top secret.

@concernedaboutcats called!

   ❛ Very mature, Dr. Holtzmann, ❜  Jennifer responds snidely as she moves toward her, examining the containment system from as close as she can justify without worrying she’ll die.❛ But, then again, what else can you expect from someone who listens to One Direction while they work. ❜

                       Erin nudges the door open and steps graciously aside. “There’re weapons, don’t worry. After you.”

    She nods at the instruction and removes her earrings and watch, placing it in the dish with her cellphone, taking her purse and placing it by the dish, just to be safe. “Somehow, I don’t feel very reassured, Gilbert.”       She offers Erin a look of disdain before slipping through the door and descending the stairs. 

Ever since the mayor’s assistant had made the comment about drawing too much attention, Holtzmann had made it her life-long mission to amp up the weirdness anytime she was around the woman who seemed so obsessed about putting cats in bags. “Ah, yes, the good ol’ standard.” She shot the other woman some finger guns. “Would you like to assist me on this project? Actually get a feel for what we do over at the H.Q.?” 

Holtzmann uses her first name and it makes her cringe. Very few people call her Jennifer. She hates the way it sounds. She hates the things she associates it with, and when she makes the decision to reprise her statement, Jenn offers her an approving nod.                     “Thank you.” She inhales softly and crosses her arms.  “Holtzmann, it is.” she agrees, offering an awkward and perhaps slightly sarcastic smile. This conversation hardly seems necessary, but she respects the other woman, and she always tries to let people she respects take the lead. It’s her little way of letting them know how she sees them.                 She examines the other woman as she asks and thinks               for a moment, glancing around as if to see if there were                anything better for her to do before letting out a breath               and shrugging. “Why not? What do you need, Holtzmann?”               

“I just – I need – oh my god, I said no pickles.”                     She’s still in her coveralls. She’s not even bothered to strip them off. And there’s ectoplasm and mustard in her hair, and a fluted wine glass full of Diet Coke, and Erin Gilbert wishes she could lose herself in the god-damn-mother-flippin’-piece-of-lukewarm-ohmygodi’mactuallyallergictoorangefooddye.                              “Those are great shoes, Jennifer.” Erin paws at the decimated remains of her Big Mac and exhumes a few sauce-covered pickles; she slides them like hockey-pucks across the table and lights up with nefarious glee as one hits Jenifer right in the tailored blouse. Her eyes – if Erin could focus on them – would be annihilating. But Erin is two-thirds of her way through a bottle of vodka and she isn’t stopping for any bitch.                                                              “I’m sure they cost more than my rent – which is a lot,” she slurs. “And – I’m a vegetarian…” Erin takes a ragged bite out of the meatslab. “But I’ve failed at that, and I can’t wear my good shoes to work, and one of these days I’m gonna shoot someone and they won’t be dead, and then they’ll die.”                                                                                Softly Erin hums the Moonlight Sonata as she slides a ketchup-drenched hand across the table. She taps at the acrylic surface, letting the weight of her mind sink her chin just inches from the rest of her food. Lynch had probably paid for it.         “Thank you,” Erin says, and she doesn’t know what for or why she’s crying.

          “ If… you want to throw more of the mayor’s money into recruitment, fine, ” Erin proffers, as courteous as she can possibly be, “ —– but Kevin works for a minimum wage. The least you can do is just… leave him alone. If there’s anything else you’d like to discuss, I’d— be happy to. ”

    She hates when her power is matched. When she is no longer in control, but she knows with a woman like Erin Gilbert, she has no hope of regaining it. They are equals but Erin is in her element, on her stomping grounds, she has the upper hand and Jennifer hates it.        If she didn’t need the Ghostbusters so damn bad, she’d tear them all apart just to prove she could. But not only were they now vital to the health and safety of their city, she also respected them, and -- God forbid -- even cared about them a little, so she was at a loss for options.     “I just thought I’d offer a solution to a problem,” The word problem is said with so much harshness and razor sharp intensity that she almost regrets it. She almost feels guilty for feeling that much resentment, so she reigns it in and clears her throat. “Anyway. That subject has clearly been covered.” she hesitates and decides to soften up for her benefit. “The only other thing I had to tell you is that the mayor and I appreciate your service, and the most recent additions to your weaponry and equipment have greatly improved your efficiency, so on behalf of the mayor and myself, congratulations and thank you.”

She hesitantly knocked on the door. “Excuse me? I’m here with the Pizza you ordered?”

        “ Well that’s good then,”     Rebecca started with a nod. “at least you won’t let intruders in.”   Picking her ID & showing it to the her, the scientist introduced herself    "I’m Dr Gorin,Jillian’s mentor &  current consultant. And you are?“

“My apologies, Dr. Gorin,” She says, gently gesturing for her to put her ID away and offering her a tedious smile. Dr. Holtzmann’s mentor?  She’d heard of the woman, but  to think she existed and she  dressed like that... was an  entirely different thing.  Not that she had much higher expectations exactly.  “I’m Jennifer Lynch, executive assistant to the mayor. I’m  just here doing my monthly... check-up so to speak.” She offers a hand to shake. “Anything of interest going on in this lab lately, Dr. Gorin?”

“i was playing beer pong with a coin and i accidentally threw it right into your eye at a party” au

          Erin has little more to add to her argument; Her voice trails off. “ I… don’t think he’s even had a place of his own… ”

    “I’m sure now that you’re a more lucrative, and popular business, you could find a far more... competent employee.” Jennifer says, crossing her arms and standing up a little straighter as if to remind Erin of her dominant position. “And his struggles are more than occasional, Dr. Gilbert, I don’t know why you insist on protecting him like this.”       She studies the other woman slowly, and realizes that she is going to make absolutely no impact on her in this conversation. She’s going to do whatever she wants, and unfortunately she doesn’t have enough power to stop her.      That’s why she drives Jennifer crazy. “But, I suppose all I can do is make suggestions. This is your operation. However, I do think you’d be better off with a more competent assistant.”

          ❛ dance with me and i’ll stop… for the next few hours. c’mon, ya gotta loosen up a little. lose the personal storm cloud. ❜ she wiggles her brows, still dancing even as she’s offering her hands out for jennifer to take. ❛ i won’t rest until you dance. ❜

      to jennifer, this is essentially an ultimatum. it’s either dance with dr. holtzmann and sacrifice her dignity and perhaps even her authority or suffer through hours of being persuaded and annoyed. it’s not a decision she wants to make, but at the end of the day she’s gonna be exhausted either way, so she might as well take a chance at having a little fun.        ❛ fine. ❜ she says, moving toward holtzmann cautiously, and hesitantly removing her heels and taking her hair down, gently moving to the rhythm with only her shoulders and about 10% of her hips, awkwardly taking the other woman’s hand and allowing her to guide her around the room.  ❛i’m not much of a dancer... ❜ she warns.  not that that’ll change anything.

“Shall we?”

Not exactly thrilled at the concept of being photographed in the coveralls on her arm, Jennifer offered Dr. Gilbert a look of skepticism and displeasure. It wasn’t as though wearing her pencil skirt and blouse into the caverns of (what did they call it?) ectoplasm, without the coveralls was a better idea, but at least she had chosen to wear comfortable shoes for the occasion.              “What does ‘funny pictures’ entail, exactly?” she asks, carefully stepping into the coveralls as Erin speaks, pulling them over her shoulders before zipping it up and offering her a soft, bitter smile.         “I suppose I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”