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@rosromano2
Lobbying is about foresight. About anticipating your opponent’s moves and devising counter measures. The winner plots one step ahead of the opposition. And plays her trump card just after they play theirs. It’s about making sure you surprise them. And they don’t surprise you.
Miss Sloane (2016)
aacharlotteofyork:
charlotte raised her eyebrows playfully, chuckling. “are you a fan of clueless?,” she asked the stranger in front of her. she’s seen her around before, but never really got the chance to have a conversation with her. she seemed to be intimidating at first, but she guess she wasn’t really that at all. “it’s alright. i love the ones with bunch of hearts, and oh, the star memes of encouragement,” she smiled back. she looked at her drinks again, maybe she’s done the taste test a lot of times already. “i don’t– i don’t recall, i guess i got a bit too carried away.”
“mm, i haven’t seen clueless. but i have seen the brady bunch, which is where the ‘sure, jan’ meme comes from,” she said through a subtle smirk. curious, rosalie skimmed the brunette. had she come across her? typically, the rich mingled with the rich. she was fairly sure they had crossed paths at some point or another, but no introductions were made. “ah, the star memes are another favorite. especially when it just says ‘you tried.’” breathing a chuckle, her hand swept through red locks, pushing them back from her face. “well, careful. wouldn’t want the all mighty tabloids snapping a pic of you. i’m sure they’re scrounging around. mind if i join you?”
JESSICA CHASTAIN as Lucille Sharpe in Crimson Peak (2015, dir. Guillermo del Toro)
charlotte felt like using this five days off to relax, by going to this cruise ship party. of course she was invited, and she couldn’t decline. this party was just tempting for her, to loosen up for just a short time, to just not think of work, the pressure she’s been feeling, and also, her mess of a personal life right now. drinking different kinds of liquor was a bad idea, but she couldn’t ever care less, there’s raymond who can assist her back to her room whatever happens.
“i’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, turning to the person who’s put their hand on her shoulder. “i’m just…seeing which is the strongest drink.”
“sure, jan,” rosalie teased with a sweet laugh, the kind that trickled from her lips. sliding her hand away from the other woman’s shoulder, the redhead leaned against the counter and surveyed the mess of alcoholic drinks. whoever this stranger was, she’d regret the choice in the morning. “sorry,” she said with a pinch of her expression, “learning the latest memes. one of my clients likes to keep me up to date. i’m personally a fan of the kermit ones.” her smile was warm when she turned back to the brunette, “how many times exactly have you taste tested all of these? cause most of them aren’t just a sip or two in.”
I was the emperor and you owned the Sun, Invincible, I can’t believe what we’ve done Surely we must be more than love on the run Dancing in darkness to the sound of a drum Can’t help but wonder what you thought I would do Lay down and play dead boy you know that ain’t true So hooked on her voice/this song. And she’s Swedish.
sigcrdscns:
The chilly night air bit her skin, a droplet of sweat running down the back of her neck as Frida ran through the streets, barefoot and her jacket dangling from her arm. She had ditched her body-guard, enjoying the freedom and loneliness the act brought – but terrified of her parents getting ahold of her latest act of rebellion. The man knew by know he should wait for Frida back at the hotel in case she ran away from him, so after a night out enjoying what the city could offer her, Frida was in a rush to go back. She didn’t want to worry her body-guard – lest the man decides to contact her brother and parents. Although, her plans of catching a cab quickly were interrupted by another hand reaching for the door. Hearing her name falling from the woman’s lips made Frida flinch, pulling back her arm and frowning. "Pardon me, but do I know you?“ Tilting her head to the side, Frida studied the woman; the familiar eyes, the mouth, the hair — Oh. She gasped, blinking a few times as a blush started forming. ”Rosalie. Hi. I’m visiting my brother. What about you? — Do you need this cab too terribly? I can’t wait for another one.“
Apparently, their years spent apart had deemed her unmemorable on the brunette’s behalf. Not that Rosalie cared, or blamed her. Their brief fling in Norway was just that: a fun, short-lived embrace. Something to ease the loneliness at the time. “I’m a little offended you didn’t remember me straight away,” the older woman teased, roguish green eyes lit by the streetlamps as she shifted on her feet. “Here I thought I wasn’t that bad in bed.” Her face softened just a tad - something more akin to friendliness. “How about I fill you in in the cab? Because I do need this one. But I don’t mind sharing, as I’m sure you know.” Her lips curled at their corners as she opened the door and slipped into the vehicle, giving the brunette no choice but to accept the offer or walk. Lately, she had been lonely. Maybe she wanted Frida to follow her. “Are you coming or not?” The irony of her question was not lost on her, a warm chuckle sounding afterwards.
