meagan. with two a's.

wife. mother. strong woman. thankful every day that is life is good. Founder of MPC (Mothers Protecting Children) is it so hard to have values?

[bethwclker]

she takes the business card, turning it over in her hand reading both sides. mpc didn't exactly have a ring to it, and she doubted that had she read the groups manifesto she would be thrilled with what she found. it was always in the word mothers that danger seemed to lie, the narrow-minded trying to keep their children the same. the slogan was enough for her to want to wave off the whole protest.

but she weighed her last conversation with asher, the tally of insults counted to see who had won. "no, i would never work with him." truthful, although her tone is still cautious. explosions always had a radius, and she would not get caught in one now. not now, when she was in pre-production. "what's he done this time?"

[meaganfinley]

"You clearly haven't heard." Because if she had, she would never dare ask a question with an obvious answer. "What has he done.. What hasn't he," she scoffs, sour look spoiling her face, before giving her a look of pure education. "Right now that Asher Welles is working on a movie that's only aim is to push his own disgusting agenda onto the rest of us, and has the audacity to play ignorant when faced with the criticism that our children will be exposed to it."

Her eyes trailed over to check on the security guard, still seeing no serious action from him from behind his windowed booth. It's well within her right to give him a reminder that he's wasting her time, and she takes it, an expression thrown that tells him he has exactly five minutes before she slips beneath this gate altogether.

"The name of the movie is Tar," she returns to the girl finally. Poor thing, she's probably still in the dark. "It's outrageous that he and the rest of the Asher Welles in the world chose to give the main role to a woman, only to make her into everything a woman isn't. We have rights."

[bethwclker]

normally, creating a public disturbance was more than welcome. it was a tool, used to draw attention to a problem. she could appreciate any number of groups that stood outside of prometheus productions and reminded them of the real harm they do. she would avoid it at all costs, if it weren’t for the meeting they insisted on having to finalize her script, she would be at a coffee shop. 

but that name catches her in her tracks, before she can flash the id and slip in, “sorry— how do you know asher welles?”

[meaganfinley]

The guard watches Meagan before her hand waves, swatting him back to go do his research as he was instructed to do so, sending him right back to his post to pick up the phone. Good. He must be calling for his manager to help him do his job. He better hurry; this heat is enough pain and suffering alone to deserve compensation. If she has a heatstroke, it will be just the beginning of them hearing the name Meagan Finley.

From the brim of her sunhat, though, she catches sight of someone else, seeing her before hearing her. "I'm sorry too that I know him," she addresses first before she pulls around the Coach purse hanging off of her shoulder. "This is how." A card is handed over. Mothers Protecting Children. Facebook group and aol email listed on the back. Their motto is 'life begins with mothers.'

"I'm the founder and president," she states with belonging before she makes her assumptions. "Have you worked with him for a long time? Because he'll be looking for another job soon when I'm done here."

[meaganfinley]

"You will let me in." Meagan has been at this for nearly half an hour since she arrived outside the Prometheus Productions' gates. "I have a right to be here, and if you use the term 'private property' one more time when speaking to me, I will be forced to call the proper authorities to educate you that where I am standing is precisely on the line of public property, and you can pull up the tax assessor's website to prove it. As a taxpayer, I'll wait! Stopping the latest poison from Asher Welles will be worth it."

[safiyedurmaz]

where: some bougie ass lunch place when: midafternoon who: @meaganfinley

"Meagan! Oh, it's been too long, much too long. I'm so glad we were both finally free at the same time for once"

[meaganfinley]

"For once," she emphasizes as she takes her seat, smile of courtesy exchanged. There's at least an hour remaining between them. The countdown begins. "Although, from the way I've heard how both of our schedules have been, I can't possibly be surprised it's taken as long as it has.--I'll have to have a chat with Luis to try to lessen the pressure I'm sure he's placed on your shoulders lately. It’s simply unhealthy."

