#dd.starter

“look, if you’re here to gloat or whatever? you buy the next drink,” ava held back the growl, but the bite was there. she’d put everything she had into a case that came up dry, so now she was at her usual hiding hole diver bar watching baseball, brooding one may even say. so she nods at the seat next to her without another word, though taking another sip.

“if this is about yesterday's case, save your breath.” try as rafael might to prepare for any eventuality, being an assistant district attorney sometimes meant being dealt losses. picky juries, too much reasonable doubt... the list went on and rafael didn’t really like to dwell on mistakes with other people.  “i've moved on, so should you.” he stops walking, turning to the person who’s been following his hurried pace around the courthouse. “is that... all?”

for someone who spends most of her days in dark jeans and combat boots ( and most of her days off in shorts and oversized sweatshirts ) , it might come as a surprise to people that beatriz loves dressing up. she just never gets the chance to do it. sure , the dress is tight and her feet hurt , but it’s fun. it feels nice to step out of the precinct and not worry about all the terrible things that go on in the world. she’ll face those the next morning. right now , she stands next to the photo booth , holding up a paper mustache — one of those props that people just loved to pose with in their pictures. “ i can never make up my mind about these , ” she muses as someone approaches. “ i don’t know if they’re are horribly cheesy or just plain adorable. ”

everything ached-- her back, her shoulders, her feet... everything. and yet, suri couldn’t quite force herself to stop, even if she was aware that she was pushing herself past her limit. thing was, this, hitting something and running in place and lifting weights, was one of the only things she had left that kept her sane. it was the thing that prevented her from falling off the edge of the metaphorical cliff she had been standing on for months. however, as she went to throw another punch, her body gave in to the exhaustion and she barely had time to react as she felt her back hit the floor. a groan escaped her as she shook it off, attempting to sit up but failing miserably. with a sigh of defeat, she settled against the floor, another groan escaping her as she felt a body looming over her. “can i help you?” she mumbled, craning her neck to get a look at whoever it was. “actually, what i meant to say was... would you mind giving me a hand? you know, after you have your laugh or whatever.” 

“it's lunchtime,” julián points out rather matter-of-factly around a forkful of pasta. his legs propped up on his desk, he spares a glance at the newcomer in his office before scooping another forkful of food into his mouth and speaking around it. “so, unless this is a national emergency, let me finish my alfredo in peace.” 

the gala is , plain and simple , a work event. there’s nothing special about it , nothing exciting. it’s an obligation. by attending , alex cabot is merely fulfilling her duty as one of the many adas that work under manhattan district attorney. she smiles , takes pictures , rubs elbows with everyone that she has to , but the moment she’s released from her duties , she gravitates towards the open bar. “ give me a martini , dry , three olives. ” she looks at the bartender like their life depends on her instructions ( and not like she’s asking for a fairly basic cocktail ). once they’re off to make her drink , she looks down at her phone. she could be out there doing work , instead she’s stuck here. as she feels someone walking up to her , she swiftly slips her phone into her pocket. “ the open bar is a hit , isn’t it ? ”