never shaken

Adelaide Beauregard. 53. Proudly moderate Republican. Mother, wife, american. Junior U.S. Senator from Louisiana (2013-2019) ask ⠀✧⠀navigation ⠀✧⠀about ⠀✧⠀tags ⠀✧⠀wanted

[adxbeauregard]

mirandacarson‌:

It occurs to Miranda, as they start down the street, that were it not for her Addie wouldn’t likely venture into this part of DC on her own and that, in spite of having lived in the city longer than Miranda she probably doesn’t know the area.

She’s been here a little over a year now. In the same apartment, walking down the same street, to go to the same bars, to go to the same diners, to go to work. This is her street and there’s something comforting in being the one who knows where they’re going, in being the one who gets to say, “It’s pretty down this way.” Jutting her chin to indicate a right at the corner, and they do turn.

It is pretty down this way. A street lined with cherry trees and low lamplight. Even in spite of the fact that the flowers have gone from pink to white – nearing the end of their lives, it’s still lovely. The sidewalk is littered with fallen white blooms, they tread softly over them.

The street is only half gentrified and it’s easy to tell which homes are populated by working class families and which are populated by hipsters whose fathers pay their rent.

“What if I said that it was?” Feeling daring, she smiles if only to see the reaction it’ll get. “I don’t have many,” Scratch that, any, “Friends in this city. Maybe I just needed a walk. A little banter. Made it sound urgent to get you down here.” She drags on her cigarette and when she glances sidelong at the other’s profile she puffs out a little cloud of smoke.

If anything, she’s glad Miranda knows the place. This is not the kind of street Adelaide would be walking down in the middle of the nigth — well, barely past eight but still. “It’s charming.” She compliments the place, in the same way a mother would compliment the house of her child, even though she truly despises the decoration. She knows Miranda lives nearby, and it’s better to not offend her neighbourhood. Is she one of thoe people with strong connections to their land? Doubtful, but she isn’t taking any chances.

She takes a moment, drags her cigarrette again, asjusts the bag on her arm, blows the smoke and laughs a little: “I’d say you lost your mind.” She says with a simplicity that would make one believe that she is talking about filing her taxes. “The Miranda I know wouldn’t drag me… here—” she gestures at the almost empty street, mostly to avoid the wrong intonation. The here almost came out as an offense, but she managed to save face. “Unless something was up.” She finishes, turning to the girl on her side.

But it occurs Adelaide that maybe she has something to say, and it’s big enough she would be scared. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d have to deal with problems that are way above her head. Her voice drops, becomes softer, “You can’t tell?” She puts a hand on Miranda’s arm, her soft warm palm saying I’m here for you, I will protect you, like she did many many times before.

She doesn’t want to push, she doesn’t want to force the girl. But if she came this far, something must be up. She pulls the cigarrette, waits, blows the smoke, pretending she can’t see Miranda, to give her a moment to think and figure out what she wants to do. “It’s a secret?” She finally asks, turning to her, raising an eyebrow, and offering the sweetest expression she can put together.

[adxbeauregard]

mirandacarson‌:

“I made about a half a second worth of eye contact. Apparently that’s all it takes. To – – show up on their radar.” In another life, Adelaide Beauregard should’ve narrated audiobooks, in Miranda’s opinion at least.

She has a crisp, supple sort of voice; like an actor’s voice. It’s a trained voice. One that cuts cleanly and crisply through the air like the tip of a very sharp and straightly shot arrow. Maybe that’s why her constituents like her.

Miranda tells herself that she notices things like this because she’s a writer. She has to take stock of people, in their totality. Dimples, blonde hair, blue eyes, supple voice, and all.

She’s still a little flushed; off her game. She doesn’t like that Addie surprised her. It makes her feel like she’s at a disadvantage. She accepts the cigarette and smiles, nearly fumbling in her haste to light Adelaide’s cigarette first which makes things feel a little more even.

We don’t have to go in there.

Miranda’s gaze follows Addie’s into the bar and she purses her lips to the side in silent consideration. She could use a drink but there’s also something shameful about admitting that to Adelaide in particular. Any other source, she’d not mind. She just cares a little more than she should about what Addie thinks of her.

“I mean, yeah, no. We can go wherever. I’m not really anxious to reconnect with Romeo, anyway. I just figured – you always want discreet, Secret Squirrel.” She drags on her cigarette. “We could walk a little?” She lives just around the corner and it occurs to her to suggest it but it seems a little forward.

She is right, obviously. Men just happened to look at pretty girls like Miranda and devour them with their eyes. The feeling that she should go there and shove him out of the bar and force him to apologize for the inappropriate gazes is almost strong enough to make her do something. Instead, she lets Miranda light her cigarette and thinks for a moment.

It’s a cool night, and it feels heavy. It’s better than being inside a crowded bar with frat boys and their unending appetite. “I can do that.” She decides, taking the first step down the road.

