Fic: Before the Gates of Hell
Nov. 15th, 2009 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
imp3ratrixTitle: Before the Gates of Hell
Category: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Character(s): Tripp/Blair, Nate/Blair, William/Blair
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Gossip Girl and all immediate characters, themes and ideas are registered trademarks and belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and Stephanie Savage. No profit is being accumulated from this writing piece.
Word Count: 4,624
Spoilers: No (AU future fic)
Warnings: Angst, language, dark and adult themes.
Summary: Blair loves them both.
Heaven, to keep its beauty,
cast them out, but even Hell itself would not receive them
for fear the wicked there might glory over them.
~ Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy
Through me lies the way into the sorrowful city,
They are still long after they’ve had sex and just maybe they’re both wondering, yet again, whether this is right.
Because it isn’t.
But they’ve been doing this for a while now, and all doubts and regrets have long since disappeared, carried away as they have like their cries on the wind. Forgotten and swallowed amidst the comforting heat of their bodies pressed up against one another and that’s all this is: comfort.
So she tells herself.
Breaths steady, skin cool to the touch, Blair is too detached to hate herself completely. Or him, for that matter, because it would be so easy to forget, even for a moment, that the bands of gold on their fingers do not tie them to each other. That the eyes that looked down upon her with such love and self-loathing not so long ago were not the colour of sapphires.
It would be so easy to lie to herself and say this is right, but that would undo the foundations of this fragile world they have created. Here, amidst a room neither one of them calls their own, there are no illusions to mask the shame that never quite stains their cheeks hot and red. There is only… comfort; release from life’s sorrows.
Blair’s made a habit out of saving damaged boys, and his is just another name to add to the list. So she gives all she can with willing compliance, and he takes it all with a heavy, bitter heart.
All of it. Every time.
“I’m sorry.”
He always apologises.
Is always the first to break the silent void with sombre words that sing not of self-accusation, but detached honesty. She wishes he wouldn’t, not when every time he meets her in another unfamiliar room, shoulders heavy with responsibility and eyes framed dark and weary, she breaks just a little. Takes on the vital task of deliverance with promises to make him forget somewhere between want and need and tangled sheets.
She wishes he would just take and not look back – for the future is uncertain, and she has no idea how much more she can give.
Still, she keeps to their now familiar pattern, and reassures him further. Without words as he watches her tiredly; fully clothed and looking every bit the respectable politician by the door, and it’s time again for her to walk out on him – always the first to arrive, always the first to part.
She presses warm lips to his cheek and fingers brush against his as she leaves.
Gold meets gold, like always.
They have betrayal down to a fine art.
Through me lies the way into eternal sorrow,
Nate knows.
Knows all too well what his wife and cousin have been doing behind closed doors. He supposes he should be angry, hate the both of them for it, but there’s something like sorrow that taints the air around them and for all his trying, he can’t condemn them for playing him for a fool.
Rather, he pities.
Finishes a glass of Scotch he’s never quite learned to appreciate and waits for the sound of heels to cross marble tiles.
One, two, three drinks later – he’s long since lost count – a familiar echo fills the house and he sighs in sad relief.
Finally.
Straightens his back just a little, clutches his glass tightly and he has to pretend it isn’t her throat – tells himself it’s the alcohol talking.
He watches with heavy lids as she slowly makes her way towards him with loose curls and gentle curves, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach sombre eyes and he has to wonder what happened to the girl he used to know. To the one who always laughed at his stupid jokes and loved easily and ruled the world.
His world.
“Sorry I’m late.”
She presses her lips to his and he tastes guilt mix in with his drink – this is the part he wishes she would just tell him what’s wrong so he can fix it.
He would do as much. He would do anything – for her.
He nods, lost for words. Watches her figure leave the room, and not once does she look back. He winces as if he’s been slapped across the face and finishes the rest of his drink in a single go; lets it burn him the same way he lets her.
Continues to watch on silently with pain-filled eyes and wonders briefly how long before this tragedy comes to a close.
Through me lies the way among the lost people.
Blair dreams that night.
