Blair was not someone typically deterred by personal boundaries. On the contrary, she made it her mission to obtain secrets; they were the currency with which the social sphere at Constance Billard revolved. But she felt almost awkward listening in on Chuck's short message, trying to pretend that if she couldn't see him she couldn't hear him either. Her gaze roamed over the dining area, trying to distract herself by critiquing the placement of the salad forks at each table setting.
"There is no way I can eat at a time like this," Blair protested at Chuck's announcement, following behind him into the kitchen nevertheless. The idea of being alone in this insane nightmare they found themselves in was intolerable. Chuck Bass might not be an action hero, but he had done a surprisingly effective job so far, especially considering his normal activities were limited, in Blair's opinion, to those that got him drunk, stoned, or laid.
It was an impressive kitchen, all polished stainless steel and immaculate floors. But Blair was in no mood to admire it. Drifting away from Chuck she moved to one of the giant refrigerators hoping to discover a bottle of Perrier. Their flight from the limo had made her thirsty. She moved behind one of the work stations, and promptly tripped on something on the floor. Her hand shot out quickly, saving her from falling to the ground, and she quickly righted herself, glaring down at the offending object.
Except it wasn't an object. It was a corpse sprawled face down on the floor. Blair scrambled away hastily, a choked sound the only noise escaping her tight throat as she backed away towards the wall.