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<em>"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." -Orson Welles<em>

<a href="http://i1231.photobucket.com/albums/ee504/stfu_stupid/Blairwaldorf.jpg">She</a> glared at the message on her phone. She sighed dramatically, as if part of a performance.

Her companion shifted, studying her, and she could feel the smirk on his face. The smirk she usually liked wiping off.

"Where's fair Nathaniel?" <a href="http://i1231.photobucket.com/albums/ee504/stfu_stupid/BRZY_28.png">He</a> leered.

Ugh. She disliked him at times like these. Oftentimes, she asked herself why she put up for him and for so long. Perhaps it was out of habit. I mean, she had known him since he used to cry and hold onto his nanny's skirts.

She remembered the first time she saw him. Red-faced and sobbing. His nanny had attempted to pry him off her skirt, but Charles held on tight, refusing to go to school. She stared him down, very annoyed at the horrible noise he was making.

"Stop crying!" Six year-old Blair snapped at him. He had instantly stopped. "You look silly."

He glared at her. "We-well, at least I don't have a bow on my head!"

"My bow is pretty, Stupid," she had countered just as easily.

He had followed her then – that's how he had met Nathaniel. Now, years later, Blair was still snapping at Charles, only he had learned to defend himself and even better than she did. Which was probably why she kept him around; she could be the b**** she enjoyed being around him.

"He's meeting us there," she said stiffly.

He chuckled.

"What?" She asked, annoyed and rolling her eyes.

"I don't know, Waldorf – if I had a girl with legs like yours waiting on a plane for me, I would do everything possible to get to her. Heiresses couldn't keep me away." He stretched out on his seat.

She glared at him and his outfit. He looked like someone had slipped him out of the Copacabana with his white linen suit and white Panama hat. The only color in his outfit was his annoyingly bright orange ascot. Leave it to Charles to dress for the occasion. She looked down at herself. Okay. So she had dressed for the occasion herself. Her floral Alexander McQueen dress fit her curves perfectly, as did her Channel straw hat and matching purse. Nate would be the only one wearing Aeropostale.

"Yeah, right – I'm sure you're one to leave a girl, anywhere, at any time," she countered, unable to think of a better reply.

"And I have," he nodded, never defending his degrading behavior. Always proud of his womanizing ways and never apologizing to anyone – not even her, his oldest friend.

"I suppose you should go on ahead. I'll wait for him," she said, ignoring his lascivious comment.

"And fly commercial?" He asked, studying his hat with a smirk firmly placed on his Roman face.

She hated that he knew her so well. He knew she was as shallow as he was and enjoyed the luxury of the Bass private plane. She huffed, looking around the plane. She always did love riding on the plane. And Charles knew it – even when they were little, she proclaimed she was riding with Charles because of the plane.

"Fine," she snapped finally. "But I feel really bad about this."

"Sure you do, Waldorf," he sneered, placing the hat over his head and smirking at the flight attendant as she brought him his customary scotch.

She watched Charles as he exchanged five words with the girl and the slut was practically bearing his babies. She rolled her eyes and took out her I-pod, intent on getting through her next audio book, undisturbed by Charles and his promiscuous actions. In three hours, she would be in sunny St. Delacroix, housed in the best room money could buy, provided by the he-slut himself. She would be sipping mojitos as she worked on her perfect tan. While Charles chased the natives and Nate braved commercial flights to be with her.

"Waldorf!" She was snapped out of her reverie and placed Dostoevsky on pause. She slowly turned to look at him.

"What?" She demanded.

Charles pointed to the stewardess; the young blonde was waiting to ask her what she wanted.

"Club soda, wedge of lime," she said and continued her audio, then stopped when she noticed him watching her.

"What?" She snapped, pausing the Russian once more.

"What are you listening to?" He asked.

"Charles," she began patiently. "I did not agree to come on this flight with you in order to be your entertainment. I did it to relax and get away from the mess my life is at the moment."

He raised his brow, and she knew she had given him ammunition. She cursed internally.

"Any of this mess caused by our dear Nathaniel?" He asked, playing with his hat while he eyed the blond waitress and her short skirt.

Her answer was a Waldorf glare. She plugged her I-pod back in as he chuckled, amused by her reaction. She rolled her eyes as he followed the blonde to the back to do God-knows-what in God-knows-where.

She closed her eyes, and the feel of the plane combined with the droning words lulled her to sleep. She dimly felt someone place a blanket over her.

He came back after he made the blonde scream four times and four times only. He left her nearly passed out and with a happy smile on her face. He was Charles Bass, after all.

"Make sure you get her the club soda," he said calmly as he zipped up his pants. The girl did a gurgling noise in the back of her throat and nodded, eyes crossed.

He chuckled and calmly washed his hands, then walked out.

There was slight turbulence as he walked back to Blair so he held onto some of the seats. It was a rarity that he was able to get the plane all to himself and his friends. For the most part, he had to share it with either the marketing team or his father's investors. Once in a while they would get a celebrity and he would always volunteer as an escort, especially for models and young actresses. He smiled, remembering the flight to L.A. a few months ago. Just him, the butler, and Megan Fox. What a night.

Comments

Lol.
Thanks Ella.