Dreams of past chaos and ruin born from her hands; all tragic mistakes that seem so out of place for someone as meticulous as herself.
And yet the list is long.
A testament to her weaknesses, each failure seeks to haunt her still with an all too mocking clarity. Each and every one, resonating across time with heavy, bolded scrawls upon the pages of her past and there is no escape.
So long is her list of shame that it would prove difficult to discern the forgivable from the sheer immoral. The regrettable from the painful, and lost are her many sins amidst a cacophony of equal dismay. Yet there is one name that will never hide or fade – for it is her greatest crime – written not in black but bloody red.
William Vanderbilt.
They fucked once.
Looking back on it, she can scarcely reason why or how it happened and that makes it all the more terrifying. But not knowing hardly compares to the way she can still feel his hands on her, even after all these years.
With a touch so brutal and scorching – hotter than Hell – he’d branded her indefinitely. Damned her for eternity.
…Blair remembers that much.
She remembers the pain; how she couldn’t walk for a week let alone dress in anything that showed skin. She remembers blood… too much blood and all she sees when she closes her eyes is angry red.
The physical scars have long since disappeared, but the memory of them burns her still.
Forces her to wake up in the dead of night as she frantically searches the shadows – because she swears she can feel his midnight eyes on her even in solitude. Paralyzes her with a sense of terror so palpable it leaves her clenching sheets as she desperately tries to breathe – but she’s drowning, and there’s no one to save her.
She can’t tell Nate.
She can’t tell Tripp.
The Devil had made sure to leave her all alone.
Justice moved my high maker;
It is far too easy for the two of them to appear in public and look every bit the happy couple. The perfect couple.
They wear it well, this façade, but really they’ve been playing pretend for a while now. She the faithful wife, he the dutiful husband, and Blair will spend a better part of tomorrow asking herself where it went wrong.
But for now, she sips champagne like all is well; with an all too haughty air and laughs when appropriate with confidence she doesn’t quite feel. Nate remains forever by her side the entire night, spinning refined conversation like the practiced professional he never used to be. With a firm hand glued to the small of her back, and she can’t decide whether he’s being possessive or desperate – he thinks he’s lost her, and she knows she’s partly to blame.
When Tripp and Maureen appear, side by side and donning happy smiles – one more forced than the other – for the applauding crowd, his body stiffens and the hold he has on her instantly withers.
She should have turned to him then; should have focused all of her attention on him lest the harboured resentment for his cousin turned more poisonous. But she cannot look away, not from the scene playing out before them.
For he is there.
Mouth dry, eyes wide, she looks on through a growing haze as William Vanderbilt congratulates his grandson on another successful victory; with a strong hand on his shoulder, with a waiting embrace that beckons no escape.
She looks on, captive, as Tripp’s face quickly turns white and his features grave. Potent despair instantly fills the room, smothers her completely along with the roaring applause and she’s trapped between the desire to run to him and run away herself.
Because the world is coming down around her.
She thinks she’s going to shatter along with it, lose her mind like she has her soul. But when Nate’s hand takes a hold of hers the haze quickly clears; the world startlingly focused all at once. She blinks, as if having awaken from a dream, and turns to look at her husband. To really look at him – she hasn’t done that in a while.
There’s a flash of something in his eyes, something deep and true but ever lost in translation. Blair can’t say they’ve never been down this road before – another night; they were children and crowned King and Queen for the world to see – and the guilt that hits her as she gazes into sapphire pools stings harsher than any unspoken words ever could.
Her desire to run doubles, triples, but she cannot leave him. Not here. Not like this.
So she tightens her hold on his hand and takes him with her. Walks out with him and thinks for the first time she is doing something right, all the while ignoring the burning gaze settled upon her retreating form.
It is different from all the other times.
It begins with words whispered against skin as he takes her, hands no longer grasping but searching as he caresses her with a gentle innocence she does not deserve.
“I love you… you know that, right?”
His confession strikes a chord in her and she very nearly breaks. Bites her lip to keep from coming undone as he punishes her not with accusations, but the soft touch of lips against her hip. In her own self-loathing, she fears to recognise forgiveness.
