Hey people!

It's the busiest time of the week in the Upper Eastside; Saturday night, where the day is spent running errands and catching up on homework, and the night is for partying.

Watch out people, you might catch a rich kid doing everything your parents warned you not to do.

spotted:

E was seen outside of some bar in Brooklyn chatting up the security guard -- as if she doesn't have the connections to sneak through the back entrance like everyone else.

S and B were seen outside of a bakery on 3rd. I guess their friendship has been rekindled.. what a shame. Things were so much more interesting when B was plotting against S. 

N spotted leaving The Palace with little E, and some guy wearing an old couch. I guess C's party hadn't been as entertaining as we thought, maybe he's losing his touch.

is that the smell of love at first sight?
no, just cheap beer.

A CLOUD OF CIGARETTE SMOKE fogged the entrance with a hazy veil, creating a heady mix of allure and repulsion that nauseates anyone as they passed by. A neon sign buzzed above the red door etched into a brick wall, screaming the bar's name boldly for the world to see.

The Five and Dime, a dive tucked away in the heart of Brooklyn, had gained its notoriety as a beacon for small, up-and-coming bands eager to entertain a raucous crowd fueled by cheap drinks and even cheaper decisions. A family business that hasn't renovated since the late eighties, Its fame has since dwindled -- whether a fault of the outdated style or lack of talent is to be decided. It was once a staple for the locals, but now, after the younger crowd moved somewhere flashier and less withered, it hasn't received the same business.

Most nights, a nineties-cover band blared nostalgic anthems through the speakers, and on the coveted 'Saturday Slot', the band brought in the biggest crowds the place had seen since its glory days, an ambitious crowd of at most; one hundred and fifty people. And, it was nice for a while, then a brawl broke out and sent them tumbling down the lineup.

It was a shame, really. The familiarity they conjured summoned such a loyal crowd of decrepit, old people reliving their youth. If Eloise ever becomes old enough to merely think of seeking out a nineties-cover band for entertainment, she'd ask you to shoot her on the spot.

Ever since that fight stirred up the schedule, the owner scrambled to fill the most envied slot on their calendar. He considered leaning into legacy, bringing back a sort of 'talent show' like his father started the bar on. A parade of hopefuls had lined up for auditions, but all faltered under the harsh lights of the stage, their dreams collapsing alongside their misguided performances.

Tonight, however, a new band will step into the spotlight, vying for attention and stardom.

A call upon legacy must be what brought this crowd. Though the band isn't a complete unknown, they're definitely not popular enough to draw in this many people.

Eloise fought the line and considers sneaking through the back, but the thought of running into the band too soon worries her enough to hang the idea up. She's supposed to be covert, undercover, a nobody -- the façade is crucial if she wanted to secure her father's approval.

Tonight's about more than just music or some band; it's about proving to her corporate father that she could navigate this world, balancing ambition with his expectations in a place where the line between the two often blurred.

Impatient, Eloise slips inside using nothing but her charm -- batting her eyelashes -- and her quick-wits -- her cleavage -- to persuade the security guard into letting her bypass the line. The mild flirting guided her inside, following an annoyed sigh from the impatient crowd waiting behind her.

It felt as though she'd stepped into a portal, through a veil of cigarette smoke, transported in time to the bar's latest renovation. She held her breath as she entered, clinging to her purse like a kid's favorite blanky. The years of smoke left a syrupy coating that laquers any wall not plastered with vibrant band posters, each one reflecting the bar's golden-years, like trophies in a case -- a time capsule of sorts.

Though she was only a step inside, the thick stench of stale beer and tobacco enveloped her, both intoxicating and overwhelming -- comforting yet suffocating, a bittersweet reminder of countless nightless lived and lost in similar spaces.

The lighting is dim and casts a warm yet eerie glow across the faces surrounding her, their features shifting from shadow to light with each beat of a distant song.

Tired of her mindlessly staring in awe at the posters, the eager crowd shoves Eloise into the main room. Before the corridor came to an end, grungy bathrooms flanked her on opposing sides, their doors battered and marked by years of use. A single flickering light overhead casts an uncertainty. The faces of those waiting in line turned toward her,  their expressions puzzled as if questioning where she were lost.

She stood out of the way, letting the impatient wave of people flood past her, and took in her surroundings. A pit is carved out around the stage, directly in front of her, a rectangular dance floor already full of a swaying mass of people.

She checked a mental note off of a list she'd been keeping: first, she needed to find the stage; second, a place to sit, somewhere with a view.

Scoping out the area, she starts for the bar on her left. Tangling up in the crowd as she squeezed through them. Maybe it's the smell of the old building but she couldn't keep from holding her breath with each pass of a person. A breath of fresh air finds her like a gust of wind once freed of the dense space.

A cluster of people flocking to the stage nearly collides with her path, buzzing with excitement for the band everyone in town had been talking about.

A lone stool at the end of the bar calls her name, and once there, she sighs out of relief. Despite being in the corner, next to the bartender's swinging door and a backroom, it has a perfect view of the crowd. Tall speakers obstruct most of the stage,  but she didn't care, all she needs to do is gauge the crowd's reaction to the band -- but really, that was pointless.

Deep down, she'd already told herself that this was the band she'd choose, whether the audience was a dud or not.

