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@francoisekhoo
ask me anything: 10 years in the past au edition
questions about any topic or facet of my character in 2009 - their outlook on current events, what they’ve been up to, their ideas about the future, their feelings on jobs, relationships, or anything else!
slip 2009 + any topic or question into my inbox!
NAME: Françoise Khoo.
AGE IN AU: Forty-seven.
OCCUPATION: Ambassador of France to the United Nations.
MARITAL STATUS: Single.
LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: The (then) official residence of the French Ambassador to the UN, an eighteen room duplex at 740 Park Ave.
THE YEAR IS 2009. WHAT WAS YOUR CHARACTER LIKE BACK THEN?
In 2009, Françoise is at the tail end of her tenure at the UN, and in the coming months will be appointed Ambassador to Beijing.
Her older child is in college, but her younger daughter Céline is still at home, currently attending the United Nations International School. Françoise is bracing for becoming an empty nester, and feels pretty bittersweet about it.
(TW: death, car accidents, cancer) She’s been dealing with two bereavements. The first was her father Frédéric, who died of cancer in mid 2008. The second was her partner Clémence Le Lann, killed in a car accident in November 2009. The two of them had been together (non-monogamously, and primarily residing in different countries) for over a decade and Françoise thought of her as the great love of her life.
Otherwise, Françoise — always consistent — is more or less the same as she is in 2019. She’s in DC for an event, probably work related.
annekane:
She smiled, settling into her seat across the table. “Don’t worry, the traffic is always terrible in the city these days. I’m just happy you could make it,” she’d missed her favorite ambassador during the years they’d practically been a whole world apart. The winery seemed like a perfect opportunity to catch up. “Yeah, only a few times. I tried the Pinot Gris once and liked it. What do you think?” A suggestions from the drys she could remember before picking up the menu. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about your traveling. Mine’s been a little boring, but I guess you could say I had, ah, a few big career changes instead.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” Françoise replied warmly, taking her seat. Since coming back to DC, she’d enjoyed the chance to catch up with people she hadn’t seen for years. “A Pinot Gris does sound nice.” Given a menu by the waiter, she began to peruse it. “Or the Viognier, maybe. I hear good things about Virginia Viognier.” She set down her menu and chuckled. “Director of National Intelligence, the opposite of boring, I’m sure. How does it compare to being a Senator?”
leonsolis·:
Leon handed over the red bear, still grinningat the way the good Ambassador had said, Lukewarm.
“Lucky for us then that this is business,not personal,” he told Françoise. Palming the lemon bear into his mouth, he pointedat the screen focused on the gallery entrance. Steve, hunched over thekeyboard, was more interested in his Sudoku anyway.
“I’ve always been a fan of your work, MissKhoo,” said Leon. “It’s a shame that the UN tapped Scott Kelly to be the Championof Space, a title I hope the bastard is enjoying. But consider this my offering of how you and I couldwork together. My sources tell me that somebody at the Embassy is leaking secretsacross the border. And also that they have a soft spot for Haitian art. Ratsmake great pets, I hear, but it depends on how attached you are this one,right?”
“Likewise.” Leon Solis was an interesting figure. A square-jawed astronaut, seemingly constructed by focus group to appeal to the American public, and yet (or perhaps and so), he had lost the presidency. He was a good man to know. “And do call me Françoise.” She smiled.
"Marillier or Martin?” She asked. Françoise had had an inkling, but nothing solid enough to act on, content to use more patient methods to root out the leak. “Oh, I’m not the ideal pet owner.” She turned from the Senator to the monitors. “But they can be quite useful. Scientifically.”
“How strongly do you feel about wire-tapping?”
It was with perfect seriousness that Leon regarded Françoise. The circumstances lended well to seriousness, too. You didn’t just sit in an unmarked grey van, squeezed in the back in between an private security consultant and mountains of surveillance equipment, and talk about the weather. Crystal-sharp images of the Mon Cheri Gallery flickered from one screen to another on the bank of computers.
Stuffed into a corner where he couldn’t accidentally trip and short-circuit something, Leon reached into his pocket for the tissue-wrapped handful of gummy bears. “Strawberry or lemon?” he asked in afterthought, offering it to the Ambassador. @francoisekhoo
“Politically? Quite. As a pass time? Lukewarm.” This wasn’t quite how she had interpreted an invitation to see the Mon Cheri Gallery. But if Françoise was discomfited by the...unconventional choice of meeting place, she didn’t show it. A pleasantly neutral expression in the face of absurdities was one of a diplomat’s great weapons. Besides time in Russia, meeting with oligarchs and their eccentricities on a regular basis, meant she had crammed into far more dubious positions. Leon Solis and his surveillance van were no match for Konstantin Arkadyevich Meshcheryakov and his private amusement park. (Thank god. She had had nightmares about the drop tower.)
She regarded the sweets presented to her in crumpled tissue paper. “Strawberry, please.” That was somewhat less likely to taste of dish soap, wasn’t it? “You do know how to show a woman a good time, Senator.” Françoise remarked, dryly.
“Hey,” Nick called across the bar in an effort to get the attention of the figure sat closest to him.
Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps loneliness, but with his beer running out, Nick had decided to order a new drink – something different entirely – and with no knowledge of spirits and no companion to ask for advice, it seemed a better bet to ask than take a punt. Perhaps if they turned out to be interesting or rich then he could get something else out of it too.
“You got any idea of what the best whisky they serve here is? Don’t have a fucking clue what’s supposed to be good on this menu.”
Françoise glanced up when she was addressed. “Well,” she considered the question, tilting a menu in the man’s direction. “This is what I’m drinking.” And as in all things, she was picky about her liquor. “That’s not a bad choice if you’re feeling extravagant, although I don’t think it quite earns its price,” she gestured with a manicured finger. “And this one’s better.”
notalexanderward·:
“No, but I bet you get to go to nicer parties than me,” he said with an easy grin. He took a sip from the coffee cup, listening to her talk. He can’t help but feel pleased that she’d become fond of his city. His city, yes, even after all this time. Even if he supposed that he couldn’t imagine what it had now become, after all those decades. “No, never.” After so many times telling it, the lie was completely convincing. “But I’ve heard so much about it. And what Churchill said always resonates with me: Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” And perhaps the words so aptly describe him as well. “What will you miss about it?”
“That’s quite true, in my experience,” agreed Françoise with a nod. It was an interesting assignment, for an ambassador. She had grown more fond of the city as a visitor than as a diplomat. “The people above all, I think. That’s what makes all the difference in a place, to me. I admire the...spirit, if you will, of the Russian people. And I’ve made many friends I treasure.” And many exceedingly useful connections. “The winters were a bit much for me, but the city is especially lively in the summertime.”
D.C. was busy - far busier than life had been in Lewiston or Augusta. Nathan hadn’t tapped into the city’s rhythm yet, and he still felt like an outsider whenever he tried to go out or talk to anyone outside of his work sphere. That wasn’t going to stop him from trying, though, and he’d invited everyone in his office to drinks after work at a place reviewed highly on yelp. What could go wrong? It had seemed perfect. But then again, it was hard to escape Murphy’s Law, and it was only when he re-examined the email he’d sent that he realized that one keystroke had turned his invitation from “all” to “qll”.
“Aw, damn,” he groaned, leaning forward over the bartop in defeat. “I can’t believe…ugh.” He squinted, scowled, and drained the rest of his drink. At least that explained why no one had shown up, right?
The bartender looked vaguely concerned and stopped over.
“Oh, yeah, I’d uh really, really like another one right now. Just keep ‘em coming.” Then, to the person next to him. “Hey, do you need a refill? It’s on me, I promise.”
Françoise wasn’t usually one for bars, seldom patronizing them and even then only when invited. Unfortunately, her would-be companion for the evening — a member of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs — had been waylaid by urgent matters in his home district, and she found herself debating whether to stay or leave when the man next to her spoke.
She turned to face him. “That’s very kind, thank you.” With a warm smile, she accepted his offer, mentally appraising him. Not a mover or shaker, most likely — the combination of his defeated demeanor and age made that much clear. He could be almost anyone. “Bad day?” She inquired sympathetically, inclining her head towards his empty glass.
🍎🍎🍎
notalexanderward:
“Coffee, please,” he said, though the mention of Russia made him itch for vodka, but it was a little early in the day to be drinking, and he doesn’t want to come off as unprofessional in any way. “I envy you. I don’t get much out of DC these days,” he replied back with a smile. He’s more or less got an office job now. A light laugh followed. “God, has it been that long?” But the truth was that he felt every one of those years; body and soul. “Bien,” he said effortlessly, as how else can one go over thirty years in a single sentence? “Managed to even snag a promotion or two,” he continued with a wry chuckle. “C’mon,” he urged gently, “you have to tell me how Moscow was.” He wanted so very much to know.
"Of course.” Her assistant promptly brought them their coffee, and Françoise took a sip as Alexander spoke. “Oh, but I imagine you’re not lacking in variety at the Directorate of Analysis.” She said, with a smile. Both of them had spent the past almost-three decades steadily advancing in their chosen professions. “ I’ve spent more than half my life now as a diplomat — some places make more of an impact than others. Moscow is a city that grew on me, more than I realized until I was preparing to leave. Have you been?”
SLYTHERIN.
Those cunning folks use any means To achieve their ends.
Slytherins tend to be ambitious, shrewd, cunning, strong leaders, and achievement-oriented. They also have highly developed senses of self-preservation. This means that Slytherins tend to hesitate before acting, so as to weigh all possible outcomes before deciding exactly what should be done. The qualities which Salazar valued in the students he had chosen included cleverness, resourcefulness, and determination. Slytherins tend to take charge and possess strong leadership skills. Slytherins are often self-assured and confident of their own competence and can be very loyal.
Françoise is extremely a Slytherin, in essentially every aspect: everything from her personality to her motivations to the way she operates.
