Warning: language might affect ratings, if you think that I should switch the rating to M please let me know, won't bother me one little bit. Enjoy!
Chapter 7
166: Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them.
Odd. Noise. Wha…?
Kei slowly opened her eyes and quickly focused. Grey light was streaming in through the gaps in the blinds. New York weekend traffic, and early fall rain.
That noise again.
Phone vibrating.
Oh…
Kei turned over, reached for her mobile phone - cell phone, she corrected herself, strange American lingo.
Hang on. Why was Chuck Bass calling her?
"Hello?" She answered, clearing her throat.
"Someone had a good night last night." She could practically hear his smirk over the line. "Did you get enough sleep?"
She raised an eyebrow and checked the phone screen. 11.43am. Ugh…
"No, I didn't." She grumbled. "Thank you."
She heard him chuckle. "You're welcome. Did you get to read Gossip Girl before you turned in?"
Gossip who…? Oh wait… She smirked too.
"Did you like it?" She gave him a moment to think up the best response.
"If only I'd been there myself." Chuck replied. She smiled. Those six words conveyed so much, much more than he wanted it to.
"Indeed," she teased, "a pity, then, that you were halfway across the ocean when we set out." She stretched tiredly. Her body was experiencing a mini hangover. "How is Monaco?"
"Very hot, very sunny."
"Worth it?"
What an interesting question…
Chuck Bass looked around him. It was mid afternoon, he was on a pristine white sand beach, the sun turning the sea into diamonds. The last stragglers of the summer vacation were soaking up the rays, tanning for all they were worth. Not far from his deck chair were a trio of women in their late thirties, maybe late forties, sunbathing topless, boasting their various boob-jobs. All of them, Chuck reckoned, had probably undergone liposuction in various places as well. Surgically perhaps it was all good work, but not that impressive to him. He always preferred the real thing, big or small.
And speaking of the real thing that he preferred…
"In a way," he answered, very non-committal. "Did Waldorf have fun last night?" Like the ice-queen B could have fun, he bitterly critiqued.
There was a short pause that he couldn't decipher. "You could ask her yourself, you know," Kei said.
The comment was softly put, but all the same it made Chuck deeply regret calling her. His temper flared so suddenly he hadn't the faintest idea why. It felt a little like he wanted it to be patronising, just so he had some grounds to lay into her.
"She did," Kei finally supplied, "I dropped her off home, safe and sound, about two o'clock or something. She was practically falling asleep on my lap in the taxi home, she was pretty tired."
"Sounds like a good night." He said after a beat.
"Yes, it was." Kei happily agreed.
"Anything else planned?"
He heard her take a sip of something - coffee, he guessed. "I have a couple of ideas. Noh was just the beginning, as promised." He heard something ping up - toast. "Might need your help with some things. In fact, one big thing, but I won't be sure about that until Monday, see how people have reacted at school first."
"Sounds intriguing," he commented, his curiosity piqued. She chuckled. As she trailed off into silence, he sensed hesitation.
"Chuck?"
"Yes?"
"Honest opinion: how do you think people will react to it?"
"To the photo?"
"Yeah, that, the thing I added to it that Gossip Girl kept. Will it have worked as I planned?"
He sighed and adjusted in his seat, analysing current events. He already knew the answer to her question, so he was much more interested in his reaction to Kei, right there and then. That question conveyed so many insecurities, hesitations and uncertainties, all wide open to be spotted by those with half a brain. So few as smart as her was this honest, and he couldn't help but respect her for it: he sensed she knew what she was doing, what she was revealing, and did so because they were trivial, unnecessary, insignificant perhaps compared to things that did matter to her. By being open like that she completely closed off what was important to her, kept them totally out of sight. The deception was visible only to the very observant, and Chuck Bass was easily one of the most observant people in their world. He admired her for it, respected her for it, and he barely respected anyone.
"Kei, you will see that everything will go smoothly, as long as you stick to the script you've written. Because I promise you, the props are going to work just fine," he reassured her, smirking at his own lines. "Besides, I told you before it would work."
She chuckled again, relieved and confident again. "And you're never wrong of course, right?" She teased.
He grinned. "Naturally. I'll see you at school."
Chuck Bass is always right. Kei smirked at the arrogant and - come Monday - correct assertion.
Arriving on foot, in thick black pantihose against the cold and cute black leather ballet flats, Kei immediately noticed the stares. The groups of people, boys and girls alike, cluttered together, whispering, watching her every step, a mix of admiration, curiosity, want and respect.
