15081/The Four Treasures: The Stone of Destiny

The Four Treasures: The Stone of Destiny
Date of Scene:	04 June 2023
Location:	Belvedere Castle
Synopsis:	Brian Braddock runs into four Redcaps and a mysterious, mischievous Fae. There's something about Brian, but he has to make a deal to find out what.
Cast of Characters:	Donna Troy, Brian Braddock

---

Donna Troy has posed:
    America has castles too, though perhaps it comes by it less honestly than Brian's home of England. Belvedere castle gives no pretense of being the real thing; it's a folly and proud of it. At least Walt Disney built castles that looked like real ones, even if those real ones were crazed confections of stone constructed for mad German princes. This is more the concept of a castle distilled into a tourist attraction.

    To be entirely fair, it's not that bad. It's a century and a half old and while that may pale besides Colchester or Hedingham castles in Brian's native Essex, both nearing a millennium old, the truth is that most really old castles are ruins. The Braddock family home isn't really that much older.

    You wouldn't want to live in Belvedere castle. When it comes to New York vs. Essex there are pros and cons -- the countryside is pleasant, but Colchester and Chelmsford just don't really cut it when it comes to being cosmopolitan, and going into London is kind of cheating. For an Englishman in New York, it's a pleasant place to visit though.

    The day is bright and sunny and the folly has plenty of visitors exploring the tame parapet walls of the construction, enjoying the views out over Central Park. An ice cream vendor is doing good business, and every second person has their phone out taking photos. To one side, a crowd gathers to watch a demonstration of falconry, a pair of falconers showing off their hooded birds to the tourists, while a third prepares a lure. It's all very pleasant.

    Or it should be. There's something quite homely about it all, if in a very artificial way, but why is there a nagging sense of something /wrong/?

Brian Braddock has posed:
The display of falconry in particular is quaint to Brian. His father entertained the idea a few times over the years of becoming a falconer and working a bird, but there was always something else keeping him far too busy to follow through.

Thus, off to one side, the Brit in his straight dark jeans and lightweight button-down in white over an undershirt watches with a vague little smile hovering about his lips. He's one of those without their phones out and at work snapping pictures because...

...something keeps subtly tugging at his attention.

His blue eyes travel away from the hooded merlin on the keeper's arm and around the immediate area again. No one in particular seems to stand out; tourists galore and a few grounds-staff members are all he sees right now.

Donna Troy has posed:
    The sense of something out of place prevails, and with it a sense of being watched. Nobody stands out from the crowd, but the sense remains. Brian has experienced too much in his life, too much that is uncanny, to dismiss such feelings.

    "Excuse me sir?" The voice is cheerful, southern-accented, friendly. It belongs to a small round face attached to a short middle-aged man with a woman in tow, holding a phone out to Brian. "Would you mind taking a photo of me and my wife?" he asks, smiling pleasantly.

    There -- just for a moment, in the crowd a little distance away, a pair of eyes that seemed to be focused on Brian. Not long enough to make out much detail before the person was lost in the milling crowd again, but enough to get an impression of a slender, bony, but youthful face. Piercing eyes, pointed eyebrows.

    The man asking Brian to take the photo smiles again, and the woman with him steps out from behind him to smile at Brian too. "Isn't it wonderful here?" she asks him. "So historical! I'm Mary-Anne, this is my husband Jacob. It's our first time in Manhattan. Are you from here, or a tourist like us?"

    Too late, the piercing eyes, and the man they belonged to, are out of sight.

Brian Braddock has posed:
At least half to use up some of the anticipative energy now moving through him, Brian manages a scant number of steps in the vague direction of this 'watcher' before he's interrupted by the sociable tourist.

Blinking in surprise at the request, the Brit pastes a Colgate-white smile upon his features, the usual response to dealing with the general public. "Not a problem at...all," he replies, the building delay between words having much to do with spotting the source of the weighty attention upon him. Quickly, like blades crossing for a flash second, their gazes meet.

And then part as the tourist's wife.

Brian loses track of the face and his smile falters before stabilizing as he returns his attention to the two southerners. "I suppose I would be considered a tourist myself," Brian replies to them both as he takes the offered phone. His accent no doubt conjures up impressions of Oxford, high tea with the Queen, and many current popular binge-worthy shows. "Say cheese!" A prompt for the picture -- click goes the phone -- and he returns the phone to husband Jacob. "Lovely to meet you both, enjoy your visit to the city."

