fey_fire: (Fey Fire)
“How the hell did they score this spot? What's their name again?”

The sounds of stage setup and an impatient/curious Times Square crowd surrounded Rory Stone, but Sam Champion had a trained broadcaster's voice and the púca had supernaturally keen hearing. Though spoken quietly, the Good Morning America weatherman's words carried clearly to Rory's ears, pulling his attention from preparations for his band's first nationally televised performance.

They're called Breaker Street ... )

Muse: Rory MacEibhir / Rory Stone
Fandom: The Grey Horse by R.A. MacAvoy
Word count: 1654
fey_fire: (Direct)
Rory took another pass through his living room to ensure that the premises looked at least decent, sprinkled with a little comfortable clutter instead of out and out messy. Normally he did a better job of keeping his Woodside apartment tidy, but lately he had been too busy. Practice, meetings, interviews, planning sessions, photo ops and more practice had sucked up the last dregs of his free time, until he barely had a few minutes even to keep in touch with his family anymore.

Of course, if he had more time at home, there would be more mess needing cleaning. He supposed it evened out in some ways.

But today he'd managed to wedge open a slice of his schedule for an interview he actually anticipated with pleasure instead of resignation. Instead of talking to jaded music industry reporters on the hunt for shallow gossip material, he'd be discussing Breaker Street's debut CD with a young man who actually shared Rory's passion for music. Instead of gritting his teeth and reminding himself that he was doing all this to help his band, he could enjoy the fact that he was helping a friend spice up his class assignment. Rory whistled a few bars from Automatic Panic as he arranged his electronic keyboard and six-string acoustic guitar ready to hand for demo purposes.

Only then did it occur to him to glance in a mirror. Eh. He'd do. Jeans, a blue sleeveless t-shirt and a mane of dark hair that wasn't any more rumpled than usual. A buzz from the intercomm told him that his guest was right on time. "Hello, is that you Val?"
fey_fire: (NOM)
What is your relationship and history with music?


The realization has only just now hit me fully. I'm sitting with the culmination of my relationship with music in my hands.

Breaker Street's debut CD.

After delays, debates and massive amounts of hard work, I am finally holding one of the first pressings. The full release hits stores next week. Our videos are ready to debut, we have radio and magazine interviews set up, plus a live spot in Times Square for Good Morning America. You have to give Robbie Fellowes credit, he and his PR team know how to get exposure for his new acts. He's been dropping our name like mad for months.

But the whole thing didn't feel real to me until now. )

Muse: Rory MacEibhir / Rory Stone
Fandom: The Grey Horse by R.A. MacAvoy
Word count: 560
fey_fire: (Laugh)
Rory looked out over the filling tables before the little club's stage. Last Call was usually a good venue for them, and tonight looked to be no exception. He glanced back at the rest of Breaker Street, everyone making final adjustments to their instruments. Dave and Sascha checked their keyboards, darting back and forth for last-minute consultations. Junie looked relaxed as she always did, idly fingering her frets, and Nil was engaged in his usual before-performance meditation over his bass guitar. Nothing would get through to him until they were announced. Catching his eye, Kreske left his drum set and joined him at the side of the stage, idly twirling his sticks. "Good house," he murmured.

"Good energy." Rory gave his drummer a light smack to one shoulder. He'd learned how to read a room's feel over the years, and this one felt right: smiles on faces, anticipation in the eyes glancing up at the stage. The waitresses were certainly keeping busy collecting orders and dropping off drinks, and Rory grinned to see the light catch Pippa's red hair as she took care of a nearby table. He wasn't sure exactly when, but he'd started thinking of the girl as almost a talisman for the band. Maybe because she was so obviously into their music ... but she was probably nice to the other acts that played here as well. Still, it was good to see her.

He looked back to find Kreske wearing the blandly knowing look that for him usually took the place of a smirk. "What?" He punctuated the syllable with another smack. "Get your arse back to those drums, Marcus. We've got music to make and minds to blow." As Kreske laughed and complied, Rory ran his fingers over his own guitar and his eyes over the crowd one more time. Good energy, open energy. He fancied he could feel the connection, just waiting for the opening chords to close the circuit and pour all that energy into him, then back out into them.

A rush like no other, that moment of pure passion. That was what he came for.

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June 2011

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