aka Lolitics is my 6th sense
Welcome to our glorious sixth post.
That's right: 6! But let's move on to not bore you with interesting facts ;)
All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
Otherwise it will get very chaotic.
Places of interest:
1) Unfilled prompts can be found on ( Read more... )
That's right: 6! But let's move on to not bore you with interesting facts ;)
All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
Otherwise it will get very chaotic.
Places of interest:
1) Unfilled prompts can be found on ( Read more... )
He played the encounter over in his head numerous times, but by the time he stepped off the Subway at 77th and Lexington, he was no closer to working out what was going on. They’d worked together long enough for Nick to know that there always was a purpose to everything George did, a scheme behind every utterance. He had little doubt that George knew something had transpired to cause Nick to leave, but did he have any idea what, or was he bluffing in the hope that Nick would betray himself? And what could he have been trying to achieve now, ten years later? Or was Nick just being paranoid? Was it, in fact, sheer coincidence combined with relief at seeing a familiar face in a foreign land?
As Nick walked the few blocks to Central Park and his apartment, he noticed how alive the city felt even at this late hour. The streets were dark and lifeless, bathed only in the dull orange glow of streetlights, but the city’s hum was still there, and shadows moved behind thin backlit curtains in soaring apartment blocks on either side of him. Not at all like his old home in London, which could feel strangely deserted before the clocks had even turned midnight.
He nodded to the porter as he entered his building and took the lift up to his apartment, where he went automatically to the kettle. As his hands busied themselves making tea, his mind wandered.
It felt strange, like a ghost had visited from some half-remembered dream. He had never been on especially friendly terms with George; civil enough, sure, but always with a layer of unease that they’d quite happily covered with formality. And yet, to chat to him as though they were friends, or had been, had felt…strangely good. Cathartic, almost. For the first time, he recalled those hazy memories of Westminster with something like fondness.
He had to admit, privately, that it hadn’t all been bad. He could never have dreamed, when he entered parliament as a new MP for a minority party, that he would have ended up formulating government policy. The title Deputy Prime Minister felt like something of a joke now, something that couldn’t possibly have been real. But it had been, once. He had spoken at the despatch box and even taken PMQs on occasion. And yes, he’d spent the majority of that time being hated, but they’d hated him because he mattered. No one joins a minority party expecting ever to matter, and Nick had been no exception.
He’d even enjoyed working with David. No, scratch that: he’d especially enjoyed working with David. In the beginning, it might have been the novelty, the unconventionality of working with someone he’d not long previously thought of as the enemy. It had felt good, to do something new and different and to prove that politics had the potential to be something other than what it was. But in the end, what it really came down to was that he just plain liked the guy. He chuckled to himself at that thought; how ludicrous to think that had once felt like such a big deal, something he’d never dare admit.
Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and flicked through the menus. The last message David had sent him, ten years old now, stared up at him: If that’s what it takes ;), it read, a last echo of another life.
Before he could stop himself, Nick typed out a new message:
Hi David, it’s Nick Clegg here. Is this still your number? Stupid question, you won’t get this if not. Ran into Osborne tonight, said you’re in town next week. Let me know if you want to get a drink or something.
He stared at the message he’d just typed. A bit long-winded, a bit vague, but he didn’t know what else to say. Perhaps he should wait; after ten years, a few more days couldn’t hurt, and that way he could figure out exactly what he wanted from this and refine the wording accordingly.
The black and white text stared back up at him, sterile, innocent, yet with the potential to turn his whole life upside down once more.
Unconsciously holding his breath, Nick hit Send.
Reply
I literally smiled that big, anon. Oh, this is so good. I am so ready for more!
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment