Gabriel Carrington
"You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!"
-Albus Dumbledore, 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire' by J.K. Rowling
NameGabriel Tate Carrington
NicknamesTate - Really likes going by his middle name, actually.
Gabe - Derives from Gabriel. Just shorthand.
Archie - Short for Archangel, since Gabriel is one of the seven.
Merc or Mercury - Since Gabriel is the Messenger of God and, during his edgy 14 year old phase, Gabriel demanded he be called Mercury cause he was the cooliest of the Roman Gods, since he's pretty much Gabriel, anyways.
Mulder - "Just call me Mulder. Fox Mulder." It's usually more to mock him, but he kinda likes it.
Age37
GenderMale
OccupationAgent for the FBI
ResidencyA quaint apartment in Washington, D.C.
Sexual OrientationSuper Gay Homosexual
Relationship StatusSingle. Pringle. Mingle. The whole nine yards or nine inches aaaaaayyyyyy.
AppearanceWhat can be said of a man in a large, imposing, 6'4" frame?
A brief glance gives the perspective of a stoic giant, with his face a lazy pull. There's a brief glimpse of vibrancy in the fluidity of his movements that matches the brightness of blue eyes. Though, many get caught up in the broadness of Gabriel's figure, intimidated by the sheer power he exudes. Gabriel doesn't skimp on his health and tends to boast a musculature that demands a rigorous diet and workout routine. And it actually does, though he wishes he could inhale a mountain of sweets sometimes.
Many people like to describe Gabriel as untapped energy, just waiting for the right moment. His muscles bunch up, flex and stretch in his movement; a lot of the intimidation factor centers around the fact that Gabriel doesn't just walk, he stalks. He moves deliberately, slowly, patiently, and keeps his focus and attention in the radius around him. The constant surveillance is a staple of his person. There's literally no one who hates being surprised than Gabriel. He's broken a few arms and legs from people deliberately trying to scare him. Not many people understand that a man who's movement resembles a hunting jaguar will not hesitate to pounce. That's where the energy bursts from, when he's found a target to pounce on, whether that be tackling his job or actually tackling an individual.
Thoughtful and efficiently expressive, Gabriel's gaze is almost always focusing on something. Blue eyes are inquisitive and teeming with curiosity. After being given nothing but blank or hostile expressions all of his life, Gabriel tries to convey his emotions as best as he can. Giving off a sincerity to the way he expresses himself and his actions, especially. Of course, that need for vibrancy in facial expressions doesn't translate to clothing.
Everything Gabriel owns denotes an air of efficiency. Most of his clothing consist of suits, pieced together beforehand and almost always conservative, though he does like anything that hugs his body. A well fitting suit is a godsend. However, there's really nothing bright in his wardrobe, no odd socks, or colorful pants. A lot of things range from grey to charcoal black, even his ties lack a real style—solid color seems to be a thing with him. Any casual wear usually comes with a pair of jeans, maybe a flannel or a grey Henley. Anything that's uncharacteristic of his usual style of clothing comes from other people. What more, it's likely all due to a lack of any real fashion sense, since attempts to wear anything besides his average wardrobe ends in an amalgamation of horror and the grotesque.
"I do a surprising amount of field work."
PersonalityFor a man who fears complete silence, Gabriel spends quite a bit of time silent himself. It surprises a lot of people, since Gabriel most resembles a golden retriever—or at least, that's what he always gets on quizzes. Gabriel simply isn't a fan of wasting his words; he doesn't like throwing something out there just to fill the void. If he needs to express something he will, but if a situation doesn't require his voice, Gabriel won't hesitate to stay completely mute. Of course, the issue lies in moments that do require his voice and when Gabriel overwhelms himself with anxiety, he also shuts down. Anger, depression, fear all leave Gabriel voiceless, or near enough.
A man of little words, however, often expresses himself in his actions. Gabriel doesn't shy away when a situation calls for action. He takes a stand wherever he can. Though, it's not always a heated situation that causes him to leap in. Gabriel expresses himself in affection, in giving of his time and effort. He lets people know he cares through the little things, but also doesn't hesitate to show it in large, grand gestures. Hell, if you need it and he cares a whole helluva lot about you, Gabriel won't hesitate to hop on a plane and fly where you need him. Point him in the direction and he'll take off running.
