Mojo No-go
Tamaki's lost his groove.
Unofficial soundtrack-
One Week- Barenaked Ladies
Somebody Loved Me- Reel Big Fish
I'm Finding It Harder to Be a Gentleman- The White Stripes
Twin Cinema- The New Pornographers
Don't Ask Me- OK Go
The rumor spread like wildfire. Through the air. Whispers in hallways, declarations at lunch tables, implication and innuendo in the parking lots and courtyards. Small sparks laid during class breaks would flare into the wildest and most unconstrained of speculations, taken, of course, as fact by all who heard them. As such, by the end of the week there were at least five different major versions of the story with small variations, but they all boiled down to one thing.
"Did you hear?"
"I heard! Did you hear?"
"Hell yeah I heard! Now the rest of us guys might have a chance!"
"Oh, you never had a chance anyway. Hey, did you hear?"
"Yeah. Did you?"
"I was there when it happened!"
"Did you hear?"
"Did you hear?"
"Did you hear?"
"Tamaki's lost his groove!"
His charm, his mojo, his suavity, whatever you want to call it, Tamaki had lost it. And without it, as his close friends knew, he was really just a great big pile of stupid in a pretty box. His patrons had come to realize it too, and after the fifth time he went for his patented 'looking from below' trick and slipped on his elbow, chinning himself on the table, well, all bets were off. They designated new hosts for the day and left him with nothing to do except follow Kyouya around and complain.
"KYOU-ya, no one will talk to meeeee!" He wailed, chewing on his teddy bear. It had already lost one ear.
"That's because no one likes you when you aren't pretending to be someone else." Said Haruhi, passing by with more instant coffee. Tamaki froze up, clenching his bear so tight it threatened to burst.
"Haruhi, please don't agitate him any more than necessary." Deadpanned Kyouya as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "He won't return to his former self if you keep on telling him things he doesn't need to hear." The undercurrent there being of course that if they lost Tamaki's earning power, it would be Haruhis fault, adding more to her debt. Exponentially more, in fact. The young cross dressers skin felt faintly chilled, for a moment.
Haruhi shook it off and shrugged, walking away. She said what she thought. Honesty was usually simpler than white lies- except where debts were concerned.
Tamaki was still frozen. Kyouya sighed. He didn't like playing the good friend. It wasn't in his character.
He put his hand on Tamakis shoulder. "Look, everyone hits a block, now and then." He said, looking away so the blonde didn't have to see him gag. "I'm sure you'll come out of it."
Tamaki turned his head slowly to Kyouya, his eyes scared. "Kyouya, do I act like someone else?"
"No-" The glasses clad young man was cut off as Tamaki crowded in.
"Am I a fake? A fabrication?!"
"Well, n-" Tamaki moving in closer, trapping his friend up against a wall.
"HAS MY WHOLE LIFE BEEN A LIE?!" Tamaki wailed, throwing his bear into the air and panicking physically, running his fingers down his face and dancing from foot to foot in agitation.
"Well, yes, Tono." Chorused Hikaru and Kaoru, leaning on each other nearby. Tamaki jerked upright, frightened. Kyouya made a swift exit stage right.
"On the top you're charming, polite, effortlessly clever in your ministrations with women-" Tamaki nodded desperately, liking the sound of that, feeling himself become reaffirmed at Kaoru's words.
"But underneath, you're very immature and air headed with a decided lack of common sense and a totally unflattering way of going completely off the handle at the slightest instigation. I made a list if you want to read more." Said Hikaru, holding up a few sheaf's of paper.
Hunny bounded up happily, wanting to join in on the fun. "Tama-chans also very naïve!" He exclaimed.
"And egotistical." Rumbled Mori.
"You're also always hogging the spotlight!" Said Renge, popping up out of nowhere.
"Ya don't listen to anyone else." Mumbled Kasanoda on his way past outside.
"And you're very close-minded!" Hissed Nekozawa from another doorway, Beelzenef gesticulating wildly.
"Not to mention obsessive." Said Haruhi, putting a hand to her chin.
"Ooh, good one, Haruhi!" Said the twins, scribbling furiously. "We didn't have that one down yet!"
With every word Tamaki fell lower to his knees, as though he was in a boxing ring and every observation was a hit to the breadbasket. "I'm… not really beautiful on the inside?" He whispered, his shoulders shaking with grief as his narcissism crashed down around him.
"Not really, no." Came the chorus. But then they were silent. The twins had just been kidding and everyone else had just thought it was constructive criticism day. They hadn't thought he'd take it as hard as he seemed to be. He was sprawled on the floor, twitching in pain.
Haruhi edged closer, afraid of what she might learn. She poked his shoulder. "Sempai?" She asked.
