AN: signed by emilyecstatic & emilyforprez:
'So I've never done a collab before, and even worse, I've never done historical before. So for a while, at least on my end, it'll be a bit jumpy. I expect it to. Stick with us, though - we have a lot of ideas, and we thought hard about the characters before we got started. (:' Enjoy
Roaming lights fell across the stage, bathing the lone figure in a hazy glow. The cheers were sent to an abrupt stop, an eerie, revered hush settling over the crowd.
In this time, they were calling it the Great Depression. A fitting title, Blair thought at most times. Her mother's company faltered, having invested millions in the stock market, and they were virtually broke. Yet, when Blair was on stage, gripping the microphone like a lifeline, all eyes trained on her, it was anything but depressing.
Lips curving up into an indulgent smile, Blair turned, a grin forming where her smirk had resided as the crowd burst into cheers. "You're under my skin, baby," she crooned into the microphone, sending the people into silence and the lights to cease.
As Blair continued, every line growing an octave, she couldn't get a shaking feeling off. Unnerved, she cast one furtive glance over the room, eyes never lingering until they found their mark. It was hard to decipher the feeling – akin to being watched, yet every eye was trained on her lithe form on the stage, and she was well-aware of that feeling. Blair gave an imperceptible jerk of her head to jar away the thoughts and forced another smile, giving the crowd exactly what they paid for.
When the song ended, so did Blair's confidence, and she slipped off the stage immediately. Finding her coat, she wrapped it around her scantily-clad body, nervously tucking some brunette curls behind her ear. Despite her inner turmoil, there were approving hollers flying at her as she slithered through the crowd. A smile replaced her worried frown.
Even though times were hard, it was like none of the struggles existed while at The Roar. She'd received the job soon after her mother's business fell, from the sympathetic – yet sleazy – manager, Rufus Humphrey. He'd only given her one shot to prove herself, and when all went well, he offered her the job to feed her family.
Which meant that well-known rich girl, Blair Waldorf, had resorted to singing at a night club downtown. It was almost hilarity that she enjoyed her job, even if she didn't adore the people she worked with.
"Great show, Blair," jeered a condescending voice, and Blair resisted wrinkling her nose as she slid into the seat opposite the offender. A cloud of smoke blew into her face as the other singer added, "Though I'm sure I could've done better."
Fighting temptation to roll her eyes, Blair just ducked her head shyly and murmured, "Thanks." She learned long ago not to spar with Vanessa Abrams – Rufus had some… thing with her.
Vanessa took another long drag, casting her eyes over the crowd. Blair followed her gaze to a group of well-dressed men, and she averted her eyes angrily.
"Look at them," Vanessa bit out, echoing Blair's thoughts. "What do they think they're doing here?"
Blair shook her head, a small sign of ignorance. She disliked it – no, loathed it – when the wealthy and careless decided to enter The Roar. Other night clubs existed, ones that didn't pay so low and were able to afford high-class dancers – The Roar was certainly not one of them. So when rich guys came in their envy-worthy threading, not one performer at the club wanted to assist them.
"They're probably looking to tear this place down," Vanessa went on tirelessly, vehement outrage vibrating her words. "Replace it with some lot or whatnot. Things they think they need." She snorted and extinguished her cigarette on the polished wood.
"They better not!" Blair shot back, bitter words masking her fear. If they did tear down The Roar, she wouldn't be able to feed Eleanor.
"Keep your panties on," Vanessa said insolently, peering at Blair. "I'm only joking. Rufus would die before he sold the club."
Disquieted, Blair found herself watching the wealthy men converse. It was like watching grass die. "What could they be talking about?" she murmured half to herself, wistful. She recalled, not too long ago, being one of the spoiled girls those men came home to. It had taken Vanessa and Rufus a while to tolerate her because of her background, but they accepted her. For that reason, Blair didn't want to be a part of those 'business' men.