[mayor-espino]

“It’s not that I don’t like Wellington beef, but surely there are better ways to cook meat, right?” Or maybe he was about to be uncovered as the impostor. Luis liked to cook, but that was something that he owed solely to his mother and his sister. They’d always include him in their kitchen shenanigans and he happily participated each time, if only because it earned him the right to try ingredients as they cooked them.

[meaganfinley]

Meagan peers over the menu at the mayor, a look in her eyes that can only show how her mind has focused on a completely different direction than what recipe is taken, but what is in the recipe itself. "Given how many antibiotics are injected into cattle these days, I can't say the way they cook it matters much at all anymore," she advises before her eyes sweep back down through the items, closing it a moment later. "I haven't seen a single mention of where they source any of their meats, actually. I doubt any of these waiters will be knowledgeable enough to give an honest answer, too."

[camilo-whitely]

meaganfinley​:

Has she won? She’s never known. He shouldn’t even be competition. For a variety of reasons, he shouldn’t even exist in her bubble, yet he does, and she’s been tasked with making peace with that over the years. He was the brother she was never meant to have, introduced to her when childhood blurred into adolescence, around the same time when she could be old enough to understand he wasn’t real family but too young to realize why. One thing for certain, it wasn’t her father’s fault. Their father. She was still his princess, and that would never be taken away from her. Never.

It feels as though the drive to the church distances herself not just from her home but of her own life. She thought she’d come to terms with his existence. She has, and by being a priest, he must be trying to atone for sins that were not meant for him to carry, only be born into. The refusal to ever speak about his mother should help, as it must have always done so in the past.

“Oh, don’t speak of such terrible thoughts,” she tells him as she leans forward, places her hands on his shoulders for something akin to a hug, but there’s that distance that separates them. It’s polite. She leans back before looking over the church, the towering thing much more than either one of them as she allows to be swallowed up by it, following right behind him.

“They have every right to be worried,” she goes on as her gloves are taken off one-by-one. “Aren’t you? At any moment, there could be one of those fanatics bursting in, and you aren’t even allowed to lock the doors to them for your own protection, I’m sure.”

.

The hug she gives him is awkward and tense and he’s glad she’s never been the overly affectionate type. They’ve learnt to be civil — just enough so that family gatherings or holiday dinners don’t end in disaster — but it’s out of necessity entirely. Camilo’s trying his best to make the amends he promised Zavi he would, while Meagan seems to have her own reasonings. Barely three beats pass before she pulls away and he can breathe again.

“People don’t care as much about either of us you might think,” Camilo offers quietly, leading the way across the threshold and into the church. She’s inherited that egoistical streak from their father. “So no, I’m not worried. We’ve never had problems before.” Stopping at the frontmost pew, he eventually gestures for her to take a seat.

“Tea? Coffee?”

[meaganfinley]

"It only takes one incident, and then it's much too late," she warns him. Maybe he's hopeless, or maybe she's faithless. She respects religion, even believes she practices, but in a similar way a student practices piano: to appease the one paying for the lessons.

She looks at the spot he's opened up to her, her hand clutching the gloves she's just taken off, dangling in body and spirit. "Tea would be wonderful," she eventually answers, gradually lowering herself to the edge of the pew, "as long as it's decaffeinated and the water is filtered."

Eyes begin to wander around the church, returning several times to the crucifixion. Always bloodier than she's felt personally comfortable with, but she doesn't voice it. It's a testament of sacrifice. It's meant to make someone feel that way, isn't it? And yet she can't help but eye it as if it will come alive at any moment.

"Well," she begins, steering her thoughts away, "I assume all of this won't keep you from daddy's birthday retreat? You should have received your invite by now. If you need help with a present, given your... arrangements, I can see what I can do on short notice."

[isabellamorales]

meaganfinley​:

“I’m ridiculous?” Meagan’s palm flattened against her chest, eyes wide with shock, appalled by the audacity. She may not have known Spanish, but she could understand some words. It only stood to reason that she was threatening her in the moment. “I’ll have you know that this attitude of yours is not welcome, and it is not doing you any favors.” How dare this unprovoked woman suddenly become provoked! Meagan kept her stake firmly atop the higher ground, planting a flag there and calling it her own.

