Serena begins to evince annoyance, reminding her oldest friend that the request came from Eleanor herself. "Oh, and how could you possibly disappoint my mother? Though you have no qualms about screwing over your best friend!" Serena, completely uninterested in drama and hateration of any kind, and coming to realize that Blair is not going to let this one go, tries to shut her down. "Fine. I won't go." Blair screams her assent, and Serena continues: "...And then Poppy won't go, and her friends won't go, and you can explain to your mother why she has an empty front row. Would that make you happy?" Blair is not interested in hearing the subtext, which is twofold in intent: the first being a reminder that this night is about Eleanor, not Blair or Serena or anyone else, and the second a slight warning to consider both forest and trees here: Blair's desire for popularity is motivating her into a crazed scheme that can only result in less total popularity, hinging as it does on offending as many people as possible.
Her feelings are too hurt for her to hear any of it; as happened two years ago, she needs Serena more than ever, now that everything has been taken away again, and more than that: she knows who lurks in the abyss if she doesn't succeed here, and what he's doing to maneuver her back into his bed. "At least I won't have to watch the next episode of The Serena Show," she says, just like any girl of her age when backed into a corner, and Serena -- trying to diffuse the situation still -- tells Blair that she was visiting with the intention of inviting Blair to come along with them after the show. "Oh, how generous, Serena! I should feel so blessed that you would include me in your little group!" It's painfully real on paper; Leighton Meester imbues it with an imbalanced, desperate vibe that is too familiar for comfort. Serena has had enough, mountains and molehills and completely illogical complaints. "You know what, Blair? I am gonna go to that show. And I'm gonna sit front row, and I'm gonna enjoy every minute of it." She stomps off like the giant human person that she is, and Blair realizes that, once again, her weird emotional outbursts have seriously backfired. And once she's pushed everybody that far, Blair can only move thence to complete chaos and annihilation, as usual.
The leprechaun has no time for Daniel's revised life story. "Brooklyn kid sees a live hooker for the first time, loses his shoes. There's so much saccharine in this, it's giving me cancer." Elf cancer? Dan complains and argues, again, the nonexistent artistic merits of his story: "But I did what you told me! I went out with a guy I can't stand!" As though writing strongly is something that can be done to a schedule: have gay sex with Chuck Bass and become a better writer, get a shot glass blown off your head and become a better writer. These are not the locations of the things Dan needs. They are outside him, and will not earn him this place in the literary canon. It's still not touching him, it's still not opening out from him: His lightning still doesn't touch the ground.