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emospritelet · 4 years

Note

Manifesto prompt : dat handshake in front of press.

I’m really enjoying writing these two. Happy to take more prompts!

[AO3]

Belle was nervous, and irritated with herself because of it.

She told herself there was no need; whatever came of the evening she had already made her point. News programmes were covering the story; the BBC and Sky had already started running pieces on the state of local authority funding and municipal libraries, and the clip of her confronting the Prime Minister was all over social media. It was likely that the next day’s headlines would provide more coverage, and she was pleased that the news outlets were talking about the issues that affected real people in real towns, rather than the usual infighting at Westminster. She was aware that it was probably too late to save Avonleigh’s library, but while there was a glimmer of hope, she was determined to keep fighting.

To that end, she used the little time she had before book club to dig out the research she had been doing when trying to plead for the library’s continued funding. Everything was still in the colour-coded binder she had put together for one of her many meetings with the Council. She even had the presentation she had designed, prompts on a handful of cards to accompany the Powerpoint slides saved on a memory stick, although she very much doubted the Prime Minister would want to see it.

Belle thought she would have difficulty concentrating in the book club, but given that the members were more interested in talking about her impromptu television appearance than about Little Women, it didn’t really matter. Merida even showed her a YouTube video of her rant, edited to include captions of what Sutherland was allegedly feeling at the time. Which seemed to alternate between being outraged and turned on. The other club members thought it was hilarious.

“You’re my hero,” said Leroy, grinning at her above his bristling black beard. “Look at Sutherland’s face! I’m willing to bet no one ever talks to him like that.”

Leroy was short and stocky, a gruff hospital porter with a heart of gold and a secret, burning love for Astrid, the pretty nurse who worked shifts and could only attend book club every other week. He always looked around for her eagerly whenever he arrived, and the look of disappointment on his face when she wasn’t there made Belle’s heart melt.

“Gave it to him with both bloody barrels!” chuckled Merida, tossing fiery red curls over her shoulder. “Serve the bastard right! Like he has the slightest clue what goes on in towns like this! Bloody London elite! They’re all the same!”

“He’s Scottish,” Belle pointed out, and she sniffed.

“Yeah, but he’s posh Scottish. They’re a breed apart, Belle, you mark my words. Plus he’s an MP. They go down to the House of Commons and check their morals at the door.”

“They can’t all be like that,” said Belle, wondering why the hell she was defending politicians when she had spent years cursing them out.

“Maybe not all of ‘em,” acknowledged Merida. “But our MP definitely is. Bloody Leopold White. When was the last time you saw the bastard in this town?”

“Last election,” said Leroy. “Came to the hospital and got in the damn way. Bet he does the same thing this year.”

Merida snorted, shifting in her seat.

“Someone should unseat the bastard,” she said, and her eyes widened. “Hey, Belle! You should run!”

Belle sighed.

“I have zero interest in running for Parliament,” she said. “I just want to save the library, and I probably won’t even be able to do that! In two months’ time I’ll be out of a job!”

“Just keep the pressure up,” said Merida. “They’ll have to do something, it’s all over the news!”

“Yeah, and in a few days’ time, they’ll have moved onto the next story, and no one will care,” sighed Belle. “I’ll just have to make the most of it while I can. I’ve done some interviews, I’m speaking to the Prime Minister tonight, and I’m going to contact the Council tomorrow, see if public opinion has changed their minds. I doubt it.”

“Maybe we should protest,” suggested Merida. “Keep the momentum going. I can make placards.”

“I can wave the placards and yell stuff,” offered Leroy, and Belle pursed her lips.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ll let you know what Mr Sutherland has to say for himself.”

“Just don’t let him sweet-talk you,” warned Merida. “These politicians are masters at wriggling out of their responsibilities. They’re all great at talking without saying anything, you know? If he makes any promises, get them in writing. Or on camera. Or both.”

Belle grinned.

“I’ll try.”