“As if I would know who your husband is, if you have one.” She always doubted it. It was hard to trust con-artists and their slippery words. “Though,” she went on, playing to her make-believe point, “it would be suspicious for you not to. What reason would you have not to take on the last name of the man you supposedly love? What commitment is that?”

.

“Sí,” She responded, one eyebrow raised. “Just a bit, at least - or rather, your attitude makes it appear that way. I understand that initial or semi-initial impressions can be inaccurate, though, so forgive me if I’ve somehow miscalculated your personality.” She very much doubted that she had, but from all that Thomas had told her about Meagan, she also knew that she had to tread carefully, because the last thing she wanted was to have some sort of guards called on her. “I am sorry it is not doing me any favors, but I also do not appreciate being accused of stealing identities just out of the blue. Feels more than a bit awful.” 

“I do have one.” Isabella made a face. “Why is it suspicious? I’m a doctor, and I’ve earned the title on my own, not with my husband’s last name. It’s quite a commitment I have to him, being that I’ve been with him for ten years, and he’s the only person I’ve ever really been with, other than a brief time of dating someone in secondary school.”

[meaganfinley]

Forgive her? Even if sincerity was on her side, Meagan would still have her eyes gloss over her, nitpicking the details, casting the very judgment the other was asking a pardon from. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean? What calculation have you come up with, and based off of what?" As if they hadn't met before, demonstrating enough data to be tallied up and spat back out with a bottom line figure. "You know, the media vilifies anyone who doesn't kowtow to their full ideology by any means necessary. God forbid there might be free speech. So, I wouldn't rely on their input before you cite them." But criminals like her wouldn't understand that.

If she was a doctor, Meagan considered the possibility for a moment, as if by looking at her she could tell. Something about the way she declared it strummed a nerve deep inside. What did it feel like to be accomplished on your own merits, so much so that you didn't need the association of a husband to lean on? Her lips pursed momentarily, the veneer of red lipstain looking like a thin line against her face before they drew back their full shape. "Ten years?" She took a beat. "And there are no children...?"

[meaganfinley]

camilo-whitely​:

who: @meaganfinley​ where: st. alban’s church

Camilo’s long given up trying to compete with Meagan. It’s a fruitless endeavour in the game that is trying to impress their father, and the odds have always been stacked in her favour. Son of the mistress cast aside, who is he to even try to measure up to the Whitely princess, the girl who can do no wrong? As a teenager it’d cost him many a sleepless night and eventually his sobriety. As an adult, haunted by mistakes and regrets that’ll never wash away, Camilo’s done his best to make his peace with it.

Shoulder resting against the wooden doorframe of his church, he exhales a lungful of smoke. On the street below, Meagan’s security detail is scuttling about, each man taking his position while the driver reaches down to open the car door. It’s ridiculous and overplayed and he hates that it still makes him jealous to see her success.

“I didn’t realise you’d married into the royal family,” thus, is the best he can muster when Meagan reaches him, cigarette discarded and smile strained. “Are they worried someone’s going to take you out right here and now? I guess you better come inside before the snipers find you.”

Has she won? She's never known. He shouldn't even be competition. For a variety of reasons, he shouldn't even exist in her bubble, yet he does, and she's been tasked with making peace with that over the years. He was the brother she was never meant to have, introduced to her when childhood blurred into adolescence, around the same time when she could be old enough to understand he wasn't real family but too young to realize why. One thing for certain, it wasn't her father's fault. Their father. She was still his princess, and that would never be taken away from her. Never.

It feels as though the drive to the church distances herself not just from her home but of her own life. She thought she'd come to terms with his existence. She has, and by being a priest, he must be trying to atone for sins that were not meant for him to carry, only be born into. The refusal to ever speak about his mother should help, as it must have always done so in the past.