As the bartender cleared away some empty glasses, he caught glimpse of the lonesome girl at the end of his section, a brow furrowing as he approached.

The Five and Dime's patrons all had a distinct look: typically over twenty-seven, most adorned with tattoos and vibrantly colored hair, and always rough around the edges. The girl he finds, nervously fidgeting with a ring on her finger, was everything but.

Poised and graceful, she seemed to hail from an entirely different world -- like a white dove amongst a flock of crows, or perhaps an alien from another planet. She stuck out sorely against the gritty backdrop of the bar.

Once the bartender finished up his glasses, he slapped his rag over his flannel-covered shoulder and found his way to her. It's not the first time some teenager snuck in, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

"Never saw you here before," he smiled.

"You must not come here often," she mindlessly replied back, too focused on the stage and her ring to pay attention to the stray man she assumes is trying to hit on her.

He laughed to himself, shaking his head as he thought of how fun this conversation will be.

"Only every day," he said, capturing her attention. She turns to him, nose stuck in the air like she'd unknowingly picked up from her mother, and smiles tightly at his appearance. He looks strikingly like a lumberjack rather than a bartender, as if this might be some side-quest for him. "Clark," he introduced, extending a hand for her to shake.

Her cold ring chills his skin as their hands meet. "Eloise."

"Eloise," he repeated, studying her closely. "What can I get for ya'?"

Her tongue in cheek smile caught his studying glare and she knew then that the game she were playing would soon be over. She never had much need for a fake ID, the only time she drank was around her friends and Chuck has an entire liquor store inside his home, so there's not much point.

And, even if she did have a fake, she'd assume he would accept it, money's money after all -- even if its transaction is illegal.

"Nothing," she smiled politely, batting her eyelashes as a distraction. "For now," she added for a dramatic flare, perhaps her new persona speaking for her.

"Nothing for now," he repeated with a hum and a nod of his head. "Okay. Makes my job a lot easier," he shrugged, then continued. "So, what dragged you all the way to Brooklyn on a Saturday night?"

She thought for a second. "How do you know I'm not from here?"

His gaze lowered to the wooden bar between them, mouth forming a tight line. "Besides the glaringly obvious?" he asked, moving his glare to her outfit. "You keep looking around like you're nervous about someone stealing that fancy, little, sparkly thing from you."

Her head tilts, eyes lowering to her 'fancy, little, sparkly' purse. If she didn't think anyone would steal from her before, the thought definitely crosses her mind now. She couldn't be too offended by his assumption, she did just compare him to a lumberjack. His judgement encourages her to study his face -- the only person in the bar she'd look in the eyes.

He couldn't be older than thirty-five, probably owns a hundred flannel shirts just like the one he's wearing. A wrinkle above his brow from years of stress -- most likely due to running this place -- and the confidence he has behind the bar tells her he's been working here for years, seen how it decayed over the years. All of his fingers were swollen and calloused, all but one special finger that's indented with a ring. Despite being younger, his ginger beard looks as though someone had shook salt into it, bits of grey sprinkled about. He looks as nice as a random stranger in a random bar could -- though, not much of a stranger now that he's introduced himself.

"Boredom," she finally answered, and once his expression warped to confusion she explains herself. "You asked what brought me all the way out here -- the same thing that always drags me out of my house: boredom."

He leans his elbows against the bar, comforted now that he understands she's not some teenager wanting an adrenaline rush. "Surely that's not it. You're young and you're clearly not from here, I'm sure you had something more exciting to do."

Doesn't he know there's nothing more exciting for a girl than searching for her father's love.

Behind her, the crowd grew rowdier, patience wearing thin on the wait for the mystery band. If she had to endure an entire set full of rockstar wannabes, has-beens, or groupies dancing and singing to the music, she knew she'd soon have to indulge in his offer of a drink. The anticipation in the air is intense, almost masking the suffocating cigarette smoke, and with each shout or cheer, the room's energy surges. Briefly, she questions herself, wondering if she were truly ready for the chaos that would soon unfold.

"Didn't you hear?" she looked up to him, smiling. "There's some band playing tonight, heard they're the real deal."

"Ah," he hummed. "So, you're a groupie."

Her eyes narrowed into slits.

"Not a groupie, okay. Noted," he laughed, and before continuing, leans his crossed arms against the bar. "Yeah, I hope they're good. They seemed good at rehearsal. It's not my taste but it brought in a big crowd," he shrugged. "Half of these people are dedicated fans. That's why we gave them the Saturday slot, they're a lot better than those last guys."

"So I've heard."

It's true, she really had heard. Ever since her father signed their little deal with a hesitant signature of his sworn word, she began digging into any and every band around. The last guys were nothing compared to this new band, but maybe she's biased. Internet deep-dives introduced her to them, through a horrible quality YouTube video. Squinting through the static, blurred screen she could see she'd struck gold.

It could be said that most of her research was done to better secure her position under her father's wing, but truthfully, only she knew a good majority is summed up to her interest in the lead singer.

He's just so dreamy.

The lights around the building dimmed, casting the bar in a soft, intimate glow while the rest of the venue plunged into darkness. The crowd erupts like a volcano. Its lava, a shrilling scream and piercing the ears of those not participating, molten with sweat and drug-induced shivers.

