mvgpie

[mvgpie]

You could strangle me and I would thank you as I died.

“I like your style, greyface! Now, of course, unless you did something to really atrocious, I probably would not choke the life out of you. But I would not take it off the table entirely.”

[mvgpie]

Marry me.

“Oh my, you are a bold one. I don’t know that marriage is really for me, dear, but we can certainly make some other arrangement if you’re interested.”

[mvgpie]

Boys or girls? Maybe both? Asking for a friend. It's me. I'm the friend.

“Both! All! Anyone and everyone, my friend, I’ve no desire to curb my own desires or anyone else’s. Love and lust know no bounds!”

[mvgpie]

Hi daddy

“Bonjour, my little friend! Have you been behaving yourself, or have you been a deviant little scamp?”

[mvgpie]

I ship you with myself.

“Love, who doesn’t? The real question is, are you bold enough to chase me?”

[mvgpie]

Honesty Hour

Damien

Anya

Giselle

Liam

Rafael

Roan

[mvgpie]

my life

[mvgpie]

[mvgpie]

Damien had just been in the middle of a rather scintillating conversation with a beautiful woman who might be the perfect nightcap for the evening when an explosion echoed through the room. Or at least that’s what seemed to have happened, if the sudden burst of noise was to be believed. It quickly became clear that what his ears perceived as a blast was a combination yells, screams, broken glass, and firing guns.

There was a polycarbonate blade tucked into a hidden pocket in his jacket, only for emergencies. He never used a gun in public; it could shatter his image and put him on the authorities’ radar. But he would be damned if some idiotic gunfight were to be his death sentence, and no amount of security or metal detectors would prevent him fro, being prepared for any eventuality.

Damien had just retrieved the thin, black blade and slipped it up his sleeve when someone was rushing toward toward, a gun pointed up at his face. Before he had a chance to do more than looked surprised and offended, Izidora dispatched the would-be assailant lightning fast. “Oui, je trouve cette tournure des événements assez déplaisante,” he replied, tone clipped but grateful as he began scanning for a way out. “S'ils sont intelligents, ils bloqueront les sorties. Nous devrions nous diriger vers la suite que j'ai réserv��e.”

It had all gone to shit rather quickly and Izidora had barely finished her first glass of wine. She’d been going very slow in case, things did in fact, go to shit. She pulled a rather small handgun that she had to piece together out of her clutch and one of Damien’s security staff slipped a full magazine into her palm. It gave a satisfying click into place.

She had two goals. Get Damien out alive and not to kill anyone in the process. It would be tricky to explain why she had needed to kill instead of wound. Thankfully, she was mostly sure that Damien and the Family had something to do to with this. That’s one less thing to indict him on. 

Her three bullet fired of the night one into a man’s gut. Aimed so it wouldn’t kill but would get him down before Damien could do the job. One less thing to indict him on. “Monsieur, il est temps d'y aller,” she said, her Swedish accented French sharp like any one of the bullets flying through the room. “Je dois vous sortir d'ici.” @mvgpie​x

[mvgpie]

alexandervbarrett:

“Of course, how could I possibly think of attending a party without a little partial nudity?” Alex deadpanned, giving the Parrain a rather critical once over as he took a hearty drink from his flute of champagne. The value of the diamonds was worth more than half the people in this room, but if he had to put up with the infuriating company he’d stumbled across thus far, he was pretty certain he’d end up putting a round of bullets through a few unfortunate heads by the time the evening was done and over with.

“I don’t give compliments out lightly, so do with it what you will,” Alex said with a slight shrug. He tipped his head back, finishing the rest of his glass of champagne. A cocktail waitress weaved through the crowd, a tray balanced expertly on one hand carrying empty and full flutes of champagne. Alex quickly swapped out his finished glass for a new one, folding one arm across his middle as he nursed the drink lightly. His eyes snagged on the Italians, and then glanced over to the Russians Damien had indicated, anger deep and rolling surging within him. Unruly, entitled bastards.

“The Russians seem to enjoy brooding and reminding you they survived Communist occupation; I see no reason why the current Valentina is any different–in fact, brooding and pouting seem to be his only personality identifiers,” Alex commented, taking another drink of his champagne. He spotted a Russian leering at him from across the room and allowed a grin to slide across his features, lifting two fingers against his temple and salute the poor bastard with a flick of his wrist. “You know, with that baby doll pout and whine of his, Valentina likely would have made a better prostitute than Pakhan. He’s already whored himself out to try and meet his late father’s standards. Pity it’s fallen short.”