There is no anger in him. No hate or malice, only wistfulness. She has made him a child again; a little boy seeking naught but love and approval. It is too much and her breath stutters, not with pleasure but the burden of emptiness as she tries to put back together the pieces of her breaking heart.
And fails.
When it is over she turns on her side, hollow, and cries her despair in silence. The arm wrapped securely around her waist brings little comfort, and she suddenly needs him to leave.
But Nate’s hold only tightens; her just desserts, and she deserves nothing less.
Curses herself and stares blankly ahead into darkness, only to notice all too belatedly that he too is weeping. Her heart twists and stomach churns in condemnation as warm droplets trickle onto her neck from his cheek.
“I love you,” his broken voice echoes, and her eyelids clamp down on a new wave of fresh tears.
She cannot live the lie any longer.
Divine power made me,
“I’m here for Nate.”
“Nathaniel?”
Feigned surprise, an arched brow, and William is looking straight at her. “I could have sworn you came here tonight on behalf of my other grandson.”
Blair freezes, and he can only smile. The silence ticks out a maddening confirmation, and the balance of power instantly tilts in his favour.
Blair knows this; through the frantic beating of her heart and the fear coating the back of her throat sickly and dry. Knows she is out of her league, because William Vanderbilt plays a game that not even she can ever hope to keep up with.
With shaky thoughts, she recalls an incident almost a lifetime ago where he crushed her completely; with a stern warning and a firm grip on her arm that threatened and bruised like she was nothing. But she cannot go back, not now. She has to do this – for him.
“Any drinks while you wait, sir?”
“Scotch for me, neat, and for the lady… a glass of your finest red.”
The waiter disappears, bowing his understanding, and she ceases to breathe. A flash of that night and her heart very nearly stops in horror as a raw scream soundlessly leaves her parted lips. A test… a promise, she knows now she will not leave this meeting unscathed
“Now, you were about to ask me for something.”
The casual statement draws her from her frozen prison with haunting ease, and she meets his midnight eyes with less force than she’s used to. Studies him warily now that he has her full attention and he hasn’t changed an inch – Nate once jokingly said he lived on the souls of innocents. Blair can’t be sure he wasn’t telling the truth.
“But before you do,” he adds slowly, eyes narrowing on her form and she instantly feels small, alone… trapped. “Remember that nothing comes free.”
There is always a price.
Blair learnt that lesson a long time ago, and she wonders all too desolately as her stomach drops what he’ll demand of her this time round.
Her resolve cripples then. Forces her to suddenly, desperately, look for an exit because it’s not too late for her to disappear into the night’s void and pretend this never happened. A flicker of movement in her periphery, however, keeps her rooted in place as she notes the waiter’s return, holding out a bottle – Premier Cru, she’s sure – for William’s approval. A quick glance, a curt, dismissive nod and it’s being opened and poured into her glass with fluid precision.
She watches on, mesmerized by the smooth flow of wine that reminds her wholly of sacrifice and battles lost. Nausea hits her, hard.
Gripping onto the edge of the table, knuckles white, she fights a losing battle against the nightmare that has haunted her very soul time and time again. She has to stop thinking, stop remembering, stop feeling.
But the world is already crimson… vile, sickly crimson, and she’s lost in it.
The Devil watches her without a word as she falls farther and farther still. Carefully over the rim of his glass with all the sinister interest of some predator, and she can almost see a smirk playing on his lips; mark of the victor and another battle is over.
She can no longer hope to retreat.
“What do you want?”
Grave, resigned… she feels nothing as she utters the very words that will cement her tragic fate.
“Patience, my dear. There will be plenty of time for such discussions later.”
His smile deepens, promises the very worst, and she slowly recognises a familiar burn upon her skin as fingers ghost over the length of her arm. She lingers on it, this moment of pain, and her heart weeps red.
Picks up her glass and wills herself to finish every last drop, the call for release deafening against the quiet.
It is too quiet.
Blair tastes blood on her tongue.
Supreme wisdom and the primal love.
Blair loves them both.
