(no subject)

Jul 09, 2009 21:10

Verity has a look when she’s topside, right? Black dress, dark hair.

It’s classic. It’s classy. It’s like a signature or a calling card.

She likes it.

But sometimes, for some reason, she has to think outside the Little Black Box. Maybe the guy she’s dealing with has a thing for redheads, or the woman doesn’t like anyone better-looking than she is.

Verity can adapt. If she has to. It’s not a big deal, if you’ll pardon the pun.

But today . . .

Today goes beyond all bounds of what a just universe would ask a hard-working demon gal to endure.

It all started well enough. A certain lieutenant governor had political ambitions. Well, all right, they pretty much all do, but this one decided that rather than waiting and trusting in the wisdom of the fine people of the state, that the path to the executive mansion could run though a crossroads.

Verity likes politicians. They’re . . . well, they’re used to wheeling and dealing, they all want things and they surround themselves with people who tell them they deserve them. And an awful lot of them are quite convinced that they can get away with things other people can’t, the rules don’t apply to them. They’re allowed to hit on pages or get blow jobs from interns, hire hookers and have staffers on the side. And they think any deal can be renegotiated, no matter how clear you make it that this one is ironclad.

So she hangs around for a couple of days, there in State Capitol (which they thoughtfully built so close to a crossroads), borrowing the body of a brown-haired staffer with a couple of suspiciously high end black suits, for a girl living on what this one makes. Has a few conversations, asks a few questions, makes a few deals, and enjoys watching the fruit of her labor, as the previously well-respected governor’s messy extramarital affair comes out in luscious detail, headline after headline.

She really should have cut and run a little sooner.

But hunters usually stay away from high profile things like office-resignation press conferences. So it’s not like she could have anticipated this one showing up, okay. And she’d been so close to finally getting the last little check mark off her to do list - the downside to politicians is that so many of them have legal backgrounds and they will want to spell out every single damn detail of a contract. But she’s finally got this one close . . .

And then . . . well, holy water, Latin, lots of running and screaming, Verity doesn’t want to go into it, okay? It was . . . ugly. And then the state police showed up, and there was more running and screaming, and bullets and chaos, and she broke a damn heel.

And yeah, okay, so she could have just hung around, played the victim, because the police were sure going to believe Little Susie Staffer before they believed the Nutjob with the bag full of rosaries. But once it hit the newswire, well, there were other hunters out there who would not see it the way these fine, upstanding officers of the law did.

So Verity was forced, for her own convenience and safety, to jump into a less-than-ideal host. Namely, the governor’s now disgraced trophy wife, who has just finished the Tammy Wynette routine and is possibly the only person in this building who can just leave, unchallenged, in a cloud of sympathy and pity. (The press yells questions, and Verity yells answers back that are not exactly indicative of standing by her man. Might as well make the best of a bad situation, right?)

If only the miserable bitch didn’t have such shit taste in clothes.

Verity’s all . . . pink.

oom

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