silver tongued.

gabriel beaumont. 30 years old. art dealer curator. corsicans. "terror made me cruel." - emily bronte

[petrova]

[gabrielvbeaumont]

sanaxehsan·:

Moments before the violence broke out, Sana had made up her mind about retiring from the party early, with no clue where the night was headed and having exhausted every avenue of conversation and company she could foresee, she was done for the night. She had her head buried in her phone first checking her emails out of habit, having picked up the phone int he first place so she could text Marcus to say that she was heading home. Though she’d typed out the message she spent several moments considering whether or not to even inform him, it wasn’t like it mattered to him. But in the case that he needed something from her perhaps work related she conceded, and hit send on the quick line of text. Heading home, have a good night.

In just those few moments it was little too late, as the room erupted in utter chaos just as she turned toward the main exit. Left in a stunned stupor, paralyzed by the overwhelming sensation of fear that slowly enveloped her, it was the jostling of bodies that nearly sent her tumbling that broke her stupor. Gaze darting towards the exit, another wave of despair overcame Sana at the sight of the huge crowd of bodies forming near it as everyone attempted to flee from the chaos in the center of the room. Turning every which way, then looking up she remembered the second floor. She’d taken those stairs up to use the restroom earlier. Sticking close to the walls she hastily headed in that direction.

With shaky fingers she texted once more, where ru? ru safe? She sent to Marcus. He was the only person she really knew here, and she wasn’t the type to only worry for herself, not when there was someone else to occupy her mind and distract the fear from completely immobilizing her. She turned the corner from the wall she’d stuck close to to head up the stairs assuming the gunshot noise that had felt close to be coming from behind her, only for a large man to come tumbling down right on top of her.

The object that as protruding out of his neck, though she didn’t register what it was right away, grazed past her arm coating it in slick crimson. She managed to push him slightly to the side though she couldn’t keep her balance, falling to her knees beside him. Finally getting a clear view of him, and the cane struck through his jugular. The woman let out a blood curtailing scream of terror at the sight. Her hands that had caught most of her weight were slowly soaking with his blood as it spurted out his wound. Slowly her gaze turned to the man standing over her and the body, genuine fear filling her eyes.

The instinct of self preservation overtook her and with shaky hands she picked up his gun that lay in front of her, slowly holding it up her grip barely there, the metal thing slippery in her blood stained hands. “S-stay away!” She cried out, though her voice lacked any actual weight, it was more like a feeble whimper much to her dismay when her mind caught up a few seconds to late. She swallowed trying to tighten her grip on the gun, though doing so sent the trigger off, thankfully her hands were shaking so violently her aim wasn’t really at him, and the sudden jolt of it made her jerk back the bullet hitting a wall or ceiling, she really couldn’t be sure.

Sana didn’t know if she’d started crying before or after the gun went off, but her cheeks were slick with her tears, she’d dropped the gun almost immediately in disbelief that she’d actually fired it. Eyes glistening, her lithe frame quaking violently she plead to him this time. “Plea-please don’t hurt me.” She whimpered staring up at him desperately.

The girl had been a casualty he hadn’t been expecting; dealing with the twitching, nearly-lifeless body of the man slumped against the floor, he hadn’t any time to prepare for the woman who had come barreling down the hallway like a newborn faun, clearly desperate to seek shelter from the gunfire from the main ballroom. Gabriel’s vision shifted as he glanced at the woman, now streaked in the stranger’s blood, as she let out a blood-curdling scream that would surely be heard over the din of the battle raging mere feet away from him. Gabriel held a hand to his mouth, his index finger resting gently over his lips as he demanded--silently--for her to be quiet. He did not enjoy using force on people, particularly those he deemed to be innocents, but if she did not shut her mouth...

