Author's note: Just a lot of shrieky fun ;) Hey, I need to let loose okay. My muse likes to go on vacation so I've been strung tight trying to work on this thing. So here goes.

THESE LITTLE HORRORS, THESE LITTLE HOURS, part five

She'd had to amble aimlessly at the Met checking out the new exhibition as she waited for their last class to be over. Then the girls had met her, the limo was freed of Chuck's clutches, and they had quickly piled in. And now her phone rang and Eric's name popped onto the vibrating thing.

What, so he'd found more incriminating evidence that Martin Woodard was a scumbag paedophile? Hardly news.

"What," she fairly barked into Eric's ear. So maybe a certain Bass had failed to fill her in on a critical development beforehand, namely that they were now attending dinner with the McDonagh-Woodards, and maybe she was a bit cranky in result. Eric didn't have to know, and could assume whatever the hell he pleased. Or maybe Chuck had filled him in. Maybe Eric was calling about more evidence he'd already relayed to Chuck and was only now relaying to Blair out of pity.

Why was she always the last one to know things?

Okay, exaggeration, you need a sedative.

"Uh, Blair?" Eric's voice was layered with the telltale click-click of his fingers flying over the keys of his mothership. "You need to come here."

"Did Chuck ask you to deflect me?"

There was a moment of baffled silence. "Uh, no..."

"I knew it!" Blair heard his urgent sputters as she snapped her mobile shut. The delegating coward! "Chuck Bass," she muttered to the limousine under her breath, "you dirty-playing ass..."

"Is there a problem?" Emma asked in concern tinged with just a tad of an imminent freak-out on her best friend's behalf – and indeed Muffy was having a little bit of an apoplexy inside if her features were anything to go by – as Blair turned her cool and quickly composed expression on them again.

"Not at all. Not a problem," she assured Emma and, consequently, Muffy, milking serenity for all it was worth. Because inside she was glaring GPS-enhanced daggers through buildings at one Charles Bartholomew Bass.

There wouldn't be a problem at all if Chuck learned to keep her constantly in the loop. Scheming pair be damned if he couldn't. Not to mention "pair" itself.

Ass.

#

Re-introductions were made in the drawing room and Mrs. McDonagh soon commented that her memory must be failing her because she'd thought Blair had graduated "two years ago, wasn't it?"

"You must have me mistaken, Mrs. McDonagh," Blair answered sweetly.

"Two years ago she worried too much about… a boy, wasn't it?" Chuck taunted, a smirk of delight in his eyes at the idea that his girl seethed blackly inside.

Confused looks were traded before Blair bit back warningly with, "In retrospect I think he was definitely not worth it."

Chuck winked, evidently amused at the whole subtle mind game of "who would break first". "Thank God I'm a different sort of man, mm?" he quipped, pressing her to his side on the cozy love seat with an arm slung around her waist.

"Sometimes," Blair breathed icily for his ears only, glaring sweet daggers at him.

"And last year you embraced your inner globetrotter? Queenly treatment in Asia because you couldn't bear to leave my side, right sweetie?" He glanced back indulgently to the older couple. "Budding love, you know." And then he patted her rump, unbeknownst to them.

Blair wanted to slap him, she really did. "And yet I never saw your face," Blair retorted with a saccharine pout, covertly stabbing her Louboutin pump into his loafer.

Muffling his gasp of pain in the nick of time, Chuck barely remembered what they were talking about. Think. "Ah yes," he breathed through the pain, "jealousy rears her pretty head. I swear she wanted me to herself every hour of every day to visit the cities."

Martin Woodard gave an easy grin. "Asia is definitely rich in beautiful architecture and history. I'm sure you're not at all sorry."

Mrs. McDonagh cut an unreadable look at her husband that neither Chuck nor Blair could fully understand. There was no time to ponder it, anyhow, because the true object of their visit poked his head in. "Sasha, dear, have you met Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf? Mr. Bass owns –"

"Bass Industries," the youngster answered with a knowing nod before briefly – but firmly – shaking Chuck's hand. "You're here to do business with Martin?"

Chuck inclined his head, piercing eyes locked on the kid at the man's name. Nothing. No reaction. Strange.

Then the kid frowned at Blair's uniform. "You go to Constance?" he queried, eyeing his sister and Emma with an all-encompassing suspicion. "Aren't you a little… old?"

Okay, so maybe the kid lacked tact. As the girls froze next to Blair and Blair slid an uneasy glance to Chuck, the latter… thought fast on his feet and cleared his throat. "The past two years have been pretty tough on Blair," he answered blandly, trying to calculate quickly. From his uniform, Sasha seemed to go to Winston, so he couldn't have ever met Blair outside of grand social affairs where everyone knew everyone but didn't really. So, could he know the truth? That seemed up in the air.

"Yes, boys can be trouble," Blair announced sagely, earning the girls' and Mrs. McDonagh's swiftly agreeing nods. And the males' rolls of the eyes.

"So how did you meet Emma and Mellifanny?"

"Mother," was the embarrassed outcry from the latter.

The woman sighed wryly. "Muffy isn't much better, dear, and this is your–"

"Call her Muffin then," Sasha suggested on a guffaw.

The object of attention reddened, a mutinous look directed at her brother. "I'll kill you if you call me that again," she growled darkly, held back only by her snickering best friend. Apparently this was a commonplace occurrence.

"Try. Muffin."

"Kids…" Woodard tried diplomatically, a smile nevertheless fighting its way onto his lips.

"Children!" was Mrs. McDonagh's sharper, but mortified, cry. Face as red as her hair, she glanced at their guests and telepathised the following message: Please forget this ever happened, please.

Blinking, Chuck and Blair shared a look. Well. Wasn't this cozy. (Wouldn't it have been awesome?)

To top it off most excellently, the housemaid seemingly appeared out of nowhere and cleared her throat as though there were nothing wrong at all with the scene. "Would you please adjourn to the dining room?"

"Absolutely," squeaked their flustered hostess.