abinvito - Tumblr blog

[abinvito]

lcstreligions·:

south lawn, white house. \ open

David walkedout among the gathering of persons, champagne flute in his hand, and acelebratory look in his eye. They’d doneit. Mastered the masterful, conquered that which some questioned whether or nota promise he’d been able to deliver on. With Alicia at his side, hand in hand,he only broke to shake hands, accept congratulations as he grinned. “Thank you,”David spoke to some, waving off.

Only motioningto excuse himself from her side, as he bound forward in the room, acceptinganother drink once he’d finished his. “Senator, I can’t accept sole responsibility.This fight was won by all of ustonight. Everyone played a hand in getting the job done, from direct contact toyour support alone, don’t sell your contributions short!” He pointed at the manbefore turning back and coming heel-to-toe with another. “Pardon me.”

Feeling especially strapping and broad-shouldered in the halter dress someone else had chosen for her (her staff was tiring of the Spinster Schoolmarm comments from the press), Ruth bobs and weaves through the crowd. Acknowledging the passing congratulations with a sort of humble and dutiful head dip and murmured thanks, Ruth sips at her champagne. 

Technically she’s not yet allowed to drink but it wouldn’t look good to abstain entirely and -- well, what Pippa doesn’t know can’t make that vein on her forehead bulge. 

Over the speakers Louis Armstrong promises that when you smile the whole world smiles too and of course, that’s when she sees David. If there’s anyone she’s known that to be true of it’s him. He looks like the salt-and-peppered second coming of the Homecoming King. The whole party is very David. In equal parts, for the last nearly 30 years, she has both nursed an affection for and been utterly exasperated by David Callaghan and tonight is no exception. 

Maybe indulgent to have a party -- but can’t say it’s not working to curry favor. She trusts him to do the likable thing. Suddenly nose to nose, she raises her glass in a cheers. “You are pardoned, Mr. President.” Then she takes another sip of her champagne and shrugs. “Having fun yet?” 

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edclweiss·:

She smiles. Ruth Sullivan actually, full-on smiles, and,Lord help her, it’s the scariest thing Sarah Jane has ever seen. (And she’sseen Fred scoop up their five-year-old milliseconds before he managed to stickhis fork into the toaster.)

Maybe Ruth’s daydreaming about skinning her alive. Or maybeshe fancies me. Hands clasped, Sarah Jane takes a step back. Just in case.

“I only wanted tothank you for what the Callaghan administration did for our country last night, on behalfof the Republican Party.” Her voice, of course, remains pure honey. But she doesn’ttake the offer. Much better like this: Sarah Jane standing, Ruth looking up at her fromthe armchair. What with the Veep being sixteen feet tall and all. “As well as offer assistance in what is to follow, should you ever need it. The parties are important, but America comes first.”

In spite of herself, Ruth feels her eyes glaze over and she is only listening with the smallest part of herself, leaned back in her office chair with her arms across her chest. Absent gaze falls somewhere just above Sarah Jane’s shoulder at a crooked picture frame and she is thinking about her next week’s doctor’s appointment, trying to remember if it’s Wednesday or Thursday evening. 

Something something, grandstanding, something something, Republican, something, American. Something, and then her voice peters out and her eyes enliven again. Oh, that painless? 

“Yes, Senator Lindahl. I’m sure that President Callaghan appreciates your support and thanks as much as I do.” As good as garbage, Ruth thinks. “I’ll be certain to relay that message to him.” 

Standing from her desk, and walking over to get herself a glass of water, she speaks with her back to Sarah Jane belatedly worrying that she ought not to have turned full back for fear of being stabbed. “I think the country could use a good deal more bipartisanship.” She does not offer any water to Sarah Jane, only turns around and sips her own before. “Was that all, Senator?” 

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edclweiss·:

Ah, there she is: Vice President Ruth Sullivan. Washington’slargest unicellular organism. The least charming, too.

Like she half-whispered, half-giggled in Laura’sear during the 58th Presidential Inauguration, their first female Veep is the very reason they’ll never have another. And by they Sarah Jane means her, so she just beams brighter in response.