His gaze landed on the dead man’s forgotten gun the moment hers did; but she was far too close. Gabriel’s nostrils flared slightly as she picked up the gun with trembling hands and aimed it at him--the only show of fear and distress he portrayed as she sobbing, clearly hysterical woman attempted to use the weapon as a shield to keep him from her. Honestly, the theatrics. He sighed as she shakily held the gun in his general direction, ducking and cursing to himself as the weapon went off and a bullet harmlessly ricocheted off a nearby all, blowing a hole in the plaster. She had ordered him to stay back, and yet she was the one who was attempting to shoot him? The irony loaded in that entire act. No sooner had the distressed young woman accidentally shot the gun than it was fumbling from her fingers, and Gabriel was quick to catch it before it hit the ground; the last thing he needed was for the weapon to go off again.

“Mon dieu, what is with you Americans and guns?” he remarked scathingly, checking the safety and clip on the weapon before turning his cool gaze on her. “Always treating them like Happy Meal toys. I have no intentions of harming you, if you’d quit your blubbering for more than five minutes.” He sighed, holding his hand out for her to steady herself. The kick-back from the gun had nearly sent her careening into the nearest wall. This really was too much of a social outing for him for one night.

“Running up to the balcony is probably not the wisest move,” he said hesitantly, glancing behind him at the spiraling staircase. “You barricade yourself that way; make yourself susceptible to others. There--” he nodded his head towards an off-shoot hallway leading further into the hotel. “Leave through one of the staff doors; it’s unlikely anyone will have gathered the foresight to barricade those from civilians escaping. We are dealing with the Russians and Irish, after all--if either of them can manage to think past their alcoholism, it’s a miracle.”

[gabrielvbeaumont]

soleilfournier·:

     The night had been going delightfully well to Soleil - he’d had a few glasses of champagne, had a few wonderful conversations with interesting people from all walks of life, perhaps had a few people interested in his art, and, finally, had a wonderful start to the night in his bed in his room with Olyvar. Plus the compliments that he’d gotten on his first suit, and the compliments that he was expecting to get on his second one. He’d just finished pulling it on, adjusting the collar of the jacket, and smoothing out the pants, checking himself in the mirror to make sure that his hair was put-together again before leaving his room, knowing that he’d be circling Oly again when Soleil found him in the main ballroom. 

     Imagine his surprise to see what was going on when he returned. Chaos. Pure, utter, total chaos. Olyvar nowhere in sight. No friends to be found. Just him, looking like a lost child in a floral suit, people screaming, guns firing. Chaos. He immediately darted for the second floor balcony, trying to breathe. He’d given one of his room keys to Oly; maybe he was back in the room already. His eyes darted around as he tried to find some way into the halls so he could get back to his room and (hopefully) safety, when his eyes landed on the back of a figure he recognized. The gunshot startled him, Soleil pressing his back to the wall. “Ce qu'il se passe, putain…!” What the fuck was going on? Was Gabriel alright? He couldn’t tear his eyes off of the scene, though - at the same moment he’d flinched back because of the gunshot, Gabriel had impaled the man who’d shot with what appeared to be a walking stick. 

     “Putain - putain, merde, mon dieu…” He rushed forward, still trying to regain breath to his lungs. “Gabriel-!” He needed his attention - he needed something that made sense. “Gabriel, ce qui se passe? Où est tout le monde?” What’s going on? Where is everyone? Valid questions. Then, immediately, “Tu vas bien?” Perhaps too informal, but formalities had gone out the window when Soleil saw him impale someone with a walking stick. “What is going on, mon ami…?!”

The minute he heard frantic cursing behind him, Gabriel spun around, twirling the cane as though ready to knock aside whomever had come and discovered him. When he noticed the devastated and fearful gaze of Soleil as the younger man rushed towards him, Gabriel felt himself relax--albeit only slightly--as he lowered the walking stick to his side once more. Soleil was a wreck, almost wide-eyed in his hysteria as he struggled to breathe, taking in the scene before him. Gabriel had learned long ago that shutting down his emotions in times of high stress were the easiest way to move through life; it was the closest thing to adaption Gabriel had managed to get a gasp on in light of his years of PTSD-inflicted episodes and trauma.