"They're discussing the best way to comb their hair," Vanessa replied simply. "With their golden brushes and somethin' or another." She turned to Blair, quizzically studying her with a half-smile on her face. "You know," she went on, fixing her gaze back on the men and pointing to one of the younger ones on the left. "That one's been watching you this whole time."
Batting her eyelashes playfully, Blair laughed, "Vanessa, everyone was watching me."
"Not like him," Vanessa told her, equally as boisterous. "Ever since you left the dressing room, he has. Mind you, I've been staring at him myself." She winked knowingly. "He's a looker."
Blair followed Vanessa's stare with upturned lips. She could immediately see the man she was talking about, and at the sight, she tipped her head slightly to the side, scrunching up her nose. "The whole time?" she echoed wondrously.
Vanessa nodded enthusiastically. "Whole time," she confirmed.
Blair studied the man critically. His hair looked underdone – a new fashion statement she wasn't aware of, perhaps? He was wearing a well-pressed suit and sporting a sardonic smirk. Despite Vanessa's hinting, he wasn't even looking in Blair's general direction, let alone watching her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Blair said at last, frowning. "He's looking nowhere near me."
Vanessa rolled her eyes with a dramatic scoff. "Not right now. Are you daft?" she sighed, shaking her head patronizingly. "No, but he was. I saw him, honey." She waggled her fingers at her eyes. "With my own two eyes, I did."
Blair tilted her head to the side again. After another close examination, she gave a subtle shake of her head. "Nope," she affirmed. "He's too busy sittin' there, looking important and all."
Vanessa propped a brow. "Says you!" she cried indignantly, a laugh sputtering out of her. "Why, he could be talking to his friends about a gal he's smitten with, just across the room."
"Oh, I'm sure," Blair giggled, gesturing to her appearance. "The slut across the room, more like."
"When did this become a conversation about me?" Vanessa teased good-naturedly.
Blair took in her 'friend's' appearance with obvious subtlety. She was right, Blair realized – Vanessa was always dressed for attention, even when not at The Roar. A time ago, she had thought Vanessa was just doing it for her job – and to please Rufus – but it was really just what she was like. Blair turned her gaze away to avoid being caught staring.
As Blair was gazing at the show starting onstage, Vanessa jerked her head and whispered, "There, he's doing it again!"
Instantly Blair turned, and she found herself locking eyes with the man Vanessa had been fawning over. It was then that she realized that intense feeling while up on the stage, and she cursed herself mentally – he had been staring at her. A blush crept up to Blair's cheeks, and she blinked at the man before dropping her gaze. From the flush still flowing through her skin, she was certain he was still looking at her.
Vanessa nudged Blair determinedly. "What are you doing?" she asked fiercely, green eyes stretched wide. When Blair didn't answer, Vanessa prodded her again. "Well, be sane, Blair! Go over there and talk to him."
Blair gaped at Vanessa incredulously. "What?" she shot back, unnerved. "I'm not going to do that!" It was almost blasphemous, to approach such a wealthy man – after all, for working at The Roar, it was easy to see that one wasn't too well off with money.
"Yes you are!" Vanessa refused to be deterred.
Before Blair could protest again, Vanessa blinked and dropped her hands from Blair's arms. "Here he comes," she whispered warningly, smoothing down her short skirt.
Blair's head shot up, alarmed, just in time to see the suave figure sauntering towards her. She wanted to crawl away at once. It wasn't enough that the wealthy men had to enter The Roar – with all the rest of the clubs still available – but now she had to have one stalking her? Surely there was no mercy.
"Evening, ladies." The man spoke mellifluously, with an undertone that hinted at an articulate tongue. His voice was smooth yet guttural, as if he'd just awoken.
Blair arched an eyebrow at him. He was nothing but stupid if he expected them to greet him with respect.
When silence preceded his words, the man rocked back on his shoes – Blair looked down to see them polished and wrinkled her nose. Following her gaze, he smirked. "So I take it The Roar doesn't take kindly to me," he stated simply, cocking his head a bit.
