theirlawyer: (coax: by ?)
[personal profile] theirlawyer
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.

Date: 2014-09-02 11:22 pm (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin
Sam knows that it's late but he's of reasonably sound mind and body and thinks that he couldn't possibly have lost Ainsley. She'd been there approximately two seconds ago, dancing like nobody was watching in her White House issued bathrobe and as soon as he'd gone to introduce the president, everything had changed.

Sam had gone back through the door just to make sure he did not actually lose the captive audience of one Jed Bartlet and one Ainsley Hayes and instead of Ainsley's basement office, the room he finds himself in is actually what appears to be...well, he doesn't know what the hell it is.

He's always worked long hours and late hours and maybe he's just tired. Maybe that's why he hears Ainsley around the corner and follows the sound of her voice to find her in a sweatshirt and jeans and not in her bathrobe where he had most assuredly left her not moments ago and it's just...not right. It doesn't match up.

"Ainsley? What's going on, exactly?" Sam frowns a little and rubs at the bridge of his nose, wanting his glasses, but it seems he isn't wearing them. He reaches in his shirt pocket, extracts the glasses, and puts them on his face.

It doesn't seem to clear this picture up any at all.

Date: 2014-09-02 11:37 pm (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin
"Now, wait a minute. I'm not the one who's tricking anyone. It seems to me that I just walked through your office door where you were engaged in a particularly rousing rendition of a 1950s samba and I was about to introduce you to President Bartlet and you somehow found a way to change and get past both myself and the president."

While Sam is willing to concede some of his own absent mindedness, he isn't about to accuse the president of such. Not when they'd been standing right there.

Date: 2014-09-02 11:58 pm (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

Sam has done a lot of things in his life but he has never gone out of his way to embarrass a woman about something personal. He has no qualms about decimating an opponent in an argument, certainly, but that is something that Ainsley can more than meet him for punch for punch. This is personal and he doesn't stoop to personal attacks and, frankly, is a little offended she thinks that he would.

"I'm only bringing it up because it literally just happened," Sam says, slowly and patiently. His words are carefully measured because he's wondering how he somehow managed to lose weeks of time. Weeks? Weeks!

"Just now. Ten minutes ago."

Date: 2014-09-03 12:38 am (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

"It stands to reason that for one of us to be right the other would have to be wrong and we are both steadfastly convinced of our position," Sam says, mulling it over. "It's Schrodinger's cat all over again, isn't it? For one of us to absolutely correct in our assessment the other has to be absolutely wrong but neither of us feel we are wrong nor do we feel the other is. It's a problem, to be sure."

A sticky wicket, truth be told, and not one Sam thinks he will want to try and debate against Ainsley. This is different than arguing policy. This is arguing sanity and as afraid he is of being wrong, he doesn't want Ainsley to be wrong either. Not with something like this.

Date: 2014-09-03 01:14 am (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

It takes him a moment to take in the decorating. Sam is hardly an expert on the White House but it would take a blind idiot not to notice the corridors he walks every day in the course of his job have inexplicably changed. The architecture is modern now, not modern conveniences slammed into an old, old building and the paint is fresh, the carpets new.

"All right, so it's not the White House. So where is it?"

Date: 2014-09-03 02:05 am (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

"It's better than standing here in the proverbial dark," Sam says, gesturing for her to lead the way. This is possibly the strangest day he's ever had and that's saying something, considering some of the strange days he's had in this White House. Or not this White House, as this seems to be some other place.

"Have I ever shared with you just how much I hate being in the dark?"

Date: 2014-09-03 02:25 am (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

"Remind me never to invite everyone around for a surprise party," Sam mutters, trying to get his bearings. He's always prided himself on an exceptional sense of direction and sense of self and both seem to be drifting aimlessly at the moment. It's not comforting.

"Oh, look, there's a desk. We'll just play tourists and ask where we are and then I can figure out how to get us back to the White House without looking like complete idiots. Sound like a plan?"

Date: 2014-09-03 10:10 pm (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin
"Excuse me," Sam says, cutting the concierge off mid-spiel. "Ms. Hayes and I aren't looking to book a room, stay in a room or do anything but get back down to the White House. What's the address here?"

He gives an apologetic smile. "If you can't tell, we're tourists, and we just really want to see the White House. So if I went outside, how many blocks do I have to walk? Am I going to need to get a cab?"

Date: 2014-09-04 09:51 pm (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

"I honestly think this is a bipartisan issue," Sam says, taking in a deep breath and letting it out. He knows that he works long hours and that he really should take some more time for himself but this is the kind of mental break that ends up with white coats and talking about your feelings while in a padded room. This is not okay.

"We should regroup. Let's just take the keys, find the rooms, and regroup. We'll find a phone somewhere and call Josh?"

Date: 2014-09-05 12:56 am (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

"We'll get room service while we do," Sam decides. It'll give them something to focus on other than the cloying panic that always seems to accompany even the mere thought of being less than sane. For Sam, his living is made by words and wit and the thought of being even the slightest bit dull is a frightening one. To be a spoon in the knife drawer is unfathomable.

"After you?"

Date: 2014-09-05 01:40 am (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

"Mine is 1600 and yours is 1760. They're...probably not on the same hall?" That would make sense in a normal hotel but this doesn't seem to be a normal hotel as he's just passed 832 and 4000 next to one another. It makes no sense at all.

"I feel like we fell into the proverbial rabbit hole, Ainsley."

Date: 2014-09-05 01:58 am (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

"Thank God for small favors," he says, swiping the key card and swinging the door in so that Ainsley can enter before he does. The room itself is fairly nice, a suite, with a nice writing desk and plenty of room to walk around. He's always hated hotel rooms that are nothing more than just a bed and a lamp and he's glad this one isn't that, even if he doesn't plan to be using it very often.

Weirdly, it looks like a suite he stayed in once at the Mandarin Oriental back in DC and he guesses that is as familiar as anything has been today.

"There's a phone in here. I'll just call Josh and get this straightened out."

Date: 2014-09-05 02:14 am (UTC)
imnotrobin: (Default)
From: [personal profile] imnotrobin

Sam rolls up his sleeves and dials out, not really sure why his calls aren't going through. He tries several numbers - CJ, Toby, Leo. On a lark, he tries the actual Oval Office and half expects to hear Charlie pick up. He doesn't. Nobody does. All he gets is an automated message that his call cannot be completed as dialed and he slams the phone back into the cradle in frustration.

"Well, that was completely useless. Have you found a room service menu? Maybe I can just drink until I pass out."

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