"Oh, don't speak of such terrible thoughts," she tells him as she leans forward, places her hands on his shoulders for something akin to a hug, but there's that distance that separates them. It's polite. She leans back before looking over the church, the towering thing much more than either one of them as she allows to be swallowed up by it, following right behind him.

"They have every right to be worried," she goes on as her gloves are taken off one-by-one. "Aren't you? At any moment, there could be one of those fanatics bursting in, and you aren't even allowed to lock the doors to them for your own protection, I'm sure."

[meaganfinley]

thomas-reyes​:

“Oh, there have been studies.” Ah, he knows it’s a bad habit, and his wife doesn’t like it either, but that was an habit older than their relationship, picked up in high school and too old and stubborn to leave just like that. He knew of the studies, he just didn’t read them. “You shouldn’t say shit like that,” he commented, blowing off smoke and taking a look at the burning tip of that cancer stick. “Every time you open your mouth, it feels like you want the exact opposite to happen,” with his analysis (which could use some arguments), Thomas sets his eyes on the UK’s first lady. He’d always thought she was pretty enough, for a stuck up wasp Tory, but if he used to believe she was following a script (his younger self somehow was optimistic enough to believe that no one could be this stubbornly set in their stupid ways), he came to realize she was never straying from it, which must have meant that she either believed it, either that she fell down too far into the rabbit hole to climb out. Of course, he was having a lot of fun shining a light down the pit. “You’re stuck with your sad excuse of a husband and you crave to be touched,” he went on.

Taking a short drag, he scoffed. “Alright, pumpkin, alright.” Oh he was having too much fun. “Sorry.” In his faux-apology, Thomas’ nose scrunched up, but his smug air didn’t go away.

“Mmmh?” He looked at her, furrowed eyebrows questioning whether he heard her well. If he remained unsure, what she said next managed to somewhat confirm his doubts. “You must think I’m obsessed with you,” he guffawed. His laughter quieting down, Thomas smiled at her, with something resembling kindness. “I know you like the attention. Like I said, you don’t get much of it from him. It excites you,” he was pushing his luck and he knew it.

She scoffed. It's the easiest way to describe the feeling of air being kicked out of your body. "Your language is something you shouldn't say. To anyone." But especially Meagan. It could just as easily be his foul choice of words causing the smoke, rather than carcinogenics he seems so adamant to spew into the environment. "Has it occurred to you that perhaps you're just a particularly /poor/ listener? Your wife..." At a loss for words. Momentarily. "How she's able to communicate with you at all must be a miracle."

Her foot took a step forward in the opposite direction, readying herself for her escape, just when he happened to drag August into the conversation. Their marriage was none of his business, not to mention the filthy implications he tacked onto it. "Let me make something absolutely clear to you," she wrung out from her throat, a finger poised and dangerously armed. "I'm not your anything, and whatever sick, twisted fantasy you've made up..." On second thought, she dug her hand through her purse, pulling out her iPhone, flash on, camera recording.

"This is the face of a sexual predator! This man just accosted me to tell me I was craving his touch. This is a public service warning to everyone currently in the Belgravia area.--Is there anything you would like to add for the record?"

[meaganfinley]

lrzadie​:

You know that feeling you get when you’re slouching and someone comes up behind you to prod your back, triggering the reflex that makes you sit up straight? Maybe they pinch your sides from behind to correct your posture without you noticing until they’ve already done it. That was how Zadie felt every time she was with Meagan. Sat at a two person table in the middle of Cecconi’s in Mayfair her fingers toyed with the edge of the white starched tablecloth under the table, looking across at the woman who somehow managed to install both a maternal energy while simultaneously making the girl feel entirely inadequate under her gaze. 

