chistianing-blog

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He saw the disgust and he inwardly laughed. He was unorthodox, yes, but eating was no longer approved of? It wasn’t like he’d chewed with his mouth open or spoke before he swallowed. “No, I just tormenting little rich girls who think too much of themselves.”

Eyebrows arched in surprise. Such a simple action had both disgusted and confused her, she’d expected that behavior of an outsider, it was natural, but he was no such thing. Then again, he was a teacher - it hardly amounted to much in her eyes. Perhaps he couldn’t afford caviar on that kind of salary. “I take it you enjoy free food?”

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“Oh I’m aware of both of those things darling,” he said, his smile cruel -- cruel as him, cold as his heart. “Tsk tsk Harper -- what are you suggesting with that? I take much offense. I just want to catch up.”

The anger, the hatred... He was a bit surprised and just how big it had grown since he last seen her, but he was not surprised at the bitterness. Manipulation, coercion -- he couldn’t say he hadn’t employed those tactics to keep the affair going. She might have approached him but he’d made sure to keep her as long as he found her interesting and as long as he could. And, even after he’d had to relinquish his claim so she can hop off to Yale, he’d made sure to leave her with the ghost of him. Her torment, her anguish -- it was delightful.

“If any of my students want study tips, then they can ask me at my desk on Monday. You know how that goes.”

“I got what I wanted from you,” Harper said, a bit of venom leaving her lips. “If I wanted to catch up you’d know it.” She smiled. “I figured since I was an adult now, you wouldn’t be interested anyway.”

Harper knew she was playing with fire. Christian Sullivan had a way of getting under her skin. While it had been years since she’d seen him, she was constantly reminded of him. Her professors at Yale were repeatedly going on about the glowing recommendation he gave her as they told stories about when he was a student. Harper always had to sit idly by and smile as her former teacher was thrown in her face.

“Well, maybe you should fetch it. Wouldn’t want to miss a call from one of your students needing study tips,” she said, not wanting to waste her breath on explaining Gossip Girl to a man who wouldn’t understand.

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“Oh I do,” said Christian. “Speaking of such...” He glanced down at the table, gazing over it before picking up one of the small snacks and popping it into his mouth.

“Does anybody actually eat the canapes? I always feel like they’re just there for decoration because no one wants to soak up all the champagne they’re consuming.”

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“Oh you wound me Sutton,” Christian said, drinking in the visage of the woman dressed in scarlet as he led her away from her previous occupation and even further from Mr. I’m-an-over-hyped-relic. “I’m quite likable -- I’m charming and funny and I make for a great roll in the sack,” he continued, winking at the brunette.

“Oh you know...” He trailed off, a shrug of his broad shoulders finishing the sentence. “I’m too impatient to listen to someone who can only say five words a minute. Someone really should retire that old geezer.” As he spoke, he led the woman over to the refreshment table; as soon as they were there, he released her arm and picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and grinning lecherously at her.

“I don’t need excuses to talk to you Ms. Fitzgerald; if I have something to say, I will not keep myself silent you know.” Confidence, arrogance -- he oozed it. If there was one thing Christian was not, it was scared. “Speaking of blatant honesty -- I have a question. Why are you here?”

In this room, Sutton is far from herself; an addition to the surplus names alphabetised upon a guest list. Like the vermilion gown she adorned (for even a cage could appear appealing to the observer), the female blended among those who brandished their wealth so arrogantly. It was often questionable if she were ever destined to fit among those who flocked the hallways like mere sheep; clinging to the arms of loved ones in the desperation to claim best dressed. However, as her company departed and addiction remained the most consistent notion to course throughout her poisoned veins, Sutton scoured the tightly packed surroundings with the interest of the nearest bar and an available space with her name on it. 

May it be a surprise her goal would soon be hushed by the warmth of fingertips against flesh. If this were the sign she required to avoid all temptation, it would have to try far harder than a topic she would soon tire of. Perhaps being of those hardest to please became the largest hurdle for the possessor of bad habits.

“The latter doesn’t sound too difficult,” she mused, arching a shaped brow and allowing the corners of stained lips to toy into a mildly suppressed smirk. “However, the former — that’s where the problem begins.” Although her tone remained somewhat flat (as if the potential suffering he’d attempted to avoid aroused her amusement), it was professed with blatant jest and a curiosity Sutton equally contained. “Any particular reason why you wanted to avoid his company?” Her gaze shifted away from the male before her and to the abundance of figures intertwining together in rhythm of the sweet tones of orchestral music; how the most pleasant aspect of the melody revolved around the suffocating of general gossip and the tranquil atmosphere it appeared to offer. “Or was it merely an excuse to talk to me?”

