goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

She knows that aura of terror. Sees how the confidence, even the fascade of such, drains out of him as the conference continues, and with the cameras on him, he's pinned down.

It's her job to guard him, perhaps even from himself. This crowd? She can do something about. She presses a finger against the ear-piece she's wearing, turns her head away as though listening to some distant voice - all acting, there's no one talking, the hook isn't even connected. But the press don't know that, and that's all to the good as far as she's concerned.

She steps forward, up to the table, plants a hand at York's elbow and tugs. Turns him bodily away from the crowd so that she can appear to whisper in his ear. "We're leaving," she informs him flatly, "Act like this is any old regular change of plans. We have a car on standby. Any objections?"

Too locked up to flinch at the hand on his arm and honestly? That's a blessing. He'd twitch right out of his skin if he could and THAT would cause a scene, an uproar, would ruin the whole damn point of this meetup saying he's fine. He's not. He really isn't but Carolina- god bless her. Carolina pulls him enough to make him turn, make him nod because words aren't a fucking thing right now. Delta does what he can to smooth things over because that's what he does and if he didn't have them?

Today would be balls. Hell it already is. A smile, a wave, a wink- he doesn't know what he does to the crowd as he stands but he does SOMETHING that shows he's fine, change of plans, no big deal.

And that is all she needs to martial him up and away from the table, to nod politely to Delta and start escorting him from the room. There is, of course, outcry, and a more rapid flashwave of photography, but Carolina checks her pace for no one. Not even York.

She knows what she's doing, where she's going. Walks him out of the area, straight down the corridor, then weaves into one room and out the next. Then into a stairwell - going up?

Everyone will expect them to go down. No one would think to check if they had a room reserved above. Temporarily or otherwise. Once they're in, guards at the door, she closes it. Positions him there. Then checks the room herself, again. Closes the blinds.

"We're clear." You're clear. You're safe.

Following is easy. Following her? Even easier. It takes nothing at all for her to guide him out of there and when they're out of view he does flinch at the uproar. At making a scene, he hadn't wanted to, he hates when people speculate but none of that is running through his head at the moment. Breathing. Breathing and finding somewhere secure. That's important- and Carolina takes care of half of that for him easily.

Up the stairs, waiting where she rests him, in two three out five six seven and it's not soothing, it's not settling but when the room is locked, the room is dim and she tells him they're clear? He doesn't so much walk to the sofa as lurch in it's direction, dropping to sit, face pressed into his hands as he focuses on his breathing. Secure. They're secure. Perimeter held. No bullets, no explosions, no nothing.

They're fine.

"Jesus christ."

Carolina lets him react as he needs to. Leaves him alone, to start, stepping over to the mini-fridge to pull out one of the water bottles and empty the contents into two glasses. Both are set on the side table next to the couch, for York to sip whenever he's ready.

He may need a bit to be ready. He'll find no blame for that here.

Breathing. In and out, slow and steady while his hands shake and his back locks up and his fucking eye hurts like it had before the surgery. He's fine. He's whole. There's no blood, there's nothing wrong, no one's hurt. Convincing his brain of that is a pain in the ass- it's not listening.

But his pulse does drop down to something more reasonable. Inch by inch he can relax. Reach out with an unsteady hand to grab the water and down it like he'd been in a desert for the last half hour, not a press conference in the states. "Thanks."

"Just doing my job," she replies, from where she' perched on the back of the couch, back to him. Some semblance of privacy given without leaving him alone. "Do you need anything else?"

"Lemme know when D makes it up?" He's better than he would be on his own but- Delta was kind of a grounding presence for him. Talks him back into sanity. But knowing Carolina's at the door- well. It eases his mind a fuck tone.

"Of course." That shouldn't be long, at any rate. So long as Delta could extract himself from the crowds. She meanwhile gets back onto her feet and fetches him another bottle of water - he can pour this one out however he likes.

Calming down takes longer than he'd like, but not near as long as it used to. Chalk that up to trusting his bodyguard. Or at least liking her. Either way he sips the next bottle of water, resting it against his cheek to bring himself back to the present. Okay. He's fine. They're fine.

There's a bleep on her phone, causing Carolina to turn away as she checks her messages. A smile flickers, before she stows the device, moving forwards to rest a hand on York's shoulder. "Delta says he's going to have the car brought round in 10 minutes. Think that's enough time for you to wash up and change?"

Change?

Why yes! Into the smart suit that Carolina proceeds to pull out of the wardrobe. While his eye is a giveaway, no one would be looking for a man in a business suit, even if he's wearing glasses.

"Change?" That wasn't- oh. Wow. "...You two are crafty when you want to be." Sure he hates suits with the burning of 1000 suns but- if it'll get him out without being hassled? He will pull that thing on so quick- the only reason he's not already stripping is- well. Carolina's got a hand on him.

"Sure, I can be ready. At least this place has an opaque door to the bathroom."