zellmcnns:
“i’m not a stranger to therapy.” melinda did have issues, had even opened up on some in her book. whenever she was in therapy, she did better in general; it was what had prompted her to write the book as a healing process but she had tainted that by having it published. why on earth couldn’t she just behave herself and do the right thing. melinda was occupied by herself but had trouble in distinguishing what was best for her. renée WAS best for her so why did that follow with betrayal. perhaps she had overreacted but it was her own insecurities that had taunted such a reaction out of her. after bouts of failed relationships, the woman did feel like she was to blame. her problems ran deep and maybe they couldn’t be solved. “i lost consciousness at one point, that’s not something a HEALTHY person does…”
inclining her head, rosalie accepted the answer as a way of acknowledgment. she leaned back into her chair and watched melinda for a moment, deciding she would wait for the other woman to speak again. and when she did, it came as no surprise. “no, a healthy person doesn’t lose consciousness. but i know plenty of healthy people who have slip ups. especially with what you’ve been through lately, melinda.” she smiled briefly towards the older woman, eyes falling towards the brunette’s hands then flickering back up to meet her gaze. “but i’m not saying your behavior is healthy. or your choice to drink to that extent.” wetting her lips with her tongue, the redhead crossed one thigh over the other and settled her folded hands on top of the lifted knee, “why did you drink that much? you were hoping to numb or forget about something. was it because of your relationship with renee, and the betrayal on her part? or was there another reason?”
Waiting for the next available cab, Rosalie gripped the dark coat closer to her dressy frame, arms laced habitually under her chest. New York City was bustling that evening. Its inhabitants wandering down cracked sidewalks, cars streaming by with music blasting behind their windows, and the lights - always brighter than the stars - flashing above atop the buildings. Manhattan was a place to be. Eventually, when a taxi started to pull over, it was caught between her arm and the arm of another woman’s some feet away. A woman, she quickly realized, familiar to her. “Frida?” the redhead started with surprise apparent on her pale and freckled face, painted minimally with makeup for the event she had just left. “How long have you been here in New York?” The last she had seen the raven-haired woman was back in Norway, of all places.
@sigcrdscns
izvbcl:
leaning back onto the couch some, she turned her head to glance over at rosalie, light chuckle billowing out passed her lips as she spoke. “as much as i’m sure you’re RIGHT it’s probably best i don’t too, all i need is to show up home drunk off my ass in front of jayson.” her son her always been the reasoning for izabel staying away from alcohol for the most part, that and truthfully she wasn’t much of a drinker anyway. “so what sort of technique would you recommend this time, and i’ll you counting to ten didn’t seem like a lot of help.” she’d partly been joking, though genuine in her question. while she was STUBBORN in many aspects, like asking for help or talking about herself ( mainly the past ) the other woman had become someone she trusted wholeheartedly and had been there since coming to new york. “i know – which is why i’m trying not to let it get to me, but it’s a highly stressful situation for me to, and i’m doing all that i can to make sure everything is to HER liking, and she gets to the party looking & feeling great. but yeah, like you said, her getting on my case like that, doesn’t make for good work.” taking a pause she reverted back to sitting up normally. “i mean, yeah we’e already come this far, i’m sure she’ll settle on something she approves soon enough, plus i feel like it would reflect badly on me if i just dropped her now.”
