your best american girl

six characters - another character study for rory moskowitz pt. ii

“Revenge is never a straight line. It’s a forest. And like a forest, it’s easy to lose your way...to get lost...to forget where you came in.” 

my heart will always love mnm and the space it gave for me to write rory, one of my honest characters, who i love endlessly.

1. Camille  Sharp Objects 

“Sometimes I think illness sits inside every woman, waiting for the right moment to bloom. I have known so many sick women all my life. Women with chronic pain, with ever-gestating diseases. Women with conditions. Men, sure, they have bone snaps, they have backaches, they have a surgery or two, yank out a tonsil, insert a shiny plastic hip. Women get consumed.”

2. Sister Knight (Watchmen)

“I've Got A Nose For White Supremacy And He Smells Like Bleach.” 

3. Dana Scully (The X-Files, hi theresa) 

“I have seen this before. You’re on fire, believing that you’re onto some truth, that you can save the world.”

4. Laura Hunt (Laura)

“By stooping so low you only degrade yourself.”

5. Nairobi (La casa de papel) 

“You don’t love anyone? Of course you don’t, darling. You don’t have the balls for it. To love, you need courage.”

6. Carolyn Martens (Killing Eve)

It was events like this that made Cynthia wish she drank. The state dinner was the first event of this scale that she’d been to and she was nervous. Surrounded by people who either already knew each other or had been to dinners like this. She hid it well of course hiding her nervousness behind a bright smile and frequent hellos and hugs. But if you knew her you’d notice the way she held tightly onto Will’s hand and the way she was fiddling with her wedding ring when he wasn’t beside her.

At the moment she sat alone at a table whilst Will went to speak to some representative or senator. Turning around when someone sat next to her she gave a friendly smile. 

“Oh I’m not in your seat am I? I should have probably double checked the seating chart but I just needed a second.”

  If malice was reserved for William, then gently antipathy was spared, for Cynthia Bell; tainted by association in Rory’s mind, though no wealth of ill-will lay between them. She had no desire to venture to a table laid for the ROC’s finest and whitest, but a colleague had gestured her over - they spared one another remarks, before a call took him away; presently, leaving her amongst those she’d minced no words for, in many a memo.

@rmoskowitz

Gabrielle knew that her time with Rory had been sparse. The campaign trail had kept her busy, and even her arrival tonight had cut things a little close. They had barely had any chance to talk, but Gabrielle was determined to smooth things over anyway, with a glass of the wine that Rory liked best, sliding up to the table and setting it down in front of her. “You look beautiful,” she said, entirely genuine. “I hope you’re not mad at me. I know I got back late.”

open starter

“Yes! Buchanan. This table.” Sybil motions to one of the waiters, who now carries her order which she’d placed outside of the event. He sets the bottles down, several of them, and enough to go ‘round. “What?” She says to her neighbor. “I’m not gonna drink Franciscan.” She gets up and pops one open, this one champagne, white foam bursting down her forearm and onto the table. Without asking, she tends to the stranger’s flute. “So. White House Correspondents’ Dinner, huh?” Sybil starts, like an aunt asking her teenage nephew about girlfriends. “How are we feeling about the First Amendment?”  

  Gabrielle had abandoned her to the whims of their tablemates - which, for the present moment, had consisted of dry coughs and muted inquiries into one anothers health. A break in the dull revelry is the bright Buchanan’s delivery of champagne - paired with a line of questioning that’s one part cliche, and three parts endearing. “So, White House Correspondents Dinner. Here’s to four more years of President Berkeley hosting the esteemed event.” The political leanings of those around her never alters Rory’s fierce loyalty; she knows little about Sybil’s preferences, but raises her newly filled glass, anyway. Taking a sip (she has to admit - it was worth the purchase) and mulling over her words, Rory seeks to answer the second question. “Like many amendment’s, theory prevails over execution But hey - my political takes? Overrated. Be honest with me ... do you think that a traumatic childhood  event involving a bowl cut and a bright sweater, made the Admiral cling to the color khaki like a lifeline, because he’s afraid of what’ll happen if he falls into a pile of blue shirts?” 

Rory Moskowitz | 2020 White House Correspondents’ Dinner

“Guilty as charged,” she jokes at the accusation of being under the Admiral’s employ. In all honesty, there are a great many things that Gabrielle would gladly do before even speaking to William Bell, let alone taking a cent from him, but it was fun to play along nonetheless. And at any rate, any thought of it was dismissed, quite quickly, at Rory’s compliments. Over half a year had passed and she never tired of the little thrill she got just at hearing the words from her. “You know it’s the same for me,” she agrees, soft and light, and she smiles as she takes Rory’s hand to let the woman lead her toward the House.

——One bit of rp magic later——-

Of course the house is as she remembers it, more or less, but there are some changes - different paintings and decorations adorning the walls. Her chest tightens at times to notice that a certain piece that used to hang in the hallway has been taken down, replaced with something else that marks the house as the Berkeleys’. Even if she’s made her peace, it’s a struggle, at times, to remember that the position has a different occupant than the one she had fought so hard for.

Rory leads the way, as the one who now holds the keys, and Gabrielle follows her, the two of them making their home in Rory’s office just down the hall from the Oval. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” she quips lightly, looking around the room that Rory’s made 100% her own. She wanders to the windows and looks out at the view that had once been hers every day. “You know, sometimes I do miss this old place,” she comments after a second. In spite of…. everything. I envy you sometimes, getting all this.”

 She’s ever so desperate to avoid the painful truths that threaten to stain her newfound bliss - the uncomfortable truths, those mutually known and those not, that create a gulf between her and Gabrielle. Rory occupies Gabrielle’s former job, the joy of Julian’s ascension, all at the price of her girlfriend’s pain, the loss of her title, the death of her president. Rory’s hand in it all, remains undisclosed - the facts alone, sting. She wants to wipe away how they got here, but standing in Rory’s office, it’s clear, so clear that the truth begins to choke, that it was a foolish wish. But she just won’t let it be true - this notion they had lost, before they had even started. “Thinking of framing your next magazine cover, and placing it on the wall over there.” She wants to make some gesture of tenderness, light-hearted ease ; if not for Gabrielle’s sake, then her own. 

 Would her own touch ease Gabrielle’s heart, or create more nerves, more tension between them? Rory risks alienation, to rest her head on Gabrielle’s shoulder; to allow them a tangible physical connection, while they reconcile with so much discomfort. “I’m sorry.” It’s a muted, mumbled confession born out of an ardent desire to assuage Gabrielle’s feeling and her own piercing guilt. “I can’t imagine how being here feels - being with me, even. I think about how all this comes at your cost, I think about how you’re still with me despite all it - how good you are, to look at me and not let an understandable anger cloud any love.”

{ open! }

She can practically smell whoever it is before they arrive at her door. Maybe it’s because her ears are still ringing from the din of the noise she’d heard from up on the podium. Loss of one sense, strengthening of the others, right? Either way, the approaching visitor makes her sigh. Not exactly their fault. Blame those mongrels she’d had to face with a smile as they gloated about Will Bell’s ‘stunning’ announcement. Stunning, yeah. Two silver-haired white men of barely-average height. Truly groundbreaking shit. Ginny’s essentially hate-watching Fox News on one of the many television screens in her office as this unfortunate soul approaches the door, and she raises a palm, not even looking back toward the doorway. "Only those who have also thought really hard about throat-punching a greasy mouth-breather from the Wall Street Journal in the last twenty four hours may pass over this threshold. Tread wisely.”

