CLOSED STARTER: @maureenkeaton LOCATION: david’s office (after work)
As far as grand schemes went, the governor's latest was going swimmingly. The pieces were falling into place thus far – or, more accurately, the pieces they’d scrupulously played – but their work was far from over. The hours following Aaron Keaton’s televised resignation were chaotic, and that would be putting it gently. The afternoon had been spent in a swarm of reporters and journalists. For the entire week before, Dave had dedicated his attention entirely to writing and editing a series of prepared responses for the governor to give; then, naturally, his own responses to coincide with Julian’s.
Questions, thoughts, and demands were still rolling through his inbox at an unprecedented speed. He finally took a moment to pause, resting his head in his hands and exhaling a deep sigh. The lack of sleep and food was beginning to catch up with him. A knock on the door caused his head to lift; he could already see a portion of blonde hair through the pane.
David stood and brushed a hand over his hair, crossing over to the door. He forced a smile to his face before he even opened it. “Maureen – thanks for coming out here.” His tone was warm, giving no hint of the exhaustion that was a bit more apparent on his features. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he should go about the ‘last time I saw you, you were this big’ speech. With as long as Aaron had held his position, Dave had grown quite accustomed to seeing the girl around both personal and professional events. Her absence at the resignation speech hadn’t gone unnoticed, and it brought a sinking feeling to the pit of his stomach.
“Want anything to drink? Coffee, tea – gin? I’d still like to believe you’re not old enough, of course, but I know how they can drink at the Times.” Between all the meticulous planning and trying to predict how the city as a whole would react, it was easy to forget that there were individuals involved. This wasn’t a victimless crime. Speaking to the throngs of reporters yesterday hadn’t intimidated him in the slightest, but standing in front of Maureen brought a tug of an unpleasant, unfamiliar feeling: guilt. He gestured for her to sit on the couch, seating himself on the one across from her. David looked at her, pushing aside his brewing feelings of guilt to portray empathy as best he could. “How you holdin' up, kid?”
