Anne Boleyn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
happyfalcon) wrote2015-10-02 06:42 pm
happyfalcon) wrote2015-10-02 06:42 pm
[For Frank] Fire on the Hill
The news spread through the foreign embassies like wildfire. Even among the younger, greener staff members. A great fight had broken out between the President and the First Lady. And she'd stormed out of the building. But Anne Boleyn made it a point to be out of the British Embassy as much as possible, and in the White House observing as much as she possibly could to report back to the ambassador, and then the Prime Minister and, with any luck, Her Majesty herself.
Anne had never been a fan of Claire Underwood. The woman was fake, and obviously so. She made no attempt to hide her contempt for anyone. But then, as the First Lady, perhaps she had the right to be genuine. But Anne preferred to play her cards closer to the vest. Let her enemies try and figure out what she's thinking, there was no reading a falcon's mind. She enjoyed watching her enemies spin their wheels trying to figure her out.
But then again, she didn't have many enemies. She was only an attaché, after all. But she had more ambition than most of her fellow staff members did.
Many ambassadors were considering leaving their posts in the States. They didn't know if Frank Underwood was worth their time. Thus their aids and attachés were sent in their stead. To meet with the President, one by one, to conduct their own evaluations and determine whether or not he was worth continuing to deal with. Of course, Anne was in attendance, representing the United Kingdom, representing Britain.
She waited in the designated meeting room, seated with one leg folded over the other, black pencil skirt clinging to her slender figure with a loose teal blouse covering her from the waist up, dark hair falling in waves down her back. Many aids would be nervous, with Secret Servicemen standing at every doorway.
Not Anne. She was silent. Glancing over her notepad and waiting patiently.
Anne had never been a fan of Claire Underwood. The woman was fake, and obviously so. She made no attempt to hide her contempt for anyone. But then, as the First Lady, perhaps she had the right to be genuine. But Anne preferred to play her cards closer to the vest. Let her enemies try and figure out what she's thinking, there was no reading a falcon's mind. She enjoyed watching her enemies spin their wheels trying to figure her out.
But then again, she didn't have many enemies. She was only an attaché, after all. But she had more ambition than most of her fellow staff members did.
Many ambassadors were considering leaving their posts in the States. They didn't know if Frank Underwood was worth their time. Thus their aids and attachés were sent in their stead. To meet with the President, one by one, to conduct their own evaluations and determine whether or not he was worth continuing to deal with. Of course, Anne was in attendance, representing the United Kingdom, representing Britain.
She waited in the designated meeting room, seated with one leg folded over the other, black pencil skirt clinging to her slender figure with a loose teal blouse covering her from the waist up, dark hair falling in waves down her back. Many aids would be nervous, with Secret Servicemen standing at every doorway.
Not Anne. She was silent. Glancing over her notepad and waiting patiently.