charlie don't surf. (catsuits) wrote in incheck, @ 2010-08-05 19:07:00 |
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From the backseat of a D.C. taxicab, Charlie Wyatt was wistfully entertaining the idea of flitting away to Spain for the weekend. Ultimately it wasn’t something that would prove to be a reality in the near future, as her precarious position as a near-Agent compelled her to stick around on the off-chance Admin smiled down on her, but it felt nice to pretend. She was feeling a little ill-used following Ollie’s premature departure (it was Casablanca, she’d been sure he’d stick around for the Bogart), and games of pretend were the only things keeping the evening salvageable. She prided herself on possessing a healthy sense of delusion that kicked in when the cards were down, and it was with that attitude and a song in her heart that she instructed the driver to head toward the Willard. What better way to drown her sour feelings than with a mint julep provided by some foxy middle-aged politico? If there was one, Charlie was hard pressed to think of it. She could and would get a complete stranger to appreciate her, if that was what the night demanded, damn it. |