She was surprised not to encounter any cameras on her short walk from the library to the Swan Hotel, but there again she supposed none of the reporters wanted to miss the meeting. Anna met her in the hotel reception, smiling briefly and gesturing towards the corridor behind her.

“We’re in the Marchland Suite,” she said. “The press are crammed into the room next door, waiting to capture the two of you meeting. They’ll probably fire questions at you, but don’t feel you have to answer.”

Belle nodded, suddenly, painfully nervous. She fingered the strap of her satchel, in which the folder containing her research was sitting. Her bag had already been searched by two large men whom she presumed were Sutherland’s security team, and the formality of it all made her very aware that she would shortly be in a room with the most powerful man in the country. It made her feel tiny, insignificant, and she took a deep breath, trying to draw courage into her lungs. Anna gave her a sidelong look as they mounted a flight of stairs.

“Chin up,” she said. “He doesn’t bite.”

Belle nodded wordlessly, and the next moment they were stepping through a doorway into an opulent room decorated in pale cream and sage green, filled with waiting reporters. Anna led her through the throng towards a set of double doors, rapping smartly three times with her knuckles. Cameras started whirring, a ripple of flashing lights exploding in the air, and Belle could feel her pulse thumping in her throat and behind her eyes as the doors opened and the Prime Minister stepped out, nodding to the waiting reporters and smiling broadly as he adjusted his cuffs.

The flashes of two dozen cameras were creating a strobe effect that was making Belle want to squeeze her eyes shut. It was all a little overwhelming, and she felt herself freeze in place as Sutherland stepped towards her, reaching out with his right hand. He was dressed in a different suit to that he had worn earlier, but it was just as expensive, and fitted him just as well. His tie was blue, his shirt crisp and crease-free, the cuffs just poking out from beneath his jacket to display gold cufflinks. To Belle’s great surprise, she found herself imagining what he looked like first thing in the morning, unshaven and dishevelled with heavy eyes. The image that came to her mind was also shirtless, and her eyes widened as she wondered where the hell that had come from. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she told herself to get a bloody grip.

“Miss French,” said Sutherland, smiling as he grasped her hand. “Good of you to come.”

His hand was warm and smooth, his fingers closing firmly around hers, and he used his other hand to pat and squeeze her upper arm, as though sending her some sort of reassurance, or holding her in place. It made her eyes narrow, but she nodded a little stiffly, shaking his hand. He had a politician’s smile, white teeth and fake warmth that didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were nice eyes, though, and she wondered what he looked like when he was greeting someone he actually wanted to meet.

“Prime Minister,” she said cautiously, and his smile widened a little.

“I’m grateful that you took time out of your busy evening to meet with me,” he added. “Hopefully we can have a constructive discussion.”

“I hope so, too.”

The flashes were off-putting, making her feel somewhat dazed, but Sutherland didn’t seem to notice. She supposed he was used to it. He was still shaking her hand, and she realised it was so each of the cameras could catch the perfect shot. He was clearly adept at working the press to his advantage, and it made her very aware that this encounter was as much for his benefit as for hers. Probably more so. It also made her want to pull back, but she stared into his eyes, feeling her jaw tighten as she stood firm. Eventually he let go of her hand, and she resisted the urge to rub her palm against her thigh.

“Well, if you could come this way,” said Sutherland pleasantly, gesturing to the room behind him.

“Belle, what are you hoping to achieve tonight?” called a reporter, and Belle blinked, her brain suddenly blank in the face of flashing cameras and thrusting microphones.

“I - uh…” she faltered. “I…”

“We’re just opening a dialogue,” said Sutherland smoothly. “Miss French raised a number of interesting points in our last meeting, and I want to make sure that the people’s voices are heard.”

Our last meeting? Interesting way to say I yelled at you in the marketplace. Belle swallowed hard, her throat dry, and lifted her chin. Come on, you can do this!

“What’s your opinion on the Government’s record on public funding?” asked a balding man with thick glasses, and Belle rolled her eyes.