His height and build don't stop the Captain from making his way in the direction of the vanished face with relative ease. Maybe people move for him due to his build. Maybe it's that he's long learned how to work through a crowd like a shark through reef-fish. Either way, he reaches the rough point of the mysterious face and looks around again, brows knitted. "Where the bloody hell did you go...?" mutters he to himself.

Donna Troy has posed:
    "Oh, are you English?" Mary-Anne asks with a squeal of delight when she hears Brian's accent. "Jacob, he's English! Doesn't he have the most wonderful accent?"

    Jacob says 'cheese' and accepts the phone back once the photo is taken with another big smile and "Thank you sir, thank you. Very kind."

    "We visited England four years ago," Mary-Anne's voice continues behind Brian has he works his way through the crowd. The couple seems to be carried along in the wake of Brian's passing, Mary-Anne stepping into the space behind Brian as he opens the crowd for them to lead her husband on.

    "We went to London, and Salisbury, and Stratford-upon-Avon. Shakespeare isn't for me, honestly. No offense meant, I know you're English but it's kinda... you need subtitles, am I right? But the town was wonderful. All those old houses! Have you been there? And there's a bridge that's five hunnert years old. Can you believe that? It's like you're walking on history. Wasn't that right, Jacob?"

    "Yes Mary-Anne. I said that when we were there. Walking on history."

    Twenty feet or so away a tall, slender man with his back to Brian catches his eye. Is that him? The figure turns, scanning the crowd and looking past Brian. No -- similar build, but the piercing eyes and pointed eyebrows aren't there.

    "Salisbury Cathedral, now that was something. Have you been to Salisbury? I do like a good church. They have the Magna Carta there, we saw that didn't we Jacob? That's kinda like the English Declaration of Independence you know. Isn't that right, Jacob?"

    "Yes Marie-Anne. English Declaration of Independence. That's what I said when we were there."

    "And the spire. Wonderful! Over four hundred feet tall. We went inside, you could see all the old wooden scaffolding. And the clock! They told us the clock is older than America. Can you believe that? Wonderful. Have you been there?"

    There's a sharp crack close by Brian as something hits the parapet, sending splinters of stone flying. The report silences the crowd close by, with the obvious exception of Mary-Anne.

    "And the cloisters! So peaceful and calm. You could just imagine those old monks going about their daily business there. Wonderful."

    There's another crack of something hitting stone, and someone screams. Someone else from the crowd yells "Gun!" and the crowd starts running.

    Not a gun, there was no sound of a gun going off, but someone seems to be shooting something in Brian's direction!

    Jacob puts a hand on Mary-Anne's shoulder, a worried expression on his face. "Mary-Anne," he says. "We should..."

    "Not now Jacob, I'm talking to this nice English gentleman. Now /London/. What can I say about /London/. Wonderful!"

    There's a whistling of air, and something hits Jacob. He does not crumple, but falls over like a felled tree, his eyes wide, his body utterly rigid.

Brian Braddock has posed:
Hopefully intrepid and sociable Marie-Anne doesn't realize what she's said hasn't registered to Brian until she reaches her experiences with Salibury Cathedral and its spire.

The first impact of *something* on stone makes a shot of cold adrenaline go through Brian's blood. The Brit turns in place with a politely-strained little smile on his face now. "Yes, the cloisters are particularly peaceful. If you could please start moving -- "

Another crack which sets the crowd to startling like quail. Jacob gets shot an incredulous glance as Marie-Anne ignores her husband's warning.

"Madame, your HUSBAND!" Brian insists as the man in question suddenly hits the stone floor. "Get to an exit, NOW!" Man, can he bark if it's needed. Attempting to scoop up Jacob means turning his back in the direction of the potential shooter, but his breadth of torso likely shadows Marie-Anne as well. His confidence in his mystical shields is strong; so few things could bypass it!

Donna Troy has posed:
    Mary-Anne is, finally, silent. It only took her husband being felled by something distinctly otherworldly to stop her being overwordy. She looks on in shock as Brian picks up Jacob, a task made significantly more difficult by the fact that he's rigid as stone.

    Brian feels a sting in his back as he bends to raise Jacob, and a sensation of cold spreading out from the point of impact. Definitely not a gun -- bullets he might barely notice, but suddenly he finds it a struggle to straighten up. It doesn't hurt exactly and he can already feel the chill receding and his strength returning, but this is something that he knows he wouldn't want to get hit with repeatedly. Powerful enough to test his shields, if not get through them too easily. Something magical.

