((For the record, Blair's canon is going to be from the television series version of Gossip Girl, not the books.))What kind of school hired ugly little midgets for their bellboys
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Camilla Macaulay Winter, her grandmother's granddaughter through and through, read through the application without batting an eye. This girl might or might not be the sort of person Camilla wouldn't have given the time of day at Hampden, but it sounded as though she came from a decent family, for some values of decent. Camilla would see. If she pretended to be from the Waldorf-Astoria Waldorfs, Camilla would have to stifle laughter, because everyone knew that hotel was named after William Waldorf Astor, and there had been no Mr. Waldorf
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Finally, people whose first words weren't concerning money or directed towards her breasts. Honestly, she was beginning to think she'd been landed in a world of perverts who hadn't two pennies to rub together because they'd blown it on... porn, hookers and booze, or however the story went. Did civility not exist anymore? That was entirely disappointing - she did so pride herself on her own
( ... )
"I came here because I wanted to," Camilla reminded Charles, with a sideways look that would much rather have been an elbow in the ribs.
"Right, right," Charles agreed blandly. In fact he'd never really believed Camilla on that score, because none of the other Hampden kids had come to Hogwarts of their own volition (unless you believed Henry about the whole coming-back-from-the-dead-because-he-wanted-to thing), and it would be just like Camilla to claim she hadn't done a damn thing she didn't intend to do. "So that makes two of you, then. Most people just sort of get sucked in, myself included. Not that I have a huge problem with that." These days, anyway.
"What about Hogwarts made you want to come here?" Camilla inquired, her interest strictly polite. She wouldn't push, if Blair demurred.
"Yes, what? It's sort of a godforsaken hellhole," Charles chimed in. "Generally speaking, I mean. I mean it in the best possible sense," he added at another sideways look from his sister.
It actually didn't seem as if anybody present had come to this school of anything other than their own volition, from what Blair had witnessed thus far. But, hell. She also used to think Neil Patrick Harris was straight.
She cast a distracted sort of eye towards Charles, momentarily, for once not concerning a reason that involved his jawline and jump-able bones. It... Hellhole? Here? Really? Not that the school had been most impressive so far, but... well. "Er. Yes. Actually," Blair mused for a moment, before her gaze flared back to Camilla. Right. "I've heard of the school, from several sources. My father, especially - he lives just over in France, his boyfriend's yoga instructor's son had been considering the place, it's a whole story," she finished breezily, before folding her arms and fully addressing Charles instead.
"Hellhole is a... strong word. Isn't it?" she commented lightly, cocking an eyebrow. "Not that the students aren't questionable so far that I've seen, but. What makes you say that?"
Gosh, Francis had to start coming to the Sorting Room more often. He was finding out the most fascinating things. "What's this 'Gossip Girl?'" he asked, eyes glinting with interest behind his pince-nez.
Of course he wouldn't know Gossip Girl. It was mostly based around New York. Manhattan. The Constance Billard School for Girls and the St. Jude's School for Boys, specifically. Practically every student in either school had the site bookmarked, watched, and successfully stalked. Including Blair. Who was foregoing the lack of introduction for the topic - what could she say? She was an addict.
"Gossip Girl holds the information of everybody who's anybody, basically," she returned with a nod, a mild sort of smile crossing her face. "Who's shopping where, who's slept with who. Celebrity gossip, on a smaller scale, and thankfully without Joan Rivers or anybody associated."
Francis in theory resided in New York, but he hadn't been home -- to his darling wife -- in months, and at heart he was really still a Boston boy. Besides, the center of his gossip world was the group that had come out of Hampden College all those years ago. Teenagers in the city were not his forte.
That didn't mean he wasn't damn well intrigued, though. This sort of thing was his bread and butter. He smiled slowly. "I see," he drawled. "Everybody who's anybody? Obviously not yet."
Blair had lived in New York - Manhattan, specifically - her entire life, of course, but that wasn't to say that her heart had deemed itself to reside in Connecticut, and ever so admittedly cheesily so. Blair may or may not have watched one too many Katherine Hepburn movies, maybe spent a little too much time with Serena musing prospective fairy tale endings.
"Not yet, so to speak," Blair admitted to Francis' question with a shrug, mouth contorting into a fox of a smirk instead. "So far as the Upper East Siders are concerned, though? They might as well be." She shrugged, with a sort of knowing look flashing in her eyes. "If you ask me, with everything from 'S' and 'D' seen getting it on against a wall of a school to whether 'K' and 'I' have yet returned those hideous bags from Saks on Fifth Avenue... Way more interesting than how many shots of Lindsay Lohan's naughty bits some paparazzi can snap. Tabloids are a hell of a lot more fun when you know the people, if you ask me."
"Here, being a Waldorf doesn't mean anything. Nor does being a Turlough, luckily. However, money does mean something." Turlough gave her a glare. "How much is a vote worth to you?"
