(JP) Risk Assessment

[fey_fire]

Be wary of the man who urges an action in which he himself incurs no risk. -Joaquin Setanti


Takes place shortly after this gig of Breaker Street's at Last Call. Robbie Fellowes/Robin Goodfellow (ifwebefriends) is mentioned with his mun's permission. Cait and Tadhg MacEibhir can be found at a_chaitlin and gifted_hands respectively.


Well. That went better than I expected. Better than I had any right to expect, really.

The four-stroke Kawasaki engine underneath him sent a purr through Rory Stone's body as he cut through traffic, still present even at three in the morning, on his way home. His body adjusted smoothly to turns and lane changes as his mind once again went over his meeting with his fellow members of Breaker Street.

After all, when the musicians in a band learn both that the producer who found his way into the audience that night (namely one Robbie Fellowes, CEO of Serptichore Records) wants to sign them, and their lead guitarist/singer/songwriter (namely himself) had known that same producer for many years without ever mentioning the connection, their excitement at the former could certainly wind up tempered by a little what the hell were you thinking?! ire at the latter.

Ire there had been, but it had played itself out fairly quickly. Bass guitarist Nil had nipped the worst of it in the bud by calmly stating that he was just as glad they'd waited a few years to ensure they could really show their best game to the former rocker and current mogul. "But damn, auld boy, you couldn't have gotten me an autograph a little sooner?" His wife Jaye had then doused any lingering embers by informing them that she had no intention of cleaning blood out of the carpet, so anyone who wanted to tear strips out of Rory would have to wait until they left her house.

So they'd all wound up on the same page. Serptichore was a smaller indie label, but they had a good reputation for treating their musicians well, and the entire band understood the potential value of being a bigger fish in a smaller pond. If Rory knew Fellowes and thought that signing with him was a good idea, they were with him. Rory had told them that he'd do a little more research, talk with Robbie and get back to them before the end of the week.

Only he saw the gaping holes formed by the information he carefully left out. Only he heard the profound silences where his real concerns lay, concerns that had nothing to do with Robbie Fellowes, record producer and everything to do with Robin Goodfellow, puck. The Puck.

Not to mention everything to do with one Rory MacEibhir, púca. Horse-fey. Himself. Strange how small and harmless those lies of omission to the band had seemed when he first made them ...

Even after he parked his bike and turned off the ignition, his body still felt like it was vibrating. His brother and sister's presence in his apartment brushed against his heightened senses well before he opened the door.

"This is all so clandestine." Caitlín's cheerful voice rang out from one end of his living room sofa as he set down his guitar. "Abrupt summonings via terse text messages, leading to surreptitious and unexpected meetings in the wee hours ... at least I certainly wasn't expecting Tadhg to be--" She stopped abruptly, staring at the other end of the couch where the youngest of her three older brothers was in turn staring at Rory. Fixedly.

Tadhg opened his mouth, then closed it. On his second try he managed, "Ruddy hells."

"That bad?" Rory sighed. Turning to Cait, he added, "I take it you haven't told him anything yet."

Tadhg blinked. "Told me what?"

Cait's gaze wavered uncertainly between her brothers, finally settling on Rory. "Well, I wasn't sure whether or not Da and Anraí might be coming as well. Thought this might be the big reveal." Her eyes flicked back to Tadhg. "What's that bad?"

Tadhg looked right back, pique starting in his own dark eyes. "Big reveal of what?"

"Whoa, you two." Rory made a time-out T of his hands before angling toward the kitchen. "Can I get either of you anything? Dr. Pepper, Cait? Iced tea, Tadhg?"

"Yes please," Cait replied, arching one ebony eyebrow. "But if I might offer a suggestion, you should probably stay away from the caffeine yourself. You already look wired."

"Understatement," Tadhg muttered.

Fortunately, getting his siblings settled with their drinks gave him time to focus. After dropping rather heavily into an armchair and taking a long pull from his own ice water, he began. "Okay, short forms. No, Cait, I haven't told Da or Anraí anything yet, though I'll probably have to soon. Tadhg--" Younger brother was still examining him, leaned forward with elbows braced on knees. "--I formed a band a few years ago and started hitting the New York club scene. We just played a gig to a good-sized crowd at one of our regular venues, which I'm sure accounts for whatever strangeness you sense in me right now."

"What do you sense in him right now? What's happened to him?" A deepening furrow bisected Cait's brow.

Leaving his barely-tasted tea, Tadhg moved to kneel in front of Rory and traced figures in the air roughly an inch away from his body. "Your patterns are all ... twisted somehow. And the amount of energy they're channeling ..." His deft fingers spread in a disbelieving gesture. "You can't possibly be generating all that yourself." At the look on Rory's face, he held out his hands without another word, though his eyes narrowed.

Oh, here it comes then. Being read by Tadhg was always a disconcerting experience at best, with the accompanying sensation of being rifled. Adroitly rifled, with everything winding up in exactly the same place he'd found it, but still. Rory pressed his palms down on his brother's, against the intricate tattoos that revealed themselves on the skin, feeling the touch that went beyond physical contact.

By the time he pulled back, they were both taut and trembling. "Ruddy hells," Tadhg muttered again. The look he gave Cait was near-accusatory. "You knew he was doing this?"

Cait met that look with a level gaze and set jaw. "Yes, I knew. I helped Breaker Street get a few gigs. But if you're saying that performing has had some kind of mystical effect on him, he certainly never mentioned it to me." Now Rory was the one getting the eye of the tiger.

