Nate had skipped the "sheer terror" portion of the evening on account of being stoned on the roof at the time of the attack, and then getting airlifted over the horror show from the dance to the Palace. Nate hadn't even really encountered a ... thing, yet. And he hadn't gotten any blood on his tie.
He'd been here at the Palace for a few days, now, but his phone was no longer working – he had been able to text on the night of the outbreak but not since – and so it was awfully hard to find people. His social life had been reduced to a series of brief, random encounters. He had vaguely wondered why he hadn't had such an encounter with Blair, since she was his girlfriend and all, but he figured that it was coming. And, anyway, he had weed again (Serena throwing his bag out the window had been only a temporary setback), so he was keeping calm and kind of just waiting for what would happen next. He wasn't doing too bad, in other words.
So it happened that he was kind of wandering the hotel today, when he heard the signature dulcet screeching of one Blair Waldorf. He grinned as he turned and saw her abusing some poor guard. “Blair!” He called out. “Looking for me?”