"Well, I hope they're good," he huffed. "This's the most packed the place's been in a while."

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as the stage came to life, a singular blue spotlight slicing through the darkness. It illuminates a red-curtained wall, glowing hazily against its curves.

CRIMSON VICE.

The band's name was scrawled out in bold, black spray-paint across what appears to be a white bedsheet, its fabric hanging behind the drum set. The waves in the material creates a shifting shadow around the letters. The cheap setup seems to highlight the band more than the spotlight, already making them memorable.

A guitar chord scratches, vibrating the speakers positioned at either end of the stage. The raw noise rifted throughout the room, harmonizing with the crowd's chaos as they began chanting for the band, shaking the floor and rattling the room. They cried out in eager anticipation as another stroked chord met their ears — this one sounding more like a melody rather than a mindless tune.

The yellow spotlight fades into nothingness, and in its absence, plunges the room back into total darkness, save for the faint glow of the bar a few feet away. The poorly designed sign above the drums disappears as well, but the white curtain remains barely seen, softly reflecting the shadows of four figures crossing the stage. The silhouettes dance against the fabric until each one find its favorite place to be.

In the blink of an eye, you'd miss what happened next.

The leader singer clasped the microphone tightly in one hand while his other rested on his guitar. The drummer raised his sticks high above his head, forming an 'X' that made it look as if the lead singer had sprouted devilish horns from his curly hair.

"We are Crimson Vice," he rasped into the microphone, his slight accent seamlessly slurring into his American speech.

The lights flash in time with the drummer's beat, beginning slowly before accelerating to a dizzying pace -- so fast that human ears struggled to grasp the intensity whilst being blinded by the strobing lights.

Da-flash-da-flash. Dada-flash-flash-dada-da-flash, flash, flash, flash!

Even the lights couldn't keep up with the erratic entrance.

The leader singer, perfectly in-tune with the drummer, took a step back just as he reached his crescendo, then jumped into the air with one last strike of the snare. As he landed, the lights flashed one last time before settling into its a deep blue hue, then the guitars kick in.

They rush into their first song without much of an introduction — not that they'd need one after the euphoric rush of whatever possessed the drummer — and the crowd goes more wild than ever before, feeling the rush too.

Small white lights lined the edge of the stage, pointing upwards and strobing at the band with every rapid beat the song took, enhancing the intensity and turning up the dial on the electricity.

Eloise squints her eyes, trying to familiarize herself with the band. The bar and stage were at similar heights, while the dance floor is sunk down below, giving her a clear view over the sea of bobbing heads. Eagerly, she searches for every detail of the band, slowly becoming mesmerized by their energy. Each note and movement draws her in deeper, the charisma of the performers causes her to near the edge of her seat.

The bass guitarist, a woman with wildly dyed hair, sways effortlessly to the music, fingers flying across the strings without ever missing a note. In the back, the drummer unleashes his pent-up anger, nearly ripping into the face of his instrument, beads of sweating glistening his forehead. The main guitarist concentrates on his sound — at least as much as he could while winking at a lady below him who'd been teasing the front hook of her bra.

They were all naturals, but it was the focal point that captivates Eloise the most, even from her distant seat.

The band stood in an almost-perfect triangle, with the singer at the apex. Clinging to the microphone, he breathes out a deep, melodic voice with ease. It's as if he were a siren and she were the poor bystander caught under his spell. His nose brushed against the mic, silver rings decorating his fingers, while his curly hair fell charmingly into his face.

He doesn't even have to be a mythical creature, Eloise has already fallen into his trance, practically foaming at the mouth. She could only think two reasonable things in this moment; that he is a sex-god, and that she needs him.

The crowd seems to share her sentiment as they surge against the stage, those closest to him reaching up as if hoping to tame an ounce of his beauty. The middle of the floor is a sea of dancers, jumping around like flopping fish, while even those pressed against the furthest wall, near the corridor, nods and sways to the rhythm.

Eloise, herself, couldn't help but let the music move her; perhaps it was the catchy hook sung by the sex-god singer that reeled her in. All she could think is that this is who she must choose for her father's label.

What better way to impress your one-sided crush than to launch them miles into success?

Setting aside her selfish thoughts, she sensed they're destined for greatness, evident in the crowd's reaction. By the end of the set, no one showed signs of exhaustion or boredom -- only an insatiable hunger for more. They were about seven years late to the scene of indie-rock, but the sleaze is still there. A voice for the people.

Once the lights dimmed again, fading to nothing long enough for the band to disappear, the crowd dispersed. A few lingered around the stage, hoping for an autograph, while others retreated to their tables or made way for the bar. And, suddenly Eloise found herself sandwiched between a grungy hipster and a group of girls animatedly discussing some of their local gossip.

Clark, after serving the newly dehydrated customers, finds her again. "I guess they weren't too shabby," he shrugged.

"Yeah, not too shabby," she agreed, trying to ignore the mantra in her mind that keeps telling her to sign Crimson Vice into her deal because the singer is a sex-god. 

"Still no drink?"

Her finger drums against the wooden top, following the tune of a song she'd just heard. "I'm not staying long," she replied. "Thank you, though."