Yet another of Damien��s many vices was the delight he took in annoying people he looked down on. True, Alexander Barrett was the head of the entire Irish mafia in New York, but in Damien’s mind that made him little better than the mutt leading a pack of quaint junkyard dogs. Still, even such a mutt had his uses, and perhaps even a few virtues under all the fleas. “There’s that delightful Irish wit I’ve heard tell of,” he replied with a languid chuckle, taking another sip of champagne. “I don’t know why you bother with clandestine enterprise at all; you’d easily take New York’s stand-up scene by storm.”

The Parrain watched as Alex swapped out his empty glass for a fresh one, noting the way he crossed his arms and glared at both the Italians and the Russians with a special spark of hatred. “I intend to run with it and not look back, of course! No take-backs.” Really, if he’d known tonight was to be so entertaining, he might have insisted Jean come along, rather than had his Deuxième stay behind to hold down the fort. Jean was always a perfect audience to play off of.

“Do you know, I actually said much the same thing the other evening,” Damien admitted with amused surprise. “We were taking wagers as to what was more likely to kill Valentina faster—a bullet or his own sour disposition.” He gave another appreciative chuckle as Alex baited the leering Russian across the way, his eyes glittering deviously. “Terribly short, but we mustn’t lay the blame entirely on him. It simply comes down to breeding. I confess I’m still not entirely acquainted with all the history of his family, but given the way his father went... well, I suppose we shall have to see how long those luscious lips and that mop-top keep him alive.” Were he a betting man (and he often was), Damien wouldn’t think it would be for very long without the Corsicans’ help.

[mvgpie]

Sophia, stripping: We've just gotta get out of here. Whatever it takes. I'm getting so nervous over here.

Avery: Okay, you really don't need to take your dress off.

Sophia: I WISH you were right!

---

LATER...

Avery: I told you you didn't need to get naked, that just made them angrier!

Sophia: Oh, that's SO obvious now, isn't it? I'm sorry, it's hard for me to think when my clothes are off!

[mvgpie]

alexandervbarrett:

Alex had been on his way out of the main area of the party and to the general hotel quarters–in hopes of seeing if any of the staff had an inkling about any added security or rooms occupied by the Golightly family that evening–when a familiar face snagged in his peripheral vision. He stopped up short, just in time to hear the smooth voice of Damien Olivier slip across the din of the party. A question; he was asking Alex a question.

Generally speaking, Alexander didn’t bother dealing with the Corsicans. The French were notoriously pretentious; it was rather difficult for him to take a group of people so obsessed with their own assholes and artistic expression seriously. But while the Italians and Russians infuriated him, the French merely gave Alex a headache. One never-ending mindfuck of a migraine he hadn’t the slightest chance of waking up from.

“Damien Olivier,” Alex said smoothly, cutting his gaze at the dark-haired man as he paused in his tracks. “I wasn’t aware the French degraded themselves to attend events that didn’t involve interpretive dance and orgies.” He paused, glancing around as his gaze snagged on Dante Vicario’s crew some feet away. Son of a bitch, who’d let the fucking Italians in here? Alex brought his glass of champagne to his lips, taking a sip as he glanced for Vicaro through the crowd. “Though you are not, by far, the most emotionally unstable person here, it would seem.”

Already a charming start to the discussion. But Alex’s words rolled off him like water off a duck’s back. “Every so often, we can find it in our hearts to grace such pedestrian events as these with our presence,” he replied with a cat-like grin. “I hear there is to be some dancing, actually. Though you must admit, a little nudity would certainly liven things up.” Damien knew that many of the other players in New York’s mafia scene gave him and his crew little thought, and when they did mostly thought of them merely as snobby art thieves. They weren’t wrong, by any means, but it was hilarious to know just how much others underestimated the Corsicans. They’d done a bang-up job of manipulating their image, a deft stroke on Damien’s part that he was quite pleased with.

Almost as pleased as he was to see the look on Alex’s face when the other man laid eyes on a cluster of nearby Italians. “My my, I will have to take that as a compliment, Mr. Barrett. Or as close to one as I suspect I’ll ever receive from you.” He chuckled, eyeing the Italians over the rim of his champagne flute. “I must repay it, then, for you are by far not the most prolific dullard present either.” With a gentle tip of his hand, he used the champagne glass to indicate a gaggle of what could only be Russians several feet to the left of the Italians.