Right on target.
She caught sight of Chuck waiting on the steps, observing everything around him. He had a new smirk, one that said everything was happening exactly as he expected, yet still amused that it had. He met her stare and grinned. Now Kei knew why Gossip Girl had referred to Chuck Bass as the Upper East Side's devil: he still loved scheming, and the plotting, and the rise and fall. She smiled back and nodded slightly before spotting Blair.
The pair of them had better things to do than be stared at.
Watching developments, fresh off the bus, Jenny wasn't certain of herself. Since term had begun she hadn't see much of Nate and she wasn't naïve about why. Nate had eyes for only one girl at the moment, with Oriental dark hair instead of Western blonde. She'd taken to hanging out with Kati and Isabel, whenever they were fed up with Hazel's whinging and whining, and with Elise whenever the tiny sophomore wasn't running around doing Hazel's errands. She felt sorry for Elise: Jenny knew how the little girl felt, and she looked like she was only twelve.
Jenny had just joined Hazel's group; Penelope, Isabel and Kati - Elise was nowhere to be seen, latte run perhaps - when all focus went from scattered to specific. Kei had just arrived, bemused with the attention, yet did nothing to revert it or indeed encourage it. She was just walking, earphones from an iPod or something hanging around her neck. Under Jenny's eyes, she was a strange subject: the clothes she was wearing were all good quality, yet Jenny couldn't identify the designer. Must be from wherever Kei was from, she guessed, London fashion probably, not Saks, Barneys or Bendels and the like. But definitely not handmade, Jenny thought bitterly.
How did Kei command such effortless cool? How could she walk so normally, yet have every boy eagerly watching her every curve for the slightest bounce, the slightest wiggle. How could she eat normally to have those curves, when Jenny herself was having to eat yogurt and grapes for lunch just to fit in?
It wasn't fair.
Jenny had learnt herself how difficult it was to manipulate the social hierarchy. For all their efforts, she knew that she and Hazel had only so many lives: one hit at either could knock them down to their original positions: nobodies following somebodies. Gossip Girl was lukewarm to them, no matter how much they may try to impress her.
And yet, Kei swooped in with her British accent, soft figure, and a well placed insult, and won the spotlight. And seemed… amused about it.
God, what Jenny wouldn't give for that cool…
She turned, and realised that standing next to her was another story.
Hazel had spent the weekend fuming after receiving Gossip Girl's Friday night post, and every sighting of Blair or Kei around the city. She didn't want to see the photo of Blair in Saks, or Kei entering a gym with her swimsuit peeking out from her top. Seeing Kei now, merely bemused by the attention she had deliberately bought through her stunt on Friday - how in the hell did she get into Noh? - just dragged Hazel to the edge of her temper. The meddling little wench. Why make the effort to be Gossip Girl's star subject, and not give a damn?
Sabotage. Hazel's fists clenched at the thought. The bitch was just trying to knock her down. She took a deep breath: she needed to calm down, regroup and refocus. So what if Kei launched first? Hazel wasn't out of the competition yet.
Keep telling yourself that, darling…
Jenny winced as she read the fire in the girl's eyes. Things were not going to be pretty.
"Penelope," Hazel summoned. The brunette turned away from scanning the crowd to her friend. "I'm thinking of throwing a party." She faced her friend to begin planning. She was going to have to call Daddy, and have food and drink catered for, and draw up a guest list.
Boy, this was going to be good. They should have all waited a moment: they might have noticed who Kei nodded at.
Nate however did notice. Like the rest of the guys on the athletics team, he'd very happily watched Kei's arrival at the school gates. He wished Kei walked a little more like the rest of the girls he knew, sashaying into school as though the side walk was the catwalk. It was weird seeing her back in her uniform, in a modest skirt and shirt, her tie hanging loose as always. She looked better in that greenish dress she was wearing in that photo with Blair, all colourful with that eye make-up.
Ah, Blair. Not the best of thoughts on a Monday morning, Nate thought. That must have been who Kei was looking for as she scanned around her. Her eyes got a hit… Chuck.
Wait, Chuck?
