Election Night

Author's note: I was practicing some character design/development, and jumping off of the character I created I wrote this. I have yet to decide if I will take it farther. Enjoy!

"Election Night"

One night could serve to change your life, or so they say. 

No one knows this better than politicians. On this night they gather around with a sense of hopefulness. A sense of optimism. Senses that only serve to shadow the true impending sense of doom looming large inside their stomachs. 

On this night you want to stay drunk enough so that if you lose it doesn’t hit you until hangover, but alert enough that you can distinguish between winning and losing. Coffee brandy was Carter Reynolds’ drink of choice.

Carter’s unassuming height of five-foot-seven concealed a reservoir of strength and determination that belied his physical stature. Those who made the mistake of underestimating him based on size quickly learned that it was not the dimensions of his frame but the intensity of his spirit that defined him. The adage “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog” became a fitting mantra for those who witnessed Carter’s tenacity in both personal and political endeavors.

His face, weathered by the passage of time and the weight of responsibility, bore the marks of a life well-lived. The wrinkles etched into his features seemed to tell stories of triumphs and challenges, each line a testament to the resilience that characterized his journey. Far from detracting from his appeal, these markings added a gravitas that commanded respect and reflected the wisdom acquired through years of experience.

Carter’s stylishly parted brown hair, adorned with wisps of gray and silver, contributed to the air of seasoned leadership that surrounded him. The silver strands, like threads of wisdom woven into the fabric of his being, hinted at the depth of his insights and the maturity of his perspective. His upper lip sported a mustache curled into circles and neatly waxed at the side of his lips. Carter’s eyes, a certain kind of glacier blue, was definitely the reason he had built such a reputation as a ladies’ man. Any woman that met him would tell you that all Carter had to do was open his eyes and speak to you in his deep bass voice for you to be swooned. His glasses, half-moon attached to wire frames, caused him to look like he had spent his entire life in a library. 

His sartorial selection, that of an unfastened teal polo shirt sitting atop a white crew neck presented a stark contrast to the suit-and-tie atmosphere of his office and staff. The suit jacket placed atop it all seemed aged beyond the very confines of the room he occupied. 

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Reynolds’ campaign headquarters was alive with the buzz of a thousand bees. Election night was upon them, and everyone was tensely excited to find out the results. The socially lubricated Reynolds stood up in front of the crowd gathered and looked out upon them with his signature smile.

“Folks, folks! I just wanna say, whether we win or we lose tonight, it’s been a pleasure and a privilege. Myself, and Elena, and Diane and Doug, we couldn’ of asked for a bedder team to have with us on this journey,” he announces, his Vermont accent accentuated by his drunkenness. “Here’s to America!”

The room, full of campaign staffers, friends, family, and political allies who do not have their own election to worry about, erupts with cheers followed by happening conversation. Elena, her long blue dress accented by a white boutonniere, hurriedly makes her way through the thick of the crowd to her husband. 

“It looks like we’ve lost Arizona,” she whispers in his ear, trying not to draw much attention to herself. 

“Did we ever expecd to win Arizona?”

“Polls were looking quite good leading up to tonight.”

“Well, screw ‘em anyway. I’ve never liked deserts… or desserts for that madder,” he drunkenly clammors. Elena removes the glass of coffee brandy from his hand. He’s already drunk enough. 

Reynolds sways a bit as Elena takes the glass from his hand, giving her a playful wink. The room’s energy shifts as news about Arizona spreads among the attendees, but Reynolds remains undeterred.

“Listen, Elen, my love, even if the cacti didn’ vote for us, we got plenny of other friends across this great lan’,” Carter chuckles, waving his hand dismissively. “Let’s focus on the places that appreciate a good cup of coffee brandy. Give me my drink back, would ya?”

As they share a private moment amidst the celebratory chaos, Diane, Carter’s choice for Vice President, approaches with a concerned expression. “Carter, we’re still waiting on some crucial results. It’s not over yet.”

Reynolds turns to Diane with a twinkle in his eye, “Ah, Diane, my ever-vigilant compass. I like your optimism. What’s the latest?”

Diane glances at her tablet, “Well, we’re still waiting on Michigan and Pennsylvania. It’s going to be tight, but there’s hope.”

Carter nods, a serious expression replacing his earlier levity. He seems to sober up, if just for a second. “Alright, folks, gather ‘round! We might not have Arizona in our pockit, but there’s still a chance. The night is young, and so are we! Well, some of us anyway…” Carter’s voice trails off as he notices no one seems to have been paying attention to him much past “chance.”

The crowd, fueled by Carter’s infectious enthusiasm, rallies once more. The room vibrates with anticipation as they await the final verdict from the remaining battleground states. Elena watches her husband with a mix of pride and concern, realizing that the night is far from over, and the fate of the campaign hangs in the balance.