“The Russians and Irish decided to get a little handsy with the diamonds this evening, it would seem,” Gabriel answered calmly, turning around and sauntering back towards where the man, his eyes nearly glazed over, lay slumped against the wall. Gabriel bent down, gently prying the weapon from his hands--a sleek silver handgun, chrome as it glittered under the lights of the chandelier--and standing. He let the walking cane rest against the wall as he went about making sure the magazine clip was properly loaded, his face grim and almost impassive as he rolled his shoulders, cocked the gun, and shot a bullet between the man’s eyes, his voice low and cool as he said: “Au revoir, bâtard.” With a final shudder, the twitching stopped once and for all. His arm throbbed from where the bullet had grazed him, but Gabriel knew that wasn’t his main concern at the moment.

“There’s a world of violence waiting for us in the other room, mon ami; I could pretend everyone is going to make it out alive, but that would be a lie--one we would both know, down to our very bones,” Gabriel answered, grabbing the cane from where he’d left it and checking to ensure the handgun had enough rounds left as he made his way up the rest of the way to the balcony. The gun was gripped in one hand and the walking cane in the other. He turned to face Soleil as they came to the railing overlooking the chaos below, sizing the boy up to ensure he hadn’t suffered any physical wounds. Not yet, it would appear. “It’s fight or flight, and those who flee are only going to be caught in the crossfire. It is every man, woman, and person for themselves, it would seem.”

“So who’s it going to be, petit soleil?” Gabriel asked, flipping the cane towards him so that the snake head was presented to the younger man.“You. Or them?” 

[gabrielvbeaumont]

( &&. OPEN )

My, my, my, the Irish and the Russians certainly had gotten their hands dirty tonight.

Presently, Gabriel found himself scaling the perimeters of the party, not for the sake of running away, but for finding a better vantage point. Lucy referred to him as a cat: Fine. He would scale the rafters like a predator in search of prey. Gabriel had been caught unawares and made a victim once before, but never again. Never again. He was making his way towards the upper level, which would lead to the second floor balcony of the party, when he nearly barreled into a man making his way towards him. The one from earlier; the one he’d given the finger to at the party. The one he’d recognized as a mobster attempting to wear sheepskin.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty boy? We need to finish what we started earlier--I saw you talking with one of them. The Corsicans never did know how to play nice, did they?” There was a growl that rumbled in his voice, a snarl indicative of a streak of vindictiveness and violence, and as he reached for his hip (and the gun likely concealed underneath), Gabriel grabbed a walking stick among several canes and umbrellas tossed inside a stand nearby--long, made of blackwood and bearing a silver and emerald-encrusted snake head and refined to a rounded silver-tipped point. He tested the weight of the stick in one hand, then rounded on the man in a swinging arc, cracking him aside the head. The stranger staggered, swearing, yanking his gun out of its holster. Pity. He really was still going to try and shoot, wasn’t he? Gabriel stalked forward, his suit jacket billowing behind him as he hoisted the walking cane, twirling it in his hand. At the same moment the man squeezed the trigger, Gabriel jerked forward and impaled him through the throat with the cane. The bullet grazed Gabriel’s arm, causing him to hiss as the man slumped back against the wall, sliding to the floor and clutching at his throat as blood sprayed across the walls and the front of his suit.

“Now look what you’ve done,” he said quietly, gazing down at his clothes and then at the man twitching below him. “You’ve gone and ruined my suit.”

[gabrielvbeaumont]

mariexevers·:

Marie sighed, taking another drink from her glass. “Most be just ignore it, I guess I’ve seen enough to decide birthday’s are just another day where anything can happen to you. Just like any other day on the damn calendar.” 

Her brows raising as she turned to face him, “I’m not going to miss out on potential scandals, or free drinks.” She said smirking as she shrugged, “what about you? What’s your interest here?”