Her heart says as much, validated further by all she has done and all she has yet to do. Sacrifice shouldn’t come this easy, but she’s been giving with no thought for herself a long time now – always hard to break a stubborn pattern.
Their story is more tragic than romantic, though she supposes the two go hand in hand. But like all grand tales, however admired and epic, the end is never far away. Constantly teetering on the back of the mind like a well-worn reminder and Blair knows she is on borrowed time.
Knows she can’t rewrite the rules.
She bites her lip as she looks down at Tripp’s weary form, and to her dismay the call for rescue begins anew. She had thought she could erase it all, all the burdens and responsibilities with a press of her lips to his and more still, but even that isn’t enough. Was never enough, and the sight before her is proof absolute of yet another failure.
She had never seen him sleep before.
A part of her had thought he found some measure of peace during such quiet, undisturbed moments. She was wrong.
With the decision to stay just a little longer, the reassuring illusion had shattered.
Exposed to her scrutiny, he sleeps on in nightmarish depths hollowed out by tense despair, and she sees exhaustion still etched upon the dark skin under his eyes. In light of such truth, her efforts seem almost trivial.
But because she loves him, she gave. Gave, up until the moment she no longer could, for the sake of the other who also lays claim to her heart.
Blair loves them both, and so will sacrifice of herself one last time – the Queen is a heroine in this story, not a martyr – for all their sakes.
Closing her eyes, she leans her head against his shoulder and allows herself to forget the goodbyes and sorrows that would soon come between them. Finds comfort in the sound of his breathing, and creates a memory unblemished by tragedy and failures.
Everything will be all right, she tells herself.
Everything will be all right.
Before me nothing was created;
The moment he sees her, adorned in fine lace and the softest of cashmere, Tripp’s heart swells.
Causes the hairs on his arms to stand on end like nothing else and he equates the sensation with feeling alive.
It’s a foreign concept, but one he has wasted thoughts, tears and even blood on. It seemed elusive. An impossibility, but by Heaven’s will alone Grandfather had granted him the one thing he felt would be eternally denied to him – no catch, and he should reason it is too good to be true.
Freedom.
More thrilling and addictive then the world’s most potent opiate, he breathes it in. Tastes it on his tongue. Drowns himself within its depths as it spins over and over in his head in an exhilarating haze.
Free.
Free.
He is free.
The constrictive blazer had at long last been shed.
“Blair!”
At the sound of her name she looks up, and her eyes find him easily by his Maserati. Unmoving, she considers him with little emotion and Tripp waits in vain for any meagre display of affection. There is none to behold, and he feels half-blind.
In his own motivation, her lack of a response confuses him.
“You won’t believe what’s happened,” he begins tentatively, all smiles and apparent delight as he closes the distance. “William told me he won’t object if I choose not to run for another term. Do you realise what this means? I’m finally free to leave it all behind, all of it!”
She stares at him for a moment. Unravels him with a gaze he can’t quite discern before offering a sad smile that reminds him wholly of earlier days marred by dark remorse. A reaction at last, he has to convince himself it is preferable to her prior dull-eyed detachment. To a mouth unflinchingly straight.
“I’m so happy for you.”
There is no surprise in her tone.
“I’ve told Maureen I want out. I can’t keep doing this Blair, not now when I have the chance to finally live my own life.”
She blinks. Tilts her head to one side in a cascade of fine curls, and there are no songs or smiles to answer his call. Meaning is lost within a flash of uncertainty in her dark eyes, and his resolve very nearly falters… nearly. A challenge, he reasons; he presses on blindly with nothing more than fragile hope.
“I don’t love her. And I will never, ever love another.”
It isn’t enough.
The words stand in her eyes. It isn’t enough, his spoken promise, and he thinks he should show her. By pressing his lips to hers and rewriting their broken history. By removing the taint of despair and sacrifice between them and replacing it with something whiter and warm, a reminder of better nights.
But she is elsewhere; her face and expression chilled in emptiness.
He takes her hand instead, holds it tight, and pours every heartfelt emotion he has left into every word to leave his lips. “You're the only one for me.”
Her cold detachment does not falter.
