Beat by a Girl; Ginger, get the popcorn
There was a whole lot of crazy going on as far as Sam could see. Luckily, this time, the crazy didn't involve him. There had been a part of him that had hoped that it would maybe have involved Ainsley or Josh. A small, petty part that he tried not to acknowledge.
Some days he did better at the whole being magnanimous thing than others.
He was hanging out in the rec room, enjoying the air conditioning as much as anything else. There were days he regretted the wager he and Donna had made, to see which of them would fold first, and go running back to the compound. Sam wasn't very good at losing, he knew that. He prided himself on rarely being in a position where he did lose. It was just simpler that way, for everyone he felt.
The bookshelf, however, seemed to not share his momentary bout of egotism. In fact it seemed to delight in teaching him humility. The thing it presented him with? Reel after reel of Capital Beat. Not just any night, but that night. Every single one of them the same date. Weeks after Josh had been shot, and the first time Sam had been trounced on the show.
Usually it was Sam doing the trouncing.
"Alright, alright, I get the message. Pride goeth before the fall," he muttered. Only they didn't change. They didn't vanish. They sat there, taunting him, their very presence a challenge to his manhood. Well, maybe not his manhood, but a challenge. He glowered as he pulled one off of the shelf, feeding the reel into the projector.
He remembered it, he really didn't even need to play it. He remembered thinking that young, blonde, leggy Republicans didn't actually know anything. They hadn't, not the ones that were usually on Capital Beat. This one was different. This one got under his skin, took his words and turned them around, pouncing on him with them. Left him gobsmacked and stunned, his superiority stripped away; desperately trying to recoup and make up his losses.
It hadn't worked. They'd laughed at him for days at the office. Possibly more than days. The tapes would show up on his desk, in his VCR, at parties.
And now the bookshelf had given it to him.
"Could have at least given me popcorn," Sam stood with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen as the Capital Beat music started. "Make eating crow a bit more palatable."
[[CLOSED FOR NEW TAGS. EXCEPT JOSH. THIS IS NOT A CANON PUNCTURE. This is a reel from a show that Sam and Ainsley were both on back home. What you actually will be seeing is here, though you'll only get the part from 1:07]]
Some days he did better at the whole being magnanimous thing than others.
He was hanging out in the rec room, enjoying the air conditioning as much as anything else. There were days he regretted the wager he and Donna had made, to see which of them would fold first, and go running back to the compound. Sam wasn't very good at losing, he knew that. He prided himself on rarely being in a position where he did lose. It was just simpler that way, for everyone he felt.
The bookshelf, however, seemed to not share his momentary bout of egotism. In fact it seemed to delight in teaching him humility. The thing it presented him with? Reel after reel of Capital Beat. Not just any night, but that night. Every single one of them the same date. Weeks after Josh had been shot, and the first time Sam had been trounced on the show.
Usually it was Sam doing the trouncing.
"Alright, alright, I get the message. Pride goeth before the fall," he muttered. Only they didn't change. They didn't vanish. They sat there, taunting him, their very presence a challenge to his manhood. Well, maybe not his manhood, but a challenge. He glowered as he pulled one off of the shelf, feeding the reel into the projector.
He remembered it, he really didn't even need to play it. He remembered thinking that young, blonde, leggy Republicans didn't actually know anything. They hadn't, not the ones that were usually on Capital Beat. This one was different. This one got under his skin, took his words and turned them around, pouncing on him with them. Left him gobsmacked and stunned, his superiority stripped away; desperately trying to recoup and make up his losses.
It hadn't worked. They'd laughed at him for days at the office. Possibly more than days. The tapes would show up on his desk, in his VCR, at parties.
And now the bookshelf had given it to him.
"Could have at least given me popcorn," Sam stood with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen as the Capital Beat music started. "Make eating crow a bit more palatable."
[[CLOSED FOR NEW TAGS. EXCEPT JOSH. THIS IS NOT A CANON PUNCTURE. This is a reel from a show that Sam and Ainsley were both on back home. What you actually will be seeing is here, though you'll only get the part from 1:07]]