edclweiss

[edclweiss]

abinvito​:

In spite of herself, Ruth feels her eyes glaze over and she is only listening with the smallest part of herself, leaned back in her office chair with her arms across her chest. Absent gaze falls somewhere just above Sarah Jane’s shoulder at a crooked picture frame and she is thinking about her next week’s doctor’s appointment, trying to remember if it’s Wednesday or Thursday evening. 

Something something, grandstanding, something something, Republican, something, American. Something, and then her voice peters out and her eyes enliven again. Oh, that painless? 

“Yes, Senator Lindahl. I’m sure that President Callaghan appreciates your support and thanks as much as I do.” As good as garbage, Ruth thinks. “I’ll be certain to relay that message to him.” 

Standing from her desk, and walking over to get herself a glass of water, she speaks with her back to Sarah Jane belatedly worrying that she ought not to have turned full back for fear of being stabbed. “I think the country could use a good deal more bipartisanship.” She does not offer any water to Sarah Jane, only turns around and sips her own before. “Was that all, Senator?” 

It’s around the bipartisanship part that Sarah Jane’s lips begin to feel tight. We’ve seen your bipartisanship, you Yankee giraffe, she thinks, glaring daggers at Ruth’s back.

On that note: what a coincidence that she’s got her new shoes on. Garnet red Louboutins. Custom-made, four inches, the heels ornamented with diamonds and sharp as a needle. Say she were to simply take one off, sneak up, and…

Sure, sure, Ruth is stronger and a skyscraper. But Sarah Jane’s agile. When, after she’d flunked ballet and bit the piano teacher, Mama enrolled her in gymnastics class—We have to direct all that energy somewhere, Thomas—little did she know it would just make climbing trees, jumping over to her sister’s balcony from her own, and generally participating in activities that had Astrid Kolberg-Brandt in perpetual horn-tossing mood easier. Stabbing the Vice President of the United States would, she supposes, also qualify. 

Great, now she’s turned around. Sarah Jane digs her nails into the soft soles of her palms. Behave.

“Yes, Madam Vice President. That was all,” she finally says, all peaches and cream. She has to tilt her head back to hold Ruth’s gaze. Note to self: wear your highest platforms tomorrow, postpartum back pain be darned. “Thank you so much for your time.” Cue a halfway spin on her heel, as though to leave. Then a beat. “Actually, there’s one more thing. My assistant’s outside with a small present for Pippa. She was such an angel to my son, that night at the hospital.” Her lashes flutter. “Should I tell him to leave it on her desk?”

#( re: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( with: ruth sullivan. ) #( int: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( int: sarah jane & ruth. ) #( re: episode one. ) #violence tw #this got too long im sorry

[edclweiss]

lcstreligions​:

lindahl family home \ ravenna rinaldi & sarah jane lindahl ( @edclweiss​ )

It paid to be powerful. Elite. As she thundered through the home as though it was her own the clicking of bespoke shoes that mannered the fancy little tiled hall of her brother in laws impressively sized home. Only for Ravenna to consider he was garnering it for something else in particular. Watching men sweat was only the natural perk of her job, having seen more tongues forcibly removed from heads than she’s seen a decent Head of State in office as of late.

Stopping before the study, throwing open the doors, Ravenna Rinaldi stood before Sarah Jane in her finest draperies, her own Consigliere to aide her while she played the reformed daughter, weaseling her stiletto-clad foot in the front door of the White House. “Get dress, mi amore.” She grinned, snapping her fingers as he unzipped the dress, revealing the silver number. “Your President,” The title was dripping with judgement. “Is having a party tonight to celebrate his moment. We’re going.”

In one swift motion, Sarah Jane kicked off her house stilettos. “God bless you.”

Thank fuck for Ravenna. When she’d facetimed first Jo, then Marcia, they both stuttered something about tomorrow’s Ethics Committee meeting and it being Thursday. Judas chickens.

But trust her sister-in-law to be right on time. Sarah Jane sprang to her feet, the laptop and the speech she’d been revising—more like had barely skimmed, stuffing herself with Sour Patch Kids, knees bouncing non-stop—tossed aside on the couch, between Mikael’s elephant and the thingamajigs of whatever Marvel superhero her older boys were obsessed with at the moment.