“I believe my opinion on that topic is already doing the rounds on social media,” she said dryly. “Maybe you missed it.”

There was a ripple of laughter. Sutherland had placed his hand on her shoulder, a light pressure that she knew was designed to get her walking. She dug in her heels, shoulders lifting a little.

“Do you still believe the library can be saved?” asked another reporter eagerly.

“I’ll believe that until they lock me out of the place,” she said, and there was a babble of voices as they all asked questions at once. A woman in a bright pink coat shoved forward a little.

“Belle, do you think this is a genuine overture on the Prime Minister’s part, or just a photo opportunity?” she asked.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” she said. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Sutherland’s expression was blank and impassive, but a tiny muscle twitched in his cheek. She felt his fingers tighten a little, and the white-toothed smile slithered back into place.

“Right, well, I promised Miss French a private meeting,” he said. “If you could excuse us, please, we have a lot to discuss.”

There were more shouted questions, but Anna stepped into the line of sight, motioning to the reporters to move back. Belle allowed herself to be steered through the double doors into a plush meeting room, a shining mahogany table and eight chairs on one side, and a squashy leather couch and two armchairs around a glass and chrome coffee table on the other. The doors behind her closed, shutting out the noise from the waiting press, and Sutherland stalked to the table, placing his palms on its gleaming surface and fixing Belle with a dark-eyed stare.

“Well, Miss French,” he said, his voice a little lower and rougher than it had been before. “I believe we have things to discuss.”

#fic: manifesto #sutherelle fic #sutherelle #my fic #rumbelle fic #anyelle #ripperblackstaff

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smokeybrand · 6 years

Text

Dream Team

If you don’t know, i’m a pretty big hoops fan. That’s basketball, for those of you who don’t follow sports. I was born in the 80s and caught t he tail end of that Magic-Bird rivalry but i was coherent enough to watch the rise of Jordan. 90s basketball was f*cking incredible, mayne. Hoop nowadays is a little soft but i still enjoy it when it’s played properly. The Warriors are playing a relatively adept impression of Showtime and, as my favorite player is Magic Johnson, i appreciate what i’m seeing. So i was perusing my Facebook and i saw this graphic:

My younger brother went: Cap (Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) Steph Curry, Kobe Bryant, Kevin Garnett and Scottie Pippen. Solid choices. Cats forget how much of a beast KG was in his prime. But i think i can do better so here are my picks and why

Point Guard - Magic Johnson, cost $5

19.5 points, 7.8 rebounds, 11.2 assists

50.2% field goal percentage, 30.3% three point percentage

Magic Johnson is the greatest point guard to ever play the game. He was a prolific contributor to the offense as you can see with these career numbers but he was also a voracious defender. Magic rarely got beat off the dribble and if he did, his recovery was insane, mostly because he was a giant. Dude was 6′9″ tall and 220 Lbs. at a potion where you’re considered dominant if you’re 6′6″ tall. Seriously, Magic could guard 1 through 5 AND still deliver a flashy ass pass to set up a brilliant assist. His versatility, alone, should give him a place on every team constructed from this list! Dude was incredible and this is one of two positions that is a no-brainier for me.

Shooting Guard - Michael Jordan, cost $5

30.1 points, 6.2 rebounds, 5.3 assists

49.7% field goal percentage, 32.7 three point percentage

14 time All-Star. 10 time scoring champion. 3 time steals champion. 11 time All-NBA. 9 time All-Defense. 5 time NBA MVP. 1988 Defensive Player of the Year. 1985 Rookie of the Year. 6 time NBA Champion. Michael Jordan is the greatest player ever to step onto a court. This man played in an era where almost every time had an eventual Hall of Fame talent, and, from 1991 until he retired in ‘98, Michael was considered by those peers, to be the very best. He was the gatekeeper to getting a chip and he never let anyone in. If he made it to the finals, he won those finals. Undefeated. He was on a team that went 72 - 10. Ridiculous! and then one a title! The finished the sweep of history! The Warriors went 73-9, true, but they lost to an inferior Cleveland squad in the Finals. They stumbled at the finish line. Not only was he a ridiculously prolific scorer, he legit played legendary defense throughout his career. I mean, look at those awards in the beginning of this entry! Seriously, this cat, alone, through sheer will and grit, would get the W for his team because he HATES to lose. HATES. Jordan is the f*cking bogey man of the NBA and you’d be crazy to leave him off a team.