"You don't need to ask," Blair finally replied, darting her gaze to his and narrowing her brown eyes. He stared right into her eyes, something that felt intimate and impersonal all at once, and it was all Blair could do not to look away.
Vanessa watched the exchange with curiosity.
"Don't I?" The question was rhetorical. "Ah, but I do," he said, answering his own query. "It's to my understanding that you're paid to satisfy every need."
Blair gave a sharp intake of breath at the words. It was coated with a sugary innocence, but there was a hint behind them.
"Are you suggesting that we're call-girls?" Blair seethed, clenching one tiny fist beneath the table. Vanessa looked equally as infuriated. The man seemed to relish in their discomfort.
"Of course not," he replied smoothly, eyes glinting. "Just making a statement." When Blair didn't answer, he took initiative and extended his hand in invitation.
Blair stared at the hand as one might stare at the devil, with contempt in her gaze and a scrunched nose. She flicked her eyes back to the man, who was standing patiently, expectancy in his expression and smirk on his lips. "I assure you," she started slowly, attempting to make her words as polite as possible. "It will be a cold day in hell before I touch you."
The man arched his eyebrow, impressed. "Then tell me your name," he prodded, dropping his hand at once.
Blair shivered underneath her overcoat, resisting temptation to flee. "You should know my name," she finally shot back, glaring at him petulantly. "It was announced onstage." She knew she was evading the question, simply because of the power names held over people.
"I'm sorry." The man seemed genuine and sincere, which only increased Blair's suspicion. At her pause, he shifted closer and took her hand, ignoring her faint protest. Pressing one chaste kiss to her knuckles, he spoke softly, "I was… entranced."
Hell just froze over, Blair thought wryly.
Snatching her hand away from the stranger, Blair made a dramatic show of wiping it on her coat, as if infected. The man's smirk grew wider at her display.
"You don't seem to take no for an answer, do you, Mr…?" Blair tucked a curl behind her ear, surprised to see the stranger following the movement closely. "I'm sorry," she echoed, sounding anything but apologetic. "I didn't seem to catch your name."
"Chuck," he shot out bluntly, fisting his hands in his trouser pockets. "Chuck Bass."
Vanessa, from where she sat opposite Blair, stretched her eyes open and piped, "The owner of Victrola!" To Blair, she added, "One of those rich-people night clubs, as we say."
Blair blinked curiously at Chuck, a hidden veil of distaste in her eyes. "What are you doing here, then?" she asked sharply, raising an eyebrow. "I know you haven't come to recruit."
"What makes you think that?" Chuck inquired amusedly. "You take me for a fool, Miss."
"You take me for a call-girl," Blair replied flippantly. "I'd say we're about even, Mr. Bass."
At the weighted reply, Chuck smiled, replacing his smirk with sincerity. "We're not even," he told her simply, voice dropped an octave into a smooth murmur. "Not even close." He leaned closer, and Blair could smell his cologne – an expensive, rare scent. "What is your name?" he asked again.
It must've been the scent that had intoxicated her, for, without pretense, Blair whispered, "Blair Waldorf."
Chuck smirked, obviously satisfied. "Well, Miss Waldorf," he began, leaning in a bit closer until he was almost on bended knee. "It was… certainly a pleasure meeting you." He drawled 'pleasure' out, as if referring to her attitude towards him, which sent color straight to Blair's cheeks.
"I wish I could say the same," Blair sighed, sounding wistful. "But, for future reference, Mr. Bass… The Roar doesn't want you here."
"You're blunt," Chuck mused, a smile toying with his lips. "I like that, Waldorf."
The way he said her name was like a curse and a prayer all in one, and Blair swallowed soundly at the thought.
"Really?" Blair asked, feigning surprise. "I'm sure you like a pliant woman more than anything. Come now, I'm not a fool."
Chuck gave a low rumble of laughter. "You're intuitive," he observed, studying her face closely. "I also like that in a woman." At her words, he added, "And while a pliant woman is a wonderful experience, those playing hard-to-get are amusing. The chase is all part of the fun."
"Are you implying you plan to chase me?" Blair couldn't help disbelief in her tone. "You're delusional, Mr. Bass."
"Am I?" Chuck countered softly.
Blair swallowed. "Yes," she said simply, not skipping a beat. "You plan on getting – what you say – a call-girl to wed you. It's… it's atrocity." Blair crossed her arms defiantly, lifting her chin. "I wouldn't lower myself to you."
Chuck crossed his hand over his heart, mocking hurt. "You wound me, Miss Waldorf." He smiled, eyes dancing with laughter. "But…" At this, he leaned forward until his lips were at her ear, tickling the shell. Blair felt a shudder run rigid up her spine, making her heart falter.
Chuck smirked into the soft flesh. "I don't plan on wedding you," he whispered into the hollow. "Bedding, is a more proper word."
Blair's cheeks grew inflamed, the red color flushing all the way down her neck.
Chuck pulled away, eyes studying her expression and lips curving into a smile at her embarrassment. Pressing another kiss to her cheek, he murmured, "Goodbye, Blair." With that, he was fading back into the crowd, just another face among hundreds.
Vanessa just about burst. "What was that all about?" she asked, exploding with curiosity. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."
"By the name of Chuck Bass, perhaps," Blair muttered back, struggling to control the blush covering her body. "But he's more of a devil."
"What did he say?" Vanessa prodded, teeming with questions.
Blair shivered at the thought, pursing her lips as she remembered. Finally, she just shook her head, brown eyes wide. "He's… he's heinous," she bit out, seething. "And I hope I never see him again."
"And how was your exploration of the common low-class night club?"
Chuck could roll his eyes at the distaste in Nathaniel Archibald's voice, but he knew it was basically correct. He shrugged flippantly, tossing another stack of papers on his desk. "Like a dream," he replied sarcastically, propping a brow. "What would you expect it to be like? Coney Island?"
"That depends on your definition of Coney Island. " Nathaniel mused, shaking his head. "What were the girls like?"
At the query, Chuck felt his back stiffen indignantly. "Like every other girl, Archibald," he evaded.
Nathaniel blinked, surprised, at Chuck, who was suddenly very still. "My man," he ground out in disbelief. "Don't tell me you didn't bed anyone last night." At Chuck's silence, he howled with laughter. "You growing soft?"
"Never," Chuck said firmly, shaking his head and pursing his lips. "I was… regrettably detained."
"You were denied, more like," Nathaniel shot back.
"I met a girl," Chuck allowed smoothly, sifting through the piles of text and sighing when he didn't find what he was searching for. "And I made a promise to her I will keep." There was a certain finality behind his tone, and Nathaniel knew not to argue with that. "I'm thinking I may return tonight," Chuck went on. "To fulfill said promise."
"Don't tell me you're planning your wedding." Nathaniel chortled, knowing the answer even before it came.
Chuck rolled his eyes. "No. I'm planning a bedding," he snapped, folding his arms behind his back. "With a delectable creature by the name of Blair Waldorf."
Nathaniel arched a brow, curious. "You seem smitten."
"Intrigued," Chuck admitted, "would be a better word."
Nathaniel chuckled, amused despite himself. He clasped Chuck on the back, eliciting a growl of distaste from his friend. "I foresee you being laid," he promised with unnerving finality. "Why are you trying so hard, anyway?" Chuck was usually the type to take what he can get.
Chuck shrugged, masking his intent. "Not quite sure," he confessed, leaning back on his office chair. "She's… you'd have to meet her, to understand."
"Think I'd have a better chance than you?" Nathaniel teased. Chuck turned a glare on him, which made him fall silent immediately. "Okay, okay." He held out his palms.
