Some Things I Would Ask Any Who Read This To Take Note Of First:
This story is about a character named Morita Kichi, and as some of you may know she does not belong to me. In fact, Morita Kichi is a creation of my friend SteampunkSakura (recently known as OuranKarate), of whom I have permission to use. Why? Because this is actually an extremely belated birthday gift that is not going to be complete for some time. So please, don't scream at me for using a character that isn't mine ;)
This story does not happen in the timeline of A Four Leaf Clover—the story of which Morita Kichi is originally from and of which I suggest you read before continuing with this one—it is a spinoff taking place before Kichi and Mori become…Kichi and Mori, but not exactly happening any time before in A Four Leaf Clover
Even if you do not normally read stories with OCs, I would like to ask that you read this one for SteampunkSakura's sake and mine; hers because she has waited so long to get this, and mine to get your input on the writing. Although it is mostly her view on the story I want, yours would definitely not be unwelcome! (Which is to beg: PLEASE REVIEW!) 8D
I do not own any of the Host Club characters, clearly, but I will own the characters that appear beside them, characters I'm quite confident you will be able to identify, and characters that I will own strict rights to. Not that I expect anyone to use them, just know that if you do without my permission I will tear your soul to shreds even though I don't know you ;D
For those of you who are readers of my story JNMKJ (yeah! Advertisement time!) I am still working on it. I promise. In fact at the moment I'm posting this it's spur of the moment. I haven't written anything else for the story yet, though I plan to, I just felt like uploading it for some reason or another :P
On that note, here is Kichi of the Four Leaf Clover; hope you enjoy!
01 –
Tugging unconsciously at the irritable hair extensions pulling heavily at her skull, Morita Kichi, 2nd year exchange student from America and unofficial member of the Ouran Academy High School Host Club, gazed solemnly and tiredly at the scene spread out before her. A perpetual frown seemed glued to her lips, her studious gaze taking in nothing of the view that she didn't already know of, her consciousness clearly too engrossed in her self-absorbed contemplation to take notice—a contemplation made up entirely of just how exactly she had wound up in her current situation, as well as how she could go about getting out of it.
For the majority of her day, the work she had involved herself with had been reasonable and simple, consisting merely of her helping erect the Host Club's booth for the school's late evening festival, her somewhat cheerful efforts aiding with the setup beginning to end. From the pure white pillars stationed at the booth's entrance, to the arrangement of the tall wood-carved poles placed at each corner of the grassy space, Kichi had not stopped moving until the structures had been complete. Which of course had included rising on either side of the white pillars, four metal rods dangling red paper lanterns that had given an eerie glow to the space guests strode through. She had also aided in the outfitting of a large net of greenery suspended ten feet in the air by the same poles standing at the corners of the Host Club's designated space, the expanse of foliage twinkling and sparkling with an array of miniature bulbs smaller than Kichi's thumbnail.
In its entirety the work had been rough, requiring a certain amount of strain to properly place the decorations, but it had been a job Kichi could be content with. For in that too short time she had allowed herself to enjoy the moments of physical exertion in companionship with the host club members as she had never done before; with the results of their efforts clearly shown in the magnificence surrounding her.
That did not, however, excuse what had happened to her afterwards. Somehow, in the mess and chaos of setting up, Kichi had been caught up in the rapid change of the club's normal schooling attire for the evening's cosplay. She had been taken so off guard by her unwilling participation that she had not even managed to extend a complaint before her casual clothing had been exchanged for a more extravagant outfit. Only on rare occasions had she ever dressed up, humoring the ever-dramatic Tamaki and his over-enthusiastic minions, yet never had she thought in a million years to wear what she did now.
In accordance with the Fantasy theme the club had chosen, the human being that had been Morita Kichi had been completely transformed into that of the elf warrior so named Kichi of the Four Leaf Clover—a clever play off the duel meaning of her name and of the plant she was apparently "of".
In her blind cooperation with the maids that had captured her unawares, Kichi had been torn from her familiar outfit into cloth reminiscent of an ancient fantasy culture. Her plain, long sleeved shirt—which she had worn against the dropping temperatures of dawn into night—had been discarded in place of a beautifully treated, braided leather vest set atop a flowing white, long-sleeved blouse spilling from beneath the hem of the vest to frill three inches above her knees. Her winter gloves of wool had become leather decorated in burned curlicues symbolizing vines, the hue and texture of the hand apparel matching that of the vest as well as the moccasins on her feet. She no longer wore plain jeans, but instead snug, dark brown breeches just a touch of a shade lighter in color to the vest. They were lined on the outside of the leg by threaded black and gold creepers, an elaborate design that appeared almost alive despite containing hues unnatural for reality.
