#mnmstart

It was events like this where Percy felt like a lost puppy. He wasn’t his father, but he tried his best to play it off like he was. After all, it was his father’s friendly connection to some french diplomats that had him here in the first place. It was a combination of strategic interactions, using his dad’s name just enough, and making sure people knew who he was. You can never count on politicians, his father’s words rung in his head, make sure everyone knows your name. So, that’s exactly what Percy did.

It was moments like this where Percy found himself stuck between one politician and another, where Percy felt a little lost. Getting from one conversation to another. So, Percy just smiled and moved through the space before stumbling upon another familiar face. “Enjoying the evening?” Percy mused.

Even late into the evening, the muggy Washington heat was feeling near stifling, and a room packed to the brim with people, a full meal, and a tightly-tailored suit jacket didn’t really help matters all that much. So the jacket had been abandoned at the table, his collar opened just a little bit as he stepped out the nearest door for even the hope of a slight breeze. Though that was too much to ask for, he at least was able to get a little piece and quiet from all the chatter inside. Naturally, that didn’t last, and Adam was quick to stamp out the cigarette he had half-finished as the door opened - not unlike a kid caught by his mother. It was, after all, hypocritical in some respects for the man who had advocated for tobacco restrictions to be caught with his second cigarette in a row.

Merritt, admittedly, enjoyed a good celebration. Though she found the Fourth of July celebrations to be a little over the top, she couldn’t help but admire the spectacle of it all, various activities and events taking place across the vast expanse of the White House lawns was almost too grandiose to be true. There was still a part of Merritt that wondered whether the money could have been better spent elsewhere, trying to calculate the cost of this whole thing starting to give her a headache as soon as she thought about it -- but another part of her told her simply to try and enjoy it. That there wasn’t much she could do about the gross misuse of taxpayer money here and now, was there?

The part of her that said to relax and enjoy the event was aided substantially by the cocktails floating around the lawn. Merritt was no fool -- she didn’t plan to get drunk in front of dozens of White House employees, her boss, her boss’ colleagues, and the President, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little bit to drink to make the afternoon go by quicker. She approaches the cocktail bar and orders herself a drink, turning to the nearest person as she takes a sip, “They really go all out for these things, don’t they?”

“A lovely night... don’t you think? Everywhere you look... It’s picturesque,” she mused gently to the person standing next to her. “Events like this are simply.... spectacular,” she sighed.

After stopping at Starbucks, he took his coffee and made his way into Lower Senate Park to take in the nature that was always just a little lacking from his corporate office, even though he had tried to spruce it up with plants and life. It never compared to the outdoors. His hair was tied back into a messy bun, a couple of strands falling loose around his face thanks to the wind, and his satchel was swung around his shoulder, his laptop inside so he could do some work in the park before he was called back to his office. “Beautiful, isn’t it, when all the flowers bloom on the trees?” he said, musing to the person on the bench he had stopped beside. “May I?” he said, gesturing to the free side of the bench.

And for the last hour, he’s been phenomenal. He only takes two clementines before they serve the actual dinner, he shows off the fun little French phrases his father taught him to some bored-looking Macron aides, and he even complies with Oliver’s requests to give the press some affectionate shots of the Second Family despite the fact that he despises anything that even remotely resembles PDA. At around minute sixty-two, however, the wine starts hitting a little different and he decides that he once again can’t pretend he doesn’t hate this. So he takes another glass of the red chalaue or bordeou or some other French delicacy with too many vowels, making a bee-line to his usual strategy during these events - two hallways down from the main room, close enough that it’s not suspicious but far enough that nobody thinks to venture out to bother him.

Or at least, Vir assumes that no one will think to bother him, but just as he’s finally settled in with a small notebook and pen balancing on his knees, he’s startled out of his thoughts by the sound of someone’s voice. “Fuck, ah, oui, bonjour, baguette,” he exclaims as he drops the pen in surprise. He looks up, only to realize - “Oh, you’re not French.” His shoulders ease a bit at the fact. This is usually the part where he pretends to be apologetic, lamenting a splitting headache or a bad stomach or a half-deadly stroke for how terribly rude he is for leaving the party, but tonight he’s tired of making a genuine effort at Second Gentleman. He’s been tired for a while, actually. Instead, he cocks his head to the side, considering his guest before asking, “You up for a game of Twenty Questions?” He raises the glass of dark alcoholic nonsense he picked up on his way out, taking a sip. “I’ll even let you start.”

“The President in a white tux? I can’t help but think there’s a hidden message in there somewhere.”

He’s always been exceptionally outspoken. But so far the threat level seems minimum; staff members were tossing out jabs at the Republican candidate like party favors. Never within ear shot of anyone of consequence, of course. The White House was never to be showcased in the light of pettiness.

Antony doesn’t consider himself a celebrity, but it’s always nice to be recognized; either from being credited by the Obama administration or for his presence in economic journalism. Every so often someone would ask if his gold medal actually counted as being on par with the Olympics- which never failed to get a laugh out of him.

“Maybe to compensate for the lack of Republican presence?”