( &&. @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?”