emotion? in this economy?

As soon as Gabriel gives him the asked for attention, Julian sighs almost immediately. No such thing as learning from your mistakes. “Should I ask what liking his lobster a little too much means in this context?” It almost made Julian wonder what Gabriel’s criticism would be of Julian and his too-rare steak. “Just hunger, I’m afraid. I do have some breaks, believe it or not.”

Liz rolled her eyes, a shake of the head offered as she took another sip from the (sadly, alcohol free) coffee that had come to replace her eggnog once more now that the festive season was over. 

“If y’all wanna call this place heartwarming, I ain’t gonna stop you. Whatever helps you get through the day. Suppose you ain’t being bothered by as many lobbyists no more now that you work for the president.”

[TEXT: VASERMAN] - and what do your champagne suppliers have to say? [TEXT: VASERMAN] - well I’m not gay so I couldn’t fucking know

gabriel + shit talking (???) 

Carrie couldn’t help huffing a quiet laugh under her breath, looking down into her glass for a moment. “You know that’s not exactly what I was getting at.” Though at the same time, his excitement was so clear she was almost tempted to just go on and indulge him, let him show her around all the open apartments in D.C. just because he could. But the conversation switched gears and she listened - quiet, face softening in sympathy. “Of course. It’s hard, people make assumptions, I understand. I’m just saying… You don’t have to put up a show because that’s what people expect. You don’t owe people anything.” She found herself brushing some hair off his forehead, the gesture affectionate. “Just be you. That’s enough.”

“I think it’s perfectly nice.” Carrie offered, always trying to find the diplomatic middle ground - as if someone like Elise Berkeley really needed Carrie to defend her. “It’s a beautiful house. You could probably fit three of our apartment in here.” She’d never been to Number One Observatory Circle - never dreamed she’d be at the Vice President’s home, clinging to the arm of the Secretary of the Treasury (her fiance) because she was so reluctant to let him out of her sight. “Just hope it stays that way. I don’t think I could take another party like Halloween.” She found herself frowning just at the thought, choosing to distract herself with a glance at the cup Gabriel was clutching. “You don’t have to put up appearances, you know. You can put it down.”

“Really, Vaserman?” Julian asks, the single eyebrow raised the only indicator that he wasn’t completely bored. Whatever filled that gap was, well, indifferent. “You come over for Christmas just to insult my pregnant wife?" 

It was the sort of thing Julian expected out of the likes of Natalie Meyer — who hadn’t yet said something as low in the three hours she’d been there; a record, no doubt —, but not out of the President’s chosen Treasury Secretary. At the very least, it says something about Wright’s poor judgement. (She’d chosen him, after all. Julian, who would rather see her name on a tombstone rather than any other campaign banner.) 

"I’d return the favor on Carrie, but let’s just be glad one of us has manners.”

Gabriel jolted, although softly, as the comment was unintended to have the VP’s ear. But like anything that came out of his mouth, Gabriel took responsibility for what he said. “Take a joke, Berkeley.” It was his way of levelling himself with the other. After all, he struggled to gain Theresa’s attention while she seemed satisfied with him. “And belated congratulations,” he added softly. 

On her second (fourth) glass of champagne, Gwen already made her rounds to show face. Part of her likes to think it was to be friendly, but more than likely she liked to make these appearance as a reminder that she’s still here. In case anyone forgot, which is unlikely but it never hurts. While heels have become second nature at this point, these new ones aren’t broken in quite yet and she’s in need of a small rest. Finding refuge in secluded area, she’s perched on the arm of a chair.

 “What? Does the oversized. gaudy tree in the foyer not meet your taste?” Gwen chimes in with an amused chuckle, taking a sip from her glass. “Figured that’s all the cheer you’d need or else it’d look downright tacky.” She muses, gaze flickering to the man next to her. 

Facing the mythical Gwen Calhoun himself was a rarity. At an event, it was nice to divulge. There was no urgency nor panic, just the warm pulse of the winter holiday. She was probably more familiar with his former chief of staff. Oh, the mess they had to clean sometimes. 

“I think I’m the oversized gaudy tree sometimes,” he remarked, snorting a little. Pressing his lips together, he further scanned their surroundings. Gabriel placed his cup down and gestured his open palms in vaguely circular motion. “It needs a bit more cheer. Optimism for the new year. But too much cheer, and you’d be out of a business, no?” 

He found a quieter spot where the crowd was muffled, before taking a big look around the main room. 

“Come on, it’s my treat. My treat.” Gabriel tried to snatch the menu up. While he refrained from drinking alcohol, he was referring to the luxury sake that must’ve been plated with gold to have the price tag it did. “My house is mere blocks from here it’ll be fine.” His Japanese friends in Hawaii had introduced him to the concept of izakayas. It was like tapas but rowdy, which fit right up Gabriel’s surplus energy after a day of his mentally tedious jobs (accountant, finance, congressman and the treasury were all dull at the deeper level).