As far as days go, this one actually has been kind of good. Her hair's looking really cute, her curls not out of control due to humidity or anything and sure she's kind of dressed like Mary Ann from Gilligan's Island, but it's cute. In that retro-chic Gidget sort of way.
She's even smiling. Somewhere, someone kind of important, like Dante or Yves St Laurent, just rolled over in pretentious grave. That was, until she stopped, kitten heeled in the middle of the Compound, slack-jawed and stared at the figure in the hallway, shaking her head. "Oh no, no way. You're not here. I must have eaten some bad pie."
Chuck had been leaning against the wall, bags dropped at his feet and jaw set in what someone less charitable might have called well on his way to a relatively epic sulk. He was deep enough into it that he didn't register the figure coming towards him until the disbelief-filled tones of Blair Waldorf reached his ears.
"Blair?" He was off the wall like a shot, not sure whether he should be relieved or apprehensive to see someone real.
Apparently her stomach had chosen that moment to start re-enacting Cirque-du-soleil. Figures. Still looking considerably shell-shocked she just stared, not certain that overly-perky chick in the kitchen hadn't slipped her hallucinogens that morning.
"You're...you're really here. Or is this just another side-effect of me going off Lexapro?" She laughed nervously, sounding hysterical as she touched the wall, pulling her hand back quickly as if she'd been burned. "Ew."
"It's either your hallucination or mine," Chuck said, looking her up and down. "Although if it was mine, you'd probably be wearing less." He didn't take as much pleasure in the line as he normally would have; he was suddenly inexplicably nervous. He didn't feel bad about what had happened before he'd left, but... well. There were bigger issues at hand.
"Is this something our parents set up?" It was about the only explanation making sense to him right now; they'd all landed in some sort of rehab camp for out of control kids. It would almost be poetic justice, considering what he and Blair had orchestrated for Georgina.
Blair rolled her eyes, the twisting feeling in her stomach quickly being flattened. Obviously this torture was very real indeed.
"Oh, please, you know as well as I do that people don't go to Brooklyn to go to rehab, the fact that they're in Brooklyn is a sign they need it." Carefully, she dusted her hands off on her shorts, not caring that they were a bit on the too short side, and that she was certainly no Serena; this was an island.
That pulled a smirk from him; if there was anything here that was going to help him get his feet back under him, it would be the little bit of home that was sparring with Blair Waldorf. "I see you're settling right in," he said, taking in her outfit. "Somehow that doesn't strike me as the kind of outfit you'd pack for Italy." She couldn't have arrived much before he had; the private flight left earlier, but only by a few hours.
She walked down the corridor, picking up the tag on his luggage. So he had been going on some sort of trip. He looked a little bit over packed for an impromptu mid-semester getaway. "Why would I be going to Italy? Did you hit your head on the steps of the Compound when you arrived, Bass?"
Playing dumb wasn't usually Blair's M.O., but Chuck supposed he wasn't in a position to criticize. It seemed as though this place had thrown everything for a loop. "Why Italy? I could give you a few reasons, but-" he glanced at the various people coming and going - "They're not exactly suitable for public consumption, if you get my drift."
Blair hadn't yet fully decided if Chuck's being here was a good or a bad thing. Didn't the island have some sort of Chuck quota? There was cooking-Chuck with the cute boyfriend, and geeky Chuck with sweet sister and now Chuck Bass. Who was next? She turned to face him, fingers tapping the suitcase. "Aren't you a little overpacked for a mid-semester jaunt to Italy or did Bart finally crack and send you to boarding school? I'll give you one thing though, you're much better prepared than I was."
"First of all, Waldorf, it's not so much mid-semester as post-semester, at least in the real world. How long have you been here, anyway?" Chuck took a closer look - she was definitely more tan than her usual porcelain-doll complexion, and her hair was longer. He was beginning to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach - if Blair really thought it was the middle of the semester, and she'd been here for long enough to get a tan when he'd seen her at home less than 24 hours ago... something was seriously wrong.
Even Chuck Bass had to have limits on over-done. That included Europe for the holidays. "Two months, but it was Thanksgiving when I last saw civilization and beautiful Bendel's."
God, two months was so long that she was probably even starting freckle. Some Higher Authority Probably hated her. "I haven't missed anything to traumatic, have I? Besides a good sale or two?"
