fey_fire: (Profile)
I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,
Or tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it
where's the sense in that?

I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were …

June 17th, 2009

Rory had been sure that the hardest part of getting to Venice to see Pippa would be cutting loose from Breaker Street's schedule of promotional appearances for their debut album. The head of PR for Serptichore Records had indeed gotten in a fume about his request … more of a demand, really … which the singer bypassed by going straight to the top, namely Robbie Fellowes' office. Rory had been prepared to argue, cajole, insist, anything necessary to get his way with the man he'd known all his life as Robin Goodfellow. Robin, however, had listened to his explanation with narrowed eyes, and then shocked the hell out of him. )

Muse: Rory MacEibhir / Rory Stone
Fandom: The Grey Horse by R.A. MacAvoy
Word count: 645
fey_fire: (Profile)
Most days Rory Stone opened his apartment mailbox to find the usual pedestrian pile of paper: bills and junk mail, with the occasional card or note from friends or family or maybe a package containing something he'd ordered online. Not much in the way of fan mail, not here. While Breaker Street had been playing the clubs, those fans who were inclined toward gifts or handwritten letters of praise usually just dropped them off wherever their next gig was scheduled, or brought them in person. Now arrangements were underway to have the band's mail received and screened by a discreet PA at Serptichore Records, though likely that person wouldn't have too much to do at first. So the typical daily accumulation of mail for an up-and-coming rocker was pretty boring, all told. Most days.

Today, however, he'd pulled a package out of his box, one with colorful Italian stamps and a postmark that read VENEZIA. He'd known who it was from before he spotted Pippa's name on the return address.

Once back in his apartment, he sat down at the dining room table and set the rest of the mail aside to turn the package over and over in his fingers. Any communication from his ex-lover carried with it the promise of pain, even if it was only the stinging memory of loss. After long minutes he popped open the tape and unwrapped the small box. Inside lay a men's bracelet in silver and black, tasteful and stylish, clearly the sort of thing Pippa would choose. Under the gift rested a handwritten letter. He read it through twice, taking in Pippa's words of encouragement, pride and best wishes, for Breaker Street and especially for him. After the second read-through, he stared at her closing salutation and wondered if he should ask Junie to translate the Italian.

You were supposed to be here. He sighed and fastened the bracelet around his left wrist, catching bits of his reflection in the polished silver rectangles adorning the piece. She would have been here were it not for the bastard who'd tortured her very nearly to death. Rory and his family had saved Pippa's life and healed her body, but they'd been unable to reclaim their relationship from the emotional wreckage, the trauma they'd both suffered.

He could write her a return letter, keep everything safe and non-confrontational. No more bruises that way. And yet ... he had said he'd call her sometime, and what better reason was he likely to get?

Staring at his eyes reflected in the silver, Rory pulled out his cell phone and called up his contact list.
fey_fire: (Thoughtful)
To: pippaperson@aim.com
From: rory@breakerstreet.net
Date: January 22nd
Subject: Mr. Beaker


Just wanted to keep you up to date: I went to pick up Mr. Beaker and his things from Mike's yesterday. He's still a little confused, but calm and content overall. He slept on my feet last night, ate his breakfast this morning, and I've been making sure he gets his walks. Cait's been looking in on him too.

fey_fire: (Overcome)

Takes place a little more than a week after Pippa ([livejournal.com profile] 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
fey_fire: (Closeup)
Catharsis ... in need of.

It might not have happened if they hadn't been playing Any Means Impossible.

It certainly wouldn't have happened if he hadn't looked at Pippa's latest posts shortly before practice.

But they were and he had, so Rory's usual means of playing a technically demanding piece, a focus so intense and zen-like that it erased conscious thought, had transformed into actively Not Thinking. The effort of achieving effortlessness found expression in the increasingly aggressive movements of his fingers on his favourite guitar. Very tricky proposition, this not thinking about something.

A certain something whose name was Marcello )

Pippa Kerr ([livejournal.com profile] sand_andwater) is mentioned with her mun's permission. These events take place after http://sand-andwater.livejournal.com/62964.html (warning: NSFW picture) and http://sand-andwater.livejournal.com/62627.html.

Muse: Rory MacEibhir / Rory Stone
Fandom: The Grey Horse by R.A. MacAvoy
Word count: 592
fey_fire: (Default)
When will you learn there isn't a word for everything? -The History of Love, Nicole Krauss

Takes place a few days after this talk. [livejournal.com profile] sand_andwater is mentioned with her mun's permission.

Monday, 08/12/29


Four letters, a single syllable. Completely inadequate to encompass what had happened and how he now felt, no matter that the word had been repeating in the back of his mind all weekend.

She was gone. )

Muse: Rory MacEibhir / Rory Stone
Fandom: The Grey Horse by R.A. MacAvoy
Word count: 1314
fey_fire: (Concerned)
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.
fey_fire: (Upset)
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 )
fey_fire: (NOM)
Takes place after this post.

Why do you keep on hiding from me
I know how it feels to hold you and just how it ought to be
My memories burn and taunt me
Your eyes so softly haunt me
But I'll still wait patiently
If you need to be
hiding from me.

The final harmonies drifted out over the crowd, followed by cheering and applause. Outwardly the scene looked like any night that Breaker Street played at Last Call. Inwardly the band's front man was struggling to put on the performance of his life, when what he really wanted to do was scream.

When Tadhg told him what was in the latest gift from "your newest fan", he'd nearly done just that.

Her finger. )
fey_fire: (Alert)
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 ... )
fey_fire: (Hmmmmmm)
Hello, sweet. Did something come up after you got off work? I was looking forward to your phone call.

Ah well. Call me as soon as you get this, all right? I'd love to get together tonight if you're free.

[ooc note: Rory is thus far unaware of the extremely unpleasant events unfolding in this thread.]
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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