Fic: Just Another Evening (Fakenews RPF)
Title: Just Another Evening
Recipient: kidhasgotsass
Fandom/s: Realnews, Fakenws, Whitehouse RPF
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Rachel Maddow, Chuck Todd, Keith Olbermann, Stephen Colbert, Jon Stewart, Anderson, Rahm, Biden, Obama ... ET AL. Your choice. White House Correspondent's Dinner. Drunken shenanigans ensue. If you can somehow work Dana Milbank into this, I'll love you for life.
Summary: The White House correspondent's dinner is never dull.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material
referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Rachel opened her eyes. Something was not right. Beside her in the bed was a softly snoring Stephen Colbert. Next to him was Keith. When Rachel stood up, blearily peering around the room for her glasses, she almost tripped over Jon and Anderson, who were curled up next to one another on the floor.
The headache that had started the moment she was vertical sent her toward the bathroom in search of pain meds, any kind of pain meds.
Rachel found her glasses and blessed ibuprofen in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom. She stopped dead when she realized that the blue lump on the couch was, now that she could actually see, a sleeping Rahm Emmanuel.
She also realized that Jon had what looked like sharpie all over his face, and that Stephen seemed to be holding onto a rather large stuffed bear.
"What the hell happened last night?" Rachel asked the assembled, unconscious figures. No one stirred.
14 HOURS EARLIER.
The first person Jon saw when he walked into the Hilton was Stephen. "I can't believe they still let you come to these things."
"Rahm and I go way back." Stephen straightened his bow tie with a smirk.
"Recline all the way, you mean?"
"Don't sully us all with your filthy mind, Stewart."
Jon just laughed and walked into the ballroom.
*
Keith didn't hate the White House correspondent's dinner, but he was certainly not a fan.
Not least because his friends seemed to always take the opportunity to act completely absurd. Stephen especially.
"You let April fool's - Rachel's birthday - pass without telling us? Olbermann, that's grounds for expulsion!" Stephen had a drink in one hand and the other was pointing at Keith accusingly.
"If you watched my show, or even forced some intern to read Wikipedia for 30 seconds, you would have discovered this fascinating and public fact."
"Traitor." Keith rolled his eyes.
Stephen switched tacks. "I wanted to buy her a birthday present."
"Bullshit."
"Where is she? I'll make sure she knows your reticence is the reason she didn't get a Stephen T. Colbert birthday present."
"Lucky her. And smart me."
Stephen wandered off then, drink still firmly in hand, and Keith migrated to the outskirts of the ballroom where he could see Dana and Chuck engrossed in conversation. They could hardly be as absurd as Stephen.
*
Rachel moved from group of journalists to group of journalists, greeting friends and acquaintances and meeting newer faces. She and Ana Marie discussed their dogs until Stephen came bounding up to her, chattering something about her birthday and how he had a belated celebration all planned out.
She nodded and smiled and then escaped to the bar, keeping an eye out for Keith on the way. The bartender was cute and she needed her wingman.
*
Keith listened to the uninspiring speaker and tried not to laugh at the increasingly loud conversation between Rachel and Stephen concerning "Stephen" and Tad the building manager, and special birthday presents.
He could see Anderson and Jon, heads together, giggling over some story Jon was telling. Keith turned as someone tapped his shoulder, and saw a server behind him proffering a note.
He opened it. It read: "Tell your friends to shut the fuck up before I shut them up. Motherfuckers. - Rahm."
Keith felt the blood drain from his face, and he passed the note to Rachel. She snorted but stopped talking and passed the note on to Anderson. Keith was amused to see that Anderson blushed all the way to his hairline.
They settled down, then, listening to the rest of the speech with at least the appearance of attention. Keith had the presence of mind to notice that the wine that had been on the table was gone and that Rachel or Jon kept getting up to refill everyone's drinks.
*
The speeches were over and Rachel's head was beginning to buzz. Then the buzzing got louder and she frowned at her phone. It was a text from Keith, reading, "Save me." Rachel looked across the room and laughed to herself at Keith's predicament: cornered by Chris Matthews and Alan Colmes, with no obvious escape route.
She was a good friend, so she rescued Keith, feigning some sort of vague girly emergency, and dragged him to the bar, insisting that he needed another drink.
Keith was an excellent wingman, she had to admit, and he was absolutely instrumental in helping her get the bartender's number.
*
Jon, Stephen and Anderson were standing near the door, watching as people trickled out of the ballroom. Jon wasn't drunk, he would be happy to assure anyone, but he was feeling pleasantly light and floaty.
Rachel sauntered up to their group. "The bar's out of sweet vermouth, so I vote we ditch this gig."
