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"The attempt to combine wisdom and power has only rarely been successful and then only for a short while."
~Albert Einstein
"Everyone's a letdown; it just depends on how far down they can go."
~Cute Is What We Aim For "Newport Living"
Nate didn't remember this house ever being this big. Ever. The five floors of the mansion in Connecticut seemed to ooze decadence. The lavish gardens took up ¾ths of the huge estate on the water, but the house was still as large as the Met. Nate looked up at the huge row of skylights above him and was met with a strong ray of sun that nearly blinded him. He looked back down and around the dark room as his eyes saw stars and spots.
For the amount of light that the skylights let into this mansion, it was awfully dark. The furniture probably had something to do with that. Dark, cherry and mahogany armoires, presidential desks, and end tables filled the many rooms. Heavy curtains shaded the windows that opened out onto five-tiered balconies overlooking the magnificently green, trimmed gardens. Presidential portraits of the many rich lines of heritage of Nate's family lined the wall in heavily gilded gold and dark wood frames with small glints of red on them as if they were dripping with blood, but these were only the small jewels planted into the wood.
It was the kind of mansion you saw in a fairytale like Cinderella. Nate could see a ball being held here and immediately understood why Blair had always loved coming here when they were younger. However, right now Nate felt completely out of place here, even though it was his family's house. His shirt was too stiff for him and his polo sweater was really starting to itch. Not to mention his pants. Nate's chinos looked clean and fresh but they were so ridiculously tight on him that he felt he was going to have a hernia just sitting down. This was 'the style of a young, respectable all-American boy'; the store attendant had told him. Nate just wished he could slip on some looser pants, a button-up shirt and a cotton sweater.
Ahhh. Nate could already feel the soft, smooth cotton on his skin instead of this itchy, viscose and wool blend that he had bought on the way up here at some J Crew store in a high-class mall.
"Damn, I knew I shouldn't have gone to that goddamn store," Nate muttered to himself. Right now, Nate was wishing he had listened to Blair's never-ending speeches on how a real boyfriend should dress and her litany of acceptable and non-acceptable stores to shop in. This had obviously not been one of the acceptable ones. Blair was into the proper things to wear, but even she wasn't this masochistic. Nate scratched his neck again and then rolled up the sleeves of the sweater to let his skin breathe. This felt good, so he rolled the sweater over his head and balled it up, throwing it into a closet in the back corner of the room. He spread his arms wide and let the breeze rustle over his now free neck and arms. He looked out over the gardens and wished he could feel free. All Nate had ever wanted was freedom. He closed his eyes, hoping for the freedom and emptiness that came with darkness.
"You look like the messiah," a deeply familiar voice rang out, shocking Nate out of his reverie and causing him to whip around with a glare.
Nate was silent for a moment as he registered this new person. Then, with as must Blair-Waldorf-venom as he could muster up, he set his face into a grimace and spat, "Well, we all know you like to be the one playing God, Grandfather."
"No need for the venom, dear Nathanial," Nate's Grandfather spoke slowly and surely with a small smile on his face. He looked like he was enjoying this.
Nate just stared at him with a look of pure hatred.
"What? You don't even give your favorite Grandfather a hug, a handshake, a small smile, maybe?"
"You're my only Grandfather," Nate muttered as a qualifier for liking the spoils of his persuasive and favorite Grandfather when he was a young boy. However, he stayed where he was. The look of fake-hurt on his Grandfather's face was irritating and out of place. Nate sighed internally and prepared himself to sucking up to his Grandfather.
Nate crossed the room towards his Grandfather and took the open hand, shaking it. However, Nate didn't seem to be able to force his body to be gentle with this man, and he ended up gripping his hand a little too tightly to be safe for the old man standing before him. But Nate knew this was no old man. This was the devil's worker, acting as God to the people around him.
"So, dear Nathanial,"—God, Nate hated when his Grandfather called him that. When Chuck said it, he was mocking the very foundation of Nate's proper society with all its rules and conduct and formalities. When Grandfather said it, it sounded more like a title, with strings and chains, and bars that kept him in his place—"to what do I owe this pleasure and surprise?"
Nate stood up straight and let his hand fall to his side, but he kept his eyes glued to his Grandfather's.
"I'd like to make a deal."
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