“Let me just text Fred lickety split.” Where was her phone again? “He’s taken the piglets to the park,” she explained, bending down to fetch it from beneath the coffee table. (Marcia’s But hon, we could go for a walk, if you want! had been the final straw, really.) As she typed Out with Rav. Be back by 10. Love you xo she could nearabout smell the Grinch rolling her eyes.

Sarah Jane’s brows went up: amusement sprinkled with warning. “Do not.” Grabbing Ravenna’s diamond-encrusted wrist, she sidestepped her and tugged toward the stairs. “Come help me choose a dress.”

#( re: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( int: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( int: sarah jane & ravenna. ) #( with: ravenna rinaldi. ) #( re: episode one. )

[edclweiss]

@abinvito​

“Yes, by all means, Madam Secretary,” she retorts, praying to sweet Jesus Elizabeth Novak hasn’t asked any complex questions. At least four other lines in the Veep’s quarters are ringing, and literally everyone is yapping. And are those roses? “I’ll let her know. Goodbye.”

Eventually. First things first. Phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, Pippa opens the door with an elbow and maneuvers into the Vice President’s office fully armed: chicken Caesar salad, vitamins, granola bars–extra grain!–and a large cup of freshly squeezed orange juice. History may be written today, but her priority is still the writer.

“Ma’am,” she greets, lowering the takeout boxes on the desk as elegantly as she can manage. (Which, to be fair, is not that elegant at all.) Then her nose scrunches up. The scent is even more intensive here: sweet, flowery, and unmistakable. Cherry Garden. You’d have to have been living under a rock not to know whose signature perfume that is. Pippa frowns. “What did Satan Jane want?”

#( re: pippa hayford. ) #( with: ruth sullivan. ) #( int: pippa hayford. ) #( int: pippa & ruth. )

[edclweiss]

abinvito​:

Ruth blinks once, twice, as the absurdity of the phrase ‘busy as a stump-tailed cow in fly time’ percolates and distills. She’s always wondered why it is that she talks like that and when, exactly, she’d adopted the affect. To Ruth’s knowledge, the Lindahls are about as ‘down-home country,’ as The Pottery Barn so why did they all insist on talking like Elmer Fudd? 

“Pippa, yes.” She corrects, returning her attention to the papers on her desk. She signs a page without reading it and turns to the next. “We’re both very busy today, Senator. You’re right.” Which is to say, get to the point. 

“Please,” She takes off her glasses, finally surrendering to the idea that Sarah Jane is really going to stay. “Make yourself comfortable. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Even if it sounds a little flat she’s able to manage a smile, finally, when she remembers the interview wherein Victor Hale had referred to Lindahl as, ‘Laura Ingalls Wilder.’

She smiles. Ruth Sullivan actually, full-on smiles, and, Lord help her, it’s the scariest thing Sarah Jane has ever seen. (And she’s seen Fred scoop up their five-year-old milliseconds before he managed to stick his fork into the toaster.)

Maybe Ruth’s daydreaming about skinning her alive. Or maybe she fancies me. Hands clasped, Sarah Jane takes a step back. Just in case.

“I only wanted to thank you for what the Callaghan administration did for our country last night, on behalf of the Republican Party.” Her voice, of course, remains pure honey. But she doesn’t take the offer. Much better like this: Sarah Jane standing, Ruth looking up at her from the armchair. What with the Veep being sixteen feet tall and all. “As well as offer assistance in what is to follow, should you ever need it. The parties are important, but America comes first.”

#( with: ruth sullivan. ) #( re: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( int: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( int: sarah jane & ruth. ) #( re: episode one. ) #homophobia tw

[edclweiss]

abinvito​:

@edclweiss​

Under the table, Miranda jostles her knee. Only people, she hears her mother’s voice, who are hot to trot shake their knees like that. That is what her mother said instead of horny. “Hot to trot.” A charming euphemism but also apt in this case. 

