all the good girls go to hell

Lilah Connelly-Calhoun | republican | RNC co-chair | player

[delilahcconnelly]

“Yes, ma’am, rewarding is the word for it, believe me.” Will nodded in agreement at her words. If there was anything more to them than a genuine pleasure at their success, Will didn’t see past it - perhaps owing to the late hour and the drink in his hand more than anything. He considered himself a good judge of character, after all.

Will could tell, despite her efforts, that the questions might be unwanted. Still, he found himself indulging it nonetheless, following the movement of her hand to the pearls around her neck. “Course. Can’t deny it lingers.” He paused a moment, just studying her nearly bare expression. “Whatever you want to share. I guess to me, it’s just…” He stopped to think up the right words. “It all feels personal. So I like to hear from the people who knew these men best. What was he like?”

Maybe there was more to Admiral William Bell than she thought, an earnestness in his voice, the genuine belief that he could change the world. Or maybe that was just the benefit of being a man. Delilah hadn’t talked about Scott in a long time, not really talked about him. Sure he was one of the points in her speeches to military families but in the abstract - a lifeless cutout. Maybe that was what the Admiral wanted, but maybe she was just tipsy enough to give more. 

“He was, and I know everyone says this about loved ones but really, he was the kindest person I’ve ever met. And so loving, just totally dedicated to everyone and everything he cared for. He always knew exactly how to make me laugh and had this way of knowin’ exactly what I needed without me having to ask.” She ducked her head down, a bit embarrassed for having shared so much. But it wasn’t everything - she couldn’t share the bitterness that clouded her memories, resentment at Scott for choosing the naive idea of patriotism over her, the rage at the Air Force for sending him to die. “I miss him, I miss the life we should have had.” 

[delilahcconnelly]

He feels a little bad, if only because he can see she’s exhausted, but he’s already been up and at it, and he’s still running on the excited energy that keeps him from being able to stop moving as he looks around the house. He looks around, as if to check if anything is different about the place, suddenly almost shy now that it’s his turn to talk.

“I did somethin’ kinda crazy,” he starts. “Like I said - don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s good news.” He sets his cup down on her coffee table. “You remember how back for Valentine’s day I gave Hans that ring?” He starts, but he doesn’t pause long enough for her to really interject. “We went to New York this weekend. Just… kinda for fun, before the convention and everything. And we went out, y’know? And I just - kinda couldn’t help myself.” He realizes his words are vague and so he shakes his head, holding up his left hand to let her see the band on his ring finger. “I proposed. For real this time. And he said yes.”

Delilah followed him into her living room and sank on the couch, grateful that he’d brought coffee so she could at least attempt to join him on that energy level. She knew it was good, just as she would have known if it was bad, just as she always knew. Call it a twin thing, or whatever. 

She let him talk, it was easier to not interject, particularly when she could feel that mix of anxiety and excitement rolling off of him in waves. Finally, an answer. A proposal? Marriage? With Hans fucking Starke of all people. She smiled automatically, but her heart ached, heavy and final like the end of a sentence, for how happy he was and how happy he wasn’t able to be. She hated the lot of them - their parents sitting in that big house full of neglect and abuse, the party she smiled for that would drop him in an instance, the religion he clung to that called his love an abomination. A rising tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm her; but Delilah was better controlled than this. And down it went, into the pit of resentment and anger - anger and armor all the way down. 

“Oh my god! Adam, that’s -” She stood up and tossed her arms around his waist, hugging him like one should have when one’s twin announced their engagement. “That’s wonderful, I am so happy for you, for both of you!” She couldn’t keep the practical part of her mind quiet, as much as she tried to exist only in this moment, and to share in Adam’s joy. “Have you -” god she hated herself for asking, “have you given any thought to the details or? I’ve always been a fan of long engagements.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to sit next to her on the couch, studying the ring on his finger. “Its perfect for you, I love it.” 