Desperation hits him and he closes the distance, his forehead coming to a rest against hers. Reaches out for her like a dying man as locks slide against his palm… his wrist, softer than silk. He cannot relinquish his grasp, not completely.
“Come away with me.”
He knows what he is asking, what he is pleading for with his arm outstretched in helpless urgency. Knows very well the crushing burden he has placed upon her, but he will not allow Blair Waldorf to become another moment he’ll later look back on only to wonder what if.
But she bites her lip and his half-filled heart seems to spill and empty itself. He doesn’t need to hear what comes next.
“I can’t do that to Nate. I’m sorry, Tripp.”
His eyes close in painful resignation as he takes a step back, the need to re-establish the distance between them agonizingly clear as his world falls apart.
…
“You’re a good person.”
…
…
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
…
…
…
“Goodbye, Tripp.”
Their story has met its end.
That was not eternal, and I last eternally.
Trust is a strange thing.
A compliment far greater than love; a cruel torment when absent. A merger of opposites with frightening consequences, and Blair recognises its harsh hand at work the moment she returns to Nate.
Every step and breath is lined with the knowledge that he is watching, waiting, expecting, from his position by the door. The world shrinks and disappears then until all that is left is the room they're standing in, with words long left unsaid echoing off its walls. The long months passed by in coldness… the tragic fall into bitterness and silence and painful rumours are all apparent as her indifference is instantly swept aside.
With sickening dread, she realises just how much she’s hurt him. Just how much he’s resigned himself to put up with, for her sake and hers alone. In his eyes she sees veiled pain and urgent questions; he wants to ask her where she’s been, but can’t submit himself to hearing the answer he knows is bound to come.
He turns away, stares at a wall and she fears it may already be too late.
“Grandfather called,” is all he says, and she’s brought to a definitive still.
“What did he want?”
“A meeting. He wants to discuss my future,” he elaborates before turning to her once again. “What do you think?”
“I think…,” she begins, treading carefully, “you should consider it.”
A nod, and she tells herself it’s a start. Tells herself she won’t fail, not like last time – can’t afford to.
Still, the knowledge of her latest crime spreads like poison throughout her being and she’s suddenly counting the steps to the nearest bathroom. But Nate’s eyes are still on her, waiting, and so she tries to keep it together. Tries and fails and the pattern is all too familiar.
Fearful, desperate, she runs to him. Wraps her arms tightly around his torso and ignores his rigid surprise.
“Please, just… just hold me.”
She feels his Adam’s apple bob against her head as he tentatively returns her hold, testing the waters and reality itself. Blair can’t blame him; she’s been running away for a while now.
Not anymore.
They do not speak as the minutes go by, desperately affirming promises and trust without words. She knows there is still a lot of work to be done, the path to forgiveness paved long and arduous, but she feels like she has taken the first step towards writing a better history. Towards redemption, at last.
“Whatever happens, I’ll always love you.”
It’s what he needed to hear, his gratitude and relief reflected in the tightening of his hold and the press of his lips to the crown of her head, and she likes to think she’s filled some of the void she helped create.
But Blair’s heart still aches, and she does not know for whom she feels pain.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
There is a natural order to all things. A need for balance.
William understands this simple rule all too well; give-and-take, gain-and-sacrifice, and there can be no deviation. So when she comes to him, with dark, measureless eyes that burn in nameless fear and wonder as they meet his, he reluctantly pushes aside a potent cry begging for more and memories that linger still in hellfire.
“Blair. So nice to see you.”
She does not respond, doesn’t react at all, unbowed by storms and whispers alike. Rather, she sets about removing layers of wool and silk with clinical detachment, and his smile widens at the thought of her resilience.
A woman of definite pride, hard as steel, her meagre display of strength means to affirm that she will not break. That he may test her and stretch her and twist her, and she will not bend. Her virtues are impressive, but neither one of them impervious.
Steel is a structure, a mix of metals that cling and bond but can be torn by fire and pressure. Pride is a completely different beast, and in some ways far easier to bend than break. And as she stands tall and firm before him, every facet of her lovely being exposed to his ethereal gaze, he sees a challenge uproot itself. An opportunity to put his theory to the test.
