quotethis_muses || Application
At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies. >> P.G. Wodehouse
Ali wasn’t exactly sure whose idea it had been to have James’ thirtieth birthday party on a freaking boat. All she knew was that she was sending them nasty vibes as she tried to gracefully run down the outer deck in three inch Jimmy Choos, a strapless pink dress and a sequined clutch purse while desperately trying not to throw up all over herself. She’d always had a tendency towards seasickness, though she had always assumed it was on those pissy little bastards with outboard motors she’d occasionally found herself on in FBI training. She had been perfectly fine until the food reached her stomach, but as soon as it did, it was demanding a one way ticket back out again.
She’d managed to politely and gracefully excuse herself from her dancing partner without eluding that anything was amiss. She also thought she’d managed to escape any suspicion as she exited the function room because that part of the deck was empty, something of which she was very fucking grateful as she reached the railing and bent over it to succumb to the seasickness into the water below.
It was also why, if she hadn’t been busy puking, she would’ve screamed in fright when someone came up behind her to hold her hair back. She couldn’t react at first; couldn’t even turn her head to see who it was. They would’ve both been left in an awful mess if she had done. It really was an awful shame, to be truthful, because the meal had been great. She managed to stop being sick and steal a glance at her intruder. Her first reaction was to grab him and push him overboard.
“Mark,” she coughed out, already feeling an embarrassed flush creep into her face that she would later blame on the exertion of throwing up. She shoved him out of the way and looked at him, her hair flopping into her face in the absence of the helping hand. She pushed the long wavy strands away in annoyance. “What the hell are you doing?”
Mark shrugged casually, offering her a tiny smile. “It’s not like you to bolt from the thick of a party, especially not alone. I figured something was up. Are you okay?” He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket inside his jacket and handed it to her to wipe her mouth.
“Something clearly is up.” Ali snatched the hanky off him and wiped at her mouth. “Where’s your wife?” she asked pointedly, unable to keep the sneer out of her voice.
“God knows,” Mark replied.
Ali looked at him, leaning against the railing. She still felt shaky and sick, but that was the last thing she wanted to allude to him. “Trouble in paradise?”
Some voices in the distance caught Mark’s attention and he watched a handful of party guests exit the interior of the yacht and head up onto the upper deck. “That would suggest it was paradise to start with,” he pointed out.
“It’s not? James seems to indicate your marriage has been decent enough,” Ali said quietly, keeping her eyes trained on the city in the distance.
“Jamie is very clever with evasive speech. He can lead you around in circles with a clever mix of references without even confirming or denying anything. Trust me. He does it to me all the time.” Mark’s own eyes were watching the city also. The brightly lit construction of buildings so bright they created a halo of light around the tallest rooves. “But he knows things are average. Felicity doesn’t like Jamie.”
Ali nodded, swallowing back another wave of nausea. “Yeah, I know. He’s mentioned it. How can she not like him? I agree, he can be a bit of a pain in the butt sometimes, but it’s mostly work-related when he’s mind set on a case.”
“He also has a tendency to speak his mind when he’s passionate enough,” Mark said, smirking. “In the early days, he made a rather blunt but indirect comment about you to her and she’s disliked him ever since.”
“Which was?” Ali asked with quirked eyebrow.
Mark put his finger to his temple, rubbing softly. He shot her a wry look. “Quote, unquote ‘Blondes might have more fun, but Mark prefers petite brunettes’.” He cringed a little, remembering the murderous look Felicity had given James that day whilst his brother merely smirked and went back to channel surfing. It wasn’t a secret that James thought Mark and Alicia shouldn’t have broken up just because she wasn’t ready to get married. In fact, James had literally given Mark a good smack in the in the head when Mark had taken the hurt bravado route that if Ali ‘didn’t want it, she could stick it’.
Ali hummed, not offering any specific answer. “Then why was she all over him like a rash tonight?” she queried, offering him a mere even glance.
“One, he’s the centre of attention. Two, she’s trying to make me jealous.” Mark gave another indifferent shrug.
“Riding on your brother’s thirtieth birthday coat tails. Charming.” Ali took her cigarettes from her purse and threw him a challenging look. Mark had never been keen on her smoking, like he hadn’t with his brother, but both were more than aware she wasn’t answerable to him anymore. Very much not answerable to him. She tucked her purse under her arm and lit up, shielding the flame from the sea breeze. “And trying to make you jealous. She sounds like a real catch.”
Mark was quiet for a few moments. “She’s not you.”
Ali remained poised, though inside she was angry. He just had to go there, didn’t he? “She’s never going to be me,” she said coolly. “And you’re married to her. Til death do us part.” She took a step from the railing and turned to walk away.
“Ali.” Mark reached and caught her hand in his. “If I wasn’t married, would you want to give it another go?”
Ali pulled her hand away, her large eyes revealing nothing. “You are married.” She took a couple of steps back. “So very married.” She spun on her heel and walked confidently away from him before he could say another word.
