fey_fire

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?"

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.

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.