"Boredom dragging you out that fast?" he raised a brow, clearly unconvinced.

"No, its not boredom. I came for music, and now that they're gone..."

"Eh, I wouldn't speak so soon," his voice, like her's, trailed off. Cut short by a knowing smile.

She hadn't become aware of the hipster's exit until Clark's glance to the empty seat pointed it out -- just as someone else swoops in to steal it. She didn't look, instead went back to her thoughts while her finger drummed to the beat of her new favorite song.

She began to wonder what Blair was up to. The last they spoke, Blair mentioned making amends with Serena, which is a bomb waiting to go off. Most Saturday nights were spent with Blair, their retreat for their long days scheduled with the usual drama.

"What can I get for ya'?" Clark asked beside her.

Eloise's gaze settles on him, watching him work, but her mind drifts away from the conversation as the person answers. Her thoughts wandering to her brother and his safety as she considers texting him -- or maybe Nate, who'd been so kind to take on her role of babysitter.

She clutched her purse, the thoughts lingering for far too long. By now, Chuck's probably introducing Ethan to something stronger than just weed and alcohol.

"D'ya like the show?"

"It was okay," she answered absently, her mind still preoccupied.

Would it be too pushy to text Ethan, maybe I should just call him, she thought, still consumed with her brother's whereabout -- that is, until, the stray voice begins to echo around her mind, drowning out her concerns.

It wasn't Clark who broke her train of thought, his voice is too wise, rough like a smoker's would be. It was a voice she could recognize, but couldn't quite place, making her question who could possess something so effortlessly seductive.

She turns to the seat, half-expecting the grungy hipster again. Instead, there he was -- the sex god whose siren-song put her in a trance. He'd looked so enchanting on stage, but now, just an inch, he was even more alluring. It almost offends her that she hadn't sought out a closer look while he performed. His hair, more curled now with the sweat, fell in loops around his forehead. Ivory skin bruised a soft pink, like a peach, blushing the tip of his nose. Eyes the color of a hazelnut lazily found her.

Their arms brushed, his leather jacket sending a chill across her skin. She glanced over to Clark, who's busy fixing a drink, and raised a finger for one of her own.

A wave of panic washed over her, flushing her cheeks with a swirl of red. She considers correcting her earlier comment. Should she tell him he played better than just okay? That she'd nearly slipped in a puddle of her own drool while swaying to his voice? The words danced on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitates.

A corner of his mouth lifted, shining white teeth revealed under his plump lips. Perfect, perfect, perfect, was all her mind could say as she looked to him.

"I'm Alex," he introduced, a hand reaching out for her to shake.

Speak, she urged herself, say something before he thinks you're weird.

Their hands meet, and a bolt of electricity shoots through her, igniting a rush of desire that momentarily overwhelms her senses, like a robot short-circuiting.

"Eloise," she hummed as his hand slipped from hers.

Clark slid Alex's glass over, providing a much-appreciated distraction. As she spun her stool around to face the bar, she noticed a small group forming around the singer, their overbearing enthusiasm on display as they clamor for his attention.

Ill-fated, the two wouldn't be able to continue their conversation -- not due to the barrier of people around him, but because her phone begins to ring, cutting through the cacophony of excitement that the fans brought.

Her embarrassed blush worsens as the song Ethan had chosen to set as his ringtone begins to blare: "Crank That" by Soulja Boy. All eyes turn her way, questioning the choice of tune.

Returning their judging glares, she watched as they rolled their eyes and looked away. Sighing, she unbuttons her purse to search for her phone. Pens, stickers, chapstick, mints, hand sanitizer -- that she'll use as soon as she's out of this place -- lip gloss, and finally, under a barge of wrappers and tampons, she finds her phone. The ringtone still blaring as a picture of a grinning Ethan stares at her.

Silently pleading for his safety, she smashes down the volume button as she panics. Please be alive; please don't make me kill Chuck Bass.

"El?" Ethan's voice squeaked into her ear.

Turning back to the bar to hear him better, she balances the phone between her shoulder and her head. The crowd around Alex disperses, his attention now falling back to Eloise, just as she shuts her phone. The conversation with Ethan had ended abruptly. Alex swirls his drink around, then tips it to her as if an offer.

She looks to it, sighing, watching as the olive poking out settles. She smiles politely and takes his offer, throwing the drink back as if it were a shot. She stands up in a hurry, flattening out her skin-tight dress and clutching her purse.

"Alex," she said with as much composure as she could while a million butterflies flutter around her head. Looking at him, she reaches out her hand to shake, just as he had before. "Pleasure to meet you," she added with a smile.

Glancing up from the rings adorning his finger, which chilled her skin and sent a shiver down her spine, he catches her gaze in the golden light of the bar.

"Pleasure's all mine," he said, a hint of awe in his tone. And as she started for the exit, he adds, "will I see you again?"

He wondered if she heard him, or better yet, if she'd recognize his voice in the crowd of people.

Oh, but his voice, with all of its charming sex-godish qualities, is one she'd never soon forget.

Her father would've fainted at the sight of her letting this perfect opportunity slip through her grasp -- the ideal scenario to pitch the idea of the band joining his label, all for something as trivial as a family matter. But for her, when the delicate balance of work and life wavered, any consideration for his label would cease to exist. Her job would just have to wait.