"I must say, you have a refreshing take on the matter; grim, but more accurate to how birthdays ought to be depicted,” Gabriel said, eyeing the woman with renewed interest. It was difficult to find anyone at tonight’s event who didn’t simply fawn and preen themselves over the idea of such a formal event, complete with farm animals and tiny cakes. For God’s sake, he might as well have been in a barnyard throw-down in the middle of Tennessee.

“I enjoy people watching,” he half-lied. People were interesting to watch in a certain degree, he supposed, providing he could do it from an environment he felt more comfortable in. “It’s interesting watch people behave like morons. Free entertainment.”

[gabrielvbeaumont]

lucycartwright·:

Lucy tsked. “I told everyone we should of brought our own,” she said, shaking her head. “I think the hard liquor might be better, but I did hear someone complaining about not having high-end Russian vodka earlier.” she rolled her eyes, giving him a her own catlike grin when he mentioned his skin care routine. “Oh please, you take better care of your skin than I do of mine - it’s a crime, Gabriel, honestly - well, except for your frown lines right….” She flicked her finger between his eyebrows. “There. From when you spend your time brooding with your kitties.” 

Her eyes flickered, and she snorted in disgust. “Merde - I’ve never seen something so disgusting in my whole entire life,” Her nose wrinkled. “But I think shooting them would just put them and their dying fashion sense out of their misery. Not quite the what I was imagining - mercy-killings usually aren’t my thing, non?” Lucy pursed her lips together, in mock contemplation. She waved it off. 

“I heard there was a petting zoo in the garden. Perhaps looking at a goat will turn your frown upside down?”

“And be forced to share with the Irish, who somehow think potatoes and whiskey are all the nutritional value you need? I think not.” Gabriel said primly, his glance skirting across the room in favor of more familiar faces mingling in the crowd. He had yet to see Damien, but he supposed the Parrain would be expecting Gabriel to strike up potential clients at a party as lavish as this one. If, of course, he wasn’t already inebriated and stripping in some corner of the party, fully preparing to streak across the premises and get himself banned from the Garden Hotel altogether.

That was the thing about Damien Olivier. He was entirely unpredictable.

“If I didn’t spend my time brooding, these suits wouldn’t look nearly as cutting on me,” he said as she flicked between his brow, resisting the urge to stiffen at the touch. He trusted Lucy, but there was always...that initial hesitation. The fight he had to have with himself when he was taken by surprise. Gabriel lived in a carefully-crafted world that hinged itself on total control. When things happened out of his element, he tended to shut down.

“If I wanted to pet a filthy animal, Lucy, I would simply bed an Italian,” he purred simply, taking another sip from his wine glass and settling back in his chair. “You, I take it, are enjoying the festivities more than myself?”

[gabrielvbeaumont]

derrieuxmelanie·:

Melanie noticed immediately when Damien became hyper focused on something business related, it was a subtle shift but one she picked up on real quick. Not one to talk shop when it comes to those matters she excused herself from the situation. She never asked questions, plausible deniability and all that, and she knew that if her funds or opinion was ever needed, Damien would take the time to explain whatever she needed to know. However, she hasn’t heard about anything and she figured that was for the best, besides she had more than enough friends to entertain her at this party and she was never opposed to the opportunity to make more. 

She’s heading towards a balcony, not far off from the dance floor when out of the corner of her eye she spies a familiar face. A warm smile gracing her features as she changes course and  approaches her dearest. To see him sulking in a corner makes her want to laugh, knowing instantly that he wasn’t here because he wanted to be but more than likely here at Damien’s request.

“Mon cher, why am I not surprised to see you all by your lonesome? A man as handsome as you should have all the ladies begging for your attention, and yet…” Melanie waves at the empty chairs around him. She’s finally close enough to lean down and give him two cheek kisses, realistically hovering mid air over his cheeks, not wanting her makeup to smudge over his pristine face. After that she backs up, creates a little distance so she could give a little twirl before him, an opportunity for her friend to see her whole look. “What do you think Gabriel? I’m wearing blue!” She laughs excitedly. 