Everyone jumped back as Tamaki leapt upright, his hand clenched in a decisive gesture. "Then from now on I will be as absolutely honest about who I am as possible!" He declared. "Haruhi, I need help. Can you show me how to look ugly?"
A few days later Tamaki was able to take off the neck brace. He'd taken pains, made careful plans, and done everything he knew how do to make himself the biggest frog in a school of princes. First there was fashion. Tamaki knew fashion. He knew clothes, he knew designers. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any designers for people who wanted to look ugly. So he settled for wearing bright greens and oranges in the middle of winter, completely out of season.
He went to an orthodontist and demanded one of those external mouth retainer things. Unfortunately it seemed that he'd been blessed with perfect teeth. Didn't need any kind of retainer or braces at all. He settled for paying for one of those retainers you can take out and put in.
Tamaki's blonde crown was perfect. The elaborate cocktail of conditioners and shampoos and gels that he used to get it that way was swept aside as he poured over chemical maps of human hair, trying to learn the proper sequence of product to get it as lank and greasy as possible. Unfortunately again, ugly people seemed to have been resolutely ignored in this department. HOW did they get it to stick together like that? No matter what he did in his mad hair-scientist lab, no matter what gels he used, he never got the right effect. He'd just have to try and use the heaviest, stickiest gel possible and pull it all down.
His body had been sculpted by a regular regimen of cardio and specific weightlifting to look both pleasingly masculine while at the same time retain that inviting, silken appeal that was so very androgynously attractive. While he had all his workout stuff thrown out in the trash, there was little he could do to change his build. He studied famous ugly characters in movies, much as he had poured over the cinema for hints on current trends in looks in previous times, and came across the ideal of the hunchback. He spent several hours in front of a mirror practicing holding one shoulder blade above the other. He had a shoe for a club foot made- it usually made him trip, but it was the principle of the thing. It clopped unevenly across the mansion floor in a very satisfactory manner.
Next was his skin. He exfoliated after showering in the morning and before going to bed at night. He'd never even had a zit. Not once. But he needed to figure out how. After looking at some acne websites online he learned that pimples are caused by body oil collecting in the pours. Without a large tub of essence of human available he settled for going downstairs and demanding the largest available container of olive oil the kitchen had. He rubbed himself down with it dutifully for two days, but it didn't seem to help. Indeed, it only seemed to make his skin smoother. He decided to give up on that one.
Finally, there were his eyes. His crystal blue, watery eyes were a gift from god. He had never had anything to do with them in any capacity that didn't involve rampant self admiration or the extrication of an offending eyelash. In the interests of covering up the one feature he felt he couldn't change, he purchased some glasses. Big, thick glasses. Unfortunately looking through them gave him a headache, so he took out the lenses and just wore the frames.
Complete with a large assortment of unneeded heavy reference books, including one Encyclopedia Britannica J section, the new Host Club Ex-King, Tamaki, Fashion Disaster Extraordinaire, set forth.
He could feel the stares. Tamaki was very sensitive to stares- he was used to feeling watched no matter where he was. But before he'd been comfortable because he knew that even if he committed some kind of social faux pas, he'd be able to talk, flirt, or pose his way out of it. Now he knew that, in the interest of honesty, he'd taken the proverbial last step. This was the end of the reign of Souh Tamaki.
Knowing no one would speak to him when he looked like this, at least not from his own class, he eschewed the normal meet and greet out in the hall and went to sit at his desk, cowed and scared. Good, good, he thought to himself, keep going with that. You're frightened, you're awkward, you're afraid of any form of human contact. If anyone comes near you, be sure to jerk back adorably- STOP THAT! He yelled at himself. He was trying to make his outside match his inside, not use his change over in fashion to garner a new fan base.
As he admonished himself, a few nervous girls sidled up to him. When he did, in truth, jerk back in fright, they shied away. "No, sorry. What is it?" He had to resist putting his hand to his hair and flick it aside.
The two girls stepped forward, cautiously. "Um, Tamaki-kun, we couldn't help but notice that you've got a… a new look…" They blushed furiously. Tamaki waited, knowing the inevitable rejection to come.
Kyouya interrupted, slamming his briefcase down on Tamaki's head. "Sorry girls." He said, smiling. "He'll be back to his old self tomorrow."
"Oh.. no, well…" But Kyouya shooed them away before they could say any more.
"So, I see your reverse Cinderella transformation went well." Said the other boy, pulling his work out of his briefcase.
"It wasn't easy, either." Tamaki groused. "Did you know there's no such thing as a nerd fashion designer?"
"Perish the thought." Said the other boy, still busy. "How long do you plan to keep it up?"
