unwritten.

     “Honestly, most people here are single and brought a strategic date, it’s a D.C. thing, you know?” she chuckled, watching a couple walk past them as if she could tell they weren’t together for the affection but the promise of a sweet political deal. She let out a short laugh at Sophie’s joke, looking back at her only when she formed a question. “I am, surprisingly, it’s going pretty well.” Though she wouldn’t go as far as saying she was doing better than she ever was, since it was a pretty hectic night of running around, Amanda couldn’t quite complain ( yet ). After all, it was her job. And, even if she hadn’t been enjoying it too much, the fact that Sophie was a journalist didn’t slip her mind in the slightest. “Get a drink, okay? Mingle. You came to help but now, you know… Enjoy the evening, okay?”

“Oh absolutely,” Sophie smiled, knowing full well more than half the people here weren’t a romantic plus one but an offer. “That’s really great, I’m glad things are going well,” Sophie smiled. “Events can be messy, and it’s nice when they don’t completely fall apart,” she shrugged. “I will, thank you. I should really check in before I do that, though, I’ll see you around some other time? Make sure you enjoy your evening at least a little bit, too,” she smiled.

“Hm,” she mused. Maybe she had been a little too pessimistic about the evening; the line, the wait- they were still at the White House greeting French governance. How many other individuals had been afforded such an opportunity? How many had the guile that it took to stand where she was?

“No way,” Bella shook her head mechanically and smirked. “If anything, those that come here more and more should feel very lucky. I mean, think about it. How privileged do you have to be to get bored of the White House?” Considering she found herself getting short a few minutes ago, this was a remarkable turn around. “But I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

Sophie shrugged in agreeance - she was right. If someone had the ability to come to events like these and be bored by the familiarity, it really did tell you a lot about the cards that person had been dealt and continued to hold. “You’re not wrong,” Sophie smiled as they neared the entrance. “I hope you have a lovely evening, too,” she said, before the pair parted ways in the line. “It was a pleasure talking.”

“Belacqua Prince.” She outstretched a palm for a dutiful handshake; the jewelry on her wrists jingled faintly from the sway. So, the girl was the dinosaur’s- respectfully- protégé. It was… nice to witness the encouraging sight of young women emerging throughout Washington. And this one; she still had the faint doe-eyed wonder of a young Alice seeing Wonderland for the first time.

Ah, well. Innocence was snuffed out in good time, especially in the heart of politics. “I think a hands on experience is most likely a good thing- a flattering thing,” Bella mused. “It probably means out of all the other contestants, she’s chosen to mold you after her image.” She shuffled along as they gained inches. “But enough of the heavy. Is this your first State Dinner event?”

“Oh absolutely, but it also means I not only have big shoes to fill, but the expectation that I fill them is already looming,” she said. “I’m glad she trusts me enough to give me guidance, though...” Sophie trailed before looking around at the space she inhabited, the grandeur of the dinner again taking her aback. Not quite as large as the night at the Correspondent’s Dinner, but a different kind of awe. “It is, actually. It’s... magnificient. Although I imagine that those who have been to these events over and over again don’t necessarily view it with such... wide eyes anymore... So that probably gives me away.”

   This was Adrian’s first state dinner, and with the election in only a few months probably the only one he was going to get to plan before November rolled around. Considering the worst case scenario, it could also end up being the only state dinner he got to plan for any administration. So he threw his all into this one, knowing that it could possibly be his only one. As the night was now upon them, and progressing smoothly, he was happy to know he could probably end this night with a pat on his back. Smiling when Sophie approached him if there was anything she needed to do, shaking his head. 

   “No, no we’re good, everything that happens now is being left to the professionals, the ushers, and White House staff. They know their roles and what times to unveil things, all I need you to do, is socialize with people, and have a good night.” 

     There was something in Sophie that reminded Amanda of a younger version of herself, and it definitely wasn’t the hairdo because never in a million years would she have been able to pull those bangs out ( she tried way back in 2009… It wasn’t great ). Perhaps it was the way she explained why she’d decided to help out; not too long ago, Amanda herself had volunteered on many occasions to lend a hand, knowing the more of service she was, the better the chances that she’d make it to the top of the priorities list and now… Well, she was still far from the top of the food chain, but she was certainly closer. She suspected, with the few bits of information she had about Sophie, she’d make it far and suddenly a strange sense of pride washed over her, as if she’d have anything to do with the girl’s success. 