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“You say happiness, I say over-compensating,” Christian said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I suppose that’s better than being terrified and paranoid.” His eyes flicked around the room; “I’m sure there are a few around here that are like that.”

Nick let out a bark of laughter, pocketing his phone as he returned the other’s stare with a delighted one of his own. “I think you need to check your flashcards again, mate.” He gestured to his face, “This one’s an emotion called ‘happy’.” 

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“I wouldn’t say we sound eighty,” he said, pursing his lips, his brow creasing as he thought about it. “But it does sound a bit snobbish. Fortunately we are snobs.” Christian watched the way Jamie’s gaze traveled down, a smirk spreading across his lips, quite the similar to Jamie’s satisfied grin. “I do believe I am. And you?”

“The kids?” Jamie echoed the words with a smirk, peering back over at Christian to assess the man who spoke up. “We sound about eighty years old, fuck.” His gaze wore down his companion’s attire lazily, meeting his eyes with a satisfied grin– it was rare when he told someone else that they looked good. “Having fun?”

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Christian smiled, tipping his glass to Graham as if toasting him. “If I ever disappoint, feel free to slip cyanide into my wine; the day I fail is the day I day,” he said dramatically, before snickering. “No, I just haven’t found another interesting one and I didn’t feel like going through the tedium of spending the evening with someone I do not care for.”

“Aaah, Christian,” Graham snickered, as men did, a brief hand curving over his friend’s shoulder to mime the good amity that which was between the two men, “You never disappoint…. but, speaking of, no date? Have you run Upper East Side women dry all ready?” 

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“How unimaginative. Couldn’t you at least come up with something that doesn’t scream that you’re trying to hard to show you don’t care?” Christian said, pinning the other man with an incredulous look.

Nick glanced up from his phone, cheeks dimpling with unmitigated glee. “Well now that she’s back, how about we give her something to talk about?”

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Christian chuckled, his eyes landing on the kid loosing their dinner in the most undignified of heaving. His eyes trailed down the kid’s back and lower before he turned to Jamie. “Oh you know how kids are -- they always want to be adults, counting down the days until then, until they pay taxes and have car payments and bills.” 

“I thought this was a big kid’s party,” Jamie said distastefully, looking away from what seemed to be a freshman losing what remained of their dinner behind a booth. His own tuxedo still looked pristine, he smoothed a hand over the fabric and let out a sigh, it didn’t take much– he was feeling bored. “It’s not even nine thirty too, her mother would be so disappointed.”

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Christian could not help the way his grin grew, only able to hide it behind the rim of his glass, barely managing not to choke on his champagne in twisted glee. He managed, of course -- to choke would be so undignified.

“Don’t be that way,” he said, grabbing onto her arm as she made her way to brush past him. “It’s been so long Harper. We’re both adults; don’t you think we should be able to catch up like them?” It was a challenge and a taunt. Oh how he was enjoying this; Harper seemed to regret their escapade but he didn’t. He regretted getting caught, and that was it. He’d enjoyed himself.

“My phone?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow behind his mask. “I believe I left it in my overcoat.”

Harper’s shock was only disturbed by the venom voice that filled her ears. “Hello dear,” he said. Harper shuttered. She’d know the man anywhere. Christian Sullivan. Without a doubt. 

She turned to him, her eyes piercing through her mask. “Do I know you?” she questioned, not wanting to deal with both the return of Gossip Girl and the bane of her high school existence at the same time. She stood up from her seat, grabbing her empty champagne glass and started toward the bar. “I need a drink.”

Before Harper could get too far away, however, something compelled her back to the man. “You should check your phone,” she said. “We’re not so safe anymore.”

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Christian snorted, averting his eyes to scan the crowd, bringing his drink to his lips and taking a languid sigh. “It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure,” he responded, swirling the drink in his glass. “To see who falls from grace, who rises to heaven... I suppose this will be the ultimate test, who can handle the heat and who can’t. Fortunately,” he continued, looking over at Eric, “I can handle it.”

“Yes, I’ve lived through all this, I don’t really need the rerun to remind my memory,” Eric told Christian. “Besides, I can deal with seeing posts about myself, it’s just my friends and families that are a little more difficult to agree with. But, I’m sure you’ll get to live it now as well. Congratulations!” he ended slightly bitter.

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“Not my high school experience, no. But I do remember all the drama surrounding this,” Christian said, his lips quirked as he brought a glass of Merlot to his lips. He’d been at Yale if he remembered correctly -- maybe he’d been teaching already, though it had been quite the scandal. He’d not been on the radar last time, but now anything was possible and that did not bode well.

“Well,” Eric said to the person next to him, “nothing like a Gossip Girl blast and a masquerade ball to bring back the memories of high school, right?” He sounded more bitter than he’d intended, but a return of GG was the last thing Eric had expected. He tried to joke it off, but it wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped it’d be.