- agentcampbell referenced with permission and is in conjuction with THIS POST
Muse | Special Agent Alicia Sullivan (Original Character)
Words | 1,037
Ali wasn’t exactly sure whose idea it had been to have James’ thirtieth birthday party on a freaking boat. All she knew was that she was sending them nasty vibes as she tried to gracefully run down the outer deck in three inch Jimmy Choos, a strapless pink dress and a sequined clutch purse while desperately trying not to throw up all over herself. She’d always had a tendency towards seasickness, though she had always assumed it was on those pissy little bastards with outboard motors she’d occasionally found herself on in FBI training. She had been perfectly fine until the food reached her stomach, but as soon as it did, it was demanding a one way ticket back out again.
She’d managed to politely and gracefully excuse herself from her dancing partner without eluding that anything was amiss. She also thought she’d managed to escape any suspicion as she exited the function room because that part of the deck was empty, something of which she was very fucking grateful as she reached the railing and bent over it to succumb to the seasickness into the water below.
It was also why, if she hadn’t been busy puking, she would’ve screamed in fright when someone came up behind her to hold her hair back. She couldn’t react at first; couldn’t even turn her head to see who it was. They would’ve both been left in an awful mess if she had done. It really was an awful shame, to be truthful, because the meal had been great. She managed to stop being sick and steal a glance at her intruder. Her first reaction was to grab him and push him overboard.
“Mark,” she coughed out, already feeling an embarrassed flush creep into her face that she would later blame on the exertion of throwing up. She shoved him out of the way and looked at him, her hair flopping into her face in the absence of the helping hand. She pushed the long wavy strands away in annoyance. “What the hell are you doing?”
Mark shrugged casually, offering her a tiny smile. “It’s not like you to bolt from the thick of a party, especially not alone. I figured something was up. Are you okay?” He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket inside his jacket and handed it to her to wipe her mouth.
“Something clearly is up.” Ali snatched the hanky off him and wiped at her mouth. “Where’s your wife?” she asked pointedly, unable to keep the sneer out of her voice.
“God knows,” Mark replied.
Ali looked at him, leaning against the railing. She still felt shaky and sick, but that was the last thing she wanted to allude to him. “Trouble in paradise?”
Some voices in the distance caught Mark’s attention and he watched a handful of party guests exit the interior of the yacht and head up onto the upper deck. “That would suggest it was paradise to start with,” he pointed out.
“It’s not? James seems to indicate your marriage has been decent enough,” Ali said quietly, keeping her eyes trained on the city in the distance.
“Jamie is very clever with evasive speech. He can lead you around in circles with a clever mix of references without even confirming or denying anything. Trust me. He does it to me all the time.” Mark’s own eyes were watching the city also. The brightly lit construction of buildings so bright they created a halo of light around the tallest rooves. “But he knows things are average. Felicity doesn’t like Jamie.”
Ali nodded, swallowing back another wave of nausea. “Yeah, I know. He’s mentioned it. How can she not like him? I agree, he can be a bit of a pain in the butt sometimes, but it’s mostly work-related when he’s mind set on a case.”
“He also has a tendency to speak his mind when he’s passionate enough,” Mark said, smirking. “In the early days, he made a rather blunt but indirect comment about you to her and she’s disliked him ever since.”
“Which was?” Ali asked with quirked eyebrow.
Mark put his finger to his temple, rubbing softly. He shot her a wry look. “Quote, unquote ‘Blondes might have more fun, but Mark prefers petite brunettes’.” He cringed a little, remembering the murderous look Felicity had given James that day whilst his brother merely smirked and went back to channel surfing. It wasn’t a secret that James thought Mark and Alicia shouldn’t have broken up just because she wasn’t ready to get married. In fact, James had literally given Mark a good smack in the in the head when Mark had taken the hurt bravado route that if Ali ‘didn’t want it, she could stick it’.
Ali hummed, not offering any specific answer. “Then why was she all over him like a rash tonight?” she queried, offering him a mere even glance.
“One, he’s the centre of attention. Two, she’s trying to make me jealous.” Mark gave another indifferent shrug.
“Riding on your brother’s thirtieth birthday coat tails. Charming.” Ali took her cigarettes from her purse and threw him a challenging look. Mark had never been keen on her smoking, like he hadn’t with his brother, but both were more than aware she wasn’t answerable to him anymore. Very much not answerable to him. She tucked her purse under her arm and lit up, shielding the flame from the sea breeze. “And trying to make you jealous. She sounds like a real catch.”
Mark was quiet for a few moments. “She’s not you.”
Ali remained poised, though inside she was angry. He just had to go there, didn’t he? “She’s never going to be me,” she said coolly. “And you’re married to her. Til death do us part.” She took a step from the railing and turned to walk away.
“Ali.” Mark reached and caught her hand in his. “If I wasn’t married, would you want to give it another go?”
Ali pulled her hand away, her large eyes revealing nothing. “You are married.” She took a couple of steps back. “So very married.” She spun on her heel and walked confidently away from him before he could say another word.
- agentcampbell referenced with permission and is in conjuction with THIS POST
Muse | Special Agent Alicia Sullivan (Original Character)
Words | 1,037