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Gabriel's Arrival [OPEN]
Dec. 20th, 2012 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
has_a_hornIt's Las Vegas, 1960, and Gabriel has snapped himself back in time. He's sitting front and center in the Copa room at the Sands Casino, listening to Frank, Deano and Sammy croon their hearts out. Ever since that whole averted-apocalypse business, the past is generally the only place that's entirely safe and snug from anyone and anything that might know what he really is. He's grown attached to the body he's been living in for the past few thousand years, and he'd hate to change it without good reason. That, and Las Vegas in the sixties really was something worth appreciating.
Well, he thinks, it may be a few decades away from the Spearmint Rhino, but that doesn't stop a man of my unique imagination from having a good time. He's been here for a week and has already staked out a particular mobster that's ripe for a deservedly ironic death, but if he's being honest with himself, Gabriel would admit that he's not really ready to part with this particular scene just yet.
The tall, busty brunette sitting next to him isn't exactly human, or in fact real at all, but he pushes a drink across to her nonetheless. He smirks around a blissful sip of a delightfully anachronistic butterscotch appletini and watches as she picks up her glass. Her smirk when she drinks matches his exactly, a mirror image. On stage, Frank starts singing New York, New York. Gabriel had spent the last few minutes wondering how long he'd have to give Sinatra laryngitis before the singer started offering to change his ways. He sighs now, tiring of the idea, and slides his gaze back to a mobster he'd been watching off and on since he'd arrived.
"So," He leans towards his companion, brushing aside her wavy hair to whisper into her ear. "What next? Time for some action? How do you feel about alien abduction? Classic, right?" He nods in the man's direction, nuzzling against her cheek in the process.
The truth was, though, that he isn't feeling particularly into the vengeance game at the moment. He'd been feeling a bit restless, a bit at a loose end. Knowing this, his companion hmms in response, then speaks, breathy and seductive, "Don't you want to wait for desert? Or..." The brunette turns her head to face him and presses a kiss to his jawline. "...we could always go back to the suite."
He grins at the projection, having finally come to a decision with himself about what to do with the rest of his night, and shakes a finger at her to emphasize his point. The trickster business can wait another night. He has real silk sheets to appreciate. "That's the best idea I've had all night."
He's about to snap his fingers and bring himself back to his room, when something in the air shifts. He lifts his head and squints his eyes, as if trying to listen to a far off and tinny sound. There's definitely something in the air that's not right. He stands abruptly and looks around. He can't detect any particular point of change. The entire place feels suddenly different and he's not going to stick around to find out just who has taken a sudden interest in tracking his ass down. He raises his hand, ready to snap himself away.
In the Copa at the Sands casino, 1960, the room swims with cigarette smoke, glasses clink against glasses, and Sinatra sings.
These little town blues... are melting away... I'm gonna make a brand new start of it... in old New York...
A table, front and center, is suddenly empty. No one notices.
Bethesda terrace, 2012, an archangel-turned-trickster suddenly appears and stares up at a statue of an angel. He lowers his hand without having snapped his fingers at all.
"...Huh."
Well, he thinks, it may be a few decades away from the Spearmint Rhino, but that doesn't stop a man of my unique imagination from having a good time. He's been here for a week and has already staked out a particular mobster that's ripe for a deservedly ironic death, but if he's being honest with himself, Gabriel would admit that he's not really ready to part with this particular scene just yet.
The tall, busty brunette sitting next to him isn't exactly human, or in fact real at all, but he pushes a drink across to her nonetheless. He smirks around a blissful sip of a delightfully anachronistic butterscotch appletini and watches as she picks up her glass. Her smirk when she drinks matches his exactly, a mirror image. On stage, Frank starts singing New York, New York. Gabriel had spent the last few minutes wondering how long he'd have to give Sinatra laryngitis before the singer started offering to change his ways. He sighs now, tiring of the idea, and slides his gaze back to a mobster he'd been watching off and on since he'd arrived.
"So," He leans towards his companion, brushing aside her wavy hair to whisper into her ear. "What next? Time for some action? How do you feel about alien abduction? Classic, right?" He nods in the man's direction, nuzzling against her cheek in the process.
The truth was, though, that he isn't feeling particularly into the vengeance game at the moment. He'd been feeling a bit restless, a bit at a loose end. Knowing this, his companion hmms in response, then speaks, breathy and seductive, "Don't you want to wait for desert? Or..." The brunette turns her head to face him and presses a kiss to his jawline. "...we could always go back to the suite."
He grins at the projection, having finally come to a decision with himself about what to do with the rest of his night, and shakes a finger at her to emphasize his point. The trickster business can wait another night. He has real silk sheets to appreciate. "That's the best idea I've had all night."
He's about to snap his fingers and bring himself back to his room, when something in the air shifts. He lifts his head and squints his eyes, as if trying to listen to a far off and tinny sound. There's definitely something in the air that's not right. He stands abruptly and looks around. He can't detect any particular point of change. The entire place feels suddenly different and he's not going to stick around to find out just who has taken a sudden interest in tracking his ass down. He raises his hand, ready to snap himself away.
In the Copa at the Sands casino, 1960, the room swims with cigarette smoke, glasses clink against glasses, and Sinatra sings.
These little town blues... are melting away... I'm gonna make a brand new start of it... in old New York...
A table, front and center, is suddenly empty. No one notices.
Bethesda terrace, 2012, an archangel-turned-trickster suddenly appears and stares up at a statue of an angel. He lowers his hand without having snapped his fingers at all.
"...Huh."
