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31_days2007-08-05 11:51 pm
swollenfoot.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-08-05 11:51 pm
[August 5] [Ouran High Host Club] Against Zeus, etc
Title: Against Zeus, etc
Day/Theme: August 5 / Oh yes, with a gust of wind / Will come the one you seek
Series: Ouran High Host Club
Character/Pairing: Fujioka Haruhi, Suoh Tamaki
Rating: G
Word Count: 615
Day/Theme: August 5 / Oh yes, with a gust of wind / Will come the one you seek
Series: Ouran High Host Club
Character/Pairing: Fujioka Haruhi, Suoh Tamaki
Rating: G
Word Count: 615
One of the things in this foreign land she had in startling excess was space. Fujioka Haruhi knew that the United States comprised practically a third of a continent. Central Florida was all freeways and plains, snaking rivers of gray asphalt winding about and around stretches of greens. And the skies: they spread from all directions as if to forever. A quick research about the region, prior the convention she came here for, had fairly versed her with what to expect. Orlando being in the tropics, she knew to expect monsoon rains, as well as the scattered thunderstorms the weatherman blithely predicted in the local news channel she had a glimpsed of in the airport, while waiting to pick up her baggage.
That, of course, did not stop the trepidation slowly winding around her as those enormous, formerly cloudless, blues began to darken that first afternoon. Even the jetlag failed to serve as an anxiolytic. She was gradually, ever so gradually, sinking into the miasmic hole of unreasoning terror, where there was only her and her alone, where open air merely afforded more space for fear to invade, to percolate into a solid, sentient threat. . .
. . . and everywhere she looked where windows and windows—wide-spanning from floor to ceiling, from one end of the posh hotel room to another. The furniture was modern and sleek; they afforded no corners or crevices for concealment. A closet, then, or the bathroom, she decided. The bathroom, the bathroom—
But her hasty shuffling was halted when the familiar flash of silver and lavender came, the electricity seemingly jolting her as well, from the base of her spine and up. She cowered and curled up right where she was, prepared for the raging retort the earth prepared to hurl against heaven’s attack, the reverberating crack of the fractured firmament echoing in her head.
She opened her eyes suddenly, wonderingly. The successive booms were too impotent and too rhythmic—knocks against heavy hardwood. Wide-eyed, Haruhi took a split second to decide, then sprinted for the door and hurled it open, hurled herself onto the person to which it opened to.
A gasp.
“H-haruhi?”
At that very moment, that usually irksome voice was a gift from God. Haruhi did not even ask how her former senpai, that singular, irritating man who formed a very successful host club in an elite high school, of all places, was somehow transplanted thousands of mile from Japan, was somehow there.
“Haruhi?!” the mellifluous voice issued forth once again, seemingly coming from much farther than she was expecting. . . “Belatedly as it is—there is no word in creation sufficient to express my abject shame and self-flagellation—I do realize how desperately my dearest, sweetest daughter yearns for the sublime tenderness of fierce paternal protection in this renowned den of the gods of thunder themselves, Zeus and Thor, Raijin and Ajisukitakahikone, which is why dear Daddy promptly flew all the way here, as soon as Mommy directed my attention to our beloved Haruhi’s predicament. But, my love, I expressly beg you—nay, I entreat you with all my heart and soul: please, let go of the poor man!”
Haruhi dazedly relinquished the bellhop, but was spared the agony of apologizing, when the real thunder finally hit. Suoh Tamaki took it upon himself to engulf her in a fervent bear hug, clucking comfortingly as he led his former kouhai back to her room.
The bellboy was left standing in the hallway. He took a few moments to recover from the strange reunion of the two customers, then shrugged. Apparently, the blond gentleman didn’t have any luggage with him, anyway, so he was free to go back to where he could be at another patron’s disposal.
~00:18 080607
That, of course, did not stop the trepidation slowly winding around her as those enormous, formerly cloudless, blues began to darken that first afternoon. Even the jetlag failed to serve as an anxiolytic. She was gradually, ever so gradually, sinking into the miasmic hole of unreasoning terror, where there was only her and her alone, where open air merely afforded more space for fear to invade, to percolate into a solid, sentient threat. . .
. . . and everywhere she looked where windows and windows—wide-spanning from floor to ceiling, from one end of the posh hotel room to another. The furniture was modern and sleek; they afforded no corners or crevices for concealment. A closet, then, or the bathroom, she decided. The bathroom, the bathroom—
But her hasty shuffling was halted when the familiar flash of silver and lavender came, the electricity seemingly jolting her as well, from the base of her spine and up. She cowered and curled up right where she was, prepared for the raging retort the earth prepared to hurl against heaven’s attack, the reverberating crack of the fractured firmament echoing in her head.
She opened her eyes suddenly, wonderingly. The successive booms were too impotent and too rhythmic—knocks against heavy hardwood. Wide-eyed, Haruhi took a split second to decide, then sprinted for the door and hurled it open, hurled herself onto the person to which it opened to.
A gasp.
“H-haruhi?”
At that very moment, that usually irksome voice was a gift from God. Haruhi did not even ask how her former senpai, that singular, irritating man who formed a very successful host club in an elite high school, of all places, was somehow transplanted thousands of mile from Japan, was somehow there.
“Haruhi?!” the mellifluous voice issued forth once again, seemingly coming from much farther than she was expecting. . . “Belatedly as it is—there is no word in creation sufficient to express my abject shame and self-flagellation—I do realize how desperately my dearest, sweetest daughter yearns for the sublime tenderness of fierce paternal protection in this renowned den of the gods of thunder themselves, Zeus and Thor, Raijin and Ajisukitakahikone, which is why dear Daddy promptly flew all the way here, as soon as Mommy directed my attention to our beloved Haruhi’s predicament. But, my love, I expressly beg you—nay, I entreat you with all my heart and soul: please, let go of the poor man!”
Haruhi dazedly relinquished the bellhop, but was spared the agony of apologizing, when the real thunder finally hit. Suoh Tamaki took it upon himself to engulf her in a fervent bear hug, clucking comfortingly as he led his former kouhai back to her room.
The bellboy was left standing in the hallway. He took a few moments to recover from the strange reunion of the two customers, then shrugged. Apparently, the blond gentleman didn’t have any luggage with him, anyway, so he was free to go back to where he could be at another patron’s disposal.
~00:18 080607