Jon couldn't help but agree as he spotted Joe Biden heading toward them - he had seen enough pictures of that damn dog to last a lifetime, and anything more serious than that could wait until Monday.
He opened his mouth to respond when he was interrupted.
"Gentlemen." Obama's voice from behind them was surprising but gentle, though with a whisper of steel underneath. "And lady." He nodded at Rachel, smile hovering around his lips.
"Good evening, Mr. President," Rachel said. Jon nodded and saw Anderson do the same out of the corner of his eye. The vice president had reached them by then, and took his place at the president's side.
"How did you enjoy the evening?" Jon felt as thought the president's eyes were boring straight through him.
"It was a very nice event," Anderson began, when Stephen cut him off.
"We're getting a drink, Mr. President, and you and the Vice President are welcome to join us." Stephen, Jon thought, Stephen always had to push the envelope.
Out of the corner of his eye Jon saw Keith, Rachel and Anderson each making their own version of a panic face.
"Who's getting real drinks without inviting me?" Asked a voice from behind the president.
"Rahm," Keith acknowledged. Jon noticed that Anderson was rather red.
Stephen seemed to be on a roll, and it was he who responded to the chief of staff. "We were just asking the president and vice president out to a bar, in an attempt to schmooze that would almost certainly be vetoed by the secret service."
Jon rolled his eyes.
"Funny, Obama said slowly, "I thought I was the only one here with veto power."
Rachel laughed at that and drew Emmanuel's arm through her own as they moved, seemingly of one mind, out of the hotel lobby and into the May evening, two Secret service agents trailing behind with matching frowns on their faces.
PRESENT
Rachel's memory drew a blank after that image of their group walking into the warm, still night air. She could remember the feel of Rahm's arm linked through hers, and Keith's voice booming into the night sky. But after that the night would have to remain a mystery. At least until someone else woke up and could tell her what exactly had happened.
The light shining through the curtain was watery and pale, and no one else was stirring. The morning light illuminated a truly impressive array of bottles strewn around the room, as well as what looked like the remnants of a late night snack of ice cream and pizza. Rachel's stomach rolled.
Sighing deeply, she climbed back into the bed and curled up next to Keith. He snorted a little in his sleep and she heard Rahm mutter "son of a bitch," as he rolled over on the couch.
Keith slung an arm over her waist and she could feel Stephen shifting restlessly beneath the covers. Jon and Anderson seemed to still be dead to the world, so Rachel rolled over and went back to sleep. Answers could wait a little while longer, at least.
Recipient: kidhasgotsass
Fandom/s: Realnews, Fakenws, Whitehouse RPF
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Rachel Maddow, Chuck Todd, Keith Olbermann, Stephen Colbert, Jon Stewart, Anderson, Rahm, Biden, Obama ... ET AL. Your choice. White House Correspondent's Dinner. Drunken shenanigans ensue. If you can somehow work Dana Milbank into this, I'll love you for life.
Summary: The White House correspondent's dinner is never dull.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material
referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Rachel opened her eyes. Something was not right. Beside her in the bed was a softly snoring Stephen Colbert. Next to him was Keith. When Rachel stood up, blearily peering around the room for her glasses, she almost tripped over Jon and Anderson, who were curled up next to one another on the floor.
The headache that had started the moment she was vertical sent her toward the bathroom in search of pain meds, any kind of pain meds.
Rachel found her glasses and blessed ibuprofen in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom. She stopped dead when she realized that the blue lump on the couch was, now that she could actually see, a sleeping Rahm Emmanuel.
She also realized that Jon had what looked like sharpie all over his face, and that Stephen seemed to be holding onto a rather large stuffed bear.
"What the hell happened last night?" Rachel asked the assembled, unconscious figures. No one stirred.
14 HOURS EARLIER.
The first person Jon saw when he walked into the Hilton was Stephen. "I can't believe they still let you come to these things."
"Rahm and I go way back." Stephen straightened his bow tie with a smirk.
"Recline all the way, you mean?"
"Don't sully us all with your filthy mind, Stewart."
Jon just laughed and walked into the ballroom.
*
Keith didn't hate the White House correspondent's dinner, but he was certainly not a fan.
Not least because his friends seemed to always take the opportunity to act completely absurd. Stephen especially.
"You let April fool's - Rachel's birthday - pass without telling us? Olbermann, that's grounds for expulsion!" Stephen had a drink in one hand and the other was pointing at Keith accusingly.
"If you watched my show, or even forced some intern to read Wikipedia for 30 seconds, you would have discovered this fascinating and public fact."
"Traitor." Keith rolled his eyes.
Stephen switched tacks. "I wanted to buy her a birthday present."
"Bullshit."
"Where is she? I'll make sure she knows your reticence is the reason she didn't get a Stephen T. Colbert birthday present."
"Lucky her. And smart me."