   The diet of fed-up-with-this-shit and black coffee that fuelled Ginny Park was welcomed to Rory’s palette, post Bell-Gate - she isn’t one to coin silly names for events, but either she co-opts the spectacle and runs with it, or she murders another set of balloons. Rory’s careful knock is swallowed whole by the Aryan blondes praising the Admiral’s choice of running mate, but Ginny still senes another presence in the room - raises a hand, her eyes still trained on a woman who’s convinced herself orgasms are devil shakes, and that’s why her husband never gives her one. “I’m more of a throat-stomping kind of girl, but I’m hoping you’ll let me pass just this one.” Approaching Ginny with a weary smile and an offering of refreshments, she makes herself at home in an open chair. “Fucking asshole, isn’t he? He let me smell that awful cologne for a five minute conversation, only to turn around and do that. Crafting eloquent fuck you’s to the press then, Ginny?”

presidentberkeley‌:

@felixoliveira​ @rmoskowitz​

“Mr President,” his assistant calls for his attention, quiet and polite and unalarming. It’s the same voice she’d use to ask to fix his tie or warn of a nuclear war. “A word?”

He’s told of the news in one of the private balconies, Rory and Felix at his side. Julian muffles a chuckle, equal parts incredulous and amused.

“What’d I tell you?” He says to Felix. “Wonderbread.” 

Then he stops to think. “This is actually our best case scenario.” It’s not necessarily true, especially not without analyzing it from every angle first. But here, now, an hour away from the firework show, this is the best he can do. For himself and for his team, Julian builds themselves up. It’s not like him to accept defeat; it is like him to turn things around, make it benefit them instead. He lists, “They have no reach for diverse voters or women, they seem desperate for doing it here, and not to mention that making the 4th about yourself is about the least patriotic thing one can do. We’re throwing a huge party for veterans and they’re standing in our lawn saying Hey, look at me!” Would he have expected any different from Sanford? Certainly not. Julian paces around as he talks, reaching for any good considerations within reach. Just then, he allows himself to smile. “Maybe we should give them back their guns just to watch them shoot themselves in the foot.”  

“He probably wants a reaction, too.” Which we’re not gonna give. “I think Sanford’s got a crush on me.”

He didn’t think he’d be laughing much tonight after that announcement, but Julian’s already got him chuckling at the mention of wonderbread. “Don’t know why I suspected anything different. The GOP’s never been notorious for having presidents that could host these Fourth of July events without spending half of its budget on sunscreen.” 

Then, it’s time to play strategy. While Julian’s first resort is optimism, Felix’s first thought is ‘How does this lose us the election?’. It’s what he’s here for, after all - preventing the apocalypse before the first trumpet is even tuned for it. “They can spare the diverse vote. Those have always been our grievances, not theirs. And if anything, Republican women are the type to prefer male duos and call women candidates shrewd and unlikable,” he says. “But you’re right, it feels a bit desperate to do it here. They’ll probably still end up spinning the Fourth of July angle in their favor - Bell’s a veteran, after all, so any announcement he makes can be claimed under patriotism and serving our country.” He sighs shaking his head. “It’s not our best case scenario, but it’s also not our worst. Sanford shouldn’t be underestimated, though - Zafar should know that. In fact, you should be the one to tell him that, the kid doesn’t trust my word the way he trusts yours. We need him started on debate practice sooner than you, he doesn’t have the 2016 experience you do.”

He looks out at the view from the balcony, the city seemingly small beneath them. This is the view all those other men desperate to win a presidency have looked out on, Felix can’t help but think - this is the reason they fought so hard to stay in power. “I won’t lie, I’m a bit torn on what kind of reaction we should give,” he says. “On one hand, it would feel a bit odd to not say anything to the press or the people here, like you’re playing hard to get or being purposefully coy. On the other hand - this may be my selfishness talking, but after they were so sure that doing this here would get a response from us, it would feel a little too good to not give them the satisfaction.” He turns to Rory with a grin. “Liberate us from our fragile male egos - what do you think?” 

 “You know I adore your ego, Felix - it’s become a dear friend.” She’d shed the lingering evidence of howling anger that seized her in the silent moments, following Bell and Sanford’s announcement. Something feral had been touched in Rory’s heart; her resentment for the Admiral and his aggressively white male regime, the smug cadence’s in Sanford’s voice. Her skill restraint had given way to a primal emotion, one diffused - though an array of balloon carcasses littered the ground, as evidence of her displeasure. Cooled and delighted by the presence of her favorite men in D.C., Rory’s visage isn’t colored by the hues of burning rage - it’s soft, thoughtful. 

