theirlawyer: (over the shoulder: by ?)
The Nexus has a lot of benefits, ranging from plush comfortable mattresses to long buffets filled with all kinds of food that Ainsley could normally only dream of, but what she finds is the very best door so far is the one she opens when she goes to find Sam and instead opens a door to a tropical beach paradise. The calming rush of ocean waves to the shore of a private beach and a cabana makes Ainsley all too aware that what she's missing is a beach vacation.

She props the door open with her shoe before heading off to find the appropriate clothes and the right partner for that kind of thing. Dressed in an oversized t-shirt that belongs to some guy she'd accidentally stolen it from, Ainsley hitches her well-stocked bag of preparations (and food) higher over her shoulder while she tries the door right next to the beach one, as if Sam might have moved without telling her.

"Sam?" she calls, knocking steadily. "I'm giving you another thirty seconds. Trust me, you'll like it," she promises sweetly, because she really can't imagine anyone who wouldn't like the hot sun and sand of a beautiful beach where no expectations or responsibilities lay on their heads.
theirlawyer: (coax: by ?)
Ainsley pinches at the bridge of her nose, trying to fight off the will to sleep. It's been so busy in the White House ever since the President had started to call meetings with a good deal of the legal staff, which meant they weren't available for the day-to-day and Ainsley's workload had dramatically increased. It meant that it was pushing ten at night and she's genuinely unsure if she should leave.

What she wants now, more than anything, is just a night off. The trouble is, if she's here, then she's tied to her phone and that means it's not really relaxing. What she needs is that hotel. Whatever strange logic governed it meant that no time had passed since she and Sam had accidentally wandered into it and right now, she loves the idea of a weekend away when all she does is sleep and relax and rest.

There are two problems in this.

The first being that she can't find a door that opens there and the second being that she doesn't want to go alone. She begins the long walk up from the Steampipe Trunk Distribution Venue towards Sam's office, not surprised to still find him at work. She raps her knuckles lightly on the glass separating his office from the bullpen and pokes her head in the door.

"Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like if we had normal 9 to 5 jobs?" she wonders, in place of an actual greeting. "I don't know what I'd do with myself, honestly."
theirlawyer: (coax: by ?)
The trouble with arguing with Sam isn't that it's annoying or exasperating. He's frustrating because he's a Democrat with several misinformed beliefs, but that's not really the problem with arguing with him. As Ainsley helps to balance coffee cups on the tray as they take the stairs, her ponytail swinging behind her, she knows the real problem.

She likes it.

She likes arguing with Sam to the point that if he looks like he's in a good mood, she's tempted to bring up the ideal size of government just to see him start ranting. If she can get him to take off his reading glasses to make one of his points, all the better. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she turns to back her way up the last door, opening her mouth to goad him on a little more, not really thinking beyond the repartee she's sure to get (that makes her feel alive, that makes her heart beat a little quicker, that makes her skin flush).

"You know," she begins, "at this rate, you'll be switching parties faster than I can say Abraham Lincoln was one of...ours..."

She trails off because Sam's not following her anymore, but that's not the problem. The problem is that it looks like the White House managed to get a new decorator in the time it'd taken them to go downstairs to the cafeteria for some coffee. Gingerly, Ainsley steps forward, the tray of sugars and creams still in her hands.

"...Sam?" she calls out around the next corner, trying not to let herself believe this is all the beginning of a horror movie. She's fine. She's in the White House, she's fine, and she sees and hears stranger things in the Steampipe Distribution Venue every single day.
theirlawyer: (know-it-all: by gimcrack)
CHARACTER NAME: Ainsley Hayes
CHARACTER CANON: The West Wing

Slow-tagging is a yes, canon-puncturing is a no, and currently, the only person who can godmod Ainsley is Sam Seaborn.

Dropbox

Sep. 2nd, 2014 06:42 pm
theirlawyer: (and you know this how?: by gimcrack)
Direct your questions regarding gameplay with Ainsley Hayes to the comments of this post! This is not an in-character mailbox, it is for OOC plotting.

Comments are screened and will remain so unless I'm given permission to make them public.
theirlawyer: (just like you democrats: by gimcrack)
It was getting to be a routine that Ainsley could set her clock to. Every day she would have to run to the washroom and then think she was fine and then it would hit out of nowhere with this constant regularity, this present insistence of the little boy growing inside of her that apparently had his mother's appetite. "Okay! Okay," she said, glancing lower to glare at her ever-growing stomach. "Look, as much as you and I both want fudge-encrusted french fries right now, I'm trying to finish a book."