     “That’s very noble of you, I’m sure you’ll be thanked for your help,” she assured her with a nod of her head – and, if she wasn’t, Amanda herself would make sure Sophie knew the help was appreciated ( surely she’d have a lead to offer down the line that would make the girl’s job a lot easier ). “Bringing someone to these things must be excruciating,” or maybe I never experienced it, same difference. “It’s all business, no pleasure,” she pointed out. “Oh, yeah – well, I’m working, so I guess I’m technically here with the team… And just about everyone else in this room,” she chuckled. 

“You can say that again,” Sophie nodded towards Amanda’s comment about having someone as a plus-one being brutal. “I don’t know if I’d even want to drag a date out to an event like this, I’d only ever always be working them anyway. It’s not like I’m ever going to be the guest of honor, or not be stressed about covering,” she sighed. “Thank you, I mean, I do what I can, of course. The government is partially the reason I have a job, after all,” she joked, following along as Amanda mentioned she was here with her team and everyone else. “Are you at least enjoying the evening somewhat? Despite being on the clock?”

@sophiehotch​

Standing idly by, waiting for one’s turn to shake the hand and the snap the photo; a wonder she arrived so early in the evening and the line was still tedious. Waiting and accomplishing nothing than a few inches every few minutes- that could take its toll on a rather impatient and abrasive personality (no matter how accustomed it was to being muzzled over the years). To combat this, she turned to the young woman next to her. She had to do something; fidgeting was a bad look.

“The Washington Post-” she read her press pass aloud. “Gwendolyn Steele is a difficult name to live up to, I’m sure.” 

Sophie had been waiting to make her way through the long lines of photos and handshakes. Not that she was really of any importance, but formalities were formalities, after all. The woman in front of her turned, and Sophie was hard pressed to forget her face. Director of the FBI, Sophie thought to herself, taking inventory.

“Definitely, but it helps to have the woman herself guiding... Makes it a little less stressful to live up to... or maybe more. I haven’t decided yet,” Sophie said, a gentle sigh in her tone. “A pleasure to meet you - I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced - Sophie Hotchner.”

     “Oh, God,” Amanda laughed, shaking her head and waving a hand in the air – to anyone watching from afar, it would look like the two were close, old friends with how easily they fell into a comfortable rhythm and she didn’t mind at all. It was refreshing to meet new people in this business who weren’t completely ruined by power yet. The compiment sounded genuine coming from Sophie’s lips so she made no further comment, but all she could think of was how she’d been sweating into the garment for hours and how she so desperately wanted to kick her heels off her feet already. Granted, she was a pretty good actress and would endure the pain of beauty for the sake of diplomacy. Let it be known Amanda Roy was patriotic. 

     “You’re not here as press?” she asked the other, tilting her head to one side. “You were helping out…” she trailed off, hoping Sophie would fill in the blanks she was obviously missing to undestand. “Yeah, I’m on a tight schedule I was behind even hours before the event started,” she chuckled jokingly – it was supposed to be fnny, but it wasn’t completely untrue, either. She had never been the best at being on time and it contrasted deeply with how punctual everyone else in the White House. “Are you here alone?” she went back to the previous topic, looking around them as if she’d find out something by simply doing so.

“Set up and take down. There are only so many press passes sadly, and I’m not exactly choice number one for International Relations... So if it means lending a hand so I can do a little bit of press recon... especially with the election coming up, sometimes that’s what a girl has to do,” she shrugged. She was no Esther Danvers, at least, no husband or partner to be a plus-one to when her press pass couldn’t get her through the door. Sophie chuckled gently as Amanda mentioned being behind hours ago. “Yeah, I’m here alone. No partner on my arm tonight,” Sophie shrugged. “Not that I have anyone really to bring with me anyway... I’m assuming you’re here with your team - first and foremost?”

Event decorating had been a secret passion of Sophie’s when she was younger - from birthday parties to friend’s sweet sixteens, Sophie rarely passed up the chance to plan an event when she was younger. Although she had mostly grown out of that phase, it was still in her to lend a hand where she could, and every now and then, when the Capitol needed a few extra hands (and Soph wasn’t working) she was more than happy to lend a hand setting up and tearing down events.

It was a half and hour or so into the night when Sophie checked in one last time, reaching Adrian. “Any thing you need me to take off your plate, Adrian?” she asked, open to a task if he needed her hand.

