la résistante

He wasn’t at his table but instead had tried to slide into the emptiest looking one so that he wouldn’t be disturbed for a little while (and one that didn’t have Democrats). His own table was essentially composed of the members of Bell’s campaign, and he was trying to avoid Alfred given their last discussion. He’s drinking wine, though it was a very slow process, just in an attempt to look busy. He almost winced when his name was called out, hoping to not be spotted. He’s far less famous than his father, though these days he’s been getting much more television attention as he was always at same events as his father. He put on a polite smile as he looked at Sarah. “I wasn’t expecting you either, Ms. Modrik.” Given that she spent her time tearing apart Democrats. Or perhaps it was the president’s attempt to appear unbiased? “I think it’s a good thing to continue relations with our long time allies,” he said, which wasn’t exactly an answer to her question, but Henry was incapable of saying anything bad about anyone. “What do you think about them?”

     She could tell he was weary around her -- that wasn’t entirely uncalled for, she made a living prying into other people’s businesses and Henry hadn’t appeared to her to be the most welcoming to the press asking him questions. Regardless of the fact that Henry would have to truly be the most terrible person in the world for Sarah to give anything resembling bad press to the Bell campaign, there was something about a subject being cautious of their words around her that was, she had to admit, slightly empowering. Like she was doing something right. Still, she offered a tilt of her head in feigned confusion and a short chuckle. “I meant the people, you’ve mingled, right?” They weren’t buddies in the least, but they were roughly the same age and Sarah needed to be a step closer to the campaign. Being so close to the elections, she was running out of options and poor Henry Sanford had been unlucky enough to wind up seated next to her. “I don’t really understand anything they’re saying, but they seem charming...” Looking back to her date to motion to him with her head, she continued, “He speaks French, so I get a few translated lines, but I’m content to just be here. Are you here with your father?” Oh, she truly prided herself in being so respectful but she couldn’t help it... “No date tonight?” 

     Her date had pointed out she wasn’t working tonight ( although, was a journalist ever really off? ) and had poured her a generous glass of white wine. Sarah had never been much of a drinker but she was someone’s guest tonight and so she indulged him by, once in a while, coating her lips with the beverage and taking the shortest possible taste. Three sips later, she was already feeling a little spacey, but still made the biggest effort to be part of the conversation. Out of the Representatives and other politicians sitting around the table, there was one man who stood out and, truthfully, who made her journalist antenna ring inside her head and, as luck would have it, they were sitting close enough that she wouldn’t have to so blatantly yell to be heard. “Mr. Sanford,” she greeted him, shifting her chair to face him better; admittedly, holding her date’s hand and sitting away from him was not the most comfortable position, but she’d deal for the sake of journalism. “I didn’t know you’d be here. How do you like the French?”

Isaac felt his face flush a little at Sarah’s words. It was always nice to feel like an important member of the community, and the fact that Sarah was apart of that community was something that made Isaac… well… happy. He winced a little, knowing maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t help it. He noticed her hand grazing his forearm ever so slightly, looked down and catching a glimpse at her dress for the first time in all its tight-fitting and short glory. His eyes flicked back up instinctively so as not to linger. “I know… I just… I feel bad, that’s all. Are we good? I just want to make sure we’re… yknow…”

     She found it sweet, really, that he wanted to make sure they were okay. Granted, he was an elected official with an election coming up ( in her state, nonetheless ) and she was a reporter known for her less-than-subtle drags at people she disliked, but, in her naïve eyes, this was a genuine moment from him. One she might spoil all too soon. “We’re good,” she assured him, lacing her fingers together in front of her lap. It took her a moment of chewing on the insides of her cheek to decide to say the following words but she believed that, maybe, she owed him that much. After all, she’d been the one to make this all so uncomfortable for the two of them by agreeing to go to his place... And sending the night. “I’m here with someone,” she said simply with a weak smile that she tried to morph into a more confident one. “I mean, I wasn’t invited, the White House isn’t my biggest fan...” she let out an unamused chuckle. “So... I’m here with someone.”

    There were drawbacks to every liberty providded by the Constitution -- Sarah Modrik was a firm believer and spokesperson for freedom of speech and freedom of the press and she would fight anyone who argued against her right to bear arms. As a woman originally from guns-per-capita number-one state Wyoming and resident of number-two Washington D.C., she had a handgun in her nightstand drawer and the required papers that allowed her to carry it in her bag for when she was out alone at night and needed to feel safe. 

     When she heard the unmistakeable loud ringing of a gunshot vibrating through the walls and reaching her ears just as she stepped out of the bathroom stall, her hand instinctively reached to her bag as if she’d brought the weapon into the White House. The mini heart-attack feeling someone usually gets when unable to find their cellphone as they pat every pocket on their outfit was what made her shudder that time, except it was because of her lack of protection. A right she fought so vividly for and she couldn’t carry it out. 

     The drawback, obviously, she wouldn’t live it at that moment but when she had to go on her show the following week and was faced with so many snappy comments about how the Government needed to take their guns away because they were all insane. Someone locked the door from the outside and spoke through the crack to let them ( that’s when she realized she wasn’t alone ) know that they were trying to find the source of the shot and would let them out when the perpetrator had been caught. 

     Maybe she should have been relieved that she wasn’t alone but she would much rather be with someone else ( say, the man who had brought her here, perhaps ) and not... Whoever this was. She was still frozen in place when she snapped back to reality, just standing there with her purse hanging from her shoulder, right next to the bathroom stall. “This seems like the time to start praying,” she murmured, perhaps barely audibly, in a weak attempt to comfort the girl she’d spend how many hours with.

Isaac nodded. It was true, he had felt it as a politician, and he was sure that Sarah was more than busy covering everything left, right and center. “That’s - that’s good. I’m glad,” his voice soft, gentle. “Thanks. I’m glad you got the chance to catch it. It was a pretty good interview, but then again, Esther Danvers knows how to make her guests look good, that’s for sure,” he chuckled. He knew that without her hand, that interview could have been a lot rockier. “I uh… hey, I’m sorry… about… yknow…” he trailed, unsure how to breach the subject without making everything more awkward, but he really didn’t want to pretend it didn’t happen at all.

     It had been a pretty good interview, and Sarah hadn’t simply caught it by chance, she’d purposefully turned her TV on when she knew he’d be on. If anyone asked, the easy excuse was that Esther Danvers was on and she hadn’t missed her show in months. Now that they were -- friends was a strong word, but acquainted with each other, it was even more rewarding to listen to her take on the current state of politics. “I wouldn’t have missed it,” she started to say, but his apology made her stop mid-sentence. She’d obviously read him completely wrong ( again ); she’d never been too good with thinking on her feet but the smile she’d mastered was still intact on her face as the wheels in her head turned. “Isaac,” she was even bold enough to let her hand linger over his forearm for a moment before pulling it back and leaving it hang by her side. “Nothing happened,” she reminded him, forcing her eyes to fixate on his. 

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.”

     Sarah had been good all night. She hadn’t been actually invited to the event, but she was someone’s plus one and if there was one thing she was good at, that was letting a man be in the spotlight and simply nodding by his side. It’s what Mom had taught her: don’t demand too much attention, appreciate it when people offer it to you. And the night had been pleasant so far, too: she’d tirelessly held a flute of champagne in her hand even though she didn’t drink, she’d laughed at jokes she didn’t understand when everyone else found them hilarious, she’d looked good in pictures... This, however, would most likely be the greatest moment of her night. 

     She’d met Senator Sanford right after the announcement and had expressed how proud she was to be a Republican, but the head of the ticket had always seemed to far away. Until now. “No, no, I-- I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, ma’am, but... I’m Sarah Modrik, I’m such a big fan of your husband,” she was unable to keep it inside, she couldn’t hold it in -- this was simply too good to be true. What had Esther said that one time? She had to work hard and know the right people -- well, who better to have on her side than the future First Lady? “It’s an honor to meet you, truly, I’m-- must be dreaming,” she let out in a soft sigh because it truly felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs.

Isaac had been sweet-talking every politician that came his way - after his less than stellar performance at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner (and a couple of glasses of alcohol too far in), Isaac knew that tonight was more than important, especially if Will and Silas happened to lose the election in the coming months.

If it wasn’t for his (mostly) sobriety, Isaac very well would have been smacked in the face with the swinging bathroom door - but his hand reached up to catch it, spotting Sarah on the other side. “I- Sarah,” Isaac said, formality falling as he saw her, looked at her for a moment, noticing a fraction of tension between them. Maybe that was just him, though. “I’m fine, no worries. How are you? It’s… been a while…” he trailed.

