Author's Greetings: Welcome to my second Ouran story (that isn't a oneshot). For some reason, I'm better at writing oneshot than stories that are long-term. Probably because I have a short attention span. Oh, look! A Cute little birdie! What's that? Wow, what pretty colors. I think I should brush my hair. It's so tangled. You know, I'm kind of hungry. I should eat something—I might pass out. Ow! My knuckle hurts. I just hit it on my desk. And you know what…wait…wasn't I supposed to be DOING something? Oh, yeah. Story. Go on.
Disclaimer: With all seriousness, I do not own Ouran High School Host Club; it's characters, plot, and fluffy buns. With all silliness, I think I'll eat a cookie.
A man staggered through Ouran's entrance, flashing his driver's I.D. as proof of his age to Jake the security guard.
Ouran could be a cool name for a club somewhere. Or maybe even the fancy moniker of a distinguished school.
But no, Ouran was a casino. It was famous and popular in Los Angeles, where there weren't a lot of appealing places to gamble in.
Twenty-one years old, Jake noted, nodding his head with authorization.
Burly, bulky, big-armed Jake couldn't care less what the man looked like. It was his age on the I.D., and any weapon he might have that was important. A more thorough observer, however, would see the distressed lurch of the tall man. Maybe even his scruffy clothes, his messy golden-blonde hair, and the desperate look in his indigo eyes.
All this passed Jake by, and soon the man was through the entrance hall and in the colorful, chaotic, raucous world of gambling.
What is so strange about casinos is that although the spirit is always of celebration, none of the patrons are actually doing any celebrating.
Except for the ones who have just won a big jackpot, that is.
However, most customers in casinos are so intent.
Some are staring blank-eyed at the blue screens of slot machines; they're arms automatically pulling the levers, waiting for another failed attempt, feeding the noisy beasts more coins, and starting the cycle again.
Others study their cards carefully—as if enough glaring could change a useless five into an ace. They groan in despair and throw their hands up in irritation as their chips are scooped by the various dealers in identical gray vests and black bow ties.
The cheerful announcements of the dealer at the roulette are belied by the somber expressions of those whose year's savings are on the line. Each stares at the giant red and black wheel with crossed fingers and thumping hearts. Each one turns ashen-faced as the wheel stops, and once again it is not their number.
Never their number.
Mindless games—pointless dreams.
But still they bet and bet and bet, always with the hope that the next round, the next hand, the next number…they'll win the big prize. Oh, what bliss then!
The man of our attention stood frozen on the rich carpet, taking in the sights. These sights of greed, of anguish, of joy, of the zombie-like trance the customers were trapped in.
I've already lost my biggest gamble, he thought with determination. What have I got more to lose?
He walked towards the blackjack table, a little bucket of chips in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist. Walking quickly, he was afraid he would lose his courage even before his first hand.
At last he reached the table. He slumped down on a stool, and the bucket of chips came down a small, dull thump! on the green felt.
"Ante?"
He looked up to see a petite young woman with short brown hair impatiently shuffling the deck in her hands.
Her brows were furrowed in irritation. Ironically, her large doe-like eyes contained distain and anger.
The black and white tag pinned to her chest read, "Haruhi."
"Opening bet's twenty bucks," she sneered, rapping the table with her knuckles. He took his eyes away from her, and laughed quietly.
Haruhi, huh? he thought. Pretty name. Not-so-pretty personality.
Yet he was captivated.
He picked out two blue ten-dollar chips, and slid them towards her with a slender, long-fingered hand.
There were two other customers at the table, but they barely gave him a glance. Instead, they smoldered in silence, annoyed at his interruption.
Hurry up! their eyes screamed at the dealer.
As if sensing their nervous edginess, Haruhi started immediately. Her small hands dealt the cards in a quick, efficient manner.
Flick! Flick! Flick!
The cards were quickly looked at, and one of the customers—a redheaded woman—hastily said, "Hit!"
She glanced at her third card, and moaned in disappointment.
"Bust," she whispered quietly, sliding her cards away. She could not bear to look at them.
"Stay," said the other customer, an elderly woman smelling of cheap perfume. She pushed a red fifty-dollar chip away from her pile.
"You?" asked the dealer, raising an eyebrow at the man.
He hadn't even looked at his cards. For some reason, his attention was fixed on the rude Haruhi.
He skimmed the cards in his hands quickly, and his dark violet eyes widened in disbelief.
"Stay," he muttered, matching the other customer with two green twenty-dollar chips and a ten.
The dealer looked at her own cards. The face-up was a jack. The other seemed ominous, although the chances of her making twenty-one were laughably low.
"I'll stay as well," she announced.
The chips were in the pot.
The cards were dealt.
The old woman revealed her hand with quiet satisfaction. A ten and a queen.
Twenty.
Only twenty-one can beat that.
The man grinned.
He flipped over his cards to reveal…
.
…a jack and an ace.
Blackjack.
His opponent snorted in disgust, and swiveled on her stool with wrath.
His hand was already reaching for the pile of chips on the middle of the table when the dealer's icy cold voice said, "Not so fast."
The male took his hand back and just stared at her. He smiled an easy-going, confident smile. It was a far cry from the depressed attitude he entered the casino with.
The dealer just scowled, and turned away.
She was a bit disturbed by the sudden change in his demeanor.
Maybe he's having mood swings, she thought. Well, whatever. Not my problem. I'll just do my job.
She turned over her facedown card.
It was an ace.
Blackjack.
"I do believe you're out of luck," she said, callously gathering her prize.
Instead of miserable silence, or a grunt of dissatisfaction, she sensed some kind of euphoria from the man.
She looked up in confusion.
Her honey brown eyes met his cobalt ones.
"No, Haruhi," he said loudly and happily. "I do believe I just got it back."
Author's Farewells: Well, how's that for a pilot? Obviously the man is Tamaki, but I didn't want to just say it. We'll get it next chapter. I hope I reveal it in a clever way. Unlike the way I revealed poor Haruhi's name. On a nametag, LOL. What's so poetic about that?? Also, forgive me if my somber moments seem a bit…forced. I'm new to writing serious stories. I keep having this urge to write a fluffy moment/snide author comments. I think I put in only one actual joke in here. See if you can find it! Anyone who finds it gets a prize. (Author's Greetings and disclaimer do not count). Thank you for reading, and see you next chapter. I hope. Oh, hey! A squirrel! On a motorcycle! And there's a fish…