     Date: September 17th, 2020 – State Dinner.

     Contrary to popular belief ( herself included ), Amanda was actually able to go through one night without resorting to her good old red friend, specially when it was a work night so stressful like this one. Obviously she’d been working all day at the office, she’d only taken enough time off in the middle of the day to rush to her apartment, take a shower and run back to the office with her night outfit securely carried in a garment bag she’d borrowed from someone years ago and had never returned. Still, after all those hours of not resting and being on her feet, there she stood clad in her jumpsuit and dreading the heels that were already starting to make her uncomfortable – and not a single drop of alcohol was running through her veins. Naturally, she’d been running on caffeine and planned to continue to do so until she fell asleep in her car when the night was over. 

     There weren’t many breaks she would be able to take throughout this night, since it was a big opportunity to get Oliver acquainted with American diplomats and foreign state officials alike, but greeting a familiar face was definitely worth running behind on her schedule, and someone she’d asked something from not too long ago was even more dignitary of such honor. “You got bangs!” was the first thing she said – she had approached with the intention of complimenting Sophie’s pantsuit but the change in hairdo won over the choice in outfit. “They look good, you look great,” she added. “Did you get here long ago? Did you find your table?” Maybe the caffine was truly starting to show.

     @sophiehotch​

Sophie was always happy to see another smiling face across the room, and was secretly more than thankful when Amanda moved towards her. It wasn’t like there weren’t a hundred and one familiar faces at events like this, the problem was Sophie knew who they were, and very few of them actively remembered her. But, after her personal meeting with Amanda, she was pretty confident at least one other person here might know her name. Not that it really mattered tonight, as she was here lending a hand as opposed to working or attending as just a guest.

Sophie laughed gently as Amanda commented on her hair, “Thank you so much,” she smiled, “And you look absolutely stunning,” Sophie said, shaking her head in awe before reminder herself to tone it down a notch. Yes, Amanda looked gorgeous, and it was most certainly not lost on Sophie but she did not need to be accused of flirting tonight. “Yeah, I’m all good, all settled. I was lending a hand this afternoon, so it was nice to figure it out before all the chaos. How are you doing? Busy as ever, I’m assuming.”

event: state dinner

     “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.

Sophie nodded, noting down that her hypothesis was at least partially correct - that stories did differ from those doing print and live journalism. And despite the fact that Sarah’s answer was vague (and she really didn’t feel the need to pry too much more for fear of saying the wrong thing), she noted that this question was something to ask other journalists as well, to see if they followed the same pattern. At the very least, Sophie knew she did, even though she didn’t want to. It was just the name of the game - a piece on Augustus Callaway (or America’s Ass, as she had learned in her research on the Senator) fared much better than one of her other pieces on one of North California’s representatives. “Just one last question - where do you think journalism is headed in the next... five, ten years?”

Not drinking in an event of this nature was more than simply a skill; even if in need, it was something Lola didn’t think she could rely on her own self-control for. Be it for fun or to drown out pain, a substance to level out her needs was nearly vital, tonight. It’s already wearing off, but still, it’s there. Shrugging, Lola flashes her once-asleep phone screen — the Uber App ready for a call. “Was just gonna get a ride home, but then you showed up, so I didn’t. As far as complete strangers go, you’re a good one to talk to.” She smiles at Sophie. It’s that sort of in-between, the type which only ever manifests late at night, when one wants desperately to go home — as deeply as one wishes to stay exactly where they are. It’s getting late however, Lola knows it. Her gaze drifts downward to their dresses, reflecting off the moonlight. “Can we both fit in your car, do you think?” She laughs. “Anyway, yeah. That’d be cool. …Thank you.” 

     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.”

“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?”

Upon the positive, Lola eases into a smile — what it seems like the first genuine one of the night — and then laughter. God. Was she really just about to let this girl know just how weird she is? This is the stuff of second, of third dates, or of never. “Oh—” She starts, shifting slightly on the concrete step. How picturesque they might look from afar, the steps and the puffy dresses, the innate intimate between two girls who are strangers, the magnificent lit-up building behind them. “I’m full Real Housewives, baby. Beverly Hills, New York City, Atlanta, you name it. And, more embarrassingly still, The Bachelor — and Bachelorette. I’m a feminist.” She tips her head back just so, arching a brow. “What’s yours?”