The Favourite (2018) dir. Yorgos Lanthimos
There was something rabidly personal gnawing at Celeste as her gaze scanned over the comments section of the POTUS’ most recent Instagram photoset. The occasional bout of vitriol popped up underneath the photos, a carefully curated collection that featured the Berkeleys standing with as diverse a group of journalists, government officials, and businesspersons as Celeste could manage to wrangle together, given that the function now winding down was a meager $15,000 a plate. It wasn’t personal, of course, not for the President and First Lady. From Celeste’s vantage point, the phrase ‘water off a duck’s back’ seemed to belong to the Berkeleys more than anyone else in Washington — but that was a quality she’d never learned, instead choosing to fight with fire even when met with gasoline.
Slowly but surely, Washington was schooling her in the art of patience, with this new job providing constant excersises in restraint. But now, it was a distraction she was in need of. As the MC concluded his remarks, she hunched over an unattended bar cart in the corner of the generously-sized banquet hall, and worked furiously on a mixture she was never quite satisfied with. Brows furrowed, then softened, and tensed once more as the big band played in the background, a soothing complement as her mind bandied ingredients about after each new taste test.
“Try this for me?” Celeste asked pleasantly, holding out the generously-filled glass. “With an ounce of imagination, it should taste something like a Commonwealth.”
Attending events like the one Françoise sat in at present was simply a fact of life for a senior diplomat. They tended to be deeply boring (and she was a woman who liked a good party, or rather knew to how to make use of one) and required nothing of her other than her precious time and some pleasantries. And thirty years into her career, the latter was essentially a reflex. An observer might look at her and think she was interested in whatever rote inanities the speaker was spouting. In reality, Françoise was using the time to go over her schedule for the next week, mentally shuffling through meetings and plotting how to squeeze the most benefit out of each one.
Her daughter, it seemed, was also thinking of work — in her peripheral vision, she caught glimpses of the President and First lady as Celeste scrolled through the presidential Instagram, only to stop and lean out of Françoise’s eye-line, mixing together some concoction.
“The concept? Or one in particular?” She inquired, taking the proffered glass and taking a sip. “That’s quite good. Stronger than I thought.”
Michelle Yeoh as Eleanor Young in Crazy Rich Asians (2018) dir. Jon M. Chu
notalexanderward:
Given his position, he tended to rub elbows with a lot of diplomats. He’s a useful friend for official and unofficial business. His own contact list was a mile long and spanned the globe. Friends in high places and low places. Most of which he hasn’t seen in person in ages. She’s someone who he felt that he hadn’t seen in a lifetime. The smile on his lips was sincere and nostalgic. “Sure, I’d love something,” he replied, sitting down as he watched her. His first instinct is to ask her about Moscow. He wanted so desperately to know. “You’ll have to tell me all about your travel,” he said, settling on that vaguer phrasing. “And I entirely agree. I hope to see the relationship between our two nations continue to prosper. But… enough about that. How have you been?” He asked with a grin.
Relationships were everything in her line of work, and the Head of the CIA’s Directorate of Analysis was a very good man to know.. “Of course, What would you like? Tea, coffee, something a little bit stronger?” Françoise offered, with a smile. “The life of a career diplomat, almost entirely travel.” But that suited her. “I’ve been very well. Quite the three decades for both of us, hmm?” When they had met she had been a new diplomat, newly promoted during her first posting. Her own children were now around the age she had been at the time. “It’s nice to be back in DC. How have you been?”
gvcoleman:
“Yes, Ambassador. President Berkeley is inclined to agree, as you know.” Gabrielle was finally getting used to President Berkeley as a phrase. That seemed to be a sign of progress, if nothing else. She took a seat in the woman’s office, her return of the appreciation just as warm as it could be. “I wanted to extend my personal thanks, first - for your sympathies to the White House staff on President Wright’s passing.” Shifting in her seat, she folded her hands. “It’s been a difficult transition for everyone, but we’re glad to have friendships like these staying strong.” She paused a moment. “You’re settling in well, I hope?”
“Of course,” Françoise replied, warmly. “The loss of President Wright was a great loss for the world, but I’m sure above all who knew and worked closely with her.” Attending the funeral and conveying France’s official condolences had been amongst her first duties as ambassador. “I have been, thank you. It’s been around twenty-five years since I was last here, it’s fascinating to see what changed and what stayed the same in all that time.”
THE PRODUCER.
Process is power.
The Producer is the quintessential “doer” of all the creative types. People-oriented, analytical, pragmatic, and dynamic, they have a highly creative nature that’s balanced by a grounded realism and “get it done” attitude. In their eyes, an idea has real value only when it’s turned into something that others can enjoy and benefit from.
Highly goal-oriented and results-driven, they pursue their desired outcomes with a laser-like focus. They derive great pride and satisfaction from their ability to implement ideas, and you find joy in the process of creation with all its ups and downs. A natural organizer with an ability to motivate and inspire others, they gravitate to collaborative and leadership roles. They know how to make everything, and everyone, work together to see a project through to the end.
Along with their intellectual prowess and strong work ethic, their greatest strength is their ability to keep a cool head and single-pointed focus as they work through any and all challenges that arise during the creative process.
Françoise fits this type to a tee. With her curiosity and love of learning (both things which have served her well as a diplomat), she also has shades of the Thinker.