And if she were being honest, work had slipped her mind the minute she heard Alex speak -- sing, even.

After all, she's just a lovesick girl with an agenda of her own, caught in a whirlwind of ambition and desire. In that moment, everything else -- the expectation of failing, the pressure set by her father -- felt distant, overshadowed by an intoxicating thrill of possibility.

As she stepped into the cool night air to hail a taxi, Eloise took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her choices settle around her like a cloak. The vibrant energy of the bar faded behind her, replaced now by the rhythmic pulse of the city, reminding her that life continues on in the most unpredictable ways -- like her hailing a taxi to yet another borough.

In the backseat, she finds the night stretching on, like the distance between her and home. All she could think about was how far from the Upper East Side she was wandering and how her idiotic brother had managed to navigate this far without her guiding hand, both in life and through these bustling streets.

If she thought Brooklyn was far from home, well, Toto, she's definitely not in Kansas anymore.

But getting lost in Queens in wasn't her biggest concern. That spot was reserved for the weight of Ethan's predicament, in big enough trouble that he actually felt the need to call her. Her heart raced anxiously, not just out of concern for her brother, but from the thrill of the last two hours. She could feel a shift within herself, a quiet rebellion against the expectations that loomed over her.

The city sparkled around her, each streetlight illuminating the faces of the nightlife. The taxi came to a screeching halt outside of a rundown hotel, its flickering neon sign casting a ghostly red glow against the car, like a warning she couldn't quite decipher.

Inside, trouble lurked in the lounge, where men in pricey suits they could barely afford flaunted their fancy watches, preying on clueless rich kids to scam out of money.

Eloise wanders an endless hallway in search of the secluded lounger. Though the room had been closed off to the public for the night, a bellboy had discreetly pointed her in the right direction, offering guidance on how to sneak in unnoticed.

Her shoes scraped against a hideously outdated red carpet, heels catching in its shag so often that she pauses to unhook the straps, frustration bubbling beneath her otherwise calm exterior.

Adjusting her tights, she continued down the hall, determination pushing her forward. At the end stood double doors marked 'Employees Only.'

"Are you with these guys?" Nate shouted from somewhere inside the room.

With an ear pressed to the cold, wooden door, Eloise strains to hear her brother's voice calling out Nate's name. A sigh of relief escapes her, easing the tension that constricted her lungs.

"Did you play me?!" again, Nate shouts, drowning out Ethan's calls.

The noise of crashing chairs rattled the floor violently, reverberating through the walls and door she leaned against. She sighed again -- this time more out of frustration -- before bursting into the room.

Not that anyone could notice over the chaos.

Nate has Carter by his collar, fists balled tight, while Ethan desperately tried to pull him back. A few unrecognizable men headed for Carter, their intentions unclear, as the tension spirals out of control.

"You're playing me, huh?" Nate's normally cheerful voice is now unfamiliar, dripping with accusation as he shoved Carter into the waiting arms of the two older men. Carter offers no response, his silence prompting Nate to add, "guess that's a yes."

One of the older men — trouble wearing their suits and fancy watches — pins Nate back while the other starts for Ethan, who's caught in a struggle he's clearly too young to handle.

"Just give them the money, man. It means nothing to you," Carter sneered as the second man restrained Ethan, his arms pinned firmly behind his back. "No one has to get hurt."

Though Ethan often fought with Eloise and Jasper at home, he's much smaller than Nate, even more fragile against the man's grip, his resistance is futile. Still, he struggled against the man's grip with everything he has.

Eloise watches from the shadows, heart thrumming rapidly as she catches Ethan's strain. Just as she moves to intervene, the door she'd propped open slams shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Heads turn, and the room falls silent, catching the deer in headlights. She turns to face them, wide eyes brimming with fear, instantly aware of crossing into dangerous territory without much of a plan for saving her brother.

"Eloise!" cried out Ethan.

Her deer-in-headlights look vanishes the moment the man holding Ethan chuckles, sizing her up with a smirk that says he doesn't see her as a threat. If only he knew the lengths a sister would go to protect her little brother, it is immeasurable.

"What the hell's going on here?" she demanded, her glare flickering from the men to Nate, whose eyes burn a hole through Carter. She'd never normally be so bold, maybe that extra drink had been stronger than she thought. But right now, she needs clarity, not a buzz.

Carter's smirk falters, and he shifts uncomfortably under her piercing gaze. "I'm—I'm trying to help our friend here out," he stammered, an attempt at calming the situation. Really, it only pissed Nate off more.

"Yeah," the sarcastic drawl of a new voice interjected. "You're a real friend."

Chuck Bass sauntered into the room beneath their noses. God-sent, literally. His expression is nonchalant, as if this is were just another day -- like scamming were a normal occurrence for him.

Slow and steady, he makes a beeline for Nate, or perhaps Carter, where his anger truly leads him. Eloise seizes the distraction, tiptoeing quietly behind him, cautiously making her way to Ethan.

The aftermath of the earlier scuffle is laid out before them, made clear as she entered the room fully: chairs lay scattered beneath a poker table like fallen soldiers, chips and cards strewn haphazardly, a few crumpled bills were left behind on the battlefield. The fight had clearly gone on far longer than she realized.