“I’m in agreement with Felix - The Admiral and Sanford would delight in nothing better, then knowing their announcement has had its intended effect. And certainly, Bell’s eager to use his veteran status to silence his opposers.” She turns from the balcony’s edge, where she’s wistfully examined the lawn - no better embodiment of their labor of love for Julian’s presidency, could be found outside the White House itself. It’s Julian however, still painfully endearing in his handsome, eagerly kind , that solidifies Rory’s mind. “But we cannot yield to Bell; silence is his game. Never, has Will had a semblance of the upper hand - I’ll give it to him, the move is brazen, amongst other adjectives I’d use.” 

  Julian serves, Felix volleys; Rory’s uncertain of her returning move. Both made arguments she can give credence two, which is a beast of its own kind - and for another days reflection. The appropriate response to Bell-Gate, was their most pressing issue. Sanford was certainly frothing at the mouth, eager to twist a carefully crafted response into a speech rife with anti-veteran and freedom of speech rhetoric. Yet silence, not matter how dignified, or how it exemplified intelligence, maturity, would simply not do. The Admiral had come into Julian’s house, shat all over the ground and expected the Democrat’s to endure the stink with a smile, lest they run the risk of insulting a veteran. 

Ah, Cynthia Bell. Aurora’s mentioning tied in with the exact moment her lackadaisical face glanced over into their midst. They all exchanged the briefest of smiling glances, of course– but underneath it all she could feel Rory’s distaste for the Republican presence. It amused Bella. It was almost refreshing to see this side out of her in such a short period of conversation time. “Well… play your cards right and soon enough the Republican campaign will rest in peace.” She raised her glassless hand to give a gentle wave to another acquaintance that fell within her sights.

“As the President’s Chief of Staff, I’m assuming you’re smothered with attention these days. Difficult to get used to, but necessary. After all, it’s next to impossible to get the attention of the oval without the blessing of the gatekeeper.” And just about everyone here was after attention. Belacqua delegated importance where it was due; in of itself, is was a remarkable feat for someone like hexfPerhaps all she needed was a little push. “Well, we’re just getting used to where we’re at. So on behalf of the ladies, I think the men would be wise to stay out of our way.” Theresa Wright, may she rest in peace– even Bella knew her election was a huge victory for women. 

It’s a pity it all had to end the way it did.

“Certainly. To be so young and in the company she is now… it must be incredibly intimidating. But also very inspiring. The company we keep is certainly a privilege, and she is certainly very lucky to have grown up with these connections.” If Victoria was anything like her mother, she would be more than up to the challenge. In fact– she had the head start that even Belacqua hadn’t been graced with here in Washington. 

“Really, you’re too kind. I’m only happy to be able to provide for her.”

  “Well, it’s not truly my cards to play - Julian and his campaign manager, are the dealers. But I have no doubts, that they’ll deliver.” Bella’s gaze has drifted to Cindy Bell, who gives a gentile wave. Rory can’t fathom who Cindy Bell is, beyond the Home Cooking features and quaint bangs; waifish figure, despite a plethora of children. She’s mystified by the perfect Republican wife - or anyone, who believes with veracity, that Bell should be President of the United States. 

   Rory gives a lighthearted shrug, both agreeing to the notion of Bella’s statement, and doing her usual shirking of praise. She should quit the habit, really; but self-loathing and minimizing was hardwired into her person. Oh, to be a man. “Gatekepper. I like that. It’s true, certainly - the transition from VP to President’s Chief of Staff, was certainly a wave of unexpected turmoil.” She isn’t eager to remind herself that she was more aware then most of the pending transition - it isn’t as if prior knowledge eased the series of events that reshaped their country’s state of being, nor her own life. Speaking of Bella’s daughter softens their conversation, and saves them from alluding to their conspiracy. “She’s strong, to stand amongst the political elite and not buckle under pressure - I’m guessing another trait, she’s inherited from you. I’m sure having a mother you look up to, and want to impress, helps her keep a level head and heart. As for my compliments on your parenting - take them, because I truly mean them. Parents who love and fight for their children, are more rare than you’d believe.”