Just when Gabriel thought he’d have to end the party early by ending his misery and hanging himself by his silk tie, a friendly face showed up. Melanie Derrieux, decked out in a gorgeous blue ensemble that highlighted her blonde hair and brought out the color of her eyes. He supposed on a dreadfully long list of strange and unusual outfits he’d seen in attendance at tonight’s gala, she was like a breath of fresh air. Not that he was in any way surprised, of course; Melanie was a designer. And a damn good one, at that.

“Try as I might, I can’t manage to find the company surrounding us worthy of my attention,” he drawled with a wave of his hand. He had seen many men and women tonight he could have considered beautiful on their own regard, had it not been for the tacky taste so many of them seemed to bear. He glanced around at the empty chairs around him and then at Melanie, blinking twice, long and slow as he appraised her. “The chairs were vacant by choice, mon cherie, I assure you. A man propositioned me about quarter of an hour ago, but well...” he nodded his head towards the other side of the room, where a man red-faced with shame was giving furtive glances at the table Melanie now occupied alongside him. Slowly, Gabriel lifted his hand, his lips curling into a smile as he wagged his fingers, and then delicately turned his hand around and curled down all fingers but his middle one.

“...I found him less than charming.”

“You look stunning, mon ami,” he said instead, turning his attention back towards Melanie and appraising her with a small whisper of a smile. “A vision in blue; perhaps you could teach the other guests in attendance a thing or two? A woman had the audacity to try and chat me up wearing Chanel from three seasons ago and passed it off as vintage couture.”

[lisbon]

[gabrielvbeaumont]

cassandraamato·:

“Why are you the gloomiest looking person here tonight?” Cassandra asked him as she sat down next to him. She had been all around the party, chatting to everyone. She might have seemed overly friendly to most people, but in reality she was just trying to get as much information she possibly could. She took a sip of from the wine glass she was holding and looked out at the party. She didn’t know how someone could look this miserable in a sea of laughter and smiles. 

“Did you come just to sit in the back all night?” 

Cassandra Amato--someone who was somebody up in the Italian Mafia. Gabriel couldn’t say he knew the woman very well, but he’d encountered her a time or two in the past. Her unnerving ability to always attempt to be friendly with him had deeply unsettled Gabriel from the moment they’d first met. You could never turn your back on anyone, not even those who ran in the same social circles and alliances as you, but Amato went out of her way to make it seem like you could; like you could trust her, like you could underestimate her.

Gabriel had learned from a very young age that letting your guard down around anyone was never a wise choice.

“You’ve taken an assessment of everyone at the party and have already judged that much, have you?” he countered, cocking his head at Cassandra as she meandered her way over to him. He glanced at the wine glass clutched in her hand, and then up at her face; practically beaming with sunlight. It made him nauseous.

“Until later, when I burst out of the birthday cake wearing nothing but my undergarments,” he deadpanned, his eyes locking on hers. “Really, you can’t believe this sort of party is entertaining?”

[gabrielvbeaumont]

marcelorrodriguez·:

American parties were so boring. The way that food was laid out so neatly, far too sweet and mild for his liking, the way the orchestra played slow, droning songs, even the way that the socialites spoke with one another, all barbed words and fake smiled irritated Marcelo. For an event that, as Lorelai had repeatedly mentioned, was supposed to be the event of the year, it was nothing compared to Carnaval. How was this supposed to bring a year’s worth of gossip, or whatever it was his charge was interested in? 

All it did was give him a feeling of homesickness.

But while Marcelo was perfectly fine with spending the rest of the evening sulking, counting down the minutes until he could put an end to Lorelai’s socializing and go home, it seemed that fate decided to toss him a bone. The bodyguard didn’t smile exactly, when he heard Gabriel’s approach, but his dour expression did become mildly less so, and that was a significant improvement for him. “Not by choice. Class wars don’t pay rent very well, I’ve discovered. Babysitting however, is quite lucrative depending on who the kid is.“ He shrugged half-heartedly, glancing over at his friend and occasional contractor. 