    "Elfshot," a voice says. "You probably shouldn't move him just yet. Unless you want him to stay like that, of course." The accent is almost as English-sounding as Brian's own, and bears in it a hint of mockery. The speaker is not that much shorter than Brian is, though a whole lot more slender. His build is willowy, his features handsome but bony. He could be sixteen or sixty, a characteristic you rarely see amongst mortal folks. He has pointed eyebrows and piercing eyes, and they're locked on Brian.

    "Who exactly are you?" eyebrows asks. His long coat flutters as another shot strikes him, but he seems to just ignore it, continuing as if nothing had happened. "The redcaps seem to think you're someone important."

    Another shot strikes Mary-Anne, who goes rigid and starts to tumble towards Eyebrows. He takes a step back, letting her fall to the ground, and sniffs haughtily.

    "On the other hand, Redcaps are very stupid creatures."

Brian Braddock has posed:
The projectile hits Brian smack in the kidney and he grits his teeth as he straightens up with Jacob across his arms. Ow? No, not necessarily 'ow', but that's discomfiting...and familiar. He knows *this* sensation from the Otherworld.

Quarter-turning, it places him smack in front of Eyebrows and the accent he thinks he might recognize. Jerking his head back slightly at the tone, he looks down at Jacob in torn consideration. Eyebrows might be right -- but too late for Marie-Anne as she suddenly falls over.

"Bloody hell," mutters the Brit as he sets Jacob down beside his wife. "Sorry, old chap." Another shot whiffs his side as he straightens up, now giving Eyebrows a very level look. "I haven't dealt with Redcaps in some time. They tend to be sent by someone, not do things of their own volition in my experience. Lord Braddock." No full name given, not to someone who knows what Redcaps are. "Or Captain Britain, if that's enough reason to irritate the Redcaps."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Eyebrow looks down at Marie-Ann and Jacob where they lie unmoving together, an expression of distaste on his face. "Redcaps do all sorts of unsavory things of their own volition," he comments. "Though indeed it's unlikely they would be in the mortal realms if someone hadn't sent them. They have been following you for some time, I was rather wondering why."

    Redcaps! That explains a lot. Knowing what to look for, Brian catches movement out of the corner of his eye, figures shuffling through the fleeing crowd. Never quite clear enough to pin down, as if flickering in and out of existence, but the little flickers of scarlet at around waist-level gives something to focus on.

    "Captain Britain," Eyebrows repeats. "One of Myrddin's escapades then? I wonder if it is he who is involved in this, or if it's just you." He pokes Jacob with a leather-booted toe.

    "I suppose you'll want to deal with those Redcaps then," he says. "If so then please do hurry up, I have wasted most of the day already and there are things I need to tell you. It will no doubt help you to know that there are four of them."

Brian Braddock has posed:
Huff. It's vastly irritating to Brian to hear he's been shadowed without his realizing or knowledge. A glance over his shoulder and he catches sight of one of the Fae creatures. Maybe they suddenly feel like rodents spotted in the larder by the local mouser.

Yet another huff at Eyebrows' rhetorical question. "More than an escapade. If you'll excuse me briefly." On that politely strained note, the Captain then goes wading into the fringes of the fleeing crowd.

Now he brings to bear his bolstered physiology. Snatch, one Redcap (by the cap for extra insult to injury). Snatch, there's two. Number three ducks and gets punted over the edge of the parapet for its audacity. Snatch, there's the fourth one and now? The bouquet of squealing Elfshot-shooters get thrown with a fair amount of venom off over the edge of the castle wall. Brian knows they'll bounce even if they bruise.

Dusting off his hands, he walks back over to Eyebrows and now folds his arms, looking expectant. "Let's not waste more of the day. You know of Myrddin. Is he up to something again?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    Eyebrows shrugs his shoulders and hops up on the edge of the parapet to crouch there like a roosting bird, peering over the edge at the heap of stunned redcaps below "I know nothing of what Myrddin is up to at the moment, and care even less."

    "You should have hit them harder," he suggests. "You know if you hit them hard enough, they burst into a cloud of smoke? Really I don't know why you mortals allow them to come here so easily. Vile little creatures. The Summerlands are well warded against them. It doesn't stop them entirely, of course -- they counter the spell by wearing boots of iron, but at least that way you can hear them coming."