[delilahcconnelly]

Zimmerman had caught word of the news a few minutes before it had been announced–– a last ditch effort for the House to prepare for the inevitable media swarm that followed. Whoever had passed on the report to the Speaker evidently wanted him to know that William Bell and Silas Sanford had no intention to cooperate with him–– or, at least, thats what Zimmerman gathered. And that’s exactly how he intended to respond.

Wyatt’s ability to forge a household name for himself, and to appear larger than life in a party that had grown increasingly lukewarm, was only challenged by his ability to fade into the back ground, when needed–– hidden behind the glare of the photographs being taken, the kerfuffle of questions being asked and microphones shoved in pasty-white faces. It didn’t surprise him when Connelly’s daughter recognized him, responding with a curt purse of his lips. “Heard it? Helen Keller heard it.” He turned to her, offering a hand; a sleazy smile adorning his lips, looking like the quintessential hero in an old western. Through to his core, Zimmerman was charming. “Congratulations, Ms. Connelly. Your father seems to have an ally in William Bell that might even outlast his own position. Or–– sorry, is it Mrs. Calhoun still?”

Oh the speaker of the house, how fucking delightful. Just what Delilah wanted, another self-righteous overconfident white men, they really did seem to flock to her. She nodded politely, because thats what she did. They were the party of American Values, not the one that shouted for attention through social media and wild claims. Or at least, they should be. Delilah took another sip. 

“Careful, Mr. Speaker, some on your side might be a bit sensitive, and accuse you of discriminating against Ms. Keller and those like her.” Delilah smirked, equal parts playful and dangerous. “Please, call me Delilah,” the perfect southern lady was back, charming and disarming, with a genteel handshake. “Admiral Bell is the future of the party, and a great ally to all the American people. That’s why we are working so hard to see him elected.”

[dukeofbookingham-deactivated202]

Would you call Lady Macbeth a monster?

No I would call her my role model

[delilahcconnelly]

Isaac let out a sigh of relief when Delilah opened the door in front of him. He could tell she’d been having a day, the faint smell of whiskey on her breath as she asked him if he wanted to come in for a drink. “It’s okay,” he said, “I’m just glad you’re here,” he said gently. He resisted the temptation to reach out and give her a hug, to tuck the hair behind her ear for her. He didn’t want to push her if she was already upset. “Sure, if you’ll have me,” he smiles, stepping inside the threshold. He slipped his shoes off as he walked into the front door to avoid trekking dirt through her house and loosened his tight tie slightly.

“I don’t want to sound like a jerk by asking this-” he started, knowing full well that the question was self-explainable, “but are you okay? Do you want to talk about anything?”

This wasn’t how she wanted him to see her. They were still in the early days of the relationship where she buried her rage behind the veneer of southern gentility. He needed a Jackie, and she smiled in that teasing chagrined manner instead of ever showing anger. But Delilah was fucking angry, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the façade. 

It did not fade when she saw him, but she felt a little less empty, a little less lonely. Isaac followed her into the kitchen where she poured him a glass of whiskey, and another for herself. At the question something in her broke, the hard exterior she crafted to keep herself safe. Lilah stepped forward, closing the distance between them and buried her face in his chest, slim arms wrapping around his waist. It may have been a moment, or perhaps and hour, but when she finally looked up, chin resting on his chest and arms still around him - there was the ghost of a tear in her eyes. 

“I’m -” she bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I’m angry, and I’m frustrated. And I’m tired of not being taken seriously.” Delilah huffed. “I’m not tryin’ to cause anything between you and my dad, I mean he still respects you, probably more than me anyway. They didn’t tell me about the Veep announcement until two days before. I’m supposed to be the co-chair! I should have had a say. And it made us look so bad to announce on the fourth, like Jesus Christ could we be more selfish? And any bad press is gonna get blamed on me because everything always does.” She said all of this very quickly, and likely without meaning to share as much as she did. “I’m fine though, promise, thank you for coming to check on me.” 

[isaaccdaniels]

Isaac knew that the fourth of July party had taken its toll on Lilah. They hadn’t been together for too long, but he liked to think he knew how to read people, or at least, he knew when it had been a full day without so much as a notification or a returned phone call from her. 