scrunching her nose, rosalie had to agree with the young mother, “probably wouldn’t win mom of the year, but hey. even moms deserve their cheat days.” truthfully, rosalie had never pictured herself as a mother. awesome aunt? she could do. she loved children, after all. standing at the top, was izabel’s jayson. she liked to think she was the boy’s aunt. she certainly showered him with gifts and affection whenever he was around, always enjoying visits from the dear ocampo duo. “how is jayson, by the way? i miss his cute face.” coming from a woman with as criminally charged of a background as hers was, it was such a funny thing to see her say. not that izabel knew of her mafia ties. the one thing rosalie spared izabel from knowing, not wanting it to impact the mother and her son in any way. it was a fear she swallowed down, pitifully. “i think i can understand the push and pull of difficult clients,” rosalie said with a chuckle, grateful for the clients that gave her a hard time in a way. they inspired growth, both as a professional in her field and as a human being. “well, if you’re going to keep doing business with her, i’d approach her when her sole focus isn’t on the party and the outfits. when someone’s tuned in on a...small picture, per say, they’ll point out any tiny flaw they can find. even if it wouldn’t be considered a flaw from before. now that time’s ticking down to the event, she doesn’t have a lot of things going on outside of it. her mind’s tuned in. small picture. help her see a bigger picture. i suggest distracting her, and then asking about the outfits. go to lunch, or check out a new art gallery and ask how the art can inspire her outfits. slip work into play. she’ll be more relaxed, and you won’t need a stress ball.”
fuqdominique:
dominique felt the tension thicken even more, and it’s definitely not a good sign. she really should’ve taken the other elevator instead, but she has got a lot of questions in her head. seeing rosalie again, she couldn’t help but think about how their friendship has now turned into this, whatever this is. “i should’ve– but ros, i don’t understand and i want to know why you’re like this. we were such good friends, what happened to us?”
she had the nerve to laugh. “oh, i don’t know,” rosalie feigned ignorance, but not for a second longer. “i came onto you, while you were with another woman, and you rejected me. sound about right?” her eyes, normally the hue of a peaceful meadow, were now sharp emeralds - begging to slice into someone else’s gaze. it was all her fault, and she knew it. but it was easier to punish dominique for her own shameful actions. “how do you expect us to go back to being buddy buddy after that? does bluebell know what i did? or did you never tell her the truth?”
theliavanderford:
“okay. rosalie.” lia spat. it would be quite obvious to an onlooker than thelia had several deep rooted issues to work out. she would have never admitted to it but therapy was good for her - it gave her a way to express a lot of the things she otherwise would have let out through violence or reckless behaviour. when the other woman brought up the notion of family, thelia sighed. she had never blamed any of them for the way she was - in fact, it was quite arcane to her, just why she had taken on the facade of the stoic rebel. there were still so many things she did not know about herself. perhaps it was the innate need for her to stand out from her siblings. they were the hive mind - jewelery, jewelery, look good - look rich. she could not have cared less. “there’s the twins. hebe and delia. hebe is…something. she’s just…she has a stick up her ass.” she shrugged. “then there’s delia. she’s kind of like me, but she’s stuck in her ways. she’s so obsessed with making our dad proud she won’t follow her own path.” thelia blinked, her cold eyes displaying something like grief for her sister. “then there’s brax, my brother. he’s too protective for his own good. he thinks he can control everything, but he can’t.” she paused, then slouched in her seat. “that’s all. everyone who matters, anyway.” thelia failed to mention her parents. for good reason.
whether thelia realized it or not, rosalie had worked with a number of people who would fall under her type of clients. the rebel in the family, the black sheep with a nasty bite, the one who didn’t want to be in therapy and made it known, etc. as with everyone else, the therapist exhibited patience - knowing it would work in the long run, if dealt correctly. “you failed to mention your parents,” the redhead commented in passing, addressing the elephant in the room without needing to prod the injured creature. “but we’ll get to them later, when you’re more comfortable. tell me more about your siblings. who are you closest to? who are you most distant with? and why?” rosalie noted the small sympathetic flicker in thelia’s hard eyes when speaking about her sister. she could also tell the younger woman loved her siblings by the way she spoke, finding it endearing. rosalie herself was an only child. “how do you think they all view you in return?” seeing one’s self was one thing; seeing yourself through the eyes of the people you loved most was another.
