#also private knowledge for me that wuthering heights used to be a favorite book of claires... and that is making me so amused

[halechief]

T. BECKETT.

you are… different. not my usual type. for starters, you lack the insecurity that drew me to beck, the free-spiritedness that put love in my crosshairs. you are… breath-taking. awe-inspiring. you are the quite possibly the smartest person i’ve ever met (met? well. you’ll see.) and by god, you are… dangerous.

luckily for me, though, you are extremely google-able. no more hunting through finsta feeds (learnt that one off ellie) and no more trawling through facebook after facebook for the real you… i type your name into google, and you have a whole goddamn wikipedia. it’s safe to say that i am a fan.

look at me — are you proud? i’ve shed my skin. i’m a new yorker in dc — surely that’s some kind of oxymoron somewhere — no one ever leaves new york. but i did. for love. for you. for the total fucking knowledge that i am playing with fire, but you… you are the balm. i am free of that miserable podunk suburb, and i am ready. willing.

the office is quiet. studious. but alive. there are bulletins, posters, grubby pins handmade by the college intern i had to bump off the roster (sorry, tyler), and here i am!

allow me to introduce myself. tyler beckett. princeton alum. i am an amateur astronomer at heart, but working myself to the bone for the next great woman of the united states. i wear slacks, blazers, and never, ever worry myself with the do’s and don'ts of college life. i went to princeton, for god’s sake. debate team. sigma cum-whatever. i’ve worked on local elections before, but now — look at me, everyone! i’m in the big bucks. and despite how much i would truly hatetyler beckett, i think it’s a good fit.

i like to think you’ve gotten to know me too. through the coffees, and the emails, and the never-ending fucking onslaught of bureaucratic bullshit i have to wade through just to get in the same room with you (honestly, how do you do it? i know this is your playing field, but it is fucking exhausting. i am exhausted. but i am just a small cog in your big political machine.)

and… action.

“morning, ma'am.” you always say hi. because you are down-to-earth. because you weren’t born with this power, you’ve earned it. you are a regular joe, as it were. look at me. trying so hard in a not-trying type of way. i’m not like all those other princeton freaks — frankly, i couldn’t give a fuck about the political canvas of the city, but god, they’re practically licking your heels just to get the mere morsel of acceptance.

“can i ask you something?”

claire has turned toward him before the end of ma’am has finished humming through his lips, the beginning of a smile already beginning to curve her mouth, because she finds this to be important. not this, specifically, but the persona that she projects. the steadfastness of a leader, collected and calm, alongside warmth and approachability. it’s a hard balance to strike, and there are plenty of people that think she misses it  ;  but of those, more often than not there is a distinct line drawn between it being a product of her actions and it being a product of their own lack of respect. claire had begged for legitimacy for the better part of her life. now, she simply takes it or leaves it, depending on what the fact of it might do for her.

❝  of course.  ❞  there’s a beat, in which she allows her posture to adjust. before, her head had merely turned on a swivel, the next purposeful step of her heel had stalled, a simple pause of trajectory. now, she angles toward him completely, her head falling to one side as her attention takes on a muted, pleasant ease, and she lets her fingers fall to graze the very edge of his desk.  ❝ it’s . . . tyler, no? what can i do for you?  ❞