"Who let you in here, Bass?" Carter shot over his shoulder, receiving his answer once Eloise perked up.

She tilted her head and smiles softly. "I'm sure Charles, here, just followed the smell."

Really, she'd sent him a text on her way over in-between daydreaming about Alex and worrying for her brother.

Nate squirmed, straining under the grip that holds him back. "He set me up!"

Carter rolled his eyes, his façade of innocence crumbling. "No one set you up," he replied dismissively, then turned back to Chuck and Eloise. "Your boy lost fair and square."

"Oh, I'm sure," she sighed, sounding as bored as Chuck looked.

Chuck glances between them, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Did you?" he asked Nate.

He didn't care much for the answer, knowing all too well how manipulative Carter Baizen could be.

"Look, man, if you don't give them the money, I'm gonna tell everyone where you live," Carter said to Nate, pointing between him and Ethan, the threat palpable -- like the suffocating musk of his cologne. "They can go get it from daddy. What'd'ya think about that?"

The man tightened his hold on Nate as he fought for his freedom. Chuck stepped between them and Carter, shoving the latter back with a practiced ease, as if he'd been dreaming of this moment. While master-manipulator, Chuck Bass, deals with his match, Ethan tries his luck with his own captor

It's not a fair fight. Sure, Ethan had shot up a foot over the summer, but his puny arms and wiry frame offered little resistance. The man holding him simply laughed, a deep, mocking sound that grated Eloise's nerves like nails against a chalkboard. It sends a jolt of irritation through her, causing an eye to twitch, and furthering her determination to free Ethan, whose desperation is apparent in his gaze.

The weight of the moment bore down on her, she couldn't stand by and watch her brother get tossed around like a rag doll.

So, with a saddened sigh, Eloise reached for her Jimmy Choo's, mumbling a silent farewell to her beloved shoes before launching one in Ethan's direction. It was a desperate attempt, and predictably, it misses. Falling flat just a few inches from the man's feet, but that was just a warm-up, the second -- and last -- shoe had to hold more promise.

The man holding Ethan leaned over, his attention drawn to the flopped shoe. His hold on Ethan loosens as his belly erupted with laughter, deep and booming. He sounded like Santa — if Santa knew a thing or two about investment banking firms and had a knack for scamming the stupidly rich.

Motivate more now, she gripped her last shoe, kissing it softly with a final goodbye to her only chances of saving Ethan -- only chance if literally no one else were in the room that is. Time seems to slow as the shoe sailed through the air, Ethan instinctively ducking, making a target of the jolly old man's head.

Eloise, with a surge of adrenaline, rushed forward, ready to pull Ethan to safety.

"It's cool. I-I got it," Carter said, attempting to regain control after losing to Chuck, but it came a moment too late.

Now free, Nate's shoved into Chuck's solid frame, but the Beauregard siblings aren't as fortunate. Santa, now furious, didn't find the shoe-throwing to be as humorous as Eloise did.

He rubs his head, a red mark already bruising his skin, and lets Ethan go. His eyes now zeroed in on Eloise, who begun backing away thanks to her racing heartbeat warning her to move.

Ethan, still laughing, darted around the man, scooping up his sister's shoes with a mischievous grin before racing to her side.

Chuck whistles sharply, ripping through the tension as he beckoned for Eloise to join him. He and Nate were so focused on Carter that they hadn't noticed the man stalking his way toward her. But as the realization dawned, they pivoted from leaving and position themselves like a shield in front of her.

Ethan quickly finds her side, her heels pointed like a weapon in his hold, threatening the man as if it might scare him away from pursuing them. Nate and Chuck straightened, their bodies tensing as the man drew in, their collective irritation simmering. It wasn't about guarding her, she could hold her own. They view the man as a perfect target of their pent-up anger.

"That's enough," Carter surprises all who hears. He nods to Chuck and Nate, signaling that it's fine for them to leave and the man wouldn't persist. Despite their protective stance, a reluctant calm settles in.

And just like that, the chaotic ride came to an abrupt end. The tension no longer suffocating, replaced now by a confusing mix of relief and disbelief. It was over, but the chaos of the night's adventures stay with Eloise, keeping her heart at a steadily racing pace.

Down the hall, with trouble behind them, Eloise leans against Nate's shoulder for balance as she wedged back on her shoes, both struggling to keep up with Chuck's near-jog. The air around them is left with an unspoken tension -- everyone simmering in their own way, some still fuming like Chuck, others quietly chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

When they finally reach Chuck's limousine, the overwhelming stench of alcohol and weed hit them, lingering from whatever antics his group of partygoers had gotten up to. It reminds Eloise of the Five and Dime, and mentally, she notes to tell Blair about her encounter with God -- sorry, no, not God, just a hot singer.

Chuck and Nate slide into the smooth leather seats, between the doors, while Ethan sprawls out under the stretched window, looking both exhausted and amused. Eloise plops down across from Nate, settling into the only spot not sticky from spilled champagne -- or something far worse that she refuses to think about. Her glare narrows on him, weighing the odds of beating him in a fight, whether physically or verbal didn't matter. What did, though, was how he just ruined any trust she spent their entire lives creating with him.

How dare he bring her little brother to a poker game in Queens!?

