#halechief

[i-exist-solely-for-fandom]

Only one will stand at the end of it all.

(insp.)

[tahitiwoke]

@halechief 

     “ that’s not a word.  “   phil pads across the hotel room, in his underwear with a fresh bottle of wine in hand, and just about avoids tripping ass over tea kettle on the tangled up bedsheets strewn across the floor. he pushes his glasses up before sitting back down beside her -- they’re a bottle down, nothing extravagant, the two of them focused on a scrabble board that he had to buy in the airport. quizzify. he refreshes her empty glass and his own.  “ i don’t care what google says, it’s not a word. “ 

[wristful]

@halechief​

--that tax burden has crept further and further down the income and age ladder. and benefits are going more and more to the elderly and well-to-do. we spend nine times as much on the elderly as we do on a single child and we are surprised, shocked, this generation is turning their back on a government who has turned it’s back on them. so now we must ask this all important question of the hale administration: madam president, if passed, will the tax plan do all it’s promised to do? terry smith is next with the capitol report, i’m will mcavoy. goodnight. 

when the phone rings and the operator says the white house, he can’t help say this oughta be good before answering. “ brady, if you’re about to bust my ass, you’re barking up the wrong tree. it’s gonna get shouted down by congress and if it isn’t, the senate will ditch it before the primaries are even announced. “

[goesagainst]

" i know you mean it, claire. " carrie ashes into the tray on his desk. cigars burn and taste differently when they're smoked inside. today has put him in a mood to christen his office with a montecristo that he'd been saving for something special and a heart to heart with a friend seems like an appropriate occasion, especially when that friend is the leader of the free world. she's unlikely to snitch. " and how do i know that? "

his mouth's softly tired and dimpled smile is not impeded by the fact that she's turned her gaze towards the floor and won't get the chance to see it before it melts at the warmth of his sincerity; part of what makes his earnestness so palpable is the fact that it doesn't go away when people aren't looking. " you're a good person. you care about people. "

april cared about people. she listened when they talked and always remembered the things they told her. if there weren't so many, if it were possible for carrie to list them all, the immeasurable capacity to care so damn much would've been pretty high up on the equally immeasurable reasons why he loved her. he always said they would never have enough time for him to draw up one of those. a list. he hadn't known how true that was until he really, really knew.

grief can isolate a person, so it means a lot to him that claire has come to see him and that he can tell she didn't just do it because she felt like she had to. he remembers that he's not the only one in the room that has had his late spouses name in the mouth of the press before, and that if it were a contest then she would win by a pretty substantial margin. he takes another puff of the cigar and then holds it out for her to cross the room. " what they all want is a reaction. i kinda like the idea of pissin' them off by not having one. how's that sound to you, big dog? "

@halechief / cont.

[waredsin]

because bitch you overstepped.  / @halechief​

 there is a brief flicker  —  an involuntary muscle JUMP at the corner of one narrowed eye, the residue of a scoff he reminds himself not to allow to rise higher than the bottom of his chest.  ‘ snuck in to make up. ’   covering manure in fondue won’t make it smell any sweeter. 

 still, only a novice would believe he’d leave his whereabouts so carelessly out in the most obvious place it could’ve been.  at least now when she rides in on her black goat to completely ruin a plan he’ll have prepared a contingency, disappointing, but not unexpected.

             ❝    you missed the main course.  but dessert ?  i’m in the mood for something... smooth... long... uncomplicated,  perfectly proportioned... succulent.  ah !   like  her.  you should have seen her at the tables earlier,  smoked HALF of these men out of their pockets.  ❞   

[geniuscorp-a]

@halechief

colour me intrigued! international man of mystery (me) meets the president of the united states (her), call the news, dial up the internet, let's put on a fucking show! frankly, she's not his type. too old. too bitchy. fuck, she reminds him of his mother, and that almost makes him gag when he pictures fucking her -- huyrk!

he's already in the motorcade when she gets in. don't worry - he was super discrete, and he's helped himself to her champagne. " girl, this is good shit. "

[enginire]

@halechief: can i fix you another drink?

the train gives way with an uncharacteristic jolt, and meIanie's eyes turn straight to the line of old-world spirits that jostle and clink behind the bar at the disruption. the mountain track always comes with its own share of hurdles to overcome, and providing enough torque to twist all one thousand and one cars up the sharpest angles is a drastic feat of engineering itself.

amber whiskey shudders in their bottles, and the tremulous shake of the train sees a bar spoon clatter onto the floor behind the island, followed by a measure. (come on, girl. you can do it. it's just another revolution.)

she wears many hats: hospitality, engineer, wiIford's ear. the train doesn't run without them; its steel-lined jowls open with the demand for order, and the balance between chaos and civility begins to tip when the path becomes rough.

"oh, please. i'd be happy to make you one instead, ms hale." first class whiskey for a first class passenger. meI shifts from the stool and slaps an open palm down against the jittering knife before it bounces off the counter and onto the grate below. "—just some turbulence. mr wiIford informs me that there is nothing to worry about. so that drink?"

[vlyuvdova]

time has a way of moving past her,  like water.  she remembers when it felt like a slow and bubbling brook,  a soothing constant when she was small ; a quick - stepped stream in young adulthood ; a river,  when the years became decades and she realized that no matter how long she stands there the water will continue to move.  natasha had made peace with it,  a long time ago,  learning not to regret never knowing how to dam the flow.

she stands at the sink of a home that is not her own,  gazing out the window at the cold sea that she does not know the depth of,  and wondering how she let the constant current of the river become a fucking tsunami.

and yet,  today of all days has been long.  exhaustion weighs heavy beneath her eyes,  made only worse by the countless tears she has shed,  the ache that pounds at her temples and between her brows.  natasha had thought of using the dishwasher to take care of the glasses and plates of the guests that had come and stayed and gone,  but she is undone by herself and cannot bear to pick up the pieces unless her hands are worked to the bone and as bare as her heart.  so she takes her time,  sure to be delicate with the expensive wine glasses,  slow,  gradual.  and when claire returns with more for her,  she thanks her in a reassurance,  in a small comfort.

     thank you again,  for ... everything.

natasha smiles,  and it’s an easy and delicate gesture she gives her over her shoulder as she takes the offered glass. 

“i always hated washing these,  whenever i stayed over at his place,”  she leads their conversation elsewhere,  breaking their silence with something more manageable,  more easily swallowed.  “he’s   –    he was always so particular about dinner ware,  his luxury goods.  i almost broke one of them on purpose once,  just to see what he’d do.  i think he figured i would,  because he always seemed to have an excuse to hover in the kitchen until i was finished.”

@halechief  ( cont. )