goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"Yeah. I- you?" He's still muzzy and probably will be for about ten to fifteen- but she got him out of there before shit got real. That shit was starting to get real at all is disconcerting as hell.

Jesus christ.

"....gonna have to cancel the show, huh?" No way D'll let him back onstage after this security breach.

She's saved from having to reply right away by the night club's security team and the police showing up. Only once she's certain that they have him in hand does she let go, handing over the tazer before walking straight to York's side. Her? "I'm fine," especially compared to him, and instinctively, she moves an arm around his back, support and guidance for getting out of this alley.

"We'll get you checked out first," is her reply, brows furrowed. "Then we'll worry about other arrangements once we're sure whatever was in that teargas won't have any last effects."

"You or D gonna tell me what in the ever loving fuck this was about?" Because this is about the time he feels like he should be filled in. A little. A lot. Hell he doesn't even object to getting checked out- just goes where he's led. Even keeps his arm around her waist instead of trying to cop a feel.

Carolina is solid and strong and warm and he doesn't have to worry about keeping an eye out while she's around. He'll take that. "Smelled like rotten vanilla. Is that normal?"

She stops at his question, looking up at him with an unreadable expression that creeps slowly into annoyance - and not necessarily with him. Very much with the situation. "You honestly don't know." A statement, not a question, and her lips purse a moment, before she sighs and looks ahead. "Once we're secure."

Not before. Not when you don't know who's listening.

She'll lead him to where-ever he needs to go, until she makes him stand with one of the security guards outside the tour bus, personally checking the vehicle-home until she's happy with what she finds. Or doesn't find. "In," she informs him, offering her arm again, before grimacing at his question. "No. That usually indicates a custom job. Someone didn't want you dead."

"No, I do not. Enlighten me." Normally he'd press. He'd bug. He'd wheedle till he had an answer but- he trusts her. She's been nothing if not honest with him and that? Well. He can take that.

Secure. Okay.

He goes where he needs to. Gets himself checked by a medic. GOes to the tour bus and waits outside till she motions him in. THen- slides up inside, locks the doors, and grabs himself a coke from the fridge. "Alright SO they don't want me dead. What do they want, and what hasn't D told me?"

She's texting as he settles himself with a coke. Better soda than a beer, particularly as they haven't had the results of the breathalyzer test yet. Only once that's done does she sit herself on the leftside couch, opposite York.

His colour's returning. That's good. It eases some of her own worries, unhappy as she is to have missed the containers that must have held the replacement smoke. But he's alive, and safe here, and the perp is in custody. Delta is handling the particulars there.

"For the past few months, there's been an increase in threatening fan mail addressed to you." No preamble. Right to the point. "Threatening words. Escalating in content letter by letter. The record company seemed to think it par for the course in this business. Made sure to approve an increase for security, but nothing more." Her lips pursed. "Delta did not."

"I am one of the most inoffensive pop rock singers on the circuit right now. I've deliberately and blatantly taken no stance on any political or religious- anything. I have NO opinions on the record about anything!" Which is the opposite of how he actually feels but there's him and then there's work him. Work him exists to entertain people, not to use his celebrity for good. That way lies micromanaging and madness. "The hell are they threatening me for?"

"People make decisions and choose targets for a reason. Just because you can't think of one doesn't make you immune to that attention." She doesn't tend to use the word 'crazy' any more, when it comes to people like this. Reaching into her coat, she pulls out some of the folded printouts that Delta had given her this morning. Copies of the letters - that she now offers to York.

"I'm just trying to figure out what I did to set someone off. I mean- going this far? I set them off." Obsessed fan that wanted his babies- that he kind of understood. That wanted to gas and kidnap him? Kind of weird. He tugs the file close and peers down, frowning at the mess of it. None of this makes sense and- there's an awful lot of him. "This explains D's anxiety lately."

"He called me in when he felt the last few letters were cutting too close to the bone." And while she hadn't been certain he was right, she'd taken his concerns seriously. And that had worked out for the better, this time. "Now the guy's been arrested, you can rest easy."

Her voice is surprisingly gentle when she mentions this, firm but fair. Soldier to soldier, even. Even if neither are in the service now.

"You're sure it's just the one guy?" Cuz that sort of organization- it might've been a group. He doesn't know. He's not sure and not being sure is fucking with his ability to relax. He hasn't been able to let shit like this go- well. Ever. And now it's here and it can't just be DONE, can it?

Logically it's better if it's done. But he- he needs to be sure.

"We don't know." Because honesty is, in this instance, the best policy. "Which is why Delta wanted me on a long term contract, rather than one night only, if things went poorly."