lipstickmuscle:
HAD SHE SAID any bar that, smirk might’ve risen in delight, eyes sparkling in that impure excitement the dancer so easily possesses when in the right light, under the right scrutiny. But the woman, her friend, the therapist, is: “ Making me work for it, huh??” Eyes cascade that porcelain face, then scoop up. Assessing, considering, making words for herself in the line of drinking for talk. Suppose, if there’s going to be a time to confess those half suspicions, half accusations, she might as well have some bourbon in hand. “ You got yourself a deal, Romano. “ Those naked and slender legs demand the Earth &. drag her to her feet. Feet which are, for the additional knowledge, all too eager to take her to her rightful place at the forefront of the barman’s attention. Dasha may well have taken unnecessary time to return with their poison &. it is for the reason that the woman has no ready tendency to bare her naked soul… But she knows this: the sooner her lips are loose, the sooner they can cradle the glass’ edge. And, of higher importance, her counterpart contains perhaps the greenest eyes &. the brightest tresses ( unmistakably inspired by rubies ) in this city, and her seat alone may warrant a wolf’s approach. Therefore, on her quick return, after placement of the glasses, Dasha moves a tender palm to the other woman’s shoulder— both announcing her reappearance if the glasses did not and giving her some stability when resettling on the bar stool. Slides off, cups that cup, and: “ Now… ” A sip—- stalling, stalling, stalling— and another… “ I caught the underground today, like I do on occasion— but this time I was uh— I hadn’t eaten breakfast, so I was a bit slow. A bit faint. Or maybe it’s because I hadn’t had a coffee yet, “ A smile, though it’s mostly false, and small, and quick to straighten. “ So I held onto the staircase railing. But it… stung, right?? So I pulled it back and I’ve… killed this bee. Which is– whatever– but it decided in its last moments to sting me. “ While she speaks, Dasha’s eyes have moved down to acutely inspect the floating ice in her glass, some crushed under the weight of others, desperately trying to swim to the surface. The brown coke &. poison beneath it lures her in, takes her in for another much-needed sip. “ Ros, I don’t tell you this because it hurt— although it did, after, like a mother-fucker. I’m just… —- supposed to be allergic. I’m supposed to be deathly allergic, according to Her. “ Pause. “ Cashews gave me seizures when I was younger, she told me. So I’ve been eating them all afternoon and… “ Thin fingers spread slightly, not touching but hovering over her body top to bottom in presentation. As easily brushed over as her dangerous, potentially self-destructive experiment. “ Voila. Here I am. All un-seizured… ”
Pleased with herself for having cut the deal, Rosalie graced the brunette with an appreciative smile. She understood it was hard having to talk about the past, and your family. Hell, if anyone knew it better, it was the flame-haired woman. Her father, Sergio, used to call her his princess, and the poor Romano girl drank in her empire like fine wine. Until she realized what running the empire costed her. And then she became a therapist - a doctor of psychology. Go figure. “If you want someone who’ll cut you some slack, by all means. But I care too much to be that person.”
While Dasha was gone, fetching more alcohol to toss back like water, Rosalie performed a mental skim of all the notes she had taken on the woman’s home life. Her fingers traced irregular shapes on the bar’s counter surface, a small habit whenever she was deeply lost in thought. All of her attention still remained on her client - the sole cause of her heart palpitations lately - unaware of the eyes that might’ve danced her way in the time Dasha was gone from her seat. All too quickly, the moment the brunette returned and touched her shoulder, she was reeled back in to reality. Though the way Dasha began her tale, reality seemed to exist in another dimension. Pinching her brows together at the strange start, Rosalie waited for the punchline. Noticing all the while that the other woman was struggling internally to make sense of her own tale. What haven’t I noticed? What is wrong? It drove the therapist nuts.