She doesn’t know this part of town, too busy surrounded by the townhouses and white suburban dream of her own neighbourhood, but every building reeks with youth and excitement. It rubs off on her too; maybe this is why Miranda invited her there, to give her an opportunity to feel young again.

Secret Squirrel, she almost smiles at that. It feels like equal parts pet name and inside joke. Like most of the things between them, Addie felt unusually unfit around Miranda, not cool enough, always a step back — on the slang, on the joke, on the plans. And this was just another instance of that, her lack of creativity being bested by Miranda’s most simple and carefree thoughts. That was one of the things that kept Addie interested.

They walk on the sidewalk, side by side, but not touching. Adelaide doesn’t want to make the first move, because even though she is very aware of her reputation and rumours about her sexuality, she decides that she doesn’t need to confirm anything. Especially not to a journalist. “Are you going to tell me why you dragged me down to this part of town or I’ll have to guess it myself?” She asks, mostly to fill the silence between them. She drags on the cigarette, and then blows the smoke; she looks at Miranda, interested, slightly sarcastic: “And don’t bother saying that it’s just for the pleasure of my company because I know I’m not that interesting.” Because that would have certainly be a twist in her night.

[adxbeauregard]

mirandacarson‌:

Sometimes all the secrecy feels unnecessary. Most of the time, actually. The sneaking around is fun, though. She figures this must be why people have affairs. The excitement, the hiding. At the end of the day, it’s Adelaide and not Miranda that stands to lose something from being found out. 

Today, it’s a bar of Miranda’s choosing. A dive in downtown, near her house, where she can almost guarantee that no one will give a shit about either of them. Five Star Bar is solely populated by people in their early 20′s who drink like they’re trying to settle a grudge with their livers. It’s dark, too. Live music. Smoking patio, people running around frantically trying to get fucked before last call. The last thing anyone’s thinking about at Five Star is an old Senator from Louisiana. 

Outside the bar, Miranda drags on her cigarette, keeping her head down. She’s got her other hand in her pocket, palming her cellphone for comfort. Millennial like to touch their phones the way that babies suck on pacifiers; to soothe. 

Head turns down the street to see if she’s coming. Nothing. Just a stocky, fair-skinned frat boy who smiles the second she makes eye contact with him and then Miranda’s quickly straightening her spine, rising off the wall, taking a step back because now she has to fucking move and then she literally, runs into Addie. Her head knocks against the other’s, body’s colliding with impressive force considering she’d only taken three steps. “Oh – fuck me,” Miranda steadies the both of them, hand on Addie’s shoulder – firm and gentle at once. “Sorry, fuck.” 

The frat boy passes and raises his eyebrows as he slips into the bar. Miranda grimaces before she turns back to Addie, who she suddenly realizes she is still holding. “Sorry,” She says again and releases her. “You’re so quiet, Jesus. You’re getting pretty good at sneaking around.” Miranda’s flushing, because she’s flustered. She realizes she’s lost her cigarette, finds it smoldering by her foot. “Are you okay?” She avoids saying Adelaide’s name because she’s never sure what to call her. Adelaide? Ms.? Senator? Addie is out of the question though she’s called her that once, in her head. None of them seems right. 

@adxbeauregard​

Only Miranda would have enough courage to ask Adelaide down to a bar downtown; the young kids, chain smoking and trying to seem cooler than each other. She was way too old for that, and yet she accepted. She asked for the Lyft driver to drop her one block before, to salvage some dignity.

Typical, was her only thought when she saw Miranda smoking outside the bar. She was stunning, even under half light and surrounded by horny twenty-somethings. She doesn’t even notice that Miranda was moving, too fixated on the guy, scanning every inch of him with judgy eyes.

Still, she giggles as they collide. “Already? Christ, buy me a drink first.” She jokes, adjusting her blouse and taking a step back, to look down at her clothes to see if anything is out of place. “I’m fine, no worries.” Adelaide is used to come around to help out, to drop some information on some important matter, to ask some questions. She is the one who calls Miranda, not the other around. She can only wonder why they are meeting here of all places. It’s secretive, yes, but is it worth it?

“I’ve been watching you making eyes at Mr. Muscle Boy over there,” she teases with way more than a hint of jealousy in her voice. Sure, they were just out to drinks, like good friends do, and yet Adelaide felt that somehow that man, even if just for a second, presented competition to her. And she couldn’t let that happen. “Well, him making eyes at you anyway.” She shrugs, and then looks through the glass, watching the same man sit down at the bar, and, obviously, ordering a beer.

She looks at Miranda with kindness: “We don’t have to go in there.” She doesn’t want to push them to the company of more of the fratty kids, and sure, the idea of just the two of them, even if they are smoking outside sounds compelling. She fishes her purse for a pack of cigarettes, and offer it to Miranda without saying a word.