Just a few caveats, Jordan took 2 years off during his prime after winning his first three-peat. He came back and went for another three-peat. Dude could have conceivably won eight straight titles. That’s a reality. Not only that, his overall career averages are lower than they should be because he came out of retirement at 38 and played two more years. Bro was insane.

Small Forward - Kevin Durant, cost $2

27.1 points, 7.1 rebounds, 3.9 assists

49% field goal percentage, 38.4 three point percentage

Those are Durant’s career numbers and he’s still playing. That’s ridiculous. This dude is comparable to Hall of Fame players and he’s still active in the league. And only 29. He has about 7 more years of top tier play, 8 or 9 if he augments his game, which he’s already starting to do. Durant use to be one of those rip-through shooters, so scored a lot of his points on free throws and mid range jumpers. When those rules changed, he became a dead-eye three point shooter and started to drive to the basket more. As a member of the Warriors, he has gotten even more deadly with the three and has jumped his assist rate up considerably. Dude is a goddamn chameleon with his versatility. That’s not even mentioning his evolution as a defensive stopper. Seriously, in the Finals last year, he matched LeBron bucket for bucket, while getting key stops on “The best player on the planet.” Because of his more complete skillset and ability to take over a game, i, personally, think KD is the superior player between he and LeBron but whatever. Go ahead and charge me $2 dollars for a 5% talent!

Power Forward - Hakeem Olajuwan, cost $1

21.8 points, 11.1 rebounds, 2.5 assists

51.2% field goal percentage, 20.2 three point percentage

Hakeem Olajuwan is the most underrated player in the history of the NBA. This man’s skill set was stupid. He literally played soccer on the basketball court. His Dream Shake was one of the only undefeated moves in the league. The only other three i can think of are Steph Curry’s shot range, Jordan’s fadeaway, and Cap’s Sky Hook. This is a man that lead a Houston team to back-to-back titles in Jordan’s absence during the 90s. Hell, Jordan, himself, said, a Hakeem lead Huston team was the only team he was afraid could beat his Bulls in seven during a Finals run! That’s the GOAT saying that! Beyond that, Hakeem’s defense was beyond elite! Dude, at 6′9″, was a 3 time block champion and 9 time All-Defense player! AND A 2 TIME REBOUND CHAMP!! I even forgot how prolific he was on them boards! The f*ck, dude? A dollar?? Really, bro??

Center - Bill Russell, cost $2

15.1 points, 22.5 rebounds, 4.3 assists

44% field goal percentage

I think i have enough overall offense on my team, so i wanted to go almost pure defense around the basket. I need a guy that will throw your sh*t away if you think going to the paint is the best option. I need a guy with the size and strength to make it a goddamn ordeal to get to the cup. I need a guy like Bill Russell. Russell played in an era where blocks weren’t counted as a stat. We will never know how disgustingly dominate he was around the cup but, best you believe, he was a filthy defender. His philosophy was stop first, score second. And not just swat the ball into the stands, but try to bring the ball down with him. That’s how he got a lot of his rebounds. Russell was about preserving possession and giving his team opportunities off defense. I can see him being a phenomenal outlet passer in the modern era considering his overwhelming strength with those rebounds. I mean, this is a man that won 11 titles in 12 tries, cobbling together 8 in a row during that run! The most dominate player in NBA history, Wilt Chamberlin, couldn’t even overcome this guy’s defense! And you’re telling me he’s only $2? get the f*ck out of here!