"Something about her screams high-class," Chuck said absently, remembering vividly the curvaceous hips and full cherry lips, pursed as she retorted his words. "Yet, there she is… not high-class." He was reminded of the girl sitting opposite of Waldorf, dressed scantily with a coy look in her eyes. "She's different."
Nathaniel frowned. "Could've been a victim of the depression, you know."
Chuck hadn't thought of that. "Maybe." He didn't want to think about what may have happened to make someone like Blair Waldorf a performer at a downtown club. She seemed above that. "Indeed," Chuck mused thoughtfully. "It's definitely a thought."
"Are you really going to go see her again?" Nathaniel asked, half-dubiously. "So many more call-girls that won't make you work for it are at Victrola."
"They bore me," Chuck deadpanned simply. "I like the chase."
Nathaniel smirked. "You wouldn't know if you liked the chase," he pointed out rationally. "You've never been denied before."
Chuck raised a brow. "Maybe I'm thinking I may like the chase," he evaded.
Whatever Nathaniel was about to say was drowned out by tentative knocking on the oak door, announcing the arrival of one of Chuck's maids. "Come in," Chuck sighed, watching as Jennifer Humphrey bustled in, apologizing profusely for being late.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bass," Jennifer apologized, blushing. "I was detained." She closed her mouth firmly then, aware that she wasn't often permitted to speak, and set down Chuck's daily coffee. Beaming overly-enthusiastically, she dipped her head, awaiting orders.
"Yes, well, off you may go," Chuck allowed, offering a semi-smile.
Nathaniel watched the maid curiously, cobalt blue eyes narrowed and critical. Noticing his stare, Jennifer turned, a questioning expression fixed on her face.
"Mr. Archibald?" Jennifer queried, tipping her head to the side.
Nathaniel shook his head to jar away his thoughts and blinked. "Nothing," he muttered, looking away. "Off with you, then."
Dipping her head, Jennifer proffered a smile and slipped out of the door.
Chuck snapped his gaze to Nathaniel, a smirk of amusement toying on his lips. "And you chastise me for being intrigued," he scoffed, emptying sugar into his coffee. "You wish to bed my maid!" He chortled.
Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "I was admiring her form, that's all."
"You were assessing how well she would feel underneath you." Chuck's eyes glinted knowingly as he tipped his mug up, cursing softly as the scalding liquid burned his upper lip. "Normally, I'd tell you the ups and downs of bedding women, but I've yet to touch little Jenny." He blinked, feigning thoughtfulness. "Maybe I should try, just to see –"
Nathaniel released a small growl from the bottom of his throat, and Chuck smirked. "Or maybe you want to wed my maid!" The idea was so ludicrous; he couldn't resist a soft chuckle.
"Enough, Chuck," Nathaniel bit out, embarrassment covering his features. "I want to bed your maid, alright?"
Satisfied with the answer, Chuck nodded. "Alright," he agreed solemnly. "As I want to bed Blair Waldorf." At the name, Chuck found himself smiling instinctively, recalling brunette curls and dark, fiery eyes. "She's a spitfire, that one."
"Sure you can handle her?" Nathaniel asked skeptically. "If she's going to play hard-to-get, she's not going to be worth it."
Chuck feigned surprise. "Oh, dear Nathaniel," he scolded, as if teaching a child, "you have no idea how worth it she is. You'll just have to meet her."
Nathaniel blanched. "Are you seriously propositioning that I attend a downtown night club with you?" When Chuck didn't answer, he gaped, sputtering out, "They hate us there. The dancers won't do shit for us, you know that; and they'll just stare at us like aliens."
Chuck shrugged. "Take it or leave it."
Knowing Chuck didn't mean his flippant words, Nathaniel rolled his shoulders despondently, acquiescing. "Fine," he ground out. "I'll go. But the minute a brawl starts, I'm out of there and you're saving your own ass."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Chuck mused fondly.