Her mother having passed when Zadie was in her early teens, such a pivotal time in a girls life, combined with the animosity she shared with her father had lead her to seek out a parental figure in someone outside her family. Thanks to her father being a close colleague of August’s it had lead the girl to his wife, who adopted her into her bubble easily, but it wasn’t without its drawbacks. Mainly the level of perfection she felt the need to maintain to gain her approval, something that seemingly remained constantly out of reach. Reaching out she picked up her Diet Coke, taking a sip before clearing her throat. “I got a call for a go see with Simone Rocha, for her new collection, she’s looking for a closing model for her show. To wear the statement piece.“ @meaganfinley

All Meagan ever wanted to do was help. She had founded an entire group for the very purpose of guiding lost souls on a more righteous path. No, she wasn't a religious-minded shepherd, merely a woman of moral character. Zadie had been known for awhile now, a work in progress, and she had been slipping down a dangerous road as of late. The articles that had been conjured up--though the source dubious at best--were still a matter of concern. Perception was not everything, but at a certain point, stories blurred into reality. Meagan was determined to nip the faults in the bud before they spiraled out beyond all hope.

Her eyes flickered down, catching the moving fingers of Zadie. Subtly, the woman's posture shifted, and even before her gaze could return to the girl directly, her thoughts were transparent. "Do you need to use your napkin? It's next to your...drink," she pointed out for her, a smile for encouragement before it naturally settled away, a lead in to what had already been started. "Did they mix up your drink order, by the way? The amount of chemicals they have in those things... It's the same as embalming fluid." Meagan's own choice was a cucumber water for the night, words passing by as she took a sip, only to be filled with Zadie's news. She continued to sip, then swallowed, nodded her head and smiled.

"Oh." It set the tone. "Well, it's not Chanel, but that's very.... different. She's the designer who's inspired by... straight jackets or something similar?"

[meaganfinley]

lrzadie​:

Why did Zadie feel like under Meagan’s eye she was being praised even more closely than usual- and that was coming from an international model who’s career relied heavily on instagram. The woman in front of her just had this look in her cool eyes that left the girl vying out for her attention, approval, and kind words. Like maybe that would fill the large void in her chest left by the absence of her own mother, right in the centre between her ribs. Everyday she felt like she was losing a bit of her memories of the woman which was scary, even if everyone told her how much she reminded them her, that didn’t make a difference. 

“No…” Zadie muttered as she mentioned the napkin, after all she hadn’t been toying with the tablecloth to clean her hands, more to keep them busy. Removing them deliberately she instead clasped them together in her lap, the effort with which she dug the nails of her left hand into her right palm sending sharp pains up her arm. It helped distract her from the intrusive thoughts going on in her mind at the older woman’s pointed comments. ”No, I ordered the Diet Coke, it’s got less calories in it than wine. If someone offered to embalm me in Diet Coke I’d probably take them up on it. Though I’m sweet enough already.” Flashing Meagan a smile as she rolled her eyes instinctively at the comment about her new go see. There was apparently no winning today. The comments weren’t directly rude but it was the undertone for Zadie. 

“No, it’s not Chanel this time. But they seemed pleased with the spread I did for them in Elle so…maybe I’ll get to work for them again.” The straight jackets, she wasn’t too far off the mark actually. “Wish someone would put me in a straight jacket…” the comment under her breath as she averted her gaze to look around the restaurant a little, rest-bite from the steely eye contact.  “You know what, you might be right about the diet coke. Maybe i’ll just order a vodka.”

Meagan had no daughter, but she had the experience of being one, perfectly curating the look passed down to her from her mother when a little girl does something questionable. Such an offense could be spawned from as small as a drink choice, even non-alcoholic. Call it tradition, an heirloom passed down from every X chromosome pair that's gone down the bloodline since the dawn of time. It rarely remains dormant, so often flaring in the face, especially the eyes when they widen for a moment in faux-surrender. Oh, yes, you know better, don't you? Live your choice and be cursed with it for eternity. Don't let me stop you from the same fate I entered into. Join me there and know what you did wrong. "As you wish...," she tells her as much before sipping her water, the tint of cucumber detoxing herself from the conversation.