Of course, there are cats yelling “LeBron” or whatever because he’s “the best ever” but nah. LeBron is a little overrated. His game is predicated upon driving to the cup. His one advantage is how big he is but guess what? My Point Guard is as big as he is but more skilled. My Shooting Guard can outscore him. My Small Forward can match him bucket-for-bucket. My Power Forward can outplay him offensively and probably lock him up defensively. And my Center essentially forces LeBron to become a jump shooter, something he’s never been historically great at. LeBron James, and players like him (**coughRussellWestbrookandJamesHardencough**) are a little overrated. They’re incomplete players who’s successes are predicated upon the era in which they play. I chose my guys, my team, to be timeless. I think with the squad i have, you can plop them in any era of basketball, and they’re dominate. Sure, they can be beat, but that W is going to have to be earned and my guys are going to make that win a hellish one to achieve.

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emospritelet · 4 years

Note

Closing library : Belle is just as easy to convinced to participate in this meeting as Sutherland

Apparently I have a new WIP. Uh - prompt me? FML

[Part 1] [Part 2] [AO3]

In the end, Belle had to lock the library door.

She hated doing it; the library was supposed to be open to all, a quiet refuge from the bustle of the town, an oasis of calm in the busy lives of its residents. Of course, whenever she held children’s activities and after-school clubs, it was a riotous mess, but her regulars knew the times that such things ran, and arranged their own reading time around them. Between five-thirty and seven p.m. was the quiet time, the time when her after-school class had gone home and her evening book club hadn’t yet started. It was a time that Belle cherished, a time to re-shelve used books, tidy up the library, and even get in a little reading herself. Or at least it had been, until she had chosen to give the Prime Minister a very public dressing-down on live television.

She didn’t regret what she had said, but she hadn’t anticipated the reaction it would cause. There had been so many calls from radio stations and news outlets that she had left the phone off the hook, and she had been plagued all day by visiting reporters trying to get a story out of her. While she had agreed to interviews with some of them—they were paying her, after all, and every little helped her to keep the library going—others had asked some deeply personal questions that seemed to have no relevance to the subject of library closures. After the fourth time of telling a tabloid journalist that her relationship status was none of his business, she scrawled a sign telling genuine library patrons (‘genuine’ was underlined twice) to knock if they wanted access, but otherwise the library was closed.

She pushed her cart around the few desks which had been abandoned when the journalists descended, picking up the abandoned books and stacking them in order. It was quiet outside, so perhaps the news was being made elsewhere; no doubt the Prime Minister had some other policy announcement to make. He was probably on his way back to Downing Street, no doubt cursing the provinces and all those who resided there. Particularly her.

She remembered the brief look of shock in his dark eyes as she had shouted, her words tumbling over one another in her anger and frustration. Had he really never been spoken to like that before? She found that hard to imagine, and he had remained perfectly calm as she yelled at him, so perhaps he simply didn’t care what people thought. He had been shorter in person than she had anticipated, but the way she had been feeling it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been seven feet tall.

A knock at the library door made her eyes narrow, and she clutched the book she was holding to her chest, heart thumping. Was it another tabloid reporter? The knock had been low and light, not the insistent pounding all the journalists had used, so perhaps not. Setting down the book, she made her way to the door, drawing the bolt and opening it a crack. A woman stood on the other side, short blonde hair above a brief, warm smile and a light grey trench coat. Belle had a vague memory of the woman trying to get between her and the Prime Minister mid-rant.

“Miss French?” she said. “My name’s Anna Marshall. I’m the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff. Would you mind if I come in? It won’t take long.”

“What do you want?” asked Belle nervously, and Anna glanced over her shoulder.

“You know, the press pack hasn’t noticed me yet,” she said. “I think they all went to the pub for dinner. The library’s pretty central, though, and if they see me talking to you, they’re bound to take an interest.”