She decides against the fight. He has more pressing matters to deal with, like owing strange men money and keeping his girlfriend blissfully unaware of what unfolded tonight. So, instead, she turns her glare to Ethan. Her expressed anger's intense, but pales in comparison to the true fury boiling inside her. But, deep down, she knew her frustration is rooted in her own choices, and not Ethan's.

Her father's approval was tantalizingly close -- just more time spent with Alex, that's all she needed. But her family came first, a rule her father would undoubtedly frown upon. Taking on the role of a parent wasn't her fault, nor is it Ethan's, so blaming him felt pointless. All she wanted was one night of freedom, a break from babysitting and responsibilities.

As they approached their building, Ethan stumbled out of the limousine, drunken with the comedown of adrenaline he'd felt earlier and the countless shots he'd taken prior. Chuck applauds him, playful mockery that only adds to the dramatic exit. She watched him go, stricken with an odd sense of pride swelling within her. He may not know it now, but Ethan had just stepped into the secret lives of the people she calls a friend -- a rite of passage she remembered all too well.

Her own tale, now remembered with embarrassment, had been character-building in its own right, and might've have involved a talking parrot. She couldn't help but giggle at the memory, even as the worry slowly kept back in, afraid that Ethan might not learn from this experience and may repeat the mistakes of other's she knew. With a deep breath, she pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on her brother as he stands in the door's frame.

"You proved yourself well tonight, kid. I'll look forward to seeing you around more often, you know, once El takes her leash off you," Chuck said, patting Ethan on the shoulder. He turns to Eloise with a smirk, silently announcing he'd surely run Ethan through hell again.

Ethan rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress the grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, whatever," he replied, laughing softly.

Only Eloise could see the spark of giddiness in his eyes, the thrill of having impressed his 'hero' in a world that felt so far out of his reach hours before.

"Go ahead," she encouraged him, voice warmed with adoration. "I'll be home later."

Ethan nodded, embracing his newfound confidence as he shut the door. In that moment, he was no longer just her little brother; he was part of something bigger, something far more exciting than his usual crowd of friends.

Hesitantly, Ethan spun around to face the doorman, who wore a pearly white smile that seems to say, 'give me a tip and I won't tell your parents the details of where you've gone today'. The man's gaze felt like a challenge, one that made Ethan nervously fish out a bill from his pocket.

"And you are..?" Chuck's question to her trailed off.

"Coming with you guys," she said obviously, but their confused expressed begged for elaboration. "What? Nate just got my brother pinned by some jerk-offs wearing faking Gucci and you don't expect me to be involved? Of course I'm coming with you."

"I'm sorry, El. I didn't mean for him to—"

Nate's apology is swiftly cut short as she raised a finger to silence him. "You should be worrying about paying off your debt instead of apologizing."

Their conversation came to a halting end once the driver parked a mile away, in front of the Plaza. Eloise glances at Nate, annoyance for him pushed aside, knowing that the real reckoning awaited them in Chuck's lair.

The grand entrance loomed before them, framed by the tall brick walls of the courtyard and towering trees that sway gently with the breeze. The cool air is a refreshing welcome for Eloise, who feels the weight of the night beginning to lift. Each step toward Chuck's penthouse felt like walking on clouds, her emotions swirling with delirious exhaustion, intoxicating her and blurring lines between exhilaration and fatigue, which seems to be her every weekend. Like chasing whiskey with a shot of expresso.

Inside, Chuck is already busy preparing drinks with a smooth and practiced movement, while the others scattered around his lavish bedroom. Nate, borrowing Chuck's computer, is absorbed in accessing his bank account full of an endless stream of money, brow furrowing with concentration. Eloise, however, chooses to lounge on the expansive bed, prodding at the wrinkle-free sheets, savoring the soft fabric beneath her fingers.

"I'm gonna have to transfer some money and pray the Captain doesn't notice before I find a way to put it back," Nate announced, referring to his father with a nickname he'd used all their lives.

With a drink in hand, Chuck settles onto the edge of his bed beside Eloise's stretched-out body. "You don't have to pay me back, you know. I mean, it was worth every cent to see the last of that guy."

Eloise caught glimpse of Chuck's shy, vulnerable side as his eyes flicked to his drinks, replaying his rarely sincere words. The arrogance he usually wore as armor seemed to crack.

"No, I want to. I mean it, thank you," Nate said, glancing over his shoulder and noticing the same vulnerability that El had, a fleeting connection between the three of them.

So, Charles Bass isn't the villain after all -- maybe he could be charitable. Had hell frozen over, or is this just his true form?

Eloise pats his shoulder, then sits up beside him, sharing a smile as she does.

Nate groaned, running a hand through his hair. "This can't be right," he muttered his thoughts aloud, studying the computer screen. "It says I'm zeroed out."

Oh, no, hell had frozen over. What's a trust fund baby's worst nightmare? If you guessed an empty bank account, you'd be correct.

"You probably just got the wrong account," said Eloise, exchanging a wary glance to Chuck.

"No, no. There must be something wrong. I accessed this account a month ago, it said there was almost two-hundred thousand."

Nate turned to them again, his expression more terrified than he looked while being held captive by Carter and his men.

"Call your accountant?" she offered.

