#gilbert gladstone

[solitaryspirits]

gilbert gladstone​

“Jesus. My head must be turning into an automatic Gilbert-detector,” Simon presses all fingers to each side of his head in a lame attempt at relieving the pressure that begins to builds. Without his eyes even laying on Gil, he intuitively knows that, despite his locked windows and doors, Gil has made his own way into Simons home.

His headache only deepens to the onsets of a migraine when Gil’s face peeks out from Simon’s hallway.

“Can’t you just knock? Like a normal person?” Not that Simon would answer his door, but it would be nice to have some warning to Gil’s presence other than a splitting headache. At least then he could prepare himself with two extra strength Tylenol. “I already know you’re going to raid the fridge. There’s mozzarella sticks in there,” He did plan on reheating those mozzarella sticks for later that day, but after eight months of having to keep an eye on the man, Simon has grown accustomed to Gil’s habits with the food in his fridge, particularly with any eggs that he has remaining. “I’ve already told your little girlfriend that I won’t be joining the two of you for Thanksgiving. But if leftover sweet potatoes happened to appear in place of those mozzarella sticks, I wouldn’t bet upset.”

@gentlemxnthief​

[fledglingthieves]

@thegillionaire

Simon didn’t know the first thing about medicine. He had medicine for body aches and colds, for when he couldn’t sleep, congestion, and fevers. But how could he use any of that to treat Mimi, who slept in his bed for most of the day and ate even less? He doubted Neosporin would readily heel the deeply infected cuts on Han’s now slightly distorted face (which he’d tried and failed to heal himself). Simon could cook. He could lay next to both Han and Mimi, make tea and get blankets, but the extent of his knowledge began and ended there.

He needed a break from his apartment, a breath of fresh air, and tuna melts to give to Borris while the rest of the Syndicate decided what to do with him. Simon didn’t like the idea of a stranger not aligned with them occupying his time in HQ but, well, Ange had asked for a tech guy; he and Han did their part.

Although the majority of the Syndicate had finally been recovered, Simon found that HQ remained mostly empty. Good. If most of them show their faces outside, the Doves will just arrest them again and everything would be wasted. Simon dropped the tuna melt sandwiches off at where they had Borris tied up. He’d planned on leaving it at that when he happened to catch a shadow moving across the floor. His eyes followed upwards and, surprisingly enough, Simon happened to see Gilbert.

Simon wouldn’t say he hated Gilbert, though he did find him somewhat annoying. He didn’t care to be called fledgling thief and he hadn’t particularly enjoyed their thieves first field trip together, either. But he’d spent the past few days at Han’s side and learned that the scientists had Gil strapped in the room with Han for a lot of it. Too much of it. That, presumably, Gil’s jokes and general banter had managed to keep them both (somewhat) sane. That, if it hadn’t been for Gil, Han could’ve returned even worse.

Most of Simon’s talents lied in being quiet and listening. He’d never been great with words. He already felt awkward approaching the man. Gil’s unusual pacing and muffled mumblings, two habits he’d never seen the man do before, only made Simon feel more offput. Yet he forced himself forward regardless. There were some things that just needed to be said.

“Gil,” His voice echoed through the otherwise empty building. “Hey. Think you can spare a few minutes of your time?” He asked, then took a tentative step forward. “You alright there?”

[fledglingthieves]

@thegillionaire

Even though he took some interest in art, Simon did not care about emeralds. Were they pretty? Sure. Were they expensive? Probably. But he cared more about not getting caught in the process of stealing them. Even if Gil, sorry, Tux, was a good thief, that didn’t mean he wasn’t annoying and obnoxious and very likely to get them caught.

Or, perhaps, skirting around the edge of getting caught was a better way to phrase it.

He was technically keeping guard even though he was inside the building; the ghosts outside made it all the easier for him to keep an eye on things without actually being there. He already had the feeling they were taking too long. He half expected one of his ghosts to show up to let him know that the police, or worse, the doves, were right outside.

“Tux,” Simon nearly hissed, his voice muffled from the scarf he wore on his lower face. “Hurry up. We’re not made of time here.”

[vicioushauntings]

SIMON MUHN && GILBERT GLADSTONE

Having been a medium for most of his life, Simon held an intimate familiarity with odd sounds in the night. Sleeping through them is impossible, but he has since learned the difference between sounds that were true causes of concern and sounds that were nothing more than ghosts begging for his attention. Sleep hadn’t found him that particular night, as it so seldomly did - and a stirring at his door doesn’t raise immediate bells. With Han snoozing at his side, Simon does not even open an eye…not until the floorboards creak. He assumes Johanna - a nightmare about the monster at the end of the hall again - but the continuing footsteps are far heavier than the five-year-old.

The moment Gilbert speaks his name, Simon begins to draw himself away from his cocoon of blankets.

“Hold – hold on. Gilbert. Gilbert –” He rubs his eyes. “You have to slow down. What…what is going on? The moon? Why…why are you here?”

@chocalafolie​

[solitaryspirits]

gilbert gladstone

“This feels like a god damn intervention. In a park,” Simon pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. When he suggested that Gil pick the place for them to meet, he imagined a restaurant. A museum, even his home. Somewhere private. But a park? With children running, children screaming, parents running, parents screaming...a young adult with unbrushed hair tied in a bun flies past Simon on a bike. He can feel the rush of air against his limbs -- too close for comfort. “Do these people have nowhere else to be?”

It is a Saturday, on the first warm weekend of the year - not the best planning in Simon’s book ( but how was he supposed to know the weather would rise above freezing? ). He could have named the location himself. He shouldn’t have given Gilbert that power.

And now he sits on one side of a cold bench that has S + M carved into the seat. “I spoke to Jessica,” Simon begins. “And she told me -- Sorry,” He frowns, then taps at his ear. “There’s too many six-year-olds screaming, you’re going to have to speak up, I can’t hear you.”

@gentlemxnthief​