It would only make sense for Viktor Valentina to be in attendance, but despite the impending marriage between the middle Valentina boy (Damien could never remember his name) and his beloved cousin, Damien found the Pakhan a rather boring individual. His single-minded vendetta against the Irish was so tedious, not to mention his bloodlust with regards to the Italians. Were it not an incredibly convenient alliance, Damien would have abandoned the whole thing entirely out of sheer boredom. “Monsieur Valentina is no doubt skulking around here somewhere like a bat, looking for a dark roost to retreat to.”

[mvgpie]

@alexandervbarrett

As expected, the Golightly’s did not take their daughter’s birthday lightly at all. The decorations alone must have cost a cool couple mil. Damien cast an appreciative eye around, admiring the efforts put into the lavish affair. It was a shame the festive atmosphere was being ruined by the presence of rats. Quite worldly, these rats, too. Russian, Irish, Italian, even some newer ones from China, Mexico, and South Africa. New York had always been a breeding ground for rodents from all walks of life. Sooner or later, though, his Corsicans would perform pest control and only keep those who would make suitable pets.

Almost as if drawn by some sixth sense, one such rat made its approach. The Magpie was not easily taken by surprise, and noted the burly Irishman’s figure weaving through the crowd toward him with amusement. Perhaps it was time to see what the Captain was made of. He’d disdained of fraternizing with the Irish up to this point, but it would be prudent to learn for himself what sort of man Alexander Barrett was. “Delightful celebration, don’t you think?” he mused when Barrett had drawn close enough to hear him.

[mvgpie]

EVENT #1: A Star is Born

DAMIEN OLIVIER attending the 19th birthday celebrations of Miss Bunny Golightly

Adorned head to toe in designers, Damien is making the most of this extravagant affair in style. His retinue of Corsican elites, soldiers, and spies have joined him for a night of frivolity that he is sure will prove both enlightening and entertaining. His suit is a custom-made La Fleur Fae original, and all other adornments come from names like Dolce & Gabbana, Versace, and so on. No hints of diamonds on his person, but the Magpie will have his ears wide open looking for interested parties who might wish to deal in his precious gems. Though looking his best, Damien is not planning on being on his best behavior. It’s a party, after all.

[mvgpie]

[mvgpie]

sugar buddy: your totally platonic rich friend who gives u expensive gifts 

[mvgpie]

gabrielvbeaumont:

“A bodyguard? How refreshing, yet another person I’ll have the pleasure of ignoring while they leer over me, intent on disrupting my solitude.” Gabriel drawled with an exaggerated eyeroll, shifting the book fully into his lap and directing his full attention to the Parrain. He respected Damien a great deal, and perhaps he shouldn’t be quite so coy, but he knew it was all in good fun and faith–the leader of the Corsicans knew the gratitude and respect Gabriel held for him.

For a viper who chose not to share or register his feelings to the rest of the wide world, Gabriel supposed it would have to be enough.

“I don’t recall seeing anyone at the gallery myself…perhaps they have not been there frequently enough yet to draw the attention of bystanders, either,” Gabriel managed with a furrowed brow. He felt the twinges of irritation tug at his chest–someone dared to enter the gallery he spent so much time artfully protecting and curating and intended to rob it? The audacity. “How would you like to handle it, Parrain? All bark, all bite, or something in-between?”

“See? They’ll just stand behind you, you’ll ignore them, they’ll glare at everyone else, they’ll avoid you. It’ll be fun!” He laughed, imagining the scene vividly. Not all bodyguard-client relationships were as close as his was with Izi. In fact, she was an outlier by most accounts. But he wouldn’t force anything on Gabriel that the spécialiste did not want. He knew Gabriel was more than capable of looking after himself, and in the same way he loved all of his ‘family’, he loved the man enough never to read into the barbs and quips sent his way.

Damien nodded. “They’ve been making sure to come close to closing so there are few other patrons to notice them. But that makes them all the more conspicuous to our security.” It was almost insulting how bad they were at casing the gallery, which made him all the more suspicious. “Something in-between seems prudent. I’d hate to waste resources on amateurs only to have someone with more skill slip in while our backs are turned. These newcomers need only be scared off, I think. Something that will serve as a warning for anyone lurking and waiting for an opening. Then, should they still wish to press their luck, they will fall into a trap.”