Then a purr: “My stars, really? That’s a shame.” She sashays into theoffice and decides it’s going to look so much better in Biedermeier. “Though your Chief of Staff must be busy as a stump-tailed cow in fly time today.Filippa, was it?” Darn right it’s Filippa. Angelika quizzed her for two hours straightthis morning, adhering to pantomime while the baby napped. Point at a member—any member—ofRuth Sullivan’s staff, and Sarah Jane can tell you their name, triggers, and underwear size.Can Ruth? “Please don’t scold her for my sake. I won’t keep you too long.”

Ruth blinks once, twice, as the absurdity of the phrase ‘busy as a stump-tailed cow in fly time’ percolates and distills. She’s always wondered why it is that she talks like that and when, exactly, she’d adopted the affect. To Ruth’s knowledge, the Lindahls are about as ‘down-home country,’ as The Pottery Barn so why did they all insist on talking like Elmer Fudd? 

“Pippa, yes.” She corrects, returning her attention to the papers on her desk. She signs a page without reading it and turns to the next. “We’re both very busy today, Senator. You’re right.” Which is to say, get to the point. 

“Please,” She takes off her glasses, finally surrendering to the idea that Sarah Jane is really going to stay. “Make yourself comfortable. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Even if it sounds a little flat she’s able to manage a smile, finally, when she remembers the interview wherein Victor Hale had referred to Lindahl as, ‘Laura Ingalls Wilder.’

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@edclweiss​

Under the table, Miranda jostles her knee. Only people, she hears her mother’s voice, who are hot to trot shake their knees like that. That is what her mother said instead of horny. “Hot to trot.” A charming euphemism but also apt in this case. 

Like a child on Christmas Eve, she’s too eager. Checking her phone’s clock almost compulsively, as she has been for the last 15 minutes. A quarter past 11 meant that Lindahl ought to arrive any minute and Miranda may not know her angle yet but she’s got a feeling that currying favor with Lindahl early on might serve her later. 

She’d skipped the bar last night and called in a favor for this and now she could feel her heart all aflutter in her chest like she was waiting for a date. 

When she sees her she stands to step around the table slowly but the beauty pageant smile fixes too quickly to be natural even though it touches her eyes gently in the corners. “Oh, Senator Lindahl. What an honor. I can’t thank you enough for meeting with me today,” Firm handshake, not rushed. She tries not to think about how much she hates Sarah Jane Lindahl when she releases to say, “I love your suit.” 

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@edclweiss​

Once upon a time, she’d privately referred to Sarah Jane Lindahl as “The Fertile Crescent.” In reference of course to her little miracle child. Then, she’d realized the name did her a disservice. It implied, however indirectly, that her and her progeny were as ingenious, as intelligent as those early civilizations which really gave them far too much credit. She’d seen the baby from a distance more than once. 

The exceptionally square, bald head made him look, already, like a sportsman who never learned to write his name by hand. Ruth has been working to think up a new nickname for her. Perhaps something to match Laura Bellamy’s Cruella DeVille, except that Ruth can’t remember another Disney character’s name. 

This is what she’s thinking when she lifts her head as the wide double doors swing open to reveal her, never a hair out of place; almost threateningly angular. Ruth does not stand nor does she smile. “Senator Lindahl,” greeted with a clinical briskness, like a clerk at the DMV. “Did we have an appointment? I’m afraid that it wasn’t on the day’s itinerary. Apologies.”

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“I am tired. These people make me feel I have a hole in the middle of me.”

— D.H. Lawrence, from The Complete Works; “The Plumbed Serpent,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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Smug asshole™ in a suit? We love to see it.

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I hate movies where women are just passive receptacles to violence and hurt but somehow, unrealistically, they keep powering through and have this essential goodness. Because truthfully, I’ve found misogyny has made me into a worse person, a less understanding person, a less trusting or hopeful person. I’ve done dubious things in reaction to misogyny because I’m like, alive and privileged and don’t have a Teflon emotional processing core. For example, I’ve never seen a movie that captures how white women specifically transform their reactions to experiencing misogyny into racism and structural violence and try to justify it. Maybe I sound cynical but the most “authentic” portrayal of someone beaten down by sexism would be at the very least superficially unsympathetic.

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