Belle hesitated, but took a step back, holding open the door, and Anna gave her that brief smile again and stepped inside. Belle closed the door behind her, leaning back against it, and Anna turned on her heel to face her.

“Well,” she said. “You certainly made an impression.”

“If you came here to - to threaten me, you’re wasting your time.” Belle pushed away from the door and stomped over to her book cart, stacking books in the crook of one arm. “I said what I said, and I don’t regret it.”

“I’m not here to threaten you, Miss French,” said Anna. “I’m here to give you an opportunity.”

Belle paused, fingers dancing across the spine of a Kazuo Ishiguro novel.

“What kind of opportunity?”

“A meeting with the PM.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, turning slowly on her toes.

“What?”

“A meeting,” said Anna simply. “A nice, professional one-to-one, with no one yelling or tossing insults around, just a serious discussion of the issues that are affecting you.”

Belle set down the books she had picked up, taking a step forward.

“Why would he agree to that?” she asked. “I pretty much told him he was a bloody arsehole.”

“Pretty much.”

Anna looked amused, and Belle folded her arms, frowning.

“So is this some plot to - to spin the issue and put some sort of positive light on it?”

“Course it is,” said Anna. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t get something out of it as well. Genuine consideration of the issues you raised, in return for favourable media coverage for the Prime Minister. Sounds like everyone wins.”

“Talk is cheap,” said Belle dryly. “How will it help me keep the library open?”

“Well, you never know, there might just be some policy changes off the back of it.”

“Not bloody likely,” scoffed Belle. “None of the politicians I’ve contacted has cared, why should he?”

“It’s election year,” said Anna, as though it were obvious.

“So it’s about winning votes, then?” said Belle scathingly, and Anna shrugged.

“Isn’t it always?”

“Why on earth would I want to help him with that?” she asked. “It’s his fault I’m losing this place.”

Anna sighed.

“Look, you actually made some interesting points when you weren’t insulting him,” she said. “And you’re right: sometimes politicians get so caught up in the Westminster bubble that they don’t see how policies affect people on the ground. Particularly in small northern constituencies like Avonleigh. So here’s your chance to change that. Strike a blow for the little man.”

Belle pursed her lips, tapping her fingers against her elbows.

“You know, Fiona Black called me earlier,” she said. “She’s also trying to use me as a prop for her party. If she can overturn the cuts made by this Government, I’d be more than happy to appear alongside her.”

Anna snorted.

“If you thought Fiona Black could be trusted to keep her promises, you’d have taken her up on her offer,” she said, and Belle pulled a face.

“Well, let’s just say I’m really not interested in being in the middle of a fight between those two.”

“Very wise of you,” said Anna. “So if we’re done talking about Fiona Black, you have a choice. You can sit down with the Prime Minister, talk through your concerns and possibly bring about some changes in policy, or you can be remembered as the woman who yelled at him in a market.”

“The latter was pretty satisfying,” said Belle, and Anna shrugged.

“Then I suppose it depends how much you really care about delivering for local people, doesn’t it?” she said. “Or perhaps you’re all talk and no follow-through, like Fiona Black.”

Belle bristled, feeling anger surge within her again.

“Fine!” she snapped. “I’ll meet him!”

“Good,” said Anna lightly. “In that case, come to the Swan Hotel at seven, and ask for me at the desk.”

“I can’t, I run a book club at seven.”

“Eight, then,” said Anna.

“Eight-fifteen,” said Belle stiffly.

“Okay.”

Anna smiled at her and turned towards the door, before slowly swivelling back.

“There’ll be cameras to catch the two of you greeting one another,” she said. “But the meeting itself will be private. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we’re aiming for civility in front of the press.”

“I can behave myself,” said Belle, in a very dry tone.

“Glad to hear it. I’ll keep him in line, too.” That brief smile again. “I’ll see you at eight-fifteen, Miss French.”

#fic: manifesto #sutherelle fic #sutherelle #my fic #anyelle

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