Nate stood straighter when he realised that secretive smile was aimed at his former best friend. What? How did she know Chuck, she'd only been there barely a week and already…
Don't go there, man. He felt like slamming his fist into something when he saw Chuck smirk back. What? What the hell was going on there? He watched as Kei serenely drew her gaze away to keep looking and beamed when she saw Blair arrive. Chuck contemplatively watched the two girls greet each other with a 'hi' and a 'hey' before strolling calmly into school, as though the whole courtyard wasn't watching. Nate watched at Chuck smirked to himself once the girls were inside Constance Billiard and then went into St Judes.
The bastard had been waiting for them… Nate seethed. How the hell did…? What the hell was…?
What the hell?!
God, he needed a joint. No… class hadn't even started yet.
But where did Chuck get off? If he had already bugged the 'New Girl', how could he do something like that? Everyone knew he, Nate, had taken a liking to Kei, thanks to damn Gossip Girl. And how could he do that to Blair, sleep with her friend…
Yeah, he really needed that joint. He was sober enough to realise he was being a hypocrite.
That didn't stop another part of him mind from trying to work out how to talk to Kei…
Blair didn't notice Nate, other than in a collective sense. As she arrived she immediately became aware of everyone watching her. It painfully reminded her of the first day back after her fall, but this time… all were reassessing her, re-evaluating her, reconsidering her. The St Judes boys all seemed to unanimously approve of their new critique: Blair Waldorf hadn't been written off after all. As for the Constance Billiards girls, there wasn't much of general consensus: a mixture of alarm, reluctant admiration, confusion and scepticism, to name a few.
It was a good start.
She had noticed Hazel's little clique though. She had to put on her best poker face in order to not laugh at the jealous anger on Hazel's face, and the worry on Little J's. Kei had been right: going to Noh like that had lifted them to a higher playing field, and neither wanna-be blonde knew how to get into the game without copying. So she held her head high, kept walking towards her new friend, and they started the new week together like phoenixes.
She didn't need to question the looked shared between Kei and Chuck. Despite her neurotic streaks, she trusted Kei. She didn't know if she could say the same for Chuck…
Not that that would matter later in the week.
Miles Gardner had worked at the Palace bar for a good few years now. He was in his late forties, had two grown-up kids, both at college now. He and his wife led contented lives in Manhattan, happy together, high school sweethearts still. Gardner worked nights at the bar because it paid better than most places, and because the Palace bar tended to serve only a certain type of clientèle: business men, and socialites with reputations to keep, so there was rarely any trouble. In fact, the most troublesome client Gardner had ever served was the seventeen-year-old boy seated before him with a glass of scotch in his hand.
Eighteen. Eighteen-year-old now. It was seventeen-year-old last year. Sixteen the year before that. Fifteen before that. And fourteen the first time. Four years now. A long time.
Gardner wanted to feel guilty for serving a minor alcohol for so long, and so much, but the truth was it was hard to. The boy was his boss' son, and more importantly, he knew why the boy came, every year, on this particular day in early September, having heard the story four years ago.
It was Chuck Bass' birthday. Eighteen years ago he was born into the world, and his mother was taken from it.
And with a father like Bart Bass, Gardner couldn't blame the kid for drinking his grief away. Eighteen years was a long time to be bitter against someone you were meant to love without condition. And eighteen years is a long time to be brought up by someone who wished you'd never been born.
And so it was getting late, the boy's head had started to droop with coming unconsciousness, and had relinquished the right to refuse Gardner's help. So he did the same thing he did last year, and the year before, and the year before. He cared not for the boy's earlier slurred ramblings that this year the tradition would not hold. He cared not for the way the young woman always answered the phone when he rang, with reluctance, and irritation.
He cared not, because he had a feeling that she would come anyway with neither.
It wasn't until Chuck's fourteenth birthday that he properly admitted to himself why his father never attended his birthday celebrations. So he stopped throwing proper celebrations. He didn't have much to celebrate anyway. So he came to the Palace bar, every year, to drown his sorrows whilst never admitting that he had them. He didn't ask for sympathy, or pity, or understanding. He just wanted a damn drink. He was allowed a damn drink on his birthday.
But, even now, lost-counted drinks in, he wondered whether going to the Palace bar once again was such a good idea. Tradition is all good and well, but not this one any more. He knew that… he'd just been too tempted to see what would happen.
Fools love misery after all, wasn't that a saying?
It was still early, just after ten. Plenty of time to go before knowing it wasn't going to be him this year that broke tradition.