Tadhg stood and moved back to the couch, eyes still fixed on his brother. "His own essence is muddled with hundreds of bits poured into him by the audience. Thoughts, feelings, desires, impulses ... I'm amazed he can keep himself straight in all that." Elbows back on knees, Tadhg rested his chin on his hands. "Performing on stage ... I suppose it makes sense that the only other person I've sensed this kind of mishmash from is Robin."

Rory's head snapped upright from the chair back. "You've seen Robin after a concert?"

"I went to some of his club appearances, back when Fell was still The Fellows. You made a few of those as well, as I recall." Tadhg rubbed one knuckle thoughtfully over his lips. "I missed their truncated tour, though, so I never caught him in a full-on concert."

"I did," Cait interjected. "One of the Dublin shows, the last one before they hit the continent." A faintly nostalgic smile curved her lips. "Robin and his crew certainly put on a compelling performance."

Compelling ... "Did you talk to him?" Rory asked.

She shook her head. "I could have gotten backstage to see him easily enough, I'm sure. But he and Da were on the outs at that time, and I didn't want to risk ... well, feeding into that." Her forehead furrowed again in puzzlement. "But Rory, why the sideways approach? If you think Robin might have some kind of line on whatever's happening to you on stage, why not just ask him yourself?"

Rory smiled, tight and controlled. "I did. He showed up at the club tonight." Leaning back again, he raked fingers through his hair. "He offered me a contract. Us. Breaker Street. He wants to sign us."

"Oh-ho," murmured Tadhg. "And what did he say about ...?" He made a gesture taking in the length of Rory's body.

"Not ... much." Rory hesitated, smile turning crooked. "Granted, I couldn't be too direct with my questions in the middle of a club crowd. But the minute I brought up the need for a one-on-one discussion, he beat a very hasty retreat." His teeth worried briefly at his lower lip before he continued, "The discussion will of course still take place, but I'm not sure ..."

"You're not sure if you'll get the full truth out of him when he has an interest in signing you," Tadhg interjected.

"I'm not sure if I'd get the full truth out of him regardless; he's so close-mouthed about everything surrounding his decision to break up Fell and leave the stage. He told me at the club that he quit because he got bored, and I have to cry bullshit on that. But as far as how much trust I can afford to give him in this situation ..." He turned his gaze to his little sister. "... I'm hoping Cait can give me some idea."

"Me?" Cait blinked at being pulled from her spectator stance.

"We may have known Robin longer, lass, but I'd say you're the closest to him out of the four of us."

"Ye gods." She looked unsettled at that assessment, but didn't deny it. Instead she toyed idly with one dark curl while she thought. Rory watched her eyes and waited.

"You can trust Robin ... to be Robin," she said at last. "Think about who and what he is, Rory. The Puck has never been in the business of offering safety or surety to anyone. But opportunities, chances, the opening of doors ... those he'll give. Assuming you want them." A stray dimple slipped past her seriousness. "In short, he'll show you where to take the leap. It's up to you to bring a bungee cord you'll trust."

If one exists. He vented a short huff of air. "Very well put."

Now Cait was watching his eyes. "If it helps, I just don't see him deliberately persuading you to endanger yourself over a band contract. He likes you." A graceful shrug. "So whatever you're drawing from the crowds, he probably believes you can handle it."

"Probably." Or he has some motivation he's not telling me about. No, likely that was paranoia talking. But Robin could be mistaken.

Tadhg looked more than a little skeptical. "All well and good for him to believe so, Cait, but what happens when Rory starts playing in front of larger audiences? If he's wired now, what will he be like after soaking in the raw emotional output of thousands, even tens of thousands?"

"Fell's Dublin concert was standing room only," Cait said, dark eyes now as troubled as Tadhg's.

"Yes." Rory leaned forward again, his eyes on his sister nearly beseeching. "You and I may not be trained to see the subtleties that Tadhg does, but we are what we are. How would you describe how Robin looked, up there on that stage in front of that many fans?"

Another pause, filled with the silence of a writer choosing among words. "Transfigured." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Transfigured. Yes. He understood that now, and would no doubt understand more if he chose to walk through Robin's opened door. If he took others with him. Memories of articles loaded with speculation on the tragedy that triggered Fell's breakup played through his mind.

"Is it worth jumping into the unknown, Rory?" Cait echoed his own questions. "Do you want this that badly?"

This, this, define this. Fame, money and all the trappings that went with them ... they could never be more than minor diversions to him. But the experience, the sensations that washed over him on stage as he tapped into the collective emotions of the crowd, bathing in their heat and desire and pure, potent acclaim ... how could he begin to describe how that felt, even to Cait and Tadhg?

No, he knew of only one man who could fully understand. He needed to talk to Robin again. His mind cast back to their conversation that evening.

The audience, the music, the connection ... it feels like an actual physical craving. And I have to wonder what will happen if I start to depend on it.

Well, then, like any bloody addict, you either continue to require the fix or you endure the bitch of withdrawal.

Fears or no fears, I don't think I can walk away ...

Then come talk to me.

More lies of omission, these to his own family. But the answer remained the same.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I do."


Muse: Rory MacEibhir / Rory Stone, fey_fire
Fandom: The Grey Horse by R.A. MacAvoy
Word count: 2125