Her head instead nods in contemplation to Zadie's career path, the path that she's clearly hopping from one brick to the next, not necessarily in a forward direction. "And you don't believe that adding this to your portfolio will give them..." Oh, how to phrase this delicately... "A second opinion of you?" She hears something, something breathy from the other end of the table, making her head tilt, questioning. It's as far as she gets before Zadie's newest wonder snatches her away from it, leaving it behind for another time.

"The more substantial brands love a fresh face," she started. If she truly wanted a second chance with Chanel... "I've seen how much a stronger drink takes its toll on your skin... It creates much more work to cover up than it's worth from what I'm sure you've already noticed. Not to mention that we should be protecting as much as possible while we still can, Zadie."

[doctorjuliasato]

You know that feeling you get when you’re slouching and someone comes up behind you to prod your back, triggering the reflex that makes you sit up straight? Maybe they pinch your sides from behind to correct your posture without you noticing until they’ve already done it. That was how Zadie felt every time she was with Meagan. Sat at a two person table in the middle of Cecconi's in Mayfair her fingers toyed with the edge of the white starched tablecloth under the table, looking across at the woman who somehow managed to install both a maternal energy while simultaneously making the girl feel entirely inadequate under her gaze. 

Her mother having passed when Zadie was in her early teens, such a pivotal time in a girls life, combined with the animosity she shared with her father had lead her to seek out a parental figure in someone outside her family. Thanks to her father being a close colleague of August’s it had lead the girl to his wife, who adopted her into her bubble easily, but it wasn’t without its drawbacks. Mainly the level of perfection she felt the need to maintain to gain her approval, something that seemingly remained constantly out of reach. Reaching out she picked up her Diet Coke, taking a sip before clearing her throat. “I got a call for a go see with Simone Rocha, for her new collection, she’s looking for a closing model for her show. To wear the statement piece." @meaganfinley

[meaganfinley]

lrzadie​:

You know that feeling you get when you’re slouching and someone comes up behind you to prod your back, triggering the reflex that makes you sit up straight? Maybe they pinch your sides from behind to correct your posture without you noticing until they’ve already done it. That was how Zadie felt every time she was with Meagan. Sat at a two person table in the middle of Cecconi’s in Mayfair her fingers toyed with the edge of the white starched tablecloth under the table, looking across at the woman who somehow managed to install both a maternal energy while simultaneously making the girl feel entirely inadequate under her gaze. 

Her mother having passed when Zadie was in her early teens, such a pivotal time in a girls life, combined with the animosity she shared with her father had lead her to seek out a parental figure in someone outside her family. Thanks to her father being a close colleague of August’s it had lead the girl to his wife, who adopted her into her bubble easily, but it wasn’t without its drawbacks. Mainly the level of perfection she felt the need to maintain to gain her approval, something that seemingly remained constantly out of reach. Reaching out she picked up her Diet Coke, taking a sip before clearing her throat. “I got a call for a go see with Simone Rocha, for her new collection, she’s looking for a closing model for her show. To wear the statement piece.“ @meaganfinley

All Meagan ever wanted to do was help. She had founded an entire group for the very purpose of guiding lost souls on a more righteous path. No, she wasn't a religious-minded shepherd, merely a woman of moral character. Zadie had been known for awhile now, a work in progress, and she had been slipping down a dangerous road as of late. The articles that had been conjured up--though the source dubious at best--were still a matter of concern. Perception was not everything, but at a certain point, stories blurred into reality. Meagan was determined to nip the faults in the bud before they spiraled out beyond all hope.

Her eyes flickered down, catching the moving fingers of Zadie. Subtly, the woman's posture shifted, and even before her gaze could return to the girl directly, her thoughts were transparent. "Do you need to use your napkin? It's next to your...drink," she pointed out for her, a smile for encouragement before it naturally settled away, a lead in to what had already been started. "Did they mix up your drink order, by the way? The amount of chemicals they have in those things... It's the same as embalming fluid." Meagan's own choice was a cucumber water for the night, words passing by as she took a sip, only to be filled with Zadie's news. She continued to sip, then swallowed, nodded her head and smiled.

