fey_fire

All right, first off, I did not make these. They just showed up on my hard drive last week. Personally I suspect one of my dearly beloved band mates, as they are among the few who could get hold of both the base pictures and my laptop. Though I suppose Cait's another possibility. Care to confirm or deny, sister mine?





( Yes, there are more back here ... )

So there you have it. Proof positive that someone who knows me has entirely too much time on their hands.

... but the description fits.

You Are an Emo Rocker!

Expressive and deep, lyrics are really your thing. That doesn't mean you don't rock out... You just rock out with meaning. For you, rock is more about connecting than grandstanding.

Plead


Takes place a little more than a week after Pippa (sand_andwater) leaves, shortly after this phone conversation, and references events of the night Rory and his brothers rescued her.


Rory dropped into bed, weary more from the workout his emotions had gotten than from his day's riding. His phone conversation with Pippa had been awkward ... all right, painful. But they had talked, and no doors had been slammed shut between them. That had to count for something.

Having spoken with her that morning, it was natural enough for him to slip into a dream of his redheaded once-lover as he drifted off to sleep. ( Warning, erotic dream turned nasty nightmare behind cut. )

Muse: Rory MacEibhir / Rory Stone
Fandom: The Grey Horse by R.A. MacAvoy
Word count: 675

Takes place after this prompt and this post.

Rory got to The Columns a little later than he'd planned, mostly due to his determined efforts to pack away anything of Pippa's left in his apartment. Maybe later tripping over traces of her would no longer feel so cutting, but right now he was still far too raw.

He also took a break in the middle of the day to pick up small gifts for the rest of Breaker Street. Nothing flashy, just small silver charms of various Chinese symbols, easy to dangle off chains, earrings or zipper pulls as the wearer chose. He chose symbols that in his mind represented each of his fellow band members, courage for Nil, happiness for Sascha, strength for Kreske, awesome for Junie, peace for Dave and intellect for Morrie. To each of these he added a symbol for success, a wish for the New Year. After a moment's thought, he bought another success charm for Peter along with the symbol for friendship. Then, remembering that Cait might show up if she could cut loose from her publisher's office party, he went back for a prayer box he thought she'd like.

But he was here now, with the one indisputable advantage of riding a motorcycle in the city: parking wasn't a problem even when late. Nor was gaining access to the already-crowded club, the guys on the door remembered him from the many times Breaker Street played here and waved him in with grins and the news that his band has already arrived. The Columns took up a large piece of a converted warehouse; he could feel the music throbbing through the cavernous airspace as he walked in. Sister Mystere had the stage tonight, and they'd pulled in a good crowd already.

"Ro-RY! Over here!" For such a slim little thing, Sascha had quite a set of lungs on her. Rory waved in answer and threaded his way over to the table where his friends were waiting. Jaye sitting next to Nil meant that the Camerons must have gotten lucky with a sitter, and Junie was on the arm of a man she introduced as Felipe, but Morrie, Dave, Sascha and Kreske were solo. Good, he wouldn't feel like the odd man out then.

"What are you having, Rory?" Dave asked as he waved over a waitress. "Fruit juice as usual?"

Fruit juice. Seven hells, did even something as mundane as a drink order have to call up memories of Pippa, smiling as she presented him with one of her juice concoctions at Last Call? Rory bit back a particularly vile Gaeilge curse and kept his smile on his face. He was determined to enjoy himself tonight no matter what. "I'll have a Guinness," he told the waitress. A púca like himself couldn't get drunk on New Years Eve, but what the hell. It would be symbolic, like the charms.

"Cait and Peter Webster might show up a bit later. You all remember Peter, right?" A chorus of affirmation from the band was followed by Sascha crowing, "Excellent! More people to dance with." His beer showed up, the waitress gave him a smile, and Rory started to relax. He could do this. No problem.

If you could force me to write anything, what would it be?

THE RULES:
1. Leave me a comment saying anything random, like your favorite lyric to your current favorite song. Or your favorite kind of sandwich. Something random. Whatever you like.
2. I'll respond by asking you five personal questions about your character/muse so I can get to know you better.
3. Update your LJ with the completely honest answers to the questions.
4. Include this explanation and offer to ask someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be asked, you will ask them five questions.

( From Pippa )

( From Peter )

I have a rather mixed bag of political results cropping up, as it turns out, on my birthday.

On the one hand is President Obama. I don't fool myself that one man's election can fix this country overnight, and yet he carries the breath of possibilities that have seemed out of reach for eight long years.

On the other lies the travesty of anti-gay discrimination being written into the constitutions of California, Arizona ... I know people who will be touched directly by these awful pieces of legislation, and to them I say They will not stand. Like the bans on interracial marriages before them, they will not, must not stand. If the proponents of these measures think the fight is over, they'll be proven sorely wrong.

The sun has touched the horizon, but it still has a long climb ahead.

God help me, this is agony. For both of us.

Rory sat by the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of Pippa's breathing. His lover slept deeply, but it was the sleep of exhaustion rather than true rest. Last night he'd soothed and rocked her after another scream-inducing nightmare, then comforted her through the tears and self-recriminations that followed. Stupid, useless, a burden ... every word tore at his heart, but all he could offer were embraces she felt she didn't deserve and reassurances she didn't believe.

He couldn't even sing her to sleep. Not even hum. Not after what he'd done to her with Rory's own music.

Love was supposed to heal wounds, to conquer all, wasn't it? And yet, thanks to that piece of filth, Rory had to watch his sweet believer girl suffer through no fault of her own and know that all the love, closeness and support he could give her wasn't enough. Not for this.

Leaving Pippa with Mr. Beaker curled at her side, Rory walked into the living room, pulling his cell phone from his jeans pocket. He checked the time before calling up his contact list. Eleven in the morning ... Abby would probably be at work by now. Well, he could leave a message if she wasn't free. Pippa needed help that he couldn't give, and Abby was the only person he trusted to ask for some direction.

Keeping one ear tuned for the sounds of Pippa stirring, Rory listened to the dial tones with the other.

Takes place immediately after this post.


He nearly wiped out his bike taking a turn too sharply on the way to Pippa's. Under normal circumstances, Rory might have admitted that Morrie had a point about someone else taking him home. But normal had ceased to exist, and the images planted in his mind spurred him to drive even faster. He parked his bike in Pippa's spot on arrival and took the stairs three at a time.

Tadhg turned as he burst through the door, púca eyes showing glints that owed nothing to the room lighting. "Good," he husked. "Over here. I'm ready for you."

"You've found the place?" Rory's long legs carried him to the dining table in two strides.

( I'm about to. Cut for length and ick )

OOC: Takes place after events in this post and before those in this post.

I'll be right there.

Those had been the first four words Tadhg had spoken after Rory's hesitant explanation of Pippa's unexplained vanishing. When he'd tried to explain to his younger brother that he wasn't even sure if there was cause for fear yet, Tadhg cut cleanly across his demurral. "There are only two possibilities here. Either Pippa's landed in trouble bigger than she can get out of herself, or she hasn't. If she hasn't, I get to have a visit with family and help ease your mind. If she has, I'm not going to do a blessed bit of good on the other side of the country, now am I?"

And that was that.

( Read more ... )