Stephen wandered off then, drink still firmly in hand, and Keith migrated to the outskirts of the ballroom where he could see Dana and Chuck engrossed in conversation. They could hardly be as absurd as Stephen.
*
Rachel moved from group of journalists to group of journalists, greeting friends and acquaintances and meeting newer faces. She and Ana Marie discussed their dogs until Stephen came bounding up to her, chattering something about her birthday and how he had a belated celebration all planned out.
She nodded and smiled and then escaped to the bar, keeping an eye out for Keith on the way. The bartender was cute and she needed her wingman.
*
Keith listened to the uninspiring speaker and tried not to laugh at the increasingly loud conversation between Rachel and Stephen concerning "Stephen" and Tad the building manager, and special birthday presents.
He could see Anderson and Jon, heads together, giggling over some story Jon was telling. Keith turned as someone tapped his shoulder, and saw a server behind him proffering a note.
He opened it. It read: "Tell your friends to shut the fuck up before I shut them up. Motherfuckers. - Rahm."
Keith felt the blood drain from his face, and he passed the note to Rachel. She snorted but stopped talking and passed the note on to Anderson. Keith was amused to see that Anderson blushed all the way to his hairline.
They settled down, then, listening to the rest of the speech with at least the appearance of attention. Keith had the presence of mind to notice that the wine that had been on the table was gone and that Rachel or Jon kept getting up to refill everyone's drinks.
*
The speeches were over and Rachel's head was beginning to buzz. Then the buzzing got louder and she frowned at her phone. It was a text from Keith, reading, "Save me." Rachel looked across the room and laughed to herself at Keith's predicament: cornered by Chris Matthews and Alan Colmes, with no obvious escape route.
She was a good friend, so she rescued Keith, feigning some sort of vague girly emergency, and dragged him to the bar, insisting that he needed another drink.
Keith was an excellent wingman, she had to admit, and he was absolutely instrumental in helping her get the bartender's number.
*
Jon, Stephen and Anderson were standing near the door, watching as people trickled out of the ballroom. Jon wasn't drunk, he would be happy to assure anyone, but he was feeling pleasantly light and floaty.
Rachel sauntered up to their group. "The bar's out of sweet vermouth, so I vote we ditch this gig."
Jon couldn't help but agree as he spotted Joe Biden heading toward them - he had seen enough pictures of that damn dog to last a lifetime, and anything more serious than that could wait until Monday.
He opened his mouth to respond when he was interrupted.
"Gentlemen." Obama's voice from behind them was surprising but gentle, though with a whisper of steel underneath. "And lady." He nodded at Rachel, smile hovering around his lips.
"Good evening, Mr. President," Rachel said. Jon nodded and saw Anderson do the same out of the corner of his eye. The vice president had reached them by then, and took his place at the president's side.
"How did you enjoy the evening?" Jon felt as thought the president's eyes were boring straight through him.
"It was a very nice event," Anderson began, when Stephen cut him off.
"We're getting a drink, Mr. President, and you and the Vice President are welcome to join us." Stephen, Jon thought, Stephen always had to push the envelope.
Out of the corner of his eye Jon saw Keith, Rachel and Anderson each making their own version of a panic face.
"Who's getting real drinks without inviting me?" Asked a voice from behind the president.
"Rahm," Keith acknowledged. Jon noticed that Anderson was rather red.
Stephen seemed to be on a roll, and it was he who responded to the chief of staff. "We were just asking the president and vice president out to a bar, in an attempt to schmooze that would almost certainly be vetoed by the secret service."
Jon rolled his eyes.
"Funny, Obama said slowly, "I thought I was the only one here with veto power."
Rachel laughed at that and drew Emmanuel's arm through her own as they moved, seemingly of one mind, out of the hotel lobby and into the May evening, two Secret service agents trailing behind with matching frowns on their faces.
PRESENT
Rachel's memory drew a blank after that image of their group walking into the warm, still night air. She could remember the feel of Rahm's arm linked through hers, and Keith's voice booming into the night sky. But after that the night would have to remain a mystery. At least until someone else woke up and could tell her what exactly had happened.
The light shining through the curtain was watery and pale, and no one else was stirring. The morning light illuminated a truly impressive array of bottles strewn around the room, as well as what looked like the remnants of a late night snack of ice cream and pizza. Rachel's stomach rolled.
Sighing deeply, she climbed back into the bed and curled up next to Keith. He snorted a little in his sleep and she heard Rahm mutter "son of a bitch," as he rolled over on the couch.
Keith slung an arm over her waist and she could feel Stephen shifting restlessly beneath the covers. Jon and Anderson seemed to still be dead to the world, so Rachel rolled over and went back to sleep. Answers could wait a little while longer, at least.