     Her smile tightened slightly when he asked about her -- ah, she knew this would happen eventually, she’d run into him and he’d pretend nothing had happened. She was both grateful and disappointed that he’d behaved exactly like she’d imagined. On one hand, this would make it easier to ignore that one night that still echoed in her mind and treat him professionally; on the other hand, she had hoped he’d surprise her. In her wildest dreams, he’d say he remembered and she wouldn’t stand a chance. This was easier, all things considered...

     “Yeah, it’s been crazy... With the election and everything-- well, you know,” she offered, standing up straighter and smoothing the front of her dress with the palms of her hands. “I’m good, yeah, actually, it’s been a good month for the most part,” she told him, forcing her smile to appear sweeter. “I saw you on Fox a few weeks ago. You don’t need me to tell you how good you were,” she admitted with a kind chuckle.

     Normally, when someone was invited to a State Dinner ( or any event at the White House ), they’d stick to the traditional dress code. Sarah Modrik was traditional in many ways, but the small print in the fourteenth page of her contract ( and the number looking at her from her bank account ) prevented her from wearing anything but what dress was lent to her. Clad in the most elegant yet extremely inappropriate short black dress with sheer tulle and embroidered gems, she knew she’d have heads turning in no time -- not because she thought she was so stunning but because of how out-of-place she looked ( and felt ). 

     The first hour she spent mostly engaging in whatever conversation she was dragged to and hiding in the bathroom ( ‘to touch up her mascara’ was the only excuse she could think of ); as luck would have it, when coming out of the restroom after her third venture into her safe space, her reflexes failed her and she nearly slammed the door in someone’s nose. I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking--” when she finally swung the door closed and stood in front of her near-victim, the smallest smile curved her lips. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I should have been more careful,” her voice was steadier now, for some reason, as if the man in front of her didn’t bring up the most confusing memories. 

     @isaaccdaniels

STATE DINNER ; OUTFIT

“Oh I didn’t really think that’s what you meant, but a lot of people seem to think I did, so I like to clear the air whenever I’m talking about it. When people hear things, we tend to pick them up, whether we realize it or not,” Esther shrugged. Her communications classes had taught her a lot, and that was one of the most interesting things she had learned. She knew that despite being a popular figure on the channel, a lot of people still thought she had slithered her way up the ladder. Maybe she did, a little bit, and maybe she used her connections to her advantage - but any good journalist would.  “It took me years to get onto Fox - but the biggest thing I can tell you is keep writing what you’re passionate about. If you’ve got passion, drive - people can tell. And that’s what gets you noticed,” Esther said. It was the truth for her - despite the fact that she wasn’t always passionate about her topics, she was passionate about garnering the attention, and that was her loophole, not that she would admit it.

     With a sip of her warm drink, Sarah decided to just keep quiet for a change. Listening to Esther was always a pleasure, anyway, and she’d obviously not done herself any favours by talking, so she nodded her head and took the advice the blonde offered. Once the other was done, however, she remained quiet for a moment too long -- here she was, sitting with a woman she’d be dreaming of meeting for so long, and she couldn’t manage to think of one smart thing that would set her apart from the rest of the rising journalists who obviously trailed after her. “That’s the plan,” she agreed with a quiet chuckle and a tight smile. “Knowing people definitely helps, right?” she nodded shortly, taking another sip of her latte. “Politicians can be sneaky, I thought I had a secure contact in the Senate, but it looks like I’m going to have to find someone else,” she let out another chuckle, though a bit lower this time. “I’m doing a profile on the Director of the FBI next week -- apparently, they asked for me,” Sarah accompanied her words with a face, because she still couldn’t understand what had given that woman the impression that she’d be the right person for the job when they so obviously stood on opposite ends of the ideeology spectrum when it came to Intelligence. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Sophie specified - because partially, she didn’t. It wasn’t a targeted question, and although she didn’t really believe journalists in any walk of life - herself included - could truly be objective, there was something different about TV. Watching from a distance, it felt like a performance. “More like, are you more inclined to pick up a story that might have more…  of a hook to it, I guess, is the better word? Are there articles that you’ve written for paper that you wouldn’t put on air because they simply wouldn’t fare as well with ratings?”