"Being a Waldorf means everything if the money belongs to said Waldrofs," Blair observed mildly, her eyes flashing once, half out of irritation, as she eyed her newcomer. It didn't last long, though - Blair Waldorf never let herself get undercut by just anybody. "One vote out of many doesn't tend to carry so much weight, so I suppose the real question is how much are you willing to gamble, to ask for, before I turn you down?"
Oh, and now he was going for the seniority edge! Blair smothered a laugh, arms folded as she sized up the newcomer in an attempt to plot out her next line. "Really now?" she commented with a bit of a heightened voice, tilting her head. "Well, I mean, if you have that much authority around these parts." Sarcasm? Blair? Never! "Just what sort of authority is that again? Are you a teacher here? Perhaps a headmaster? I'd be ever so enlightened to hear."
A rich girl! Better yet, for Judy, a rich spoiled girl. Judy could barely contain her squeeing because she knew the sort of habits rich girls had and it was about damn time that she found someone new to do lines with since she hadn't seen Richard in ages.
"Hi, I'm Judy Poovey, out of California," she said cheerfully, offering one well, if not brightly, manicured hand, "I go to Hampden College up in the Northeast."
Blair nearly choked on her own words. She? Went to Hampden College? Blair offered a forced, entirely fake smile, probably one entirely pitying. Can you say 'charity case'?
"Blair Waldorf," she returned, clasping Judy's hand and shaking firmly, without backing down at the... rather bright nails. "Hampden College, you say? Really? I've heard of it. My mother suggested it as a backup school." As if she needed a backup for Yale. She was a shoe-in.
...Without the work? Blair's smile turned a bit more forced, just as Judy's probably was, as her eyebrow raised and she cleared her throat. "And college is for... what else?" As her lips flattened into a bit of a smug look, she clasped her hands in her lap. "Ah, you're probably one of the self-confessed 'party' students, right?"
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"Right, right," Charles agreed blandly. In fact he'd never really believed Camilla on that score, because none of the other Hampden kids had come to Hogwarts of their own volition (unless you believed Henry about the whole coming-back-from-the-dead-because-he-wanted-to thing), and it would be just like Camilla to claim she hadn't done a damn thing she didn't intend to do. "So that makes two of you, then. Most people just sort of get sucked in, myself included. Not that I have a huge problem with that." These days, anyway.
"What about Hogwarts made you want to come here?" Camilla inquired, her interest strictly polite. She wouldn't push, if Blair demurred.
"Yes, what? It's sort of a godforsaken hellhole," Charles chimed in. "Generally speaking, I mean. I mean it in the best possible sense," he added at another sideways look from his sister.
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She cast a distracted sort of eye towards Charles, momentarily, for once not concerning a reason that involved his jawline and jump-able bones. It... Hellhole? Here? Really? Not that the school had been most impressive so far, but... well. "Er. Yes. Actually," Blair mused for a moment, before her gaze flared back to Camilla. Right. "I've heard of the school, from several sources. My father, especially - he lives just over in France, his boyfriend's yoga instructor's son had been considering the place, it's a whole story," she finished breezily, before folding her arms and fully addressing Charles instead.
"Hellhole is a... strong word. Isn't it?" she commented lightly, cocking an eyebrow. "Not that the students aren't questionable so far that I've seen, but. What makes you say that?"
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He would get into the Louis Vuitton later.
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"Gossip Girl holds the information of everybody who's anybody, basically," she returned with a nod, a mild sort of smile crossing her face. "Who's shopping where, who's slept with who. Celebrity gossip, on a smaller scale, and thankfully without Joan Rivers or anybody associated."
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That didn't mean he wasn't damn well intrigued, though. This sort of thing was his bread and butter. He smiled slowly. "I see," he drawled. "Everybody who's anybody? Obviously not yet."
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"Not yet, so to speak," Blair admitted to Francis' question with a shrug, mouth contorting into a fox of a smirk instead. "So far as the Upper East Siders are concerned, though? They might as well be." She shrugged, with a sort of knowing look flashing in her eyes. "If you ask me, with everything from 'S' and 'D' seen getting it on against a wall of a school to whether 'K' and 'I' have yet returned those hideous bags from Saks on Fifth Avenue... Way more interesting than how many shots of Lindsay Lohan's naughty bits some paparazzi can snap. Tabloids are a hell of a lot more fun when you know the people, if you ask me."
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( ... )
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"A vote of mine compared to a vote from someone else, is like advice from the Prime Minister compared to a two bit MP."
Funnily enough, the lightning he expected to strike him for using Earth politics didn't hit.
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"Hi, I'm Judy Poovey, out of California," she said cheerfully, offering one well, if not brightly, manicured hand, "I go to Hampden College up in the Northeast."
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"Blair Waldorf," she returned, clasping Judy's hand and shaking firmly, without backing down at the... rather bright nails. "Hampden College, you say? Really? I've heard of it. My mother suggested it as a backup school." As if she needed a backup for Yale. She was a shoe-in.
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