived. "Hello Terri, that is unnecessary." Spartan looked around, "We need to discuss something that is business related. Can we speak freely here? Or should we go to the back room?" Spartan asked looking to Rook with a serious look on his face.
Spartan ran a hand through his hair, a tell that Terri had probably seen before.
"I like festive. It makes me think of my children," Rook said bluntly, his split attention making it hard to moderate his true tongue. But it was inevitably true, as everything he said always was. His heart would always belong to that time, many years ago, when he had been a father and a cop, and so much more than he was now.
Beneath his mirrored sunglasses, his gaze flickered down to his riveted metal hands.
The hands of a siege engine. Not the hands of a father. He couldn't imagine holding something as fragile as his children had been in these hands. He would be too afraid of destroying it.
The Metalflesh's head jerked up as he spotted Terri, and it was a mark of how serious the situation was that he didn't immediately smile at the corner of his mouth.
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"Okey dokey, one sec," Terri remarks with an intrigued smile, dropping casually from the ladder before heading down the staircase to lock the front door, turning the sign to closed. Once she had gracefully bounded back up to the main floor, she took as seat on the counter and looked to the massive Summer Courtiers. "So, what's up?"
"Fairweather." Spartan said in his cold, ground glass, tone. "His end is coming, but I need the help of a member of the Autumn Court. Preferably one who is talented in your court's ways."
Spartan looked back to Rook, and then looked to the Dread Queen, "And... any advice you have would be appreciated."
Rook folded his arms across his chest, his expression steel hard. He turned his head slightly, looking towards Terri as she perched on the counter. He had to admit, he didn't know the ins and outs of the Autumn Court. They probably, though, had a go-to person for questions like this.
The expression written all over his face showed that there was something bothering him. The Metalflesh was utterly incapable of hiding it, the honesty that suffused his tongue bearing more meaning than just simple, blunt honesty.
I will not sell my family for the Freehold. Never. Never.
"If there's anything you can do, Terri, that would be great."
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