Le Petit Garcon

Intro

Obscenely Expensive, Also Obscene

Past the heavy Victorian wrought iron double doors the building opens into a grand foyer with a red-carpeted split staircase that ripples upward to a mezzanine that flows into two gothic archways. Beyond their thresholds lies a hidden, alien existence, a cultivated demesne of an eccentric connoiseur detached from reality by their own, indulgent opulence.

Finding Le Petit Garcon

Le Petit Garcon is in the stately Pacific Heights neighborhood, one mansion among many in the sea of those who are so rich that reality hardly matters. This strange estate doesn't stand out too much from those that surround it, at least not outwardly, but only a very exclusive few will gain access.

Description

Past the heavy Victorian wrought iron double doors the building opens into a grand foyer with a red-carpeted split staircase that ripples upward to a mezzanine that flows into two gothic archways. Beyond their thresholds lies a hidden, alien existence, a cultivated demesne of an eccentric connoiseur detached from reality by their own, indulgent opulence. Art installations push the viewer's mind between beauty and macabre, mounted along bare brick walls framed in heavy velvet and brocade drapes. Gashes of paint slash overwhelming and gigantic canvases with fleshy visions. Carved Venetian carnival masks gawk back at the viewer amid loud lace tapestries and ornate mirrors lit from above by dramatic theater lighting.

Much of the work is the conceptual, abstract, messy, exuberant, insultingly simplistic and yet incomprehensibly expensive. These are the trophies of the ultra-class elite who can contemplate the "true" spirit of these artpieces over a crystal flute of their personal vintner's prized bottle. Grand statues of marble and stone stand by the doorways, crafted in such lifelike detail that the rendered rock itself might hitch a breath and cast its Galatea-esque gaze towards the viewer. In fact, some do! Humans wrapped in latex and paint, marbled and polished, matted and dusted, shift and tremble ever so slightly as their mortal bodies demand breath and mercy from the strain of absolute stillness.

Amongst these are more garish displays, suits of latex and pleather cinched tightly against flesh and mannequin plastic, positioned curiously on gold leaf filigree and tufted velvet fainting couches or lounging in high backed balloon chairs. Bottles of wine and flutes rest on silver platters atop transitional style 'deserettes consoles' with sideboards of tulipwood and amaranth with ormulu mounts and marquetry.

Hooks And Offers

Hangout: Le Petit Garcon offers a curated space for the Camarilla to socialize. It is under the eyes of those living statues, but ...

Uhhh...: Bruv. The name of the place is Le Petit Garcon. The Little Boy? What kind of Epstein shit goes on in this lavish hellhole?

At A Glance

Address	Somewhere on Lyon Street
Gridsquare	Pacific Heights
Target Splats	Camarilla
Proprietor	Sergio DeSantis

Employees

Darling, the statues don't have names.