He didn’t like making unexpected house calls, but after spending most of the day in his office worried and hoping she would call back, Isaac knew that he had to check up on her. Maybe her phone had just been off, maybe she didn’t want to be seen, and maybe she would just send him home. Still, he’d rather get sent home knowing she was okay.

He put his car in park in the driveway of her home, hit the ignition, and pulled himself out of the car, moving swiftly to the door. The speed at which he moved told him he was more worried than he thought he was. He rang the doorbell gently, waiting, hoping she would answer.

[ @delilahcconnelly​​ ] 

[delilahcconnelly]

She shouldn’t have ignored Issac all day, or all of yesterday. But Delilah still burned with the rage and resentment, residual anger from the Fourth and their so called ‘triumphant announcement’. But she was a nice girl, she was a good girl - always has been. And so Lilah did what she’d been taught, and shoved all that anger and rage under all that hard, glossy armor she’d built over the years. But sometimes, nice comes at a cost. And so Delilah had cut herself off from everyone for a few days. 

She was home, moping with whiskey she’d stolen from her father’s house and curled up in front of Casablanca on the TV. It wasn’t even late, barely past dinner time and Boo was whining with the sound of a car pulling up outside. Maybe it was Adam, probably not, he seemed very preoccupied with his own personal issues. With the doorbell ringing, she had no choice but to open it. 

“Hi,” she tired to smile. tired to look like the girl he wanted her to be. “Sorry, I know I’ve been ignoring you I’m just - “ Delilah sighed, and twisted a hand through her hair, suddenly self conscious of her old UVA sweatshirt and shorts. “Do you wanna come in for a drink?” 

[thehauntingsource]

She might not let you freeload anymore.

[delilahcconnelly]

ツ (charlie & percy?)

[delilahcconnelly]

ツ pilar & liz !

[delilahcconnelly]

ツ (for whoever!)

[delilahcconnelly]

ツ ( silas )

@silassanford

[delilahcconnelly]

ツ for cindy!

[delilahcconnelly]

ツ (Mike)

(lilah’s fake secret burner account - not actually a thing just for the lols)

(real lilah twitter) 

[roleplayerpositivity-blog]

Send me a ツ to see a tweet my muse would post/make about yours

You can use this generator right here.

[delilahcconnelly]

Not only had Michael Connelly told his daughter about the news at the last minute, he had the audacity to seek her out at the party.  For appearances, of course, both co-chairs of the RNC standing what looked like unified on this announcement and pleased about how the news had spread.  He couldn’t wait to hear how the President might react, predicting they were off scheming somewhere.  No worries, he’d persist nevertheless and keep their party visible.  Sometimes the bold things worked better, and he hoped as much for this.

Drink in hand, he’d not yet changed into the shorts so he was looming there in a suit that would be sweaty looking by now if he hadn’t been able to afford the expensive material.  He gave one of those white smiles without the teeth and waved his phone that had the little news notification popup still on the front screen.  Plus a text from Charlotte that said ‘where r u?’ 27m ago.

“It’s everywhere by now,” he mused, and then nodded at the other men near them.  It didn’t matter much to him who they were or if they listened into the conversation.  “Having a nice time at the party?”

Rage, in all of its delicious and familiar pain, bubbled up in her stomach at the sound of her father’s voice. It was him - all of this shit, the falsity and peacocking with a subpar candidate, overplaying their hand and overspending their war chest - it all came from Michael fucking Connelly. Delilah, in moments of clarity, could see where she took after him in this, the self-centered drive, a ruthlessness based on ego. And in her, she saw it as a virtue, in her father it was merely another thing weaponized and deployed to hurt her. In a bit of childishness, Delilah had been avoiding him throughout the event. She quite literally did not have the patience for his gloating, yet here he was. 

“Yes, push notifications work like that.” He would ignore or miss the biting sarcasm in her tone. Delilah felt her anger swell. He never listened to her, not when she brought up her concerns, and they were in the middle of a crowd full of mostly the enemy. Fuck it. He was drinking, Lilah had stayed just on the edge of sobriety all night. So. Fuck it. 