He downed his drink and ordered another. The corners of his mouth tilted with unsaid gratitude when Gardner made it a generous one. The guy kind of reminded Chuck of his own father, or rather, the father he'd wished Bart Bass could have been. He had no idea if Gardner was closer to his ideal version of fatherhood, not that that was hard, compared to Bart, but the bartender had always given a good impression. He never patronised Chuck, for a start. He'd never once said, 'I think you've had enough', or anything like that. He'd heard Chuck's story the first time. He knew the guy didn't need to hear it again.
He suddenly wished he still smoked. Why did he quit again?
You do realise you taste revolting when you've been smoking, right? Not exactly a turn on, Bass…
No… no, he didn't quit because of that. No.
Brain cells. Numb. Stopped being himself. Too much. Wasn't a good idea, too much.
That was why. Chuck Bass had always been a selfish bastard. At the end of the day, he did things for himself. It was just lucky if your interests coincided with his. And very unlucky when they conflicted.
Anyway. Tonight was not a night to get stoned. Drunk would do just fine.
Need another drink…
Gone. Another…
And another…
And another…
I know those curls…
Blair Cornelia Waldorf was awake. She'd been staring out the window in silence, listening to the faint sound of the New York mid-week late evening traffic, watching the lights of the Upper East Side. She'd been hugging her tiny figure in her midnight blue Diane von Furstenberg obi-belt wool dress, trying to deny that she was waiting for her phone to ring.
It was approaching ten thirty. The sun had set hours ago. If her mind wasn't so preoccupied, she'd be reading to get herself ready to try to go to sleep. She'd been sleeping better these days, with less storming around in her consciousness, and thundering in her subconscious. Tonight however, her mind was stuck in a memory. Or rather, four memories, but the first in particular, set four years back. The second was three years ago. The third two. The last was last year.
All to the day.
Blair was pissed off. What was the point of going to the birthday party of her least favourite friend, when the birthday boy didn't even turn up? It looked like a soft porn video, even though she had no idea what any kind of porn looked like. And all the strippers were crowded around her boyfriend, and he was loving it. Serena had turned up drunk off her face, and Georgina, the bloody skank, was high as a kite, and handing round E. E and some other things with other random initials.
Not Blair's scene. A quick and unexpected call however revealed Bass' location, and, after Nate showed no inclination of moving from his seat, she left and got a cab to the Palace.
Chuck was the last person in the bar, staring into a glass of scotch as though really wondering whether it was such a good idea to empty it down his throat.
"Bass, what the hell are you…" She trailed off.
Chuck Bass, for the first time she'd ever seen, looked awful, really awful. This was not normal. Chuck Bass was never bothered about anything. And certainly never to this degree. He was like her: on the outside, they were impervious. No one saw them down. They were tougher than the world, they could take its knocks, not that the world would dare to knock them down. As long as they appeared like that, they were that.
They didn't get drunk in bars on their own, looking like their soul had just been evicted through the hole in their chest left over from when their heart was wrenched from them.
"Chuck?"
The now fourteen year old lifted his head, slowly turning his gaze to her. He looked like the world had ended.
Suddenly ranting about her drunk, and by now probably high, best friend and her idiot boyfriend didn't seem so important.
"Bart's in LA. He won't be back until next week," Chuck said. His voice, usually so deep and dirty as sin, was tonight hollow. "So he wasn't able to attend dinner this evening."
Chuck didn't look at her as he spoke. He was looking at the floor, his shoes, his drink, the bar. Blair caught the bartender's eye, who nodded respectfully at her. No disapproval, no patronising, no pity. A rare bartender to serve a fourteen-year-old boy and let in a thirteen-year-old girl, but a perfect match nonetheless.
"He's never going to forgive me." Blair frowned and turned back to her friend. "He's never going to forgive me for living when Mom didn't."
Then he turned back to his drink. She saw his mouth form a silent 'fuck it', and as he lifted the glass to his lips she grabbed it from his hand. When he turned to protest, she downed it herself. She put the empty glass on the bar with a satisfying clinking thud, sat down next to Chuck and gestured to the bartender to get two more drinks, not speaking to conceal the burning in her throat. It was the first time she tried scotch.
Screw the party. Time to be a friend.
It became their tradition. He'd drink himself into a stupor, and when the bartender called she came and took him home. All off radar, and no one ever remembered it was Chuck's birthday. Maybe it was because he threw so many parties in the year, no one thought anything of it. Except Blair. She always remembered, the date scribbled down and hidden so she didn't forget. It was the one night she deliberately shut up for Chuck's sake. No matter what was going on with Serena, or Nate, or eventually her parents.
She never asked about his trouble either. That was at his discretion. If he wanted to say anything, that was up to him. Sometimes he did. A lot of the time he didn't. He alluded to it, knowing that she could see through him. Just like he could see through her.
She wondered why she was standing there, watching. Why she was waiting. Whether Gardner would call. Whether Chuck would want to uphold tradition. After all, they hadn't spoken properly in months.
I don't want you…
Then her cell phone rang.
And all she could do was stare at it. She stared in shock at the caller id. And found out that she'd kept and save the number of the Palace bar.
She let it ring, trying to decide. She wanted to cry when the call switched to voicemail, but the tears wouldn't come. For a start, she was wearing mascara, no matter how waterproof it said it was, she'd still get panda eyes.
Not an attractive look…
Gardner stared at the phone in his hand with mild surprise. Miss Waldorf hadn't answered. He put the phone down before the boy returned from the men's room, and wondered what else he could do now. He never needed to ask anyone else for help getting Chuck home.
Shit. He didn't have to call the boss, did he?
With that thought still reverberating in his head, the door opened.
Glossy brunette curls. Fingers stroking his head. His weight being adjusted to lean on soft wool covered skinny shoulder, readjusting to lean also on a bigger, firmer, white-shirted shoulder on his other side.
Oh god… he'd had way too much…
A taxi outside… dizzy… gum on the sidewalk… yuck… need to stop… air…
Hang on… Chuck Bass does not travel in taxi cabs.
"Shut up, Bass, and get in."
… Blair…?
"Is he alright?"
Blair looked up from kneading Chuck's temples on her lap to see the taxi driver staring at her with concern. Too worried about the upholstery. No wonder Bass liked his limo. Less of a problem if he threw up in it.
"He's fine, thank you." She answered haughtily. She wasn't interested in conversation right now.
She was sitting on the right side, with Chuck slumped on the seat, his head collapsed in her lap. His eyes seemed unseeing, his body limp, his forehead clammy. She cursed in her head long and hard that he'd gotten himself into this state, cursed that he was so foolish, cursed that she was there helping him once again. But it was all half-hearted, and cursed that too.
She ran her fingers through his hair, remembering how soft it was, a long time ago. She bent over him, checking to see if he was still awake. He was asleep, his face set in a frown. She sighed and leant back in her seat. After a couple of slow blocks of silence, she leant forward again to whisper in Chuck's ear, her hair falling forward.
"Bass?" No response. "I don't know if you can hear me, whether the scotch has clogged up yours ears, but…" Blair sighed. Gathered herself again. "Now's not the time to say certain things, if there's ever going to be a time, but…" She trailed off again. "Just… just stop doing this, Chuck. Stop drinking so much. Ok? Please…? This isn't going to do any good, and you know how much you hate it when I get to say 'I told you so'."
She pressed a kiss on his shoulder and leant back again, missing the flicker behind Chuck's eyes. He'd heard every word. He was just too far gone to properly register them, other than flickering deep in his mind that commanded him to remember her words in the morning.
Kei was sitting cross-legged on her bed in her pyjamas. She was waiting for youtube to buffer properly on her Dell laptop, feeling like a bit of loser: she was watching the storyline scenes of Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots. Everyone has their guilty pleasures, she reassured herself. This was one of hers. Another was in the oven.
Her dad was working still. Business was good, which meant he was permanently busy. But he still found time to buy desiccated coconut for her.
The door buzzer went, making her finger pause on its way to clicking play. Getting up, she glanced at her cell phone. Just gone eleven pm. Who was calling round at this hour?
She smiled with delighted surprise when she saw Blair on the screen and buzzed her up immediately. She opened the apartment door and stood in the door frame, listening to the elevator whirl.
"What brings you by so late?" She asked amiably as Blair stepped out. It took her a split second after speaking to acknowledge Blair's features. She'd never seen Blair look so tired before. It was an alarming sight.
"You did say I could come any time…" Blair trailed off. She looked like she wanted to cry.
Kei stepped out of the way, welcoming Blair in, and gently shut the door behind them.