And she was going to try and set her inner circadian baby rhythms to right if she had to hear a symphony of stomach growls in the process.
theirlawyer: (steampipes?: by everyonelineup)
Ainsley knew that it might be the wrong thing to do, bringing a friend (well, more like a brother, really) with her rather than the father of the child, but there was a small part of her that had to check to see that everything was fine before she could go to Shadow and tell him the news and ask him to come along with her. She knew that she was likely being paranoid, but she couldn't help it.

She had also had to trick Anthony into coming, telling him that she needed to talk and to meet her inside the lab. She just was on the other side of the lab and already in a gown, ready for Rollie's examination. "Thank you for doing this here," she said gratefully to Rollie. "And I'm really more than likely to be doing this again with Shadow, but I just need to see and make sure everything is okay. The last thing I want to do is worry him."

[For Lucy]

Nov. 25th, 2009 04:16 pm
theirlawyer: (angles: by wakizashi)
Ainsley had exactly one student in some of her classes. It was true that she didn't exactly anticipate the doors being broken down in order to be taught by her, but she had thought that she would have better luck than this. Still, just because only one person was there didn't mean she was going to slack in the least. She had formulated a specialized lesson plan just for Lucy and had their mentoring sessions.

"Lucy?"

And she was trying to figure out just why Lucy seemed so distracted. Ainsley pressed a palm to her slowly-growing stomach and picked at her shirt to adjust it before she looked at the girl with worry in her eyes. "Is it me? Are my lessons boring?" she asked with genuine concern. "If there's something that's dreadful about the lectures, you can tell me and we can move on, I promise."
theirlawyer: (Default)
It still didn't seem real to Ainsley. Maybe it was the lack of all outward symptoms. She was as hungry as she ever was and she had never been regular with...well, that mostly in part to her strange and funny metabolism. So when she just kept going about things as usual, she thought it was her fault, that it was something to do with her.

Having the news otherwise is like some kind of waking dream that she's not sure how to wake up from just yet. She had taken her time and had processed the news and a full day after she heard it, she felt like she was ready to go home and tell Shadow. She took a deep breath as she carried in the food that she brought from the Compound, mainly sweets, and smiled warmly at him. "I had the most wicked craving for apple pie today," she admitted, lifting up the plate. "So I brought us some. No whipped cream because it would probably turn in the heat, but really, a lot of good foods don't actually need it," she rambled idly, setting everything down. "It helps, of course it helps, but I mean, the real taste profile of the apple pie is the sweetness of the pie itself. And the brown sugar. You need brown sugar. You want some?"
theirlawyer: (Default)
Ainsley knew that there was a lot of courage involved in what she was planning on discussing with Shadow and she had to be wary of this. It wasn't like they were established, wasn't like they had been together for so long that it would be mad otherwise. They'd been together for fourteen months and while that was nothing to frown at, it certainly wasn't the keys to that house at the end of the drive; the end of a path.

But Ainsley was about to turn thirty-six years old in a matter of days and she wanted things that might escape her if she didn't start trying for them. Of course, that meant discussion with Shadow. They had said March.

And now it was March.

She was folding some of the laundry in Shadow's hut, arranging things in the proper places that she had deemed for them. She hadn't made many changes; just enough to make herself feel at home. And she was waiting. Waiting and biding her courage forward, hoping she would have enough to say the words she wanted to speak.
theirlawyer: (Default)
Presumably, our pups have lives that happen when we aren't playing them, as none of us can play 24/7. Some of the things that happen are tedious and everyday, and not worth thinking much on: It's fair to assume they eat, bathe, go to "work" or school as it applies, etc. But there might be things that happen between pups that, while not necessarily requiring a thread, are important to note for the sake of development. The important stuff should always be played out, but we know you can't always play everything, and sometimes you need a little nudge in the right direction.

PLOT GOES HERE.
theirlawyer: (pinup: by onlysugarcoated)
MAILBOX FOR AINSLEY HAYES
theirlawyer: (say what!: by edgeofthewater)
Ainsley normally had issues with saying too much and not stopping soon enough and going on and on and on and now, to her horrible surprise, it seemed like not only was she talking entirely too much, but she was also telling the truth. And while that wasn't so bad around people who already knew her political and personal leanings, there was a teensy, tiny, little problem.

That happened to be her personal life.

And oh, God, she was so not looking forward to any of those questions. It wasn't as if she wanted to hide, either. That would just make her look more guilty as she'd grown used to seeing certain people every day, especially now that she lived in a hut far, far closer to them.

Like a certain man she happened to be dating. There was that issue, of course.

Oh dear God in heaven, why couldn't Ainsley have just been struck mute?
theirlawyer: (angles: by wakizashi)
Most mornings, if Ainsley had stayed over the night before, she had made sure to be up and back to the Compound at a relatively early hour of the morning; one she had grown accustomed to getting up at in her jobs in Washington. This was done mostly so no little girls stumbled their way into a precarious situation.

