fey_fire

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.

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

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. sand_andwater is mentioned with her mun's permission.

Monday, 08/12/29


Gone.

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

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 ... )

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.