Until the punchline came and it was worrying. More-so, at least for now, because Dasha had risked exposing herself to an extreme allergic reaction. “Dasha... You realize you could have harmed yourself?” Rosalie questioned, a subtle frown presenting itself on her face. “Allergies are not collectively the same. Just because you’re no longer allergic to one thing, does not mean you’re not still allergic to something else. That was a dangerous experiment, and you could have seriously injured your body’s system.” All things the therapist was sure the brunette realized - but all things that terrified the redhead. The thought of finding Dasha lying still somewhere was a thought Rosalie now realized had become a greater fear of hers. Somehow, subconsciously.
But now was not the time to scorn the woman. Rosalie’s hand reached forward to rest atop Dasha’s - squeezing slightly in reassurance and comfort. Support. It was the most important thing a therapist could give their client, even if their actions were not welcoming ones. “So why did you test out another allergy afterwards? Why was that your first thought - that you weren’t allergic suddenly to both?” Something else had to be missing; a piece of the puzzle not yet spoken. According to her. Dasha’s mother. She knew by now they hadn’t had the best of relationships, but throwing a list of allergies on your child was another thing altogether. A disease Rosalie had yet to run into, in any of her clients’ histories. “Did you automatically think they were lies you’ve been told?”
I told her it was mind-boggling, ingenious, morally repugnant and completely unacceptable.
lipstickmuscle:
BEFORE HER IS the woman to whom Dasha spills all. Like red wine on white satin sheets, the result is both permanent ( where Ros, Dasha is sure, will forever remember ), and the result is impossible to get out ( where Ros, Dasha is hopeful, will never breathe a word of it ). To all else— Dasha is but a closed book, her spine thick like her skin. So aged are her secrets, dust has fallen around them. If Ros so chooses, she could rupture Dasha’s world, sigh that which should be silent &. land the dust on the ground or out into open space. There’s a particular sort of POWER here which Ros might not know, nor ever understand, for a girl as normally kept-up as Dasha. It is as ironic as it is amusing, then, that Ros teases Dasha for not opening up— it is in good faith, for that she is certain. But still. How funny it is when Ros knows the most out of anyone breathing. ( Perhaps funny isn’t the right world. Yet, she’s smiling. ) " Jesus, just the sound of that makes me need another shot. “ For most of the tale, Dasha cannot relate. At The Good Time, things are hardly so straight nor are they narrow. Perhaps having a constant source of liquor right outside the equivalent of an office has a role to play in that. “ Work was quiet so I left early. I’ve been here since. My girls left just before you got here, so really… nothing much. “ There’s a painful omission that stabs, surely, at the both of them. The texts. The texts that brought Ros here and the texts that Dasha has not mentioned since. “ I thought since nothing spectacular has happened yet, it must be waiting to happen in the evening… “ After a second, and a growing smile. “ So, I do believe the recipe for a good time is another drink. Round two?? “ Two. Right.
Bouncing her brows in reply, Rosalie definitely could use ten more glasses. Except this was the life she had chosen for herself, and she was quite happy with it. Her father’s criminal empire had raised the girl, but she had sculpted the woman standing here today. Years of schooling, years of patience and determination - they had morphed her into something recognizable whenever she stepped in front of a mirror. All that time lost and caught up in the terror of the Romano version of Wonderland; Rosalie wished she could have had an out sooner. Now, her mind was a darker place much like her own clients’, hoping to gain some light by freeing them first.