Of all things, Gabriel keeps his guard up and defenses strong. Getting hurt doesn't always mean physically and, for Gabriel, the worst pain isn't a broken leg, but a broken heart. And so, his efficiency and almost ruthless tact keeps his heart off his sleeve. Sometimes it requires looking at the bigger picture to realize that some things don't matter. Though, he doesn't often realize his utilitarian views on his job can often leave people worse than he left them. Gabriel is far from a bleeding heart, but he cares and sometimes he finds that a weakness and tamps down on it with immorality and amoral perspectives. He just doesn't realize desensitizing oneself can hurt a lot worse than a broken heart.
Likes- Cotton Candy
- The Smell of Pine Trees
- Netflix
- Expensive Wines
- Longhaired Cats
- Cheeeeeese!
- The X-Files
- Camels
- Sushi/Seafood
- Getting his picture taken
- Country Music
- Misquoting Shakespeare
- Encyclopedic Knowledge
- Athletic
- Mechanically Inclined
- Problem Solver
- Overworking/Tunnel Vision
- Self-Deprecating
- Utilitarian/Slightly Immoral
- Extremely Secretive and Prideful
Losing everything he's worked towards, the quiet, dying alone.
"I see all that I have built and worry not for its ruination but for its growth. Have I done more harm than good?"
HistoryNo one quite broke away so easily as Gabriel Carrington. Second child of the Carrington bunch, and not quite too long between him and his eldest sister. Coming second offered a respite from the eyes and ire of Reginald Carrington. Maybe that's why Gabriel took so strongly to his mother. Maybe she hadn't gotten the eldest right, but Cassiopeia had been intent on at least nurturing Gabriel until she deemed him old enough. For a short time, at least.
If anyone asked how it happened, Gabriel couldn't say. He'd been at least four, at the time. The connection between mother and child broke—snapped with little resistance. One moment she'd been doting on him, the next she was gone. For a toddler, emotional whiplash could possibly break a child. At thirty-seven, Gabriel would attest to that; he was broken, or at least he thought so. And, so, Gabriel wandered for most of his adolescence, wondering if mother would take him to see a movie or go get ice cream. Instead, he asked and only ever received her blank stare. She would guide him to the front door, and then disappear again, promising to be back soon. That was a blatant lie, if ever there was one. A nanny would step out where she'd came from, take his little hand, and usher him into one of the many cabs they had available.
Every time, it never failed, Gabriel would break down into sobs and the nanny (among the numerous they had) would hush him. She would reassure him with lies, tell him that his mother got caught up in a meeting, that she didn't hate him. It didn't quite help and it never would, especially during those moments of identity crises. No mother to hold him close while he begged to be told he was normal, that it was okay, and that the other children were just raised ignorant and uncaring. Neither father or mother offered him much when he came home bruised and beaten one day. His father had merely asked what happened, and his mother left almost immediately. Gabriel's coming out didn't quite garner the reaction he expected, but it wasn't one he wanted.
Reginald's solution was to beef him up, not for some masculine, macho man reason, but as an act of intimidation. Gabriel had thought it was the former, though his father reassured him that, no, he completely understood his son's dilemma. At that moment, Reginald had become less of a distant, absent father, and more... well, his father, even for a short while. Surprising enough, when Gabriel returned to school that fall, he'd quickly found that none of his tormentors returned for the school year and that he had all these muscles for damn near nothing.
He did, however, get his first phone number and a date to prom. So, there's one outta a million his father did right. Better than nothing at all, he supposed.
Among all of his siblings, Gabriel found a much easier time slipping away after college. His father gave up on him running the business probably upon his birth and his mother didn't really pay him much attention. Of course, the lack of parents did skew his view on pretty much everything affection related. Gabriel craved attention, love, and affection, but had no idea of how to get it. Every time he tried to urge his mother into at least a hug, he was shot down. The only parental figure in his life, which he owed a million and one things to, was their old housekeeper for their Washington cabin. Of course, she was always more of a grandmother than a mother, but she gave Gabriel the tools to go and make a person out of himself.
Gabriel may be born a Carrington, but he'd become something entirely different. He, begrudgingly, could say he was a better man for it, as well. With a job in a distinguished position in the FBI and a nice home of his own in a nicer part of D.C. Gabriel had built for himself a life outside of his family name. And, though he cut most ties with his siblings, for the most part (a few who tried to remain in contact succeeded), Gabriel has never been happier.