And she hadn't agreed to anything. Yet.

She leans back, arms folding across her chest. "What do you want to do?"

Now he feels like a real ass for giving his last few bodyguards a hard time. They had this to worry about and he kept being a contrary asshole, and for what? Just to mess with them? For a few laughs? Christ.

Slow, deep breaths. Take this one step at a time. Ok.

"...This is the last show of the tour- it was all gonna be PR rounds and then heading back home to recharge. Might skip the PR if this is still a concern. Till we know it's just that guy? I wanna consider it a concern. I am concerned."

"Then the show goes on."

..What.

Carolina leans forwards, resting her forearms on her knees, staring directly at York. "Concerts have delays all the time. The roof is secure. We can set up there, get some cameras. The road's blocked off anyway, have those who bought tickets to the show down there. Being out on stage'll show you're not going to be deterred by this, and you'll be out of range of anything short a sniper." Beat. "And that's not their game here. They wanted you alive."

It is a concern, or Delta wouldn't have asked for her help. "We'll know by tomorrow if it's just one guy, or a network." And, after, whether they'll still want her help, need it, once it's wrapped? ..Well, that remains yet to be seen, doesn't it.

"...I feel like I need to change my opening number." He's pretty sure he can hit all the notes- actually. Yeah. He's been singing it in the shower often enough. Not his usual stuff but- it'll be as much a message as keeping on. "We'll need half an hour to set up, gotta give notice, give people time to move and get the cameras up but-"

This he can do. This he can manage. This he can work through.

The corner of her mouth quirks slightly, but no outright smile appears. But he's focusing now. Focusing on what he can do here and now, rather than on what could be/would be/should be. "Concerts have delays all the time. We can work with that. Want me to get Delta on the line so you can tell him your decision?"

"Yeah he's probably winding himself up and that's no good for anyone. What's the story there, anyway? You and him?" There is a story, he can tell.

"Delta doesn't ask for help unless he really needs it." Rising to her feet, Carolina flips open her phone, swiping up Delta's details before holding it out to York. "Family look out for one another." Or they're supposed to, anyway, says the oddly bitter twist of her mouth.

"Call him. I'll check for any news with the guard outside."

Oh. OH. Well the eyes are kind of damning now that he puts two and two together and doesn't make five. He can pay attention- sometimes. Phone in hand he finishes his coke and calls him, murmuring reassurances that he's fine, that Carolina's the best ever, dude why didn't you tell me your sister was hot, snorting a laugh at the indignant sputtering and that- that's more normal. That's less insane.

Forgiveness will come later, right now? There's a show. Getting everyone moved should be easy enough, getting the stuff set up on the roof? Cake. It's like all the shows he did when he was starting out, in and on clubs. Sometimes without permission.

If she hears the laughter, the teasing, she ignores it. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been relegated to merely an object, as someone else's adjective. It doesn't take long to check in with security, to confirm the building has now been secured - completely, triple checked, even, and begin to relay the new plan.

Once there's word that the mic checks are starting, she knocks on the door, announcing her entrance. "Ready to go?"

"Soon as I find my Freddie Mercury jacket, yeah. It's in here somewhere." Got it for Halloween one year and just kept on keeping it. It's stylish, what can he say? "Wish I had time to grow out the mustache but, eh."

He has a face for stubble, not moustaches. That's Reginald the roving asshole's bag. Fucking. Indie pop rock asshole. Who builds a record around knock-knock jokes. Seriously?

"It wouldn't suit you," she replies, dismissive of the very idea even as she pops into view, her arms folding over her chest as she waits for him to finish up. "But if you're that desperate to try, you've your tour hiatus coming up."

"Nah, it wouldn't. I'd look like a hipster." Like Reggie. Fuck him. Ah- there's the coat. He pulls it on, fluffs up his hair and stands with his arms out. "How do I look?"

There's a snort at the mention of hipster - like this style of jacket didn't count? "Not your makeup artist, not my place to comment." Still, the fluffing up of his hair gets an amused look, before she motions for him to walk on past her, to exit the bus. "Find someone to employ to handle your wardrobe if needed next tour."

Once they're out, the door is closed and locked behind them, an exchange of nods with the guard there given. Then she steps on forwards, leading the way. Taking point. "How long a set are you planning?"

"You're no fun." He snorts a laugh all the same and swaggers out, waving to security, all the former bravado back in place like he'd never been terrified at all. Okay, set list.

"Hour, hour fifteen counting the encore. It's the last tour so it usually runs a little long." And with the delay, jesus, his fans are gonna get home late. He feels a little guilty for that.

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