(no subject)
"More champagne, sir?"
Chuck waved the stewardess away. The commercial flight had put him in a foul mood, and right now the only thing he wanted was to be back on the ground. Blair would be there to meet him, and while he felt vaguely as though he ought to be ashamed of missing the private flight, he pushed it to the back of his mind. Blair knew who Chuck Bass was, and if she expected him to change - the way his father apparently did - then the only person she was fooling was herself. Of course, that didn't mean he was going to unnecessarily complicate things by doing something stupid. Like coming clean.
The flight was finally landing, and Chuck tucked his iPod back into his bag (why snorers weren't barred from first class immediately upon discovery Chuck would never understand). The Basses never checked their luggage - the only thing worse than flying commercial was knowing some grubby-handed TSA agent had rifled through your suitcase while you weren't there to see - so he retrieved his suitcase and garment bag from the attendant and prepared to deplane.
Eager as he was to be off that stuffy death-trap (as frequently as Chuck flew, he would still never lose that initial, nervous jump in his stomach as the plane's wheels left the ground), he was the first into the jetway, and pulling his suitcase behind him, he approached the double doors that would lead him out into the Amerigo Vespucci Airport in Florence. He pushed the doors open, and was briefly blinded by the bright, glaring light, light that was much brighter than any airport in the world should be.
Then the wheels of his suitcase sank into fine white sand, and he knew that something was very, very wrong.
"What the fuck is this?"
[Not on the beach, but standing in the middle of the sandbox in the playground, probably looking quite ridiculous. First tag can give him the rundown on the island, other tags please find him in/about the compound.]
Chuck waved the stewardess away. The commercial flight had put him in a foul mood, and right now the only thing he wanted was to be back on the ground. Blair would be there to meet him, and while he felt vaguely as though he ought to be ashamed of missing the private flight, he pushed it to the back of his mind. Blair knew who Chuck Bass was, and if she expected him to change - the way his father apparently did - then the only person she was fooling was herself. Of course, that didn't mean he was going to unnecessarily complicate things by doing something stupid. Like coming clean.
The flight was finally landing, and Chuck tucked his iPod back into his bag (why snorers weren't barred from first class immediately upon discovery Chuck would never understand). The Basses never checked their luggage - the only thing worse than flying commercial was knowing some grubby-handed TSA agent had rifled through your suitcase while you weren't there to see - so he retrieved his suitcase and garment bag from the attendant and prepared to deplane.
Eager as he was to be off that stuffy death-trap (as frequently as Chuck flew, he would still never lose that initial, nervous jump in his stomach as the plane's wheels left the ground), he was the first into the jetway, and pulling his suitcase behind him, he approached the double doors that would lead him out into the Amerigo Vespucci Airport in Florence. He pushed the doors open, and was briefly blinded by the bright, glaring light, light that was much brighter than any airport in the world should be.
Then the wheels of his suitcase sank into fine white sand, and he knew that something was very, very wrong.
"What the fuck is this?"
[Not on the beach, but standing in the middle of the sandbox in the playground, probably looking quite ridiculous. First tag can give him the rundown on the island, other tags please find him in/about the compound.]