"Oh." It set the tone. "Well, it's not Chanel, but that's very.... different. She's the designer who's inspired by... straight jackets or something similar?"

[meaganfinley]

robbiefletcher​:

All of these blazers are identical. Every time Meagan hands him something new to try on, Robbie feels like he’s being gaslit, because there’s no way she actually thinks these clothes are different from each other. Still, if letting her dress him up like a sloaney twat is what it takes to stay in her good books, he’ll do it, and have a good laugh about it later.

Shrugging out of the jacket he’s currently wearing, Robbie takes the one she’s holding out for him, slipping it on over the top of the crisp white shirt he’d been supplied with earlier that afternoon. “I dunno, Missus Finley, it’s a bit tight, innit?” He says, twisting to look at the way the fabric stretches across his shoulders. “How’re you s’posed to get anything done when you can’t lift your arms?”

"Tight?" she nearly questions the word's existence by the way her tone flits up, but it's not to him. Not to dear Robert. He's merely a boy acclimating from the trenches of poverty. "Is it cutting off your circulation? Can you feel your arms okay?--It could be a sign you’re taking in too much sodium, too," she warns before her hands reach up to his shoulders, brushing them off, giving a light squeeze as a test. It's Archie's first day of school all over again. Oh, she remembers how he acted when he was getting his uniform fitted. Darling boy was just as nervous! He had no choice but to get in his little defensive mode with a pair of scissors. Meagan has learned from then, determined to do better, a surrogate of a second chance right before her.

"It's f i n e," she assures as she moves to fix his collar next, tugging it into place where he had pulled it on wrong. "You aren't going to go out and be a laborer with this on, Robert. You wear this for when you meet very important people so you can make your best impression. It certainly won't be with that horrendous get-up you came in with.” If she had her way, there would be lighter fluid on it already. “Turn around and take a look at yourself. Go on."

[meaganfinley]

dcvth​:

Clearly he is donating too much money to her husband if Meagan Finley is to be found harassing his driver instead of pursing any sort of real career. Theodore looks up from his phone just in time to see the prime ministers wife’s pinched expression point precisely at the man behind the wheel of his car. 

“He’ll be leaving shortly Mrs. Finley, no need to bring out the teeth. You can save those for the reporters.” Theodore speaks up, as placating as can be as he steps between them to pull his forgotten scarf from the back seat. He pats the door closed and his driver peels away immediately as requested, leaving her precious spot empty once more. 

He turns towards her, all pleasantries. Which is… not much on Theo.

“I have half a mind though to linger and see who you consider to be more important than me.“ He says in a deadpan. "Is there an event tonight?” He’s usually good at keeping a pulse on these sorts of things, but circumstances being what they are has made Theo let a few things slip through the cracks - he’s fine with letting the ongoings of the Lighthouse Advocacy group be one of them.

She's never been a stranger to the Liddells, but it doesn't make her best friends with them either. God only knows she prefers Theo much more over another blond casino dweller. Besides, if there could be a good example for August to follow, it would be him rather than past examples. For that alone, Meagan has it in her to take it down a notch, even if the comment about her teeth tempts her to bare them.

"Well, if you're truly curious, you're always more than welcome to join," she invites. "We're having our quarterly meeting tonight. We'll be discussing our major contributions to London society, and where we still need to make a difference. I don't need to tell you that crime rarely sleeps. Luis should be filling your head with all that already." As he should. "You wouldn't believe just how many gang-related incidents we've been able to uncover, especially when it comes to narcotics flooding our streets. It's absolutely frightening."

[meaganfinley]

jack-seo​:

Somewhat meekly accepting Meagan’s lead, Jack follows her through the iron gates and into the garden proper. Rows and rows of plants stretch as far as the eye can see, meticulously trimmed and pruned to the point of obsessiveness. He’s only ever seen gardens like this in the tv programmes his mother loves to watch; in real life as on screen, the rich seem to have nothing better to do.