With no resistance, he has her on her back; a hand entangled in a mass of her hair as the other strokes a fiery trail down passed the cleft of her breasts and further still. Drinks her in, and notes the scars he’d once bestowed upon her curiously missing – unacceptable, he’ll have to mark her again.
He thinks he sees her lip quiver then, but her eyes are still warring against his… with fire.
Such impressive virtues indeed.
Source for her perfections, and a belief in the right. That her heart can be right, or perhaps her strength, and William muses with near thrilling approval that both together would surely make for a deadly combination.
But in his presence, such resolve will not do.
And so he takes her apart, carefully.
Not bending to break, or burning to brittle. He puts a hand to her chest, to her heart and digs fingers into the gaps between her ribs. Savours the moment, her mortality so painfully apparent. Wholly subject to his crushing will.
Her chest would be so easy to spread – curious he is too see what lies beneath – just like his other hand at her knees. Bones are more flexible than not, and he finds that Blair's do not match the description of steel as well as her pride.
Just to bend her… remould her to his liking. To open her ribcage like her legs, expose her heart, and to take everything there is.
...And then?The world disappears with her cries, replaced by fire and crimson and he’s falling all over again – takes Blair down to Hell with him. Leans his forehead against hers and touches his lips to the trail of tears on her cheek – tastes something else entirely. Something red.
How appropriate.
A contract signed in blood, a contract repaid in blood.
There is balance once again.
Fin
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 09:56 am (UTC)I was so happy to see this entry right after refreshing my friends page.This broke my heart. I don't know which relationship made me sadder, Blipp or NB. I can just picture Chace's pretty, sad face and Aaron's huge eyes when Tripp is asking Blair to run away with him.William, on the other hand, was so coolly threatening. That last part especially made me feel like there was something heavy and sticky stuck inside my chest.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 01:28 pm (UTC)I'm glad it had that effect, I really wanted this to be as emotional and intense as possible. The pessimist in me would say such things happen to silly little children who allow themselves to fall in love, but really the whole tragic relationship between love and sorrow is always too tempting a theme to ignore. And yes, my heart weeps for all three of them.
I love evil!William, I really do. I love writing him because he’s the only character you could realistically place in such situations, and he’s just too damn fascinating. That last part was a bit of a gamble, but I figured I may as well go all out with it. Glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 11:00 am (UTC)Phew, girl! This was amazing. I was a little worried when you said that it's darker than usual, since your other stuff already leaves me breathless, but this was incredible. You really have such a way of writing so that every line sounds like poetry.
And oh, you slay me with that scene with hopeful!non-tv!Tripp. And I felt for Nate too. As usual, you William was delicious.
Truly, your fics make me yearn for what can never be.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 02:40 pm (UTC)Really, I’m just happy to know you enjoy what I write.
I hate TV!Tripp with a vengeance. And all this STripp talk/adoration is testing my nerves and patience. I was naturally compelled to launch a counter-attack; we need our own paradise of make-believe to escape to so as to forget the show's failures.
And I love William way too much for him to ever be anything less than delicious. ;)
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 04:01 pm (UTC)And of course I fully agree that your version of Tripp is mostly what I envision when I think about him, along with grandfather. I haven't watched GC in so long but I am suuuuure that they both have been ruined for the worst. Not to mention that you actually keep these characters fascinating, something i'm sure the show cannot do.
I just love this family. I'm sure you know this already.
Write more <3
no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 04:04 am (UTC)Sigh, Nate and Blair… I so do love them. They are just too much of a tragic romance for their own good.