Reassurance given, the suit is handed over without further ado. He's hardly going to need help into it, which is why once he retreats into the bathroom, she sets out the shoes, then plays phone tag with Delta over arrangements.

Quick scrub, fluff up the hair, wash the guyliner off, comb and- damn he almost looks respectable. Who knew? He gets dressed and comes out, fiddling with the cuffs of the suit. The buttons were tiny and hard okay? Okay.

The fiddling catches her attention more than the door opening, and there's a definitely blink, very specifically for his appearance. He looks very smart in the getup that Delta picked out for him, and after a moment's appraisal, she steps forward.

"Your tie is askew," she points out, before reaching to correct it for him. Ex-military though both may be, it doesn't hurt to have someone else do inspection and catch the little things you missed.

"Been ages since I last wore one." A funeral, he thinks. God he hated suits and he hated funerals- but that's why no one would look at him twice. He holds still for the adjustment, the bulk of the thrumming anxiety and tension having eased out as he changed. Knowing she's here to help? Does wonders.

Once he's been straightened out to her satisfaction, she rests both hands on his shoulders, a little lower along his arms. "We're exiting directly out the front, you'll need to wear the glasses in the front pocket. The arms are thicker, but coupled with the glass, most people won't look for the scar or the eye."

Then she lets go. "Ready?"

"Sir yes sir." He says with a grin, snapping into a casual salute. The glasses feel weird but- hey, disguise. "DO I look like Clark Kent? Maybe I should do the little curl in the center of the forehead too."

There's a don't-start look given for the salute, before she steps in the bathroom to straighten herself up. She doesn't even look over at his question.

"No."

Followed by:

"Superman was the one with the curl, not Kent."

Only once she's straightened a few things of her own does she motion for him to head to the door. "Once we reach the ground floor, walk straight to the exit. Eyes forward. Don't stop, don't look around. You're a busy man who refuses to be late for an appointment. I'll check the room. There'll be a few who recognise me, and will dog my shadow first."

Giving them time to drive around the block at least once, then pick her up.

"...Oh. Right. I knew that." No, no he didn't. Pop music? Yep. Pop culture? Uhhh...next?

Right. Busy businessman so- channel delta. He can do this. Shoulders square and head high he slips back into that militant posture that came as easy as breathing. Felt odd without his kit on his back but, hey, beggars, choosers. Time to walk. "Yes ma'am."

As soon as the door opens he does exactly as he's told all the way to the elevator. NOt that there's a crowd in the halls but, hey. Committing to the character, it's a thing.

She grew up with (half) brothers. Carolina is certainly familiar with superhero basics, if nothing else.

The posture change works. She can see the lines of his own personal military history in it, snapping a nod in reply to his 'yes ma'am', and she even gives him a headstart down the hallway before stepping back into the room and quickly gathering up his clothing, tossing it into a sports bag she'd saved for such an occasion. She can easily excuse it as her own if questioned - and she is expecting questions once downstairs.

By the time she's done, and exiting the room, it's just in time to see York enter the elevator - she'll catch the next one. For one thing, it's less suspicious. For another, it'll provide him with lead time.

Three, two, one, ding. The doors open and he keeps his head up, his shoulders back, and his pace clipped. Like any Pissed Off Officer he'd had to see barging his way after another- well. Hijink? Shenanigan? Something he did that he probably shouldn't have, more or less. It's easy enough to replicate and sure enough- no one looked at him twice. He could force his way through the crowd without a word till he got across the lobby, out the door, and into the car.

Safe. Kickass.

"...okay I might have to do this more often, holy shit. No one blinked at me."

The car is waiting, as instructed. That York follows the plan to the letter is both a good and bad sign - good, because deviations (even those they made allowances for) could cause chaos. Bad, because it indicated how high his anxiety levels must have been up above.

After the door to the car pops open, York will find Delta waiting inside for York to board. Only once he's secure does the driver pull away, and the first of sigh of relief is released. "Try not to overdo it," advises Delta, regarding disguise. "They'll realise what we've done if we attempt it too often." Now to drive around the block a time or two, then collect Carolina..

As soon as he's in he takes off the glasses and slumps back into his seat, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. The throb of tension he'd been carrying is still ebbing away bit by bit, but they're safe. Secure. He can wind down. Winding does involve hooking one of his ankles around Delta's- it doesn't mean anything but contact is grounding. Keeps him present, keeps him stable.

"True enough. Sorry, man. I don't know what set me off."

Secure, certainly. They'll only be safe (to Delta's point of view) once they've arrived at the airport and the plane has taken flight. But remaining a stable force in York's chaotic life has been his role for some time and he's hardly about to forsake his friend now.

"There is no need to apologise, York. Given what you had already been through, it would have been unkind to keep you longer." And they weren't about to feed the press any excuses to belittle an artist with PTSD. After addressing a few matters on his smartphone, the device is stowed, and green eyes peer in concern a moment. Before clearing his throat.

"You are entirely certain you still wish to do this trial run with Carolina as part of your security team?"

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