"It's midnight, Tom's not gonna be awake."

"Well, I didn't mean now."

"I just—I don't understand, how can my trust have a zero balance?"

She shrugged, wearing the same concerned expression as Chuck beside her. "Maybe it's an error. Seriously Nate, these things happen. Just refresh the page."

And with a nod, he does. Desperately repeating, and refreshing, and punching in the numbers of his account, each time finding the same problem. The screen stubbornly displaying the same issue: a taunting zero balance that really says, "you've gone broke, kid."

"Look, man, you don't have to pay me back. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it? Chuck, I have no money. Even if I did pay you back now, I'd have nothing to give you."

Their skin pricked with fear, shivering at the thought of going broke, their lives flash before their eyes.

"What if you called your dad?" she asked.

"The Captain? Are you serious? Yeah, right, let me call him and explain how much money I lost in a rigged poker game with Carter Baizen," Nate scoffed, rolling his eyes. "He'd send me away to boarding school, or worse -- make me get a job."

"Well, we can't have him do that," Chuck laughed softly. "Just crash here tonight, man. You'll call the accountant in the morning, and if everything's fine — like we're sure it is — you won't have to explain anything to your dad."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right."

Their attention shifts to Eloise, who was staring blankly at a wall, lost in thought. "What?" she asked, sensing their gaze. "Oh, no, I'm not staying here. I'm still embarrassed by what happened last time. Besides, I have to go deal with my brother."

"Hey, go easy on him, will ya?" Nate asked of her, batting his pretty lashes.

"Don't even get me started on you," she rolled her eyes, then stood from the bed. Her need to argue with him disappeared the moment his gaze widened with fear, but her grudge would be unmoving.

"Me?" he questioned so innocently. "I did what you asked; I watched your brother."

"Dude, you got her brother busted," Chuck reminded him, smirking. "Even I could've watched him better than that."

"Both of you shut up," she groaned. "I'm leaving."

"I'm sorry for getting your brother involved," Nate said as she reached the door. "It's my fault."

"Nice save," Chuck mumbled. "Really pulled at the heartstrings."

Nate rolled his eyes. "Here, I'll walk you out," he offered, rising from his seat behind the laptop and hurrying to her side.

He trailed close behind as Eloise made her way to the elevator, stayed even closer once they met the lobby. His presence; a quiet reminder of his gentler traits. Outside, he maintained a safe distance, letting her have some space as they reached the curb where a car idled, waiting for her.

Eloise paused, glancing back at him just as she reached for the car's handle. The tension of the night hung in the air, the unresolved feelings and residual buzz of adrenaline. She wanted to say something, to express her frustration or concern, but the words fell into a trap in her throat.

She moves from the car and stomped over to Nate, who stood in the shadow of a tree's branches, his arms crossed and brows raising with shock as her heels cracked against the concrete. She sighed before him, the weight of her momentary annoyance lifting, and reaches for his face, fingers wrapping his chin. His cheeks are soft beneath her hold, his lips forming a plumped pout as she pulled him closer.

What happens next is neither here nor there. But, the conversation's bittersweet end involves her rushing back to the stalling car while Nate calls after her.

"Yeah?" she breathed into the wispy air, her voice as light as the breeze, hair blowing behind her back.

"Thanks for looking out for us."

His words linger, wrapping around her like a much-needed blanket in the cool night. She turns slightly as the driver opens her door, a soft smile teasing the corners of her lips. With that as her goodbye, she slides into the backseat, the door shutting behind her and sealing off the chaotic evening. As the driver pulls away from the curb, she looks for Nate in the shadows, catching him still standing there, seeing her off.

Hey people!

A late update for my night owls -- or those still out partying.
Or, for the one person who has been using my notifications as their own personal alarm clock.

Whoever you are, you're going to want to tune in.

Sent to me just a few minutes ago — a spotting on our very own Fifth Avenue. I nearly overlooked it considering I've been sent about one hundred spotting's in the last hour, but I'm glad I didn't.

So, while B and S were out rekindling their friendship,
SEE; 'Every Blonde Needs A Brunette.'
N and E were spotted kissing in front of the Plaza!

This is the drama I live for.

As you all know, B and N's relationship has taken the same course of a rollercoaster. Think; the Coney Island rides. Shaking you around, teasing you with death, yet still completely thrilling and stable.

Well, I guess this ride is officially shut down. No more up-and-downs, or will-they-won't-they's, N is finally free from B's leash.

Who knew he'd use E as a rebound? I wonder what B thinks, or has she found a new lover to distract her from the heartbreak? Maybe S is comforting her in this time of need, seems she's replacing E in the queen's life anyway.

I'll keep you all up to date on the matter!

And, don't forget, you can always send any information to my email, or comment under this thread if it's really juicy.

you know you love me.
xoxo, Gossip Girl.

take a shot every time chuck is referred to in full.. CHUCK BASS! DUN DUN DUN....
its so dramatic.

anyways, hope you enjoyed!

sorry I haven't been active, but ya know, life and whatnot. this whole past week has been intense for me, the election *side-eye* don't even get me started, school stuff, and .. lawyer stuff (i'm going to jail.. not really)

as always, thank you for reading, commenting, and voting!
its very much appreciated!!

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