"There's something wrong with that level of perfection. It needs to be…violated."
The bottle spins lazily in the darkened room. The four gathered around it watch avidly amid laughs and nudges. It's a scene repeated in bedrooms and basements across America. But this is not some musty basement; this is the Upper East Side and the bottle slowly coming to a stop did not once contain soda but Dom Perignon.
From her perch by the window, Georgina Sparks watches with disinterest. She takes a drag on her cigarette and sighs. If only it were laced with something a little stronger than tobacco. But no, just cloves tonight. She's being good.
She watches as the bottle stops on Blair Waldorf, as New York's own ice princess and the blonde girl next to her kiss. It's very chaste, hardly a kiss at all. Très boring. Of course, the pair then collapses into laughter, all smiles and hugs and gangly limbs. Georgina hates them a little, hates their easy rapport with each other. But as they disentangle themselves and return to the game, Georgina hates Blair more. She inwardly sneers as the petite brunette neatly rearranges her skirt and smoothes her curls under that restraining headband. She was too neat and prim and fucking perfect for Georgina's taste. No, no Georgina much preferred the blonde.
Serena van der Woodsen, her golden hair a halo around her smiling face, is everything Blair Waldorf is not. Georgina can see it in the splay of her legs upon the floor; hear it in the effortless way she laughs. Serena is free in a way Blair is not, in a way Blair will never be. Blithe and beautiful, Serena hasn't yet come to realize her own power. The effect she has on people. The way eyes are drawn to her. The way the boys in the room stare and can't look away. One of them, at least.
No, happy-go-lucky Serena is still oblivious to her potential. But then she is young. She'll learn eventually. Right now, though, she's still innocent enough to be malleable. With a little effort, Georgina muses, she'd be a perfect companion. Already, the nymph had a propensity for fun. She was spirited and unafraid to be the center of attention. It wouldn't take much to mold her into the ideal playmate, Georgina thinks with a grin. As she puffs on her cigarette and blows a perfect smoke ring, Georgina considers how this might just be the solution to her problems.
Georgina is worldly. It doesn't matter that she is only twelve. In her mind, in her attitude, she is old. In the ways that matter amongst Upper East Siders, Georgina is a sophisticate. In this realm of prestige and power, she likes to surround herself with people who are connected and know how to have a good time. She likes parties and liquor and older men. But recently her absentee parents had returned. They didn't approve of her activities, deeming her crowd too old, too wild. Better by far for their daughter to be with peers her own age. Which is how she ended up here. In suite 1812. Playing fucking spin-the-bottle while "Breakfast at Tiffany's" plays in the background.
She takes another drag on her cigarette and rakes her gaze over the others crowding on the floor in front of the television. Children. Fucking children. God, this is a nightmare, she thinks, then smiles, amending that at least it's a nightmare with champagne. She'd brought it, of course, not counting on the kiddies to entertain her. But even with her champagne buzz, the evening's a drag. She doesn't think she can suffer through many more of these mundane social gatherings. Damn her parents and their sudden responsible Mumsy and Popsy routine!
If only there was a way to convince them that their daughter dearest was not "growing up too fast." Already they had relaxed their vigilance since she started hanging with her classmates. But it wasn't enough. She couldn't relax with the threat that they might check on her and end her fun. But a friend her own age might assure them that she wasn't getting into trouble. A best friend would seal the deal. Then their interfering guidance would end, and she could go back to her life. Watching the carefree Serena, Georgina decides that they're going to become BFFs.
But that's a plan for tomorrow. Right now, she's bored. She wants entertainment and nothing amuses Georgina Sparks more than ruining the dreams of others. But whose, and how?
Snubbing out her cigarette, Georgina struts back towards the others on impossibly high heels. Rather than deign to join them on the floor, she settles back onto the leather couch. As she crosses her legs, her dress rides up to reveal the tops of the garters she nicked from Bergdorf's. Her hand absently goes to smooth the fabric back down when she catches Blair's disapproving glance. Her temper flares, and suddenly she has a target. Blair Waldorf needs to be taken down a notch. Her picture perfect life needs a little surprise courtesy of Georgina Sparks.
But of course Miss Manners isn't drinking tonight. She's still nursing her first glass of champagne. The bubbles have long since dissipated, and no way is Blair going to finish drinking a glass of flat champagne. Pity. She'll have to get to her some other way.
Which leaves Blair's friends.
Serena? The blonde was already well on her way to being drunk. It'd be easy from there. But, no. She can't risk it. For now, she needs her. Serena is her ticket out of her parent's sudden need to parent.
Perhaps Nate Archibald? He is Blair's boyfriend. With his golden brown hair and blue eyes, he isn't unfortunate looking. It has possibilities. Except Nate is totally clueless. It'd be like kicking a puppy: too easy and not nearly satisfying enough to be worth it.
That only leaves one person: Chuck Bass.
In his pastel suits and ridiculous bowties, Chuck looks like the leading man in the movies Blair favors and is always forcing upon them. Georgina is surprised Blair hasn't noticed it before. But then Blair is too busy mooning over Nate Archibald. But someday she'd notice. They were too well suited for Blair to remain oblivious forever.
Watching him over the rim of her champagne flute, Georgina assesses Chuck Bass. Dark hair. Darker eyes. A smile that tightens things low on her stomach. If only he was older…
But he's not. He's young. Innocent. A boy still with a slight aura of sadness that he hasn't yet learned to hide. That vulnerability just adds to the appeal. Blair will be drawn to it, that secret desire to be loved that shadows his eyes. It's too similar to her own private prayers, the ones that send her careening into bathrooms to vomit her pain away. She thinks nobody knows, but she's wrong. Georgina knows, and she's pretty certain Chuck knows too.
He is too devoted to Blair not to know. He's always watching her, entranced. He looks at her like she is the most beautiful girl in the world and his gaze never strays. Nate's, on the other hand, has already started to slip towards Serena, and Blair is beginning to suspect. It chips away at what little self-esteem she has. She isn't confident enough on her own. She needs to feel like she, and she alone, is special.
Chuck could give her that. Could heal all the hurts inside and make her whole. He is damaged like she is damaged. Together, they would complete each other. It was just a matter of time. Already, Georgina occasionally caught Blair gazing at Chuck as if she was puzzled. Oh yes. One of these days Blair Waldorf would put the pieces together and realize that Mr. Right wasn't the golden boy in front of her, but the dark prince at his side. It was inevitable. Unless…
"I'm so glad you invited me to this B!" Georgina gushes as she stands and flounces over to the wet bar, plucking Chuck's glass from his hand as she saunters past. "Anyone else need a refill?"