Like a child on Christmas Eve, she’s too eager. Checking her phone’s clock almost compulsively, as she has been for the last 15 minutes. A quarter past 11 meant that Lindahl ought to arrive any minute and Miranda may not know her angle yet but she’s got a feeling that currying favor with Lindahl early on might serve her later. 

She’d skipped the bar last night and called in a favor for this and now she could feel her heart all aflutter in her chest like she was waiting for a date. 

When she sees her she stands to step around the table slowly but the beauty pageant smile fixes too quickly to be natural even though it touches her eyes gently in the corners. “Oh, Senator Lindahl. What an honor. I can’t thank you enough for meeting with me today,” Firm handshake, not rushed. She tries not to think about how much she hates Sarah Jane Lindahl when she releases to say, “I love your suit.” 

Miranda Carson is prettier than she’s expected. Taller. Granted, she’s expected a walrus with bubblegum hair and an I Hate Patriarchy hoodie, so don’t color her too impressed just yet.

Shaking the journalist’s hand, Sarah Jane chirps, “Aw, thank you, dear.” Wait, though. Was that a test? I love your suit. Was she supposed to pitch a fit, because, look, officer, a sexist comment? Or does it not qualify as sexist if it’s coming from a woman? That host at the first primaries special was one too. (Allegedly. Foundation don’t cover no mustache, hon.) Senator Montgomery and Congressman What’s-His-Crap got all the vital questions about Russia and national security, while hers related mostly to her exercise routine. From the corner of her eye, Sarah Jane watched Angelika huff at each.

But she can’t help looking like this, can she?

The smile grows, warm and effortless. “It’s the color. Maroon’s amazing on us blondes.” Playfully: “You should give it a try.” With a soft thud, her purse lands on the little decorative table, and she takes the seat opposite Miranda. The bodyguards are already in place, ten feet on her left, the blue-and-white uniforms reminiscent of time-traveling Prussian soldiers. “My, this is so cozy. Lovely choice,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder. Being awed. Then their gazes meet. “Do you come here often?”

#misogyny tw #fatphobia tw #( re: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( int: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( with: miranda carson. ) #( int: sarah jane & miranda. ) #( re: episode one. )

[edclweiss]

abinvito​:

@edclweiss​

Once upon a time, she’d privately referred to Sarah Jane Lindahl as “The Fertile Crescent.” In reference of course to her little miracle child. Then, she’d realized the name did her a disservice. It implied, however indirectly, that her and her progeny were as ingenious, as intelligent as those early civilizations which really gave them far too much credit. She’d seen the baby from a distance more than once. 

The exceptionally square, bald head made him look, already, like a sportsman who never learned to write his name by hand. Ruth has been working to think up a new nickname for her. Perhaps something to match Laura Bellamy’s Cruella DeVille, except that Ruth can’t remember another Disney character’s name. 

This is what she’s thinking when she lifts her head as the wide double doors swing open to reveal her, never a hair out of place; almost threateningly angular. Ruth does not stand nor does she smile. “Senator Lindahl,” greeted with a clinical briskness, like a clerk at the DMV. “Did we have an appointment? I’m afraid that it wasn’t on the day’s itinerary. Apologies.”

Ah, there she is: Vice President Ruth Sullivan. Washington’s largest unicellular organism. The least charming, too.

Like she half-whispered, half-giggled in Laura’s ear during the 58th Presidential Inauguration, their first female Veep is the very reason they’ll never have another. And by they Sarah Jane means her, so she just beams brighter in response.

Then a purr: “My stars, really? That’s a shame.” She sashays into the office and decides it’s going to look so much better in Biedermeier. “Though your Chief of Staff must be busy as a stump-tailed cow in fly time today. Filippa, was it?” Darn right it’s Filippa. Angelika quizzed her for two hours straight this morning, adhering to pantomime while the baby napped. Point at a member—any member—of Ruth Sullivan’s staff, and Sarah Jane can tell you their name, triggers, and underwear size. Can Ruth? “Please don’t scold her for my sake. I won’t keep you too long.”

#( re: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( int: sarah jane lindahl. ) #( with: ruth sullivan. ) #( int: sarah jane & ruth. ) #( re: episode one. )