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Christian picked the phone up from where the woman had tossed it on the table, looking over the message, one eyebrow climbing high on his brow as the words sunk in. He hummed before gently placing it back down and sipping his drink. His own phone was tucked away in his coat pocket that had been taken by the butler and this was the first he was seeing of this message, though he was sure the next time he checked his phone it would be there, taunting him.

This did not bode well. Not in the slightest. But he kept his face neutral and turned his eyes to the woman.

“Perhaps,” he said, shrugging. “But I do remember quite a bit trouble last time. Might want to take it seriously anyway.”

“All we need is someone swinging naked from the chandelier,” she scoffed,” and it’ll be like senior year all over again.” Hazel tossed her phone onto the table, flashing screen facing upward for all the world to see– it wasn’t as if there was any use in hiding the cryptic message; everyone would have seen it at the same time. It was incentive enough to drink, at least; any excuse was a good excuse. To drink, to disappear, to throw her cell into the ocean, perhaps. 

“Personally, I think it’s a load of shit.”

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Christian turned his head to the side, eyeing the man up and down before his meeting his eyes. The outfit was tailored to fit, the mask was a beautiful intricate piece of art, and the jawline was another chiseled piece of art all on it’s own. 

“Your voice is too recognizable old friend. Graham Bourke.”

His identification remaining relatively amorphous beneath the intricate, Venetian mask, Gray instituted a small game to delight the night, coupled with drinks and dancing, amongst company of his precarious selection. 

“Three guesses as to who I am, and a reward of your choosing if you guess correctly.” 

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Christian held a glass of champagne in one hand, eyeing the room like a hawk looking for prey. He didn’t particularly care for champagne and he was all too reminded of that when he sipped it, but he kept his face straight. The golden liquid was too light for his tastes -- both in color and on the tongue. It was the drink of the refined though and, as such, he’d grabbed a flute and held it gingerly. He’d ask for some Merlot later.

Scanning the room was much more interesting than his choice of drink (though he did love his drink, which remind him; he needed to buy a vineyard). People danced and laughed and chatted, a cacophony of both audacity, grace, and falsity. If he were to show to a commoner, though why he was showing them anything beyond his bed was anyone’s guess, a single example of everything posh, this would be it.

There were some interesting candidates in the crowd for him to socialize, but none quite caught his eye liked the dark-haired girl he remembered so vividly. And she looked panicked! How perfect.

Christian sauntered over, a lazy grin on his lips. “Hello dear.”

Harper sat cross-legged in her gown in the back corner of the room. Her fingers were the only thing about her that were dancing. An empty glass of champagne on one side of her and personal phone on the other, she typed away at the keyboard of her work phone, resenting the fact that she came to the ball at all. Events like this were never her style, despite always attending in order to keep up appearances. 

As far as Harper was concerned, she had much better things to do with her time.

She didn’t notice her personal cell vibrate at first. It wasn’t until the glow of the screen caught her eye that she saw the message. 

You may not know who I am, but I know exactly who you are. I’m back, bitches. And I know EVERYTHING. xo xo, Gossip Girl

Almost immediately Harper’s face fell. Her attention was no longer on the email she was sending to Mr. Vanderbilt’s assistant; her focus went to scanning the room around her. Gossip Girl was back.

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Christian had never understood the point in masquerade balls. It wasn’t as if it was a secret as to who you were -- the way you walked, the way you talked, the way you pursed her lips, it was all still the same without the porcelain over the eyes. The only reason he could possibly guess was that they were curious, wanting to play the two-faced person, the mysterious one, the Janus figure, but not brave enough or not mean enough to do. 

He was both of those things though -- brave and mean. One might even say he was arrogant, the way he strutted around with his neatly groomed and style hair, his expensive outfits, the watches that cost more than some houses; the way he rolled his eyes and bluntly said ‘you’re boring me’. 

He was also the Janus figure -- the God with two faces. He laughed and smiled and was pretty, polite, and charming to some and to others he tapped his feet, glanced at his watch, and yawned through their every word. It really just depended on who it was and how the situation felt. And this situation, this one right now, where he listened to some old man chatter on about something no one had cared about in several decades, he was polite. He was polite because this boring old man was not someone he wanted to make an enemy of.

He also wasn’t someone he wanted to spend another second with.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” Christian said, his eyes flicking over the man’s shoulder and cutting him off. “I just saw someone that I promised to speak with tonight -- I really do apologize. Perhaps we can continue this conversation later?” The old man nodded and Christian hurried away, grabbing the first person he could by the arm and smiling a dazzling smile.

“Pretend you like and know me for a couple seconds, alright?”

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“A masquerade ball -- how droll. I  a l w a y s  wear a mask.”