But Dasha’s dark place had yet to be uncovered. “How dare they leave you alone,” Rosalie tsked, pretending to be both irritated and shocked by the very thought. “Have they no loyalty?” Her teasing was slowly replaced with deep consideration on her part. Let Dasha skip around the topic, or address the issue head on? Her care for the brunette made it much harder to perform her duties as the woman’s therapist - and she hated herself for being too weak at the knees to stop. “Round two, but-” She held up a finger, insisting with a guardian’s tone of voice, “-then I’m cutting you off and taking you home. Unless you want to start talking to me about those texts.” The redhead’s eyes skimmed Dasha’s, looking for a sign of her honest reaction, “Deal?”
braxvanderford:
a redhead walked up to the pair of them, and abraxas was all too happy that she was forming a welcome distraction from whichever story the man was telling. today, his bullshit meter was on a low. he listened - though didn’t understand - as the woman spoke to the man, but the inferred from context what she’d said as he shook his head. “no, thank you, i’m fine,” he said before looking after the man as he left. with a sigh, he scratched the back of his head and then looked at the woman once more. “sorry, i could’ve handled that better. it’s been a long day,” he said, despite everything still well aware of his image. “but yes, that is my name. abraxas vanderford, nice to meet you,” he said, automatically extending his hand. “ i don’t believe i know you - miss … ?”
“not everyone cares for a story that never ceases,” she reassured with an amused look cast his way. even though her profession practically forbade judging, therapists were known to do it a time or two. personally, she tried not to; she had no right, given her own mistakes in life. “want to talk about it?” the redhead prompted him - a familiar one at that. “a pleasure to finally meet you,” rosalie began while raising her hand to meet his for a shake, “dr. rosalie romano. i’m a friend of the reinaldis, particularly your fiancee.” she would save how they knew each other for later. withdrawing her hand just as smoothly, the woman laced her hands in front of herself, “i’ve heard a lot about you. i’m glad we’ve finally had a chance to bump into one another. at least before the wedding.”
fuqdominique:
oh well this is very awkward, she thought to herself as the elevator slowly goes up. dominique wanted to ask why rosalie stopped talking to her, since she thought they were okay, but her presence, her aura right now wasn’t even helping at all. “ive been doing great, it’s been a good couple of days,” she says in reply as she adjusted her blazer. “bluebell’s…she’s amazing,” she looked down to her feet, hiding the smile she formed when her girlfriend’s name was mentioned.
there was a small shake of her head after the older woman spoke. rosalie had half a mind to climb out of the top vent of the elevator, but she remained stuck to her spot - as if her heels were glued. “i’m happy for you.” it wasn’t that she wanted dominique; it was that she had behaved poorly, and she hadn’t been rewarded. the crime empire’s ice princess didn’t like not getting her way, after all. childish, she thought, you’re acting like a damn child. and yet. “you should’ve taken the other elevator. why put us both through the hell?”
{ @rosromano }
“you know, i’ve never really complained about my clients, MOST of them are great, and some can be kinda.. difficult when it comes to picking outfits. but it’s fine, i’ve handled it, and i get it when you’re high profile you wanna essentially look perfect for an event. but this lady TODAY–” she pauses momentarily with a huff, dropping down onto the couch next to rosalie. “she just really sucked out all the enjoyment of my job. i mean we must’ve gone through about TWENTY different looks and she always found something to nitpick on, and the funny thing is, she chose it all beforehand with me, yet now nothing was right and was somehow MY fault completely.” izabel let out a long sigh. “so now we’re back to square one, and only with a couple days till her party. tell me, as a best friend & therapist which would you recommend doing more, downing a bottle of tequila or just squeezing the shit out of a stress ball ??”
unlike the rest of her therapy sessions, rosalie was allowed to relax more into her playful self with izabel. simply because the two had been best friends ever since iz had come to the big city, and into her life. for which, the redhead was eternally grateful. she took a sip of her tea with a tell-me-everything expression resting on her face. beyond the theatrics, the therapist in her was observing and listening to everything - figuring out a way to calm the situation. “as your best friend, a bottle of tequila sounds pretty nice right about now. as your therapist, however, i’m gonna recommend something else. probably not the stress ball though.” she laughed at the stereotypical idea. “i’m sure your client’s very stressed about the party. because of that, she is going to find things to nitpick at. it’s an anxiety ridden trait. however, it’s not your fault. and she shouldn’t be snapping at you.” setting the cup down beside her on a lamp table, rosalie checked first and foremost, “do you still want to work with her? or are you thinking of backing out of the project?”