    Eyebrow turns his head, craning back to look at Brian. His long, slender neck seems to allow him to turn unnaturally far. "I wonder why they attacked you when they did. I doubt that was their order. Perhaps they simply got bored, and thought killing you would save time. If so, then when they return to the Winterlands whoever sent them will probably do far worse to them than you did. "

    The piercing eyes focus intently on Brian, as if trying to peer through a veil. "You work for Myrddin then. You know of Redcaps, and are not startled by visitors from the Otherworlds. And yet you are a mortal, when all the realms are in need of mortals to see things that we cannot. I wonder if their intent was to recruit you, or if they believed you know something that perhaps you do not know you know."

    He perches there in silence a few more moments, then breaks into a grin. "I offer you a deal, Lord Braddock. I have no patience to question you, to find out who you are and why you are relevant. Agree to present yourself to /my/ lord that he may ask you what I have not the patience to ask you, and I shall instruct you on how to free your friends from the effects of that elfshot."

Brian Braddock has posed:
Talk about eyebrows: the blond Captain arches one with all the dry and silent criticism he can muster into the expression. "Duly noted," he interjects as to smoke-bomb Redcaps and noisy boots of iron. Eyebrows muses about him and what his ilk can do. Brian merely rolls one shoulder in a slight shrug. "I'd have asked, but they weren't about to use their words and not their Elfshot."

But then?

A deal offered.

Brian's bronze lashes narrow right back at the tall and lanky Fae. Every warning Myrddin ever gave him resonates from memory about deals and offers and boundaries. His gaze can be seen to drop to poor Marie-Anne and Jacob before it flicks back up to Eyebrows.

"...I agree to briefly meet with your lord that he might ask me what you don't have the patience to ask me," he replies levelly.

Donna Troy has posed:
    "A blessing," Eyebrows replies. "If you'd ever actually tried talking to a Redcap, you'd know that their inane wittering makes the elfshot feel like a comforting relief in comparison. They are inelegant creatures of little wisdom and vile tastes, and have nothing to say that any person of value would wish to listen to."

    He shifts slightly in his perch, staring intently at Brian. As Brian makes the deal, Eyebrows gives nothing away, no hint of whether he is pleased, triumphant, amused. "Very well," he says. "You will meet with my master the next time he visits your realm. Go to the city of Venice eight days hence, and make your way to the island of San Marco in Boccalama in the lagoon, at midnight."

    He hops down from his perch, stepping up close to Brian. "Ignore any who tell you the island has sunk and is lost. You will find it above the waves, and you will find a palazzo upon the island. Present yourself there -- I shall give word that you should be granted admission. We will be having a ball, and my Lord will be in attendance. The ball will be masked. Bring your own mask, or one will be provided for you on the door. It matters little to me which option you choose."

    "As for the briefness of the meeting, I'm sure that will be up to you." Finally Eyebrows breaks into a wide grin of mischief."

    He nods down at the pair frozen on the ground, then points with a toe at a glassy, flint-like shard of sharp rock lying close by Jacob's head. "Those stones are spent elf-shot. Crush them and the spell is broken; those struck will fall into a natural slumber, and awaken in good time. It is not so easy to do in the Fae realms, where elf-shot is never truly spent."

    Eyebrows takes a couple of steps back and gives a low, sweeping bow to Brian, his nose almost touching the ground. "I shall see you in eight days then, Lord Braddock. And if you are not careful, perhaps nine or more too."

    Eyebrows gives a laugh. "What fools these mortals be!" he announces. With a twist of his body, he vanishes.

Brian Braddock has posed:
Brian remains steadfast in stance, arms still folded, entirely unruffled by the Fae and the logistics laid out --

-- at least until the island of San Marco in Boccalama is mentioned. It's on his tongue to correct Eyebrows about the island being *above* the water, but as the Fae departs the parapet, this fact is firmly refuted. It makes the Captain's own brows break level formation and rise. A masked ball as well. Immediately, he's of two minds about bringing company with him.

He can't help noting drily, "Yes, mortals and their free will," when the duration of meeting is under conjecture. Looking to the shards of rock as their use is explained, Brian gives Eyebrows one last scrutinous, long look even through the Fae's bow in politesse. Swish: Eyebrows disappears, leaving the Captain with prone bodies to attend upon.

"...thank bloody god it's the Summerlands. Lesser of the two damn evils," the Brit mutters to himself as he crushes the shards of Elf-shot now with curt strength. Both Jacob and Marie-Anne can be seen to relax out of their paralysis into rest -- and just in time! Here's security with Brian only too ready to explain how these two poor tourists passed clean out. Anybody a medic? They didn't hit their heads that he saw. He stays long enough to make sure both southerners awaken before departing the castle.

Eight days. Eight days to prepare...and hit the books.