Ugh, don’t get me started on that worthless piece of putrid effluvium. Yes, they have ruined the Vanderbilts in a most deplorable manner and it’s killing me. The only reason I’m still watching is for Aaron, and even that feels like a chore. When Tripp’s arc is over, I’m done with it and will only return for more Vanderbilt drama (if they bring them back), or if Nate and Blair get back together again. I know, wishful thinking, but we can hope…
And of course, more is in the works ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 04:07 pm (UTC)VANDERBILT x BLAIR FTW
love love love the dante influence on this piece
especially with each section titled as a line from the inscription on the gate of hell in Inferno.
keep up the amazing work c:
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 05:14 am (UTC)And may I also say how happy I am to see someone else with a fine appreciation for classical music and literature? I’m disappointed I hadn’t heard from you sooner. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 01:57 am (UTC)and then i'm planning on majoring in music so the appreciation for classical music has to be there hahaha. i get to sing the first tenor two solos in Messiah for my school's annual Christmas concert.
well now you have c:
no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 03:12 am (UTC)Though I do prefer Milton in that regard, for the Homeric character and sheer epic-ness.
Haha. Naturally, Handel is obligatory at Christmas. All the best with that, I'm sure you'll do great. :D
Out of curiosity, did your choir win that competition?
Oh, and I approve of your Vanderbilt icon immensely! This family is made of so much awesome it isn't funny.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 05:40 am (UTC)in the concert we sing more contemporary christmas music in the first act, and then we sing the christmas portion of Messiah in the second act.
we got a superior score. it wasn't really a win/lose thing. they just score you comparitively to everyone else lol.
ahhhh, vanderbilts <33
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 11:32 pm (UTC)The van der Bilt family is just SO old-money, with the drama and the secrets and oh-so-much that goes unspoken, and all of that sort of produces these dark, angsty relationships by nature, and you wrote them brilliantly.
Tripp kind of seems doomed to unhappiness, in canon and otherwise, and you actually made me ache for NB - which, believe me, is hard to do.
I loved the incorporation of Dante, and your writing style in general is beautiful. I'll be on the lookout for more from you! :)
no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 10:14 am (UTC)William/Blair is certainly unconventional, but a guilty pleasure of mine and several others. I find his character incredibly intriguing, and that his inner-workings could do with some exploring for the very reasons you specified in regards to the kind of family the Vanderbilts are.
There really does seem to be something dark tainting the lot of them beneath all the smiles and illusions of kinship. I just find that building upon the possible tragedies to befall them, and watching the characters unravel from it all, to be incredibly interesting.
And I’m happy to hear you enjoyed NB too. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 06:21 am (UTC)The way you wrote Blair was interesting. I did feel sorry for her, but at the same time she is cheating on her husband with his cousin and grandfather. I think she was doing alot of mental juggling to justify her actions to herself. Nate is the person I have the most trouble with in this story. He seemed to lack agency even more in this story than in the show. I know he is a passive character and is in love with Blair, but I would think he would have more rage for his situation than just imaging the glass was Blair's throat. He was more beaten down than any of the other characters. Your prose is beautiful and I loved the incorporation of Dante. Thanks for writing. I always enjoy your stories.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 01:05 pm (UTC)I think William has a sinister streak to him that goes beyond familial concerns. There was nothing to gain when he told Nate about his deal with Blair in 2x21, and so his motives came across as entirely vengeful in nature; to hurt and punish her for her failings.
Same can be said for his unwillingness to help Anne and Nate financially, or to even speak to them, when the Captain disappeared. If he truly cared about his daughter and grandson, he would have done something. It’s no secret he doesn’t like Howard, so I feel as if alienating Anne was his way of punishing her poor choices. To remind her where her loyalties should be; with the family.
Don’t get me wrong, I do believe he cares about everyone close to him in a very dominating, tough-love sort of way. But I admittedly find his evil roots a more fascinating angle to write.
I sort of expanded upon Blair’s attitude in season two for this, especially as to how she allowed herself to get hurt time and time again for Chuck’s sake because of her feelings for him. She seems almost fatalistic in her romanticism; she knows what she is doing is wrong and agonizing but does it anyway because she loves and ‘wants to save the boy’. The moral of course is clear; acting as such won’t inspire happiness and she paid her price at the end.
As for Nate, I wanted to make him an obvious casualty in all this. He had to be the one beaten down the most considering how he’s been let down so many times; by his family, Blair, and even Tripp. I think by the end of it he’d be bound to break entirely, hence his passivity.
…And that’s probably the longest reply to a comment I have ever written. XD