"Not that semester, princess. The next one. It was May when I left." Chuck paused to consider what this meant. If Blair only remembered Thanksgiving... well, that changed their situation considerably. The wedding, Gossip Girl's leak about him, Blair, and Nate, the debutante ball... none of that had ever happened for her. This could be a chance to start over. Or to wreak some havoc.
Chuck shook his head. "Trust me when I say that you have no idea what you missed, Blair. And that's probably for the best."
Not that she was about to get choosy with this place's choice of timelines, but that was borderline unfair. There was no way that Chuck Bass of all people should get to one up her on the information front.
She frowned for a moment, before turning it into a trademark sweet Waldorf smile. "If I find out later that you've been holding out something more than my choice of debutante gowns on me, I will make you pay. And trust me, you won't enjoy it."
"Blair, Blair, Blair," he sighed. "While I would dearly love to fill you in on all of the scandalous things that have happened in the past six months, I just can't do it with a clear conscience. Who knows what'll happen when you go home? A Blair Waldorf who knows the future might lead to the collapse of civilization as we know it, and I just can't be responsible for that." He put on an expression of mock concern and waited for the claws to come out.
"Didn't your smiling Welcome Wagon tell you? There isn't going to be a going home. I doubt very much that I'd cause any collapsing universes or something else Stephen Hawking would study."
Blair smirked as she patted him on the shoulder patronizingly. "Besides, even here, telling me what I want to know, is worth your while."
"I think you've spent too much time around these Survivor-wannabes, Blair. It may be that easy to get them to bend to your will, but for those of us who know the game? You're going to have to work a little bit harder than that." Having the upper hand was not something Chuck was prepared to give up without thoroughly enjoying it first.
She's even smiling. Somewhere, someone kind of important, like Dante or Yves St Laurent, just rolled over in pretentious grave. That was, until she stopped, kitten heeled in the middle of the Compound, slack-jawed and stared at the figure in the hallway, shaking her head. "Oh no, no way. You're not here. I must have eaten some bad pie."
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"Blair?" He was off the wall like a shot, not sure whether he should be relieved or apprehensive to see someone real.
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"You're...you're really here. Or is this just another side-effect of me going off Lexapro?" She laughed nervously, sounding hysterical as she touched the wall, pulling her hand back quickly as if she'd been burned. "Ew."
Reply
"Is this something our parents set up?" It was about the only explanation making sense to him right now; they'd all landed in some sort of rehab camp for out of control kids. It would almost be poetic justice, considering what he and Blair had orchestrated for Georgina.
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"Oh, please, you know as well as I do that people don't go to Brooklyn to go to rehab, the fact that they're in Brooklyn is a sign they need it." Carefully, she dusted her hands off on her shorts, not caring that they were a bit on the too short side, and that she was certainly no Serena; this was an island.
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She walked down the corridor, picking up the tag on his luggage. So he had been going on some sort of trip. He looked a little bit over packed for an impromptu mid-semester getaway. "Why would I be going to Italy? Did you hit your head on the steps of the Compound when you arrived, Bass?"
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Blair hadn't yet fully decided if Chuck's being here was a good or a bad thing. Didn't the island have some sort of Chuck quota? There was cooking-Chuck with the cute boyfriend, and geeky Chuck with sweet sister and now Chuck Bass. Who was next? She turned to face him, fingers tapping the suitcase. "Aren't you a little overpacked for a mid-semester jaunt to Italy or did Bart finally crack and send you to boarding school? I'll give you one thing though, you're much better prepared than I was."
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Even Chuck Bass had to have limits on over-done. That included Europe for the holidays. "Two months, but it was Thanksgiving when I last saw civilization and beautiful Bendel's."
God, two months was so long that she was probably even starting freckle. Some Higher Authority Probably hated her. "I haven't missed anything to traumatic, have I? Besides a good sale or two?"
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Chuck shook his head. "Trust me when I say that you have no idea what you missed, Blair. And that's probably for the best."
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She frowned for a moment, before turning it into a trademark sweet Waldorf smile. "If I find out later that you've been holding out something more than my choice of debutante gowns on me, I will make you pay. And trust me, you won't enjoy it."
Reply
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Blair smirked as she patted him on the shoulder patronizingly. "Besides, even here, telling me what I want to know, is worth your while."
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