Jack almost knocks into Meagan as she stops abruptly, eyes following her finger to the ground. Whatever act of vandalism she’s talking about is near invisible. Aside from a small pile of dirt which, he figures, shouldn’t be there, there’s no sign of anything that might constitute a criminal offence — or warrant the presence of anyone but a gardener. Fingers itching for a cigarette, Jack refocuses his attention on an indignant Meagan.

“Mrs Finley, have you really called me out here because you think your neighbour broke into your property and dug this hole?” Trespassing’s the only potentially chargeable offence here, even it’s more likely that a local cat enjoyed a stroll through the garden before deciding to take a shit. “Do you have any proof of this? Security footage, an eyewitness?”

She scoffed! How dare he accuse her of wasting the time of law enforcement with such a trivial matter such as that. "No," she steams out slowly, a tone lower than her normal voice, dredged up from the depths of her lungs. "She not only vandalized my property but she kidnapped my prized rosemary. That rosemary bush was very special to me, and now it's gone because of her! She simply could not handle the loss, and clearly is on a path of escalation that needs to be put to a stop before someone else gets severely injured!"

Her arms crossed over her chest, the sour, bile-like taste traipsing over her tongue and showing on her face the more Jack talked. "I don't need an eye-witness when it's obvious who did this." A beat. "The security camera was also malfunctioning that night, which even further indicates her guilt. She must have found a way to disable it. Her son is a YouTuber, if that tells you anything."

[meaganfinley]

isabellamorales​:

The prime minister’s wife was not someone who Isabella particularly enjoyed running into. She knew Thomas got a great deal more amusement out of it, and she supported him fully (as she did in all of his many ventures), but there was something about talking with Meagan and her ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude that made Isabella tick - and she liked to think that she wasn’t always someone easily ticked off.

“Oh no,” Isabella made her eyes wider, false fear and concern crossing her face. “Have I been caught? Me, a medical resident, who has had to undergo strict background checks, is certainly behaving in an illegal manner.” She moved to the side to grab her latte. “You’ve seen me at different functions. Eres ridícula!” Isabella doubted very much that the woman in front of her spoke anything other than English - “is this just because I didn’t take my husband’s last name upon marrying him?”

"I'm ridiculous?" Meagan's palm flattened against her chest, eyes wide with shock, appalled by the audacity. She may not have known Spanish, but she could understand some words. It only stood to reason that she was threatening her in the moment. "I'll have you know that this attitude of yours is not welcome, and it is not doing you any favors." How dare this unprovoked woman suddenly become provoked! Meagan kept her stake firmly atop the higher ground, planting a flag there and calling it her own.

"As if I would know who your husband is, if you have one." She always doubted it. It was hard to trust con-artists and their slippery words. "Though," she went on, playing to her make-believe point, "it would be suspicious for you not to. What reason would you have not to take on the last name of the man you supposedly love? What commitment is that?"

[meaganfinley]

@isabellamorales​

There's something familiar about this woman. Meagan's hawk-like vision is trained on the occasional profile glance she's given of the person in front of her whilst she's in the queue. She's seen her somewhere and it's driving her insane. The only hint she's given is the feeling she gets in the pit of her stomach at the sight of her, something that twists up and feels wrong. It's only when she speaks do the pieces come together, triggering the first lady to step to the side, morally-bound to speak up.

"I see you." It's a call-out. A threat. Oh, she sees, all right! She sees the conwoman right in front of her! "Whose identity are you stealing now?"

[meaganfinley]

@dcvth​

Knock knock

Knock Knock

Meagan's knuckles were more persistent than the driver's willpower, forcing him to lower the window she had kept rapping against without sign of stopping. The moment the cool air slipped inside, her voice decided to join it, wrangling its way through like a wild snake.

"You can't park here," she informed with a smile, all-knowing, all-powerful, all-empty of both. "This space is reserved for a v e r y special guest of the Lighthouse Advocacy Group, which I personally know is not you, so I will need you to move this vehicle immediately."