EducationGraduated from Stanford University for both his bachelors in political science and engineering.
Favorite memory"The first time I ever saw him. I was somewhere in Illinois, in a field down south. I don't know what I was doing at the time; I actually don't remember anything outside of this instance. But being there, it seemed surreal. For all it's worth, that fate mumbo jumbo is pretty astounding—poetic wise, perhaps.
"I do remember what the field looked like, a tiny hill with itchy grass and spotted with blankets. No lights, just the fireflies to guide everyone. And they dotted the side of the hill like tiny stars, blinking into and out of existence in the dark backdrop of green and brown. I wanted to float, it looked so beautiful, like the stars wanted to coalesce right in that field.
"What did I smell? Rosemary? Cloves? Honeysuckle. So much nectar it made my tooth ache. You could practically see the trail the bees left. And I swore, as cheesy as it sounds, it all led to him. He wasn't even moving, but he'd captivated me in an instant. His shoulders were bunched up, hands propping himself up, gripping the grass like a lifeline. A leg splayed out, the other, a prosthetic, lay at his side, while his head looked up at the night sky. He looked so comfortable, and I felt disturbing him would offend the balance of the universe, or some shit. So I waited until I could burst and I finally approached him. Sat myself right down next to him.
"I wanted him there. Wanted to call him mine. Wanted to bury my nose in his neck to breath the honey. Wanted to bite at his jaw and whine until he gave me attention, affection. Oh. I was an embarrassment. I couldn't see myself, but I knew, when he gave me this confused, concerned look, that my face looked like a damned tomato. And I blurted out, 'Your leg's a nub!' and gave him this pained expression like I knew what I'd said because I knew exactly what I'd said.
"God, I could have kissed him there. Almost did. He just smiled at me and put the prosthetic in my hand. Said, 'It's a prototype. I used to be a runner and this one gives me back something I thought I'd lost forever.' and I wish I didn't just give him this stupid look. But, I think he knew, even to this day, I think he knew and he appreciated that I was trying. But I could still kill myself, I swear.
"We said nothing afterwards. He staid beside me while everyone called out stars and constellations. And then fastened his leg back on, stood up, and smiled at me before he left. I was stupid. I should have followed. I think he waited for me for hours and I just... I didn't come. I didn't think to. And I wish I had. But, I'll keep this memory forever. Hopefully. And maybe I can share it with him again."
Least favorite memory"There's this place we used to go when I was a kid, somewhere in Washington mountains. A lot of pines. It smelled amazing. Still my favorite smell today. Brings back good memories.
"I was 17, at the time, and I think I knew. It was snowing, mom and dad had wanted to personally drive us up. Just the few of us, not as many as there are today. But there was something off about that day, about the way my mother kept looking at me in the rear view. She wanted to say something the entire trip up, but she didn't. I think she saw the look on my face that begged her not to.
"The entire stay there was nothing like before. It was an experience, definitely.. I had the most amazing time and could tell you a lot of memories I still love to reminisce today. But leaving that place—that was the hardest, worst time of my entire life. My mother came up to me while I was packing my things. She usually avoided physical contact, but that day she seemed different, like the cold outside had drained the cold she held in her body. She hugged me in front of the frosted balcony windows. She hugged me while I was packing my underwear. And then she cried. She cried until I did, until we could only hiccup our sobs.
"She told me, after we'd cried long enough, that the housekeeper died. The woman who practically raised me had died in her sleep a week before we were scheduled to come up. I had no more tears, but I stood there, numb. And I just... I wanted to hate my mother. I wanted to blame everything on her. I wanted her to be the villain, to be the murderer, to go to jail forever. And then I remembered. My mother actually cried. She pulled me into her arms and she sobbed and I had no idea why.
"I think I understand now. Maybe it wasn't for her, the old lady who used to come up here every Christmas to decorate. She had had a good life. She made an impact. Maybe my mother was scared; that she wanted to live up to what she'd done for me. And that she knew she couldn't. And I started crying again. I hugged her, buried my head in her chest. Because I understood. And I knew she was right."
"I should smile more. I like to smile. So much that it's distracting; maybe that's why I don't."
BirthdayNovember 2nd, 1978
Astrological SignScorpio
Social MediaTwitter: TateCarr
Instagram: horned_messenger
Everything Else: gabetc
"I just want someone to tell me that it's alright—that I can care too much. That I won't hurt myself doing so."
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