But this morning? Well, Ainsley had had a couple of glasses of wine the night before and had even brought sleeping garments in the form of a pink negligee and so, when the sun rose in the sky, rather than spill out of bed and change, she just burrowed deeper into the warmth of the covers and Shadow and ignored any potentialities the morning might bring.

She couldn't be blamed for one morning like this, could she?
theirlawyer: (angles: by wakizashi)
"And I didn't think I'd ever have to worry about making sure a little girl brushed her teeth every day or washed her hair in the shower," Shadow pointed out, but he was smiling fondly as they came up to the hut. Garm, drowsing by the door, leapt up at their approach and padded over, pulling on his rope lead. "But this is the world we live in, I guess."

Ainsley watched the dog with her eyes, still unsure about the animal but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt as she followed along. "She adores you," she said. "Plain and simple and anyone with eyes can see."
theirlawyer: (gracie: by _enharmonic)
Ainsley had resolved to do one thing right and she could do many, many things properly, she just wanted to make sure this didn't crash and horribly, horribly burn before she even had a chance with things. This all meant that she had to talk to Josh and pray this didn't turn into some kind of fight, seeing as it apparently only ever took a spark to ignite them into a fire of bickering and shouting.

Which meant talking to Josh calmly.

If such a thing were possible. She took a deep breath and lightly knocked on his doorframe. "Josh?"
theirlawyer: (postage stamp: by onlysugarcoated)
The rituals of cooking were something that wasn't lost on Ainsley Hayes. She was good at remembering recipes and traditions and when she said she'd cook, she meant it through and through. Eventually, she'd decided on something simple when it came to the menu, from biscuits like (but not exact) her Nana used to make, a boar-inspired meatloaf, and a berry pie to go with it.

Getting it to Shadow's place was the issue, but she could problem solve. She had once taken a test in the fourth grade that said she problem solved on a higher level than most kids. A basket had done the trick and after she'd put on a wool turtleneck of blue and a pair of jeans, the only thing missing was her thick camel-coat before she made the trek out in the cold.

If nothing else, what it did was keep her from overheating, which was far more important than it sounded. Eventually, she arrived and gave a light knock on the door with her knuckles. "Shadow? Hi, it's me. It's Ainsley Hayes. I'm here for our planned dinner?"
theirlawyer: (taking a moment: by silentsarah)
Ainsley remembers statutes, laws, notes of importance, Latin translations, and just about everything else under the sun that has to do with righting the wrongs of society. She can recite them like she’s got them copied on the back of her hand and she knows them like the ingredients of a good rich cheesecake (which Gramma Hayes had taught to her when she turned twelve, gangly and awkward with beautiful blonde hair that made boys go after her, even if she was still flat as a board).

But nothing really compares to the moment that she steps into the White House and her high-heel-enclosed foot steps past the threshold. It’s then that she remembers to exhale and she swears, she could swear, that she’d heard it echo in this, that revered place that had been the setting of so many dreams and fantasies.

…when I grow up, Daddy, I wanna get married in the White House!

She’d looked to the majestic ceilings, to every painting with a story behind it. She watched the bustling civil servants who she envied down to her very depths and she wanted to know more. She wanted more than just a visitor’s pass, but not for this White House.

Ainsley still remembers the way bitter disappointment tastes of acrid charcoal on her tongue. She remembers the way she had felt, the way her heart had sank when she realized that it was a Democrat’s White House that wanted her, that somehow, through all her work, she had projected even the slightest notion that she was the sort of woman who did that sort of thing, the sort of crossing party loyalty lines.

But she remembers the way that disappointment had paled upon her arrival to the White House and for the briefest of flickering moments where she forgot who ran the nation and who was sat in his Staff and his Cabinet, just for a moment, she felt like she was holding her father’s hand and taking a tour of the White House for the first time, all over again. She wasn’t here today just for a tourist’s view. They wanted her for a job. The entire building looked different under that sheen and as much as Ainsley Hayes knew and remembers that she’s there to turn down the job, some small part of her had wanted to just stay there.

Stay there and never leave.

What she remembers most though, more than the laws, the recipes, the way her grandfather smiled when she perfected yet another precedent and could recite it inside and out, what she remembers is the way she had felt so significant and insignificant, all at once. How she could stand there and mean everything and nothing to the world. She had wondered if that was common in government and even though she had walked into the White House to refuse a job, to spit at Sam Seaborn in the face and tell him that she would rather dine with wolves than work with him, when she left, all she could remember was the President’s expression and his voice and the good cause he was serving.

Duty and honor.

What Ainsley remembers is that night, when she had walked out of the White House, even if she hadn’t known it consciously just yet, she knew one thing: she was coming back.
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