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Treasured, a small antiques boutique that is very easily overlooked, which is the idea. It looks dusty and old and not at all interesting in any way to those without a connection to Arcadia.
To those of fae heritage, it sparkles. The old-style appears nostalgic and is a welcome respite from the harsh world.
Which is the idea.
As Marcus' jeep pulls up, they see the huge Beast, Big Swilla standing outside. Seeing them, he cocks a thumb to the alleyway and turns to meet them out the back.
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Turning into the alley, Marcus pulls up behind the antiques shop and parks. Getting out, he helps the others unload their precious cargo. The Metalflesh recognizes the big, scaly Beast from Freehold events, but has never been properly introduced.
"Alright? I'm Marcus. Where would you like us to put it?"
Suddenly, it sinks into his metal skull that he is about to bring an unrestained Loyalist into the presence of the only two active Sovereigns of the Freehold. His eyes scan the alley for anything that might be used to secure Mason's hands and feet as he addresses the large Winter Courtier.
"I don't suppose you have anything we might use to tie it up?"
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John followed Marcus out the jeep, helping him with Manson. He made sure to return Barkley's gun on the way back. One armed man was not always enough to take down a man, especially a ogre.
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Sam takes Rick's Colt back and slips it into his waistband. The little green man looks up at the Beast from the Black Lagoon and nods. He'd seen Swilla around, knew he worked for Crunk over at Ember. Barkley had never been called in there, which said a lot about the way the cold-blooded monster handled business.
"Swilla," he says with a nod. "You assisting with the interrogation, then?" he asks with an expectant grin.
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"Barkley, long time, and yeah I am," Swilla says with a look that is all business. Uncrossing his arms, the Coldscales has a couple of industrial-strength plastic slip-ties that he easily loops around the short Ogre's wrists.
"Swilla, a pleasure, I'm sure. Fucker ain't going anywhere now," he growls, satisfied, before moving to hold the back door open. "Come on, her Winterness is waiting."
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"Glad to hear it," Barkley says, his green eyes sparkling with malice. "Alright, boys, you heard 'em. Let's get this scum inside." Sam is eager to present the prisoner to the Queen and start getting some answers out of him.
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Marcus gives Swilla a grim smile as the Coldscales secures the murderer's wrists. Nodding to Sam, he helps carry Mason through the open door for his interview with the Queen of Winter.
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Prepaired. Like the guy already. While he let that though cross his mind, he helped Marcus get Manson inside. He really wanted to know what the hell that giant ear was.
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Swilla leads them through. The rear of the shop isn't much to look at and doesn't seem to hold stock on the premises. The Queen stands apprehensively next to a wooden chair with iron wrist and ankle locks.
"Gentleman, you have done the Freehold a great service, yes. Place the traitor in the chair if you would. Be careful with the restraints, they are anathema to us."
Instantly, the fae in the room can feel the Cold Iron trying to leech their Glamour. Mason tries to wriggle but is unsuccessful. Katrin steps to the side, eyes warily locked onto Bloodnose.
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"Your Majesty."
Marcus gives a brief nod to the Sovereign of the Freehold before taking a firmer grip of Mason Bloodnose. He motions to his Brothers before he begins to manhandle the Loyalist into the wooden chair. Next, the Metalflesh extracts a multi-tool from his pocket and awaits a signal from the Winter Queen or the Hunter of Longest Days to cut the bastard's bonds in order to place him in the more serious restraints.
Policy of Truth
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