"Forever!" Said Tamaki, slamming his fist down on the desk in determination. "I've mislead too many, even myself. The only thing I can do is make sure nobody thinks I'm as perfect as I looked before ever again."
"Do you really think any of the girls actually cared what you were like underneath the veneer?" Kyouya asked.
"…Yes?" Said the other boy.
Kyouya shrugged, making an effort to appear uncaring. Secretly, though, he was in a great deal of turmoil.
Without Tamaki, the Host Club lost 70 of it's intake, as well as it's guiding light, rallying point, and greatest form of entertainment for the bored. Kyouya had been racking his brain for as long as Tamaki had been trying to transform himself and could reach only one available conclusion.
Haruhi.
He just had to get them alone. Put Haruhi and Tamaki alone in a room together and sooner or later Haruhi would do that thing she did where suddenly all her bluntness and lack of subtlety put everything into focus. Tamaki would go back to his old self, Haruhi would complain, and things would be back on track for Kyouya's big plan.
Kyouya didn't actually have a big plan, but pretending sometimes made him fell better about himself.
Later that day Tamaki tried to sneak out without having to face anyone he knew too well. However, waiting at the gates for him was Mori, who picked him up bodily and ran him back the clubroom and threw him into the closet. Already in there was Haruhi, held captive by Hikaru and Kaoru. The two quickly excused themselves and the door locked behind them.
Haruhi leapt to her feet and ran to the door, struggling to get it open, but it was in vain. The locks were tight and, of course, expensive.
She turned, irritable, until she saw what her companion was doing. "Tamaki-sempai?" She asked.
He was pressed up against a wall, hiding himself away behind one of the changing room doors, curled in on himself and shivering. When she turned to face him fully he screamed "Don't look at me, don't look at me!" In a high pitched voice, no less.
"Sempai, I really think you're taking this too hard-" She said, walking forward, arms outstretched to help him up. He shrank back farther. "I've led you on, Haruhi! I know you may have thought I was an amazing, nay, impossible bastion of perfection in an imperfect world, but I'm only human! Yea, less than human, for I truly have NO redeeming features whatsoever beyond my looks!"
Haruhi was awestruck. Not only by the fact that he didn't realize she had him pegged from day one, but also by the fact that she never dreamed she'd actually hear him deprecate himself. It felt good. It felt really good.
"Tamaki-sempai, really, nobodies perfect." She said, halfheartedly.
"And I am LESS than perfect, for in my beauty I mislead others, moving them to feelings of adoration they can only love, not knowing the lie that hides beneath!" he was beginning to wax on the hyperbole as he always did, returning to form. He was standing now in his standard declarative stance.
"Sempai, you really do have some redeeming qualities…" Haruhi trailed off. For the life of her she couldn't think of any. And Tamaki was looking at her expectantly, the sudden ray of hope teasing his ego.
Haruhi turned. The door had opened partially once the shouting stopped. She yanked it open and left. "Sorry. I got nothin'." Kyouya pinched the bridge of his nose. After that, neither did he.
Tamaki left the Host Club to it's waning activity, wandering slowly down the hall, feeling the stares on the back of his neck again. He pulled off the fake club foot shoe and stuffed it in his backpack, along with the retainer, which he hadn't actually worn yet today. There was no reason to even try and advertise it anymore. Everyone knew.
As he passed the school gates, the two girls from before came up to him and gave him… chocolate. "We hope you feel better soon, Tamaki!" They said, along with several others who swarmed him. He was confused. "But I'm not sick!"
"No, but you still seem to be feeling bad!" They all said. "We want you to feel better. Although," Said one, "To tell you the truth, seeing you like this is nice too. Kinda like seeing the REAL Tamaki. We all hope you feel like it's okay to dress down once in a while for us!" The girls all squealed.
Tamaki fell to his knees abruptly. The girls stepped back. "Tamaki?" They all asked.
He sprang to his feet yet again, whipping off the glasses and flinging them into the distance (where they hit Kasonoda on the back of the head, poor guy.) "YES!" He said, exultantly. "I got my GROOOVE back, I got my grooove back…" He did a little danced, churned the butter, made some seal calls. Regrouping, his whipped his fingers through his hair. "That's right, princess." He said, trying to look as candid as possible. "I'm afraid I haven't been myself lately, and finding the energy to dress and look like the Tamaki you all love, well, it's in short supply. I hope you can all bear with me."
Ignoring his previous outburst- central to romantic fascination is ignoring someone's flaws- the girls all swooned at the new, far more comfortable and open Tamaki. "Of course!" They all said.
Tamaki walked back up to the Host Club, his fans in tow. It's good to be the King.