goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

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.

OH good someone to slump against! best guard ever. He sags into her for the first few steps, exhausted in every which way- the terror of earlier in the night shoved aside for the post show high. God and what a high.

"THey were all dancing. All of them. Even YOU were swaying! I am a pop GOD!" And this is why he has D. So he doesn't do anything STUPID when he's this loopy.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, buddy," she snorts now, the roll of her eyes hidden in the dark and the fall of her hair. With him this close, its easier to steer him aside, to make sure he goes where he's supposed to. Where she can keep him safe.

Back down, out of the building, and she can see Delta waiting at the tour bus. "C'mon, time for you to get going." The entourage can pack things up without them.

"Pop. God." He's giddy and giggling, snorting a laugh into her shoulder as he gets his feet under him and goes where he should. No autographs tonight- not after what happened. Too many people. But this? Just her and D and the bus? He'll be okay.

"You're com'n with, right?" JUst for the night. "We got an extra bunk on the bus."

"That's what I'm being paid the big bucks for." Well, not so big, really. But it's generous enough for the length of time that Delta needed her here, taking into account personal and professional history.

Getting an exhausted man who's only slowly coming down off the high of fear and higher high of adrenaline and excitement means a few minutes of noodle legs up the steps. Then, a stop, as she stalls him by Delta and the security guard again, and does another sweep of the bus.

You can't be too careful. "Okay, come on up."

He goes from leaning against her to leaning against D- draped over him like a cat and nuzzling his hair and mumbling about how he's sorry that he makes life hard, that he'll do better, that he fucking loves him, man, and D just- humoring him. Like he always does. He goes back to leaning on her as soon as the bus is cleared.

"You. You are the best bodyguard ever. Of All time."

"You, get a shower, get changed for rest. We'll get moving shortly." She'll let the praise roll off her back, doesn't take it THAT seriously. She saved his life, sure, but no doubt he's said that to all his bodyguards in the past.

She's just doing her job. ~~(As opposed to doing her job, heh heh heh, ahem.)~~ Delta's reserved manner in dealing with York is amusing in its own right, and he follows on her heels as she ushers the tired pop star into his trailer proper.

"Oh, god yeah, post show funk. Ew. Sorry for getting it all over y'all." SHower, shower, shower, shower. He sluggishly works his way to the back of the room, stripping off his shirt as he goes and tossing it into the hamper. D's trained him well.

That gets a snort, but she watches him go, turning as he sheds the shirt to face Delta instead. He keeps his gaze on York, even as she reaches over to take his arm, carefully leading him to sit on the couch. So long as York doesn't go parading through in his birthday suit, she can at least take her eyes off him legitimately for a little while.

It's been a long, long day for everyone. And a little reassurance goes a long way. So she's surprised, and touched, when Delta returns that show of concern. It isn't often others ask if she is all right. This is, after all, her job. She's the one who's eligible to be hurt here. Her reply is lost at first when the bus starts up, and there's a honk of warning - they're about to move! Brace yourself, York!

Safe in the shower, scrubbing down he probably should be, well, done singing- but he's still feeling the pulse in his veins so, hope everyone in the cabin likes Katy Perry. Cuz he's belt'n. Up till they move.

"cuz BABY YOU'RE A FIIIIIIIIIIIRE WOO- ohfuckshitcockandBALLS!" There's a thud, another low stream of swearing, and then helpless laughter. It's fine, it's good, it's fine.

"..."

"..."

There might be some quiet snickering that follows the swearing and the laughter, even as Delta rises to his feet to get the first aid kit and Carolina breaks out her phone. It's time to make some calls regarding their mysterious intruder. The details will be passed on to Delta and the record company proper, but this is something she wants to handle for herself while time allows.

That, and its a long enough drive that she looks over at Delta with a furrowed brow, confusion clearing only when he quietly confirmed changing hotel bookings while the stage was being set up. Just in case.

He's back to singing and humming under his breath as soon as he rights himself, stepping out pink and scrubbed clean and in drawstring slacks and a Henley- the van gets cold sometimes man. He flops over on the nearest sofa, still buzzing with post show glee, checking in that D's alright. Anyone that knows him knows D's his right hand man, and once he's sure Delta's okay? He turns his eyes on Carolina.

"You alright? I mean- you kicked his ass hard but= you okay?"

"He didn't land anything worth mentioning. If he'd connected with the taser, we might have something to talk about." She doesn't sound concerned, keeps it from her voice, but her expression softens a little to know that he is asking - even if she is hired help. There's a fondness to Delta's occasional exasperation with this man, and she's beginning to see why. D wouldn't stick around with anyone who wasn't an honest soul.