“Daddy,” she hissed almost, pulling on his arm and dragging him away from the group. “I don’t like this. I told you I didn’t like it. They will say we are making this event or holiday all about us. It doesn’t look good on the party or on the candidate. We should have announced at the convention.” 

[delilahcconnelly]

He isn’t planning on talking to Delilah (or any Republican who must be feeling particularly smug tonight, quite frankly) until she asks him something truly absurd. “No, actually,” he replies. “What news?” He gives her a sardonic grin before taking a few sips of his drink. It’s just apple juice, but he likes the illusion that it could be any number of dark cocktails that Felix is drinking without an ounce of a hit to his tolerance. It’s about building an image.

“You already knew, I assume,” he says as he regards Delilah again. He knows her position in the Republican Party, obviously, but he wouldn’t be surprised if her knowledge actually stemmed largely from who her father is - there is something to be said about blood and water. He considers Delilah for a moment, young and female as she is (certainly not the paradigm for a co-chair of the GOP), before continuing. “It’s not the choice you would have made, is it? Sanford for VP,” he says. A bit of a bold inquiry, maybe, but sometimes you have to ask for what you want.

He has the air of a man who thinks he controlled the world. Which, if Delilah were ranking men, would be among the most irritating. Berkeley’s Communications Director, one Felix Oliveira, in all his dissatisfied, self-righteous bullshit ego, standing before her pretending he hadn’t known before they even announced it. Sometimes she wished she could just cut through all of the shit, tell him exactly what she thought and hear the same from him. But she was the nice girl, the pretty perfect southern lady. And he played the inverse role - but they both pretended to have less influence and control than they actually did. So maybe, Delilah took another sip of her wine, this could be something close to fun. 

“Of course,” she nodded, biting her tongue and the sting that came from a reminder that she’d only learned a few days before. And then the question, startling in its bluntness and honestly. She considered for just a moment, a tiny flash of weakness, telling the truth. But she couldn’t do that, not today. “Well, I am not sure how things are run on your side of the aisle, but we generally trust the candidate to make their own choice for running mate. So, no, I did not choose the Senator, Admiral Bell did, as is his right.” 

[cynthiabell-deactivated20200512]

{ @delilahcconnelly }

“Delilah!” So, maybe the sunglasses and sunhat combination was a smidge too much. But the restaurant is outdoors, the summer sun is bright, her skin is prone to burning, and, well, she’s not exactly looking tobe recognized. Except by her incoming company, of course, and Delilah’s quick enough to catch sight of her. No need to yell again, so Cindy would like to think she’s safe. She’s quick to greet the other woman with a hug, affectionate as always. “I only ordered water for now – didn’t want to assume.” Once settled back into her seat, the older woman gives a gentle smile. “Can’t believe I barely even caught catch a glimpse of you at the convention. Well, guess I can, considerin’. The craziness of all of it–” No, no. “I mean, I had a great time, I really did. And everyone’s so overjoyed with how it went.” There, that’ll do. Taking a drink of water to bide her time, she tries again. “Anyhow, I sure am glad to see you now. How’ve you been, besides busy?”

[delilahcconnelly]

Delilah looked at Cindy and saw the woman she might have become if things had not gone so wrong. Happily (?) married southern lady, three children, her own career on the back burner for her husband’s. When she considered this alternate Delilah, she didn’t seem as sad as the woman waving at her from under a giant hat and sunglasses. She would have to learn to be seen, although if things went the way they wanted it to, Cindy would long for these anonymous moments. She returned the hug, a soft pleasant smile on her face, ever the perfect daughter. 

“It’s late afternoon, we can have a glass of wine.” Delilah gave her that smile that only came between two white women being ‘naughty’ by day drinking, then waved the server over for a bottle of her favorite rosé. “Oh, those things are always so busy, everyone runnin’ everywhere. And I hope you enjoyed the Fourth, despite the company I thought it was a very eventful evening overall, wouldn’t you say?”