Blair looked over her surroundings. The apartment was like a bizarre blending of her penthouse with the Humphrey abode: the big, open plan kitchen was to the left with a sturdy pine staircase leading up above it to the storey above, the landing of which ran a good few feet over her head. To the right were two doors, one of which was open and lead to someone's bedroom. Past the kitchen was the sitting area, with creamy soft sofas around a widescreen tv. The window, which looked like it lead to a fire escape or a terrace, had a box like platform below it, like a mini stage. Everything was metal or wood or brickwork, and there were copies of Impressionist art on the walls. All good quality, and tasteful in its own right: the expense spoke through the workmanship, not the style. The Waldorf penthouse was fairy tale marble: a place dependent on its occupants' dispositions to make it home. The Katayama-Argen residence was warm and welcoming; it spoke of its residents personalities, rather than of their purses. No garage doors here, Blair thought to herself with a smirk at that particularly odd Thanksgiving.
The smell of baking merely added the icing on the cake.
"What's that smell?" Blair asked.
Kei chuckled. "Coconut buns. Ooh, bugger!" She dashed to the oven, peered through the glass, grabbed an oven glove and took out a tray of a dozen golden cupcakes. Kei settled the tray on a heatproof mat and gave the buns a sniff. "Ah, good, just right. Want one?"
Blair watched as Kei got two plates out of the cupboard. "Why not?" Kei grinned as she got a spoon and gently lifted a bun each on to their plates and passed one to Blair. She then sat down on a stool at the pine topped island and gestured for Blair to sit on the other side of the corner. She gently pried her coconut bun apart, hissing gently at how hot it was and smiled as steam rose out the soft, crumbly centre.
"Best wait for them to cool down a bit," she commented. Blair nodded absent-mindedly. "Blair?" She looked up. "What brought you here?"
Normally such a question would put Blair's back up, kick her into the defensive, no doubt with a retort about her host's welcoming manners. But Kei put it so gently that reaction didn't even get a spark. It was merely another way of asking 'what's wrong?', nothing else. It was so tender and caring, Blair nearly broke apart, the need to save face dissolving fast. She was safe in this place, with this friend. No need for pretence.
Not even half an hour before, she'd arrived at the Van der Woodsen-Bass household, enlisted the help of the unsurprised doorman, paid the taxi driver and struggled to get Chuck inside without making too much noise. Lily and Bart were nowhere to be found, thankfully, but Eric had heard them in the hallway, and besides, Chuck wasn't conscious enough to remember which door lead to his bedroom. Eric took it in his stride, helped Blair get Chuck into bed and fetched water from the cabinet, and agreed to not mention Blair's presence to anyone, not even Serena. He didn't know why, but Blair was surprisingly adamant. Blair herself wasn't sure why she had so insisted on it either. For all she knew, Gossip Girl might be reporting the evening's events any moment now.
Thankfully so far Gossip Girl had been quiet tonight, save for a sighting of Serena and Dan in Bendels. It was an amusing picture: Humphrey looked completely out of place and uncomfortable, whilst Serena was laughing like the sun itself at his expression. It was cute, like puppies or something. So completely gross to the likes of Blair, and 'icky' to Kei: evidently they were more cat people. But that was a conversation they'd have later, over the second coconut bun.
When everything was said, Blair was exhausted. Kei watched her for a moment, wondering if Blair's tears would come now, or if they would ever come. Then she stood up, walked the couple of steps over to Blair and put her arm round Blair's shoulders, pulling her in to an one-armed hug. Blair closed her eyes in gratitude, tucked her head into the crook of Kei's neck and hugged her back, grateful for the comfort. It went unsaid that Blair didn't need advise or kind words right then. She needed a safe haven. A place to just be. A place to recharge herself before facing the world again.
Kei knew Blair was tough. She was the same, both pillars of strength. But every now and then, they ran out of strength to stay standing, and would fall. But they didn't crumble, they just needed a hand to get back on their feet, and then they could make their own way. Hopefully, it would be the right way, but that was for them to find out.
133: A person who does not know how to find the way to his ideal lives more frivolously and more impudently than a person with no ideal.
A thousand apologies for the considerable delay of this chapter. Took a while to figure out how everything would fit together. Now that it's done though, if I may say so myself, I'm fairly pleased with it. I hope everyone reading agrees.
Many thanks to Gleechild for your help, I hope all is well with you, and to all those who review.
P.S.: A bit behind with episodes at the moment, finally managed to find Episode 8, need to find the latest episodes somewhere online.
Disclaimer: Gossip Girl and its characters sadly do not belong to me. Nor do the Friedrich Nietzsche quotes from 'Beyond Good and Evil'.
Take care all xx