I seen the movie that this is based off of lol
their not in medieval time
they are just really wealthy
it's hella good run it!

At first-I thought this story was based in medieval times...until I read the word "plane."

Run it.

lol tryna be all uppity and s*** run dis, it's elegant

Very well written!
Run it!

I like...RUN IT!

She unbuckled her seat belt and, grabbing onto all she could, she made her way to the front. A huge jolt made her fall flat on her ass. She let out a yelp.

Scrambling up, she made it to the pilot door.

After her frantic knock, one of the pilots let her in.

"What's going on?" She demanded.

"Just a small storm and some turbulence. Nothing to be worried about, Miss Waldorf." Another jolt almost left her on top of the man's lap.

"Small storm?" She snapped.

She listened as they talked back and forth to each other and the local tower.

"Where are we?" She demanded.

"Over the Caribbean," one of them explained. "We're going to gain altitude in order to avoid the storm."

This did not sit well with her. She made her way to the back once more intent on waking Charles and demanding he knock some sense into the 'pilots'.

She spied the stewardess looking nervous as she strapped herself in.

"Please take your seats and put your seat belts on, we're going through a rough patch."

A rough patch, she sneered. Honestly! What happened to professionalism these days? She shakily took a seat next to Charles and, once she was strapped in with sweaty hands, she shoved him awake.

"What the f***?" He yelped.

"Wake up!" She demanded, and he hissed when the plane jolted stronger than it ever had. Her nails had dug into his forearm.

"Catwoman, ease up!" He brought his offended arm to his chest, glaring at her.

"Speak to your staff! They're incompetent-" Another jolt left her breathless. "And are surely going to kill us!"

"Jesus, Waldorf! It's a little-" he paused, holding onto the arm rests as another wave made their asses leave the leather seats. "… turbulence," he finished lamely.

She looked pale and nauseous.

He hooked on his seat belt, trying to remain calm, as she closed her eyes and began counting to fifty as the plane shook and danced in the sky, its passengers holding on for dear life.

She closed her eyes and let out a breath.

"You can't be afraid of flying," he teased her, ignoring the small beads of sweat forming on his own brow.

The plane made another forceful jolt and Blair yelped, grasping her arm rests.

"I'm not!" She spat. "This is not normal!"

"It is!" He cried back, and then let out his own yelp when they momentarily lost altitude and were lifted off their seats.

"Oh, my God, Charles, oh my God!" Blair babbled.

"It's fine," he said reassuringly, eyes wide. He used the intercom by his seat to call the pilots. "What the f*** is going on up there?"

The voice crackled. "I apologize, Mr. Bass – we are attempting to go over the storm. No worries, we will be in the clear momentarily."

Charles turned to Blair with a smirk. "See?"

His smirk, however, was quickly wiped off when they lost altitude and didn't seem to be gaining.

Blair reached out, grasping his arm, and he unconsciously grasped back.

"It's ok, it's ok, it's ok," she kept repeating. Charles was doing his own chant in his head. Only his went more like 'f***, f***, f***, f***'.

lol no that's just the actual title.

Run it...are u taking any cast?

So now the plane was just his and Blair's – not that he could do much with Blair. He smiled slightly when he found her asleep. She had her earplugs on and was completely gone to the world.

Leave it to Blair to bring recommended reading material on a flight to St. Delacroix. He shook his head and took a seat across from her, slurping down the rest of his scotch. He shifted, looked over some magazines, then got bored and threw them to the side.

He looked out the window and sighed, annoyed and bored. If Nathaniel were here, they could talk about girls. He glared at his sleeping companion. Did she really have to fall asleep? Honestly! The least she could do was keep him company.

He had allowed her to come along, after all. It was supposed to be a boys-only getaway. Then she had to turn all needy and make Nathaniel feel bad, and then he had asked Charles if she could come and Charles had caved.

Honestly, he didn't know why Nathaniel put up with it. He personally enjoyed the freedom. Screw who you wanted, no strings attached.

He studied the sleeping girl. No matter how lovely her lips were, it was not worth it.

He shook his head, smiling. Nope, not worth it.

She shifted, and her dress rode higher. He paused.

She was a virgin.

The thought made his mouth water.

No. No, no. This was Blair he was thinking of this way. She was like a sister to him. No, not a sister… Well, maybe a sister. He'd never had a sister. Did one have sporadic sexual fantasies about sisters?

He tilted his head as she shivered in her seat, mumbling softly in her sleep.

He sighed, spotting a cashmere throw folded neatly inside her straw 'purse'. She called it a 'purse'. He would call it luggage. He leaned forward and took out the gray blanket and threw it over her shivering body. She sighed contently in her sleep.

A sister, he reminded himself.

He watched her as she slept, and after a while her peaceful face lulled him to sleep.

The first bump jolted her out of her sleep. Her eyes were wide and confused. Another one.

Her stomach flipped. She sat up, looking around. No one was around except a peacefully sleeping Charles. She looked down, surprised at seeing her throw over her body. Did she grab it in her sleep? She shook her head but all thoughts of throws went out her mind as the plane jumped. Her stomach went along with it. She looked outside and saw white clouds. The wind was moving fast around them. She gulped and looked at Charles. He was snoring.

Figures.