“But what brought you here? This place isn’t what I would call your…aesthetic.”No, when it came to Gabriel, there were always layers of subtext involved. It was one of the reasons why he was so interesting to work for, on the odd occasion the Corsicans needed outside help. Even without formal schooling, Marcelo knew that he was the sort who enjoyed finding meaning behind the many art pieces he kept and traded in, no matter how esoteric it was for the mercenary’s comprehension. “You must admit that this place is lacking, yes?”

If it were up to Marcelo Rodriguez, the party likely would have ended mere minutes after the birthday girl had arrived, and everyone would have worn matching sour smiles and grimaces. And that was precisely why Gabriel liked the other man as much as he did; a kindred spirit, if you will. Another thorn among a bed full of roses. As he made his way over to his acquaintance--friend, perhaps, if Gabriel was familiar with using such a term--he noticed that Marcelo’s expression only smoothed out slightly. He took no offense in his friend’s sour mood; after all, Marcelo had never been particularly skilled at disguising his distaste for things. Rather, he wore it plain on his face, like an angry smear of paint splashed across a canvas.

“Poor thing, being paid to look after spoiled brats,” Gabriel cooed, following his gaze around the room in search of Marcelo’s job for the night. A socialite, and likely a handful, if Marcelo had been assigned to her. “I could always find a way for you to work in the gallery in a more permanent manner, you know, but you’ll have to stop looking like the centerpiece of a Botticelli Inferno painting. Though Damien could always go for the look, personally. He’s always liked tortured things.”

Gabriel glanced around the party, his nose crinkling slightly as he took in the decor and opulence of the evening. No, no--Marcelo was right; it was hardly something he would have attended, had he been given the option freely. Had work not called to him. There were many places Gabriel could envision himself being on a night such as this, and a party was at the very bottom of his list.

“Far too much glitter and pastel colors for my taste,” he answered honestly, coming to lean up against the counter behind them. He tilted his head towards Marcelo, his eye roll reaching unknown depths of exasperation. “I am here for work, unofficially, though I’m a hair away from grabbing a butter knife and scooping my own eyes out, mon ami.”

[mstubbsii]

I don’t mean to sound bitter, cold, or cruel, but I am, so that’s how it comes out.

Bill Hicks (via nevilleslongbottom)

[gabrielvbeaumont]

mariexevers·:

@gabrielvbeaumont

Marie sighed rolling her eyes at the party. She wasn’t one for these kind of celebrations but she was here none the less. Wandering around and avoiding the actual party. She shrugged when she felt the presence of someone else. “Birthday’s seem redundant to me. Sorry if I’m ruining the party. I’ve had more than enough to realize that I’m closer to celebrating my death than my birth.”

"No need to apologize, they are,” Gabriel commented from his perch at one of the high top bars scattered around the eating area. He’d been nursing a glass of wine, his phone clutched in one hand as he’d scrolled through messages with the intention of texting Damien to determine his location, when he spotted the unfamiliar older woman. “The ritual of celebrating yourself inching towards death is rather morbid, the longer you reflect on it.”

“Why did you decide to attend an event you have minimal interest in?” Gabriel asked with a cock of his head; he couldn’t recall the woman off the top of his head, but it was possible they might have crossed paths before.

[gabrielvbeaumont]

lucycartwright·:

“You look like you’ve swallowed vinegar, mon ami!” 

There was glee in her soft tone as she sank into a seat next next to him. Lucy loved parties - she didn’t necessarily love birthday parties of some child, but it would provide satisfactory entertainment. People, by nature, were stupid and full of petty drama, and when she wasn’t keeping a careful eye on Damien or keeping her eyes and ears peeled for any useful information. 

Of course, the fact that she was armed meant nothing. She was always armed - even when she went out jogging. She looked over to Gabriel, a small smile on her face as she examined him. “Or perhaps you look like a big, old, grumpy cat…” Lucy pressed her lips together in thought, sipping her own drink as she leaned back. Lowering her voice, she leaned over. 

