goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"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?"

"...do you think we shouldn't?" Normally he makes a call and sticks with it, come hell or high water. Delta can and has talked him out of some particularly bullshit ideas before but right now? He's a little shook up even if he's winding down. His hands aren't trembling anymore and his ears aren't ringing and he can feel his pulse slowly dipping down to normal, but it's there. Times like this he needs D to be what he is.

An anchor. A guiding light. "Is it that bad of a call? You know her better than I do."

For a moment, his fingers drum against his thigh as Delta considers his response. "I do not wish to waste her time," he says at length. "She does not have the luxury of full time work as you and I do, and if you are only asking her to remain because she is an attractive woman.." Then better to end this now, his expression says.

There is not a lick of judgment in his tone. Just plain fact. And, a hint of protectiveness for a woman who is also his half sister.

Well that kind of stings. It's fair but it's

Actually no.

It's not fair. York does his bullshit stuff on the side but he's not once let it get involved with work or the people he asks Delta to hire seriously. This is a serious request and he's allowed to be offended. "You know me better than that, D."

He is and should be offended, and the green eyed stare back is unwavering. ..Until it drops, something like relief evident. York IS taking this seriously. "I do," he admits, "but I needed to be certain. It usually requires more discussion--" hint: Delta Frowning loudly, "--for you to take matters or the need for additional security personnel seriously."

"And she is very good at her job."

"She got me out of there. She knew something was wrong before I got gassed, got me out, got the scene cleared, and kicked the dick's ass while gassed up herself." That's convincing enough. "I got gassed backstage at my own show. No one not on the lists is supposed to be back there, I don't know how they got in, and as long as she's around? I don't need to worry."

"Then neither of us has anything to worry about, except for those details." He grimaces, before glancing out the window. Ah, second lap already? That was quick. "Fortunately, your next tour isn't until next year, and I would hope you'd put time into your second album before then." After the upcoming vacation, of course.

The car slows soon after, then pulls up to the curb. It's barely stopped when the door opens, a bag is tossed in, and Carolina slides across the seat, looking a little harried, certainly hinting at Vexed, but otherwise unscathed.

"We've got that list of ideas." A notebook full of lyrics. Contrary to popular belief- he writes. He writes a lot. It's just a lot of it doesn't make the cut on account of being too much, too little, or too nonsensical. Sometimes something good gets put together but for the most part? He doesn't use a lot of it.

Carolina settles in and York, more in his skin than before, leans forward to offer her one of the bottles of water on hand. "You ok?"

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