     “Oh,” even with a monosyllabic response, Sarah emphasized it so that it would sound like she really was confused ( or at least, she tried to achieve that effect ). With a thoughtful hum, Sarah took her time to come up with a way to phrase this answer that wouldn’t make her look like the demon people made her out to be. She leaned back slightly on the bench before clicking her tongue and shaking her head slowly. “I do put up different kind of stories on different media but I have a pretty limited time on screen, so it’s really because of time constraints and not how much money could be made off it.” Again, she made a pause, though this time she looked up from the distant spot she’d set her gaze on and studied Sophie’s face for a moment, as if she really was trying to connect with her. “But, as I said before, they’re really different platforms, and writing an article allows me to be so much more elaborate and dig deeper into a subject, and you can’t really fit that much information in a five-minute segment,” she shrugged shortly, as if pitying herself for not having a prime-time show.

Esther knew that she had Sarah in the palm of her hand, saw the lingering enthusiasm in her smile. It always astounded Esther just a little bit when someone she knew was older than her looked up to her, but she was thankful that she got it every now and then. To be fair, a number of people had thought she was a little older than she was, given the age gap between her and Danvers, but that was besides the point. “A lot of hard work, knowing the right people,” she said. “If you’re asking if I married my way into a spot on Fox News, I didn’t,” she said. Her voice wasn’t accusatory, instead soft, educational, but she knows that it might have been a lingering question for Sarah. “Although that connection certainly helps now, I got there the hard way.”

     Never before had she been more thankful that she hadn’t sipped at her drink before Esther spoke -- otherwise, she certainly would have either choked on her latte or spat it out in the blonde’s face, and neither of those scenarios were particularly appealing. “No, no, I would never-- that’s not what I was asking at all,” she hurried to say, so much so that she talked over Esther for a split of a second. She had built a facade of herself, a public image that showed her as nothing but utterly respectful ( to those she agreed with, of course ). Esther was good enough at her job that she wouldn’t assume she’d only married Alfred to get a job -- if she remembered correctly, she’d been an employed journalist way before marrying the man. There was something else Esther said that lingered between them, and Sarah couldn’t shake it off her head -- how she’d said she got there the hard way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply-- I’m just curious. I’d love to grow in this industry, and it’s not always easy. I thought maybe you’d have a few pointers, that’s all I meant.”

Her pen moved across the page, actually interested in what Sarah had to say in regards to writing for TV versus writing for the page. It was always something that was in the back of Sophie’s mind - how much more stable her living could be if she took an extra job doing TV work on the side… But she liked writing for paper. There was something nostalgic about it, even if it was mostly digitized. Still, Sarah opened the door for Sophie to prod at what she was really curious about. She thought about it for a moment, if she was going to poke there, before deciding to go there anyway. “Would you say that writing for TV, getting viewers, is more successful when the passion is there? When there’s more shock value to a story?” It wasn’t necessarily a question just for Sarah because she was a republican - Sophie thought that both sides of the aisle were guilty of this.

     Sarah listened to her question and felt her face morph into an expression of amusement -- there was something about leftists always assuming Republicans were these evil creatures who only cared about ratings and making people more angry at the Government. No wonder some Americans were brainwashed into hating her with no basis on reality, if this is what their spokespeople think of me. “I haven’t met any journalists who isn’t passionate about what they do, be it on TV or print, I’m not sure I follow…” she trailed off. Playing the part of the ingénue came too easily to her, and she knew that much as she tilted her head to the side as she waited for Sophie to explain herself. Still, before the other was able to speak further, Sarah continued, “I think a story either has shocking elements or it doesn’t, I may be guilty of many things--” she made a pause, as if she really was taking responsability for anything, “But i would never try to turn a story into something it isn’t just to boost my numbers… If that’s what you were asking.”

@keetingNY10: Deflecting literally every question and statement I raised, misgendering me, and then telling me to count votes and get off twitter? Do better. You're a journalist.

@keetingNY10: & If you have any semblance of respect for the LGBTQ+ community, take a look at where that statement comes from. Your queerphobia is showing.

[ @daddylonglegs10: @/sarahmodrik ur absolutely correct hun i haven't driven a car since i was 17. #bikelanesforthegays ]