"We should be at the Plaza in about 15 minutes, How're you feeling?"

"See tazers? I've heard of pop stars getting bum rushed with those. But that gas- that's..." He shakes his head. He'll worry later. Right now D's going over logistics and Carolina is fine. That's all he needs. Everyone to be fine. "I'm glad you're okay."

A beat.

"Little dizzy and anxious but that's normal. Just gotta get some food in me and a bottle of water before I pass out for the night."

"There's a private doctor's visit arranged for tomorrow. For both of you," Delta adds, giving Carolina a Look, which she returns with narrowed eyes. If York had doubted the matching green shade for even a moment, this would surely dispel it.

"once we're settled in at the hotel, we'll organise food," she tells York, as though she hadn't heard Delta try to manage her. It's not often other people say that they're glad she's okay...She's not sure how to feel about that. So for now, she sets that comment aside.

"The usual or someone new?" The usual would be better than not but they aren't exactly in town. The look, though is- well it's kind of adorable. It's WEIRD seeing that look on someone that's not him.

Ha.

"Room service or online delivery? Don't think we're going somewhere with a kitchen." Delta turns the Look back on him. "...not that I ever intend to cook ever after the last time."

"The usual. You listen to her." Probably because Dr Emily Grey is rather terrifying in her friendliness. But she knows what she's doing, usually. "Room service works. I'm assuming a business suite?" It's a good assumption, and she doesn't think to query it. Otherwise she might have objected before they got there. Because they're all sold out of everything, except..

Well, the *bridal* suite is certainly huge. But the mirrors everywhere and glass doors between certain rooms weren't entirely appropriate. Right? Right..

"Oh good. I like her." She is creepy in a stepford smiley kind of way, but she explains everything. Even if he doesn't UNDERSTAND the words she's using, she explains and he appreciates that. Doesn't say a damn thing about how his eye doesn't focus properly either, so that's good.

He has to get dressed to head upstairs and Delta sends his bag up to

to.

"...holyshit is this a bad sitcom or what." At least the bed isn't shaped like a heart- but there IS a champagne bottle- or a basket of them. And condoms. And packets of lube that probably comes with the room. "...if there's chocolate somewhere I'm eating it and I don't even care."

Somehow, what should be a ringing endorsement isn't. But that will be something to worry about in the morning.

Tonight, there is this ridiculous room with its giant water bed, far too large windows overlooking the city, a bath tub very clearly made fir two, and several nooks and crannies and hook points that don't necessarily scream honeymoon to Carolina. Or perhaps her idea of first married night affairs is too vanilla? Either way, "Don't touch anything," she orders, before she begins her sweep of each room. She doesn't want to risk /anything/ by not being thorough at her job.

"...but who would poison chocolate?" It is now a concern he didn't know he needed to have until now- and as much fun as the bed looks he hovers by the door, waiting patiently for Carolina to do her job. The hooks look kind of fun. He might monkey around on them later- he didn't have his doorframe bar for pullups in this tour van.

The glass door between the bedroom and the bathroom though- good thing he showered on the bus.

Soon as the all clear is given he looks and does, in fact, find chocolates.

Shaped like genitals.

"Oh christ what the fuck."

"It's not the chocolate I'm worried about."

Her voice carries clearly enough, meaning any intruder would be easily detected - they wouldn't be able to stage a kidnapping without someone hearing something either way. It doesn't take her long to finish checking that things are in fact exactly as they seem, and it's an arched brow at York when she hears his exclamation.

Then looks down at the offerings, carefully arranged on black paper. Then back up at York.

"I thought you didn't care?" Then, an idea occurs to her. ..she shouldn't, not when he's technically her client, but he could use a distraction from the worst of the day's events now the high is wearing off. She shrugs at him, seemingly unconcerned, And, as if to underscore such an attitude, she picks up one piece from the selection - a rather upstanding example of erectness - and, far too casually, places its length in her mouth, lightly closing her lips around it.

"I don't care, I just don't know which one to start wi-" He doesn't cut himself off so much as snap his mouth shut, watching her enjoy one of the chocolates. They aren't quite life sized, thank god, but it's enough of a visual to make him go red and his mouth to dry out and-

Delta will kill him. Delta will murder him and no one will ever find the body. Delta will GLEEFULLY peel the skin from his bones.

Nope that reminder doesn't do anything as a low, inarticulate noise that might be a whimper spills past his lips. Right. Turnabout, fair play? Yes. Yes good. He plucks up a flat, feminine form and runs his tongue over the surface, playing a little with the molded folds. Because he's that kind of an ass.

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