goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"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.

"Not part of the job description." And if Delta had tried to hire her on as a party girl...well, Delta would never. But someone else might have lived to regret it.

"Long enough. Concerts start late and overrun all the time." And fans tend to be dedicated. When they're not, well, potentially homocidal kidnappers. "I'll signal if the ending needs to be cut short," she informs him, but she doesn't foresee there being further problems.

Which is why she'll be on hand and at full alert. Just in case.

"I'll keep an eye out." Normally he ignored shit like that but- after tonight? He's going to be attentive as FUCK to anything Carolina needs him to do. Whatever he can do to make life easier on her and Delta? Consider it done.

FOr now, though. THe show must go on. The final mic check is going on and he's bouncing on his heels, waiting for the backing track to go. Okay. He can do this. It'll be fine. It'll be fun.

For now, he feels that way. That could change - but Carolina isn't one to tolerate nonense.

Not that she'll likely be here to tolerate it for long anyway. It's a one time assignment, after all.

..Isn't it?

She dismisses the doubt, not examining it closer, instead making sure to stalk the roof, the entrance and exits as there's warm ups and cat calls and then she's positioning herself just out of view of the crowds, but where York can at least see her if needs be. And once Delta's confirming they're good to go on the radio, it's only natural that all eyes turn to the man on stage.

The lights go up, the music's pounding, the chords familiar and comforting rolling out over the crowd and they're already cheering before he's backlit and walking across the roof. Hell, half are already singing along with him- by the time the roar has died down and he gets to the chorus? The whole damn street is vibrating with his voice and the voices of all his fans.

This is what it's about. This high. Moments where so many people just- come together over music, over something they all love. THe song's hard but he rocks it. Rocks it all the way to the end, does a little chatter, an apology for the delay- pumps everyone up before he gets to his stuff. Between each song his eyes flick over to Carolina unerringly- checking her for time, for status, for anything, really.

There's something about a live concert that watching on TV, or video, or on YouTube just can't quite match. A hum in your veins born from the shared excitement of the crowd. The joy of them all just being here, and all because of one man's songs.

She's impressed. In spite of herself, she's impressed with how York handles himself on stage, keeps the crowd engaged, doesn't show a lick of the fear she knows he felt and still feels after the incident earlier this day. There's a casual thumbs up a time or two when he looks her way, but it's not until the last song that he might notice she's -- more attentive -- surprised, but not in the alert manner of someone on guard, but that of someone who's encountered something she wasn't expecting.

And all that formidable attention is turned on him.

He gets through his set and goes through the first encore before winding it all down (oxymoron all his songs have a thumping, bone jarring optimistic sort of uplifting beat to them but, relatively speaking) with his first single. Something he performed in a club forever and EVER ago- Errera, something he danced to and sang to and gave him the idea to try this for real. To make it happen.

And here he is, doing it. Making it happen. "Alright so all of y'all know this one but I'm gonna ask that you hold it till the chorus, awright? Let everyone in the buildings around us think the party's over- then blast 'em with a good time. Good? Great!"

He doesn't think anything of it, jamming his way through the verse, the bridge, only really locking eyes with Carolina on the chorus and- that's an interesting look. It means something- it has to but he's got nothing and he's got the whole crowd eating out of his hands. He has to wrap it up. Hip swivel jump twist and all that crazy, goofy, club dancing he did when he first started and the crowd is right there with him, doing the same, dancing like they don't care all the way to the final refrain. "You've been beautiful tonight, thank you so much for sticking it out with me, and I'll see all of you next year!"

He's sweating, shaking, and half exhausted while floating on a high that no drug or drink can really replicate as he stumbles offstage, right for Carolina. She'll get him out of here.

She knows the words, knew them before they became a record breaking new single for a new artist on the scene, and she sways a little in time to the beat before catching herself. Mentally scolding herself for even a slight lapse in concentration.

But there's nothing to worry about. This finale goes off without a hitch, and she even finds herself clapping for York as he calls out his thanks to his audience, stepping close to the stage as he begins the stagger process off. It's an arm offered, willing to let him rest his weight over her shoulders as he catches his breath.

"Nice job," she tells him, keeping expression professional, but allowing a small smile in the very least. He deserves that much.

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