“Do you think if this party turns out to be disastrously dull, I’ll be allowed to shoot someone?” 

"Well, the wine isn’t particularly a vintage, so I might as well be washing my mouth out with dishwater,” Gabriel said dryly, setting the glass down on the table and scooting it away from him with a wrinkle of his nose. “Not that I would expect much more from a child’s birthday party, but mon dieu, could they not at least pretend to care?” He scoffed when Lucy referred to him as a cat, re-positioning his body so that he could face her better.

“Old? You must be confusing me with Parrain Olivier; I maintain a strict skin regimen, as you well know.” Gabriel corrected, drawing an arm up and over the back of his chair, allowing his fingers to dangle off the side of the piece of furniture. He glanced about the room as she spoke, indicating with a subtle nod of his head towards a gaggle of Italians standing by the dessert table. “Might I suggest a Tour d’Italia? If I have to see one more tacky Italian suit, I very well might end it all here. Gianni Versace did not get shot for you to wear last season’s gaudy gold three-piece suit to the social event of the year.”

[gabrielvbeaumont]

( &&. OPEN )

Gabriel wasn’t interested in friends, had a bare minimum interest in socializing in general, and felt that the entire party would be better admired from the comfort of his own room--miles away from the gossip of society’s elite and those too poor to be considered worthy of Upper East Side attention, but still trying (almost desperately) to cling to relevancy. Presently, he was seated at one of the lone tables that clung to the back of the ballroom, watching with vague disinterest the people gliding across the floor as the orchestra played a soft ballad in the background.

Crossing one leg over the other, Gabriel leaned back in his chair and reached for the glass of wine before him, taking a sip as his eyes scanned the people in the room. He had an itch to reach for the small, leather-bound novel he’d slipped on the inside of his breast pocket and read, but had made a promise to himself--to Damien--that he would at least attempt to show interest in tonight’s festivities.

Not like that would ever happen.

[gabrielvbeaumont]

( &&. @marcelorrodriguez )

As loathe as Gabriel was to be here this evening, even among the rare few he had the privilege of considering his friends or, at the very least, pleasant company, he knew it would only be a small matter of time before Damien became distracted with other people and he could manage to sneak out and away to his hotel room. There was a fascinating documentary on the rise and fall of the Russian Empire he’d noted the Garden currently had available for rent, and Gabriel had every intention to take advantage of the amenities offered by the five-star hotel.

He’d spotted a familiar face among the crowd, likely as sour at the prospect of being dragged to the social event as he was, and so--finishing his glass of red wine--Gabriel abandoned his glass in favor of making his way across the room, to where he’d spotted a familiar mop of dark, unruly hair.

“So, they’ve managed to leash you for the evening,” he said smoothly, a whisper of a smirk just barely gracing his features. “Have you sold your soul to the bourgeoisie at last, Monsieur Rodriguez?”

[gabrielvbeaumont]

GABRIEL BEAUMONT ☾ GOLIGHTLY GALA

attending the event as a guest of the Corsicans, Gabriel feels like a housecat being dragged out of the comfort of its homes, claws dug into the ground in complete and total opposition. He has no idea to remain at the gala long, instead hoping Damien won’t notice if he slips out early in favor of slipping upstairs to the suite he has on hold and holing up with a documentary and memoir.

[gabrielvbeaumont]

- ̗̀  GABRIEL BEAUMONT: Upper East Side Manhattan, New York City, NY

The rare guests invited into the Beaumont residence occasionally find themselves greeted by Gabriel’s Birman cat, Enjolras. Occasionally his Siamese, Grantaire, can be seen prowling along the top of bookshelves, but tends to keep to himself. It’s best not to approach Grantaire, particularly in one of his moods, unless you’re Gabriel or don’t care much about having your finger bitten off.

His living space is reminiscent of Victorian-inspired living,filled to the brim with art and literature. Take a tour of Gabriel’s luxury apartment, from his soft white-gold lit bed to his personal library.