Her hair too had not survived the makeover, and had been quickly treated to extremely long extensions reaching well below her waist, almost to her knees, despite having been pulled back in a high ponytail. There was no denying the fact it made her head feel unnaturally heavy, leaden, a sensation only made worse by the flowers and pearls woven into the flowing locks of fake hair. Her bangs too had been lengthened on each side of her face only to be braided with leather thongs imbued with speckles of gold.
Nothing on her person had survived her transformation from normalcy to fantasy, not even her face, which had been coated in a light application of makeup. Her skin turned to a fair cream, her lips darkened considerably, and her eyes given a more angled appearance. Not her ears either had survived the change, the tips of them applied with a kind of silicone to give them a pointed look.
Yet it was only with the addition of a weapon—fake or real she couldn't be sure, and honestly wasn't about to find out—that seemed to complete her ensemble, and was the only thing she could truly admire though she had no idea how to use it. Strapped to her waist by a black belt lined in gold thread was a sword, its sleek black sheath hanging to her ankles. It was neither heavy nor light, and only somewhat awkward to walk with, but it was nonetheless unusual. And no matter how often she tried not to, she could always find herself looking at the main attraction to the weapon.
The hilt was silver protruding from the sheath, and set with a large red ruby in the pommel. The stone itself was obviously real and well-shaped, expensive to say the least, but it was the way in which it had been placed that most amazed Kichi whenever she looked at it. The pricy rock was quite literally clutched in the jaws of the Chinese dragon the hilt had been shaped after, its mouth spread wide to more easily accommodate the large red drop of stone. Its face pointed skyward in its burnished silver skin, and its body curled down the hilt to the very edge of the sheath, its four short legs gripping the tang at odd yet believable angles. Its wings, neither small nor large for the dragon's body, had been shaped to form the quillon—the horizontal guard that kept the hand of the holder from sliding straight down to the blade, as Hunny had educated her. The tail of the animal was almost nonexistent on the sword itself, but had been continued down onto the sheath to more complete the look.
The dragon, Kichi had to admit, seemed almost real, almost alive—not that she knew if a sword could ever be considered "alive", but she couldn't deny the omnipotent impression.
While the clothes were not necessarily uncomfortable, and Kichi did not feel hindered in her movements in the slightest, it was simply the flashy noticeability of them that made her the most stressful with her situation, bringing her to wonder why she had gone along with the pampering when it was made clear what was going to happen to her in the first place. "Kichi of the Four Leaf Clover" was more into hand-to-hand combat, after all—not that the sword was the only thing that separated her role from her actual self. She felt much too exposed. Like some sort of spectacle; which she had to admit she was. Everywhere she looked someone somewhere was giving her a funny expression, and since she normally went out of her way to be less-noticeable, being part of the attention-grabbing crowd unsettled her, to say the least.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned from her post near the entrance to the Host Club's section of school ground to more equally encounter "Kyouya, the Palace Scholar", a character that seemed to suit the Dark Lord to a T.
His school uniform too had been replaced for a more fantastical outfit, and his hair as well had been lengthened—though not to quite so an alarming degree as Kichi's. His black locks merely fell just past his shoulders, pulled back in a neat ponytail at the base of his neck. His usual black-rimmed glasses had been swapped with golden spectacles, the surface polished and decorated in miniature black vines barely noticeable in the dim gleam of firefly-like light hanging above their heads.
His clothes consisted of a black velvet cloak that draped loosely from around his shoulders, of which was clasped in place by a silver clamp enamored with a large purple stone set atop his left shoulder. He also wore a dark purple tunic that clung securely around his waist, the long sleeves hanging loosely about his wrists and gradually tightening until they clung snugly around his biceps. The front of it bad been carefully ornamented in a silver tree leafed in an even deeper shade of purple with thin hints of green lining them. His breeches too were black, though plain, and cinched at his hips by a silver studded belt. Simple black boots were bore upon his feet, and his gloves were of the fingerless variety apparently stained in ink. It also appeared not even the Dark Lord could go without a touch of makeup to angle his features and point his ears, a notion that somehow managed to give Kichi a satisfied feeling.
As a final touch to his appearance, Kyouya-senpai's black notebook and pen had been taken and turned into a roll of sheepskin parchment balanced on a wooden slab as well as a feather quill in place of a pen. Although admittedly the quill had been filled with a tube of ink, the ensemble could not have been complete without the special additions. Additions, Kichi was sure, he had conjured himself.
However, despite his apparently being a scholar, his "name" proving as much, Kichi had to admit that Kyouya-senpai looked less like he was intended and more like some form of evil royalty. The dark colors of his outfit only managed to emphasize the creepiness of him, and more harden the suspicion he was more than he appeared to be. After all, the role of an evil king far better suited Kyouya-senpai than a lowly palace scholar, and even that seemed to work in his favor. No real king was likely to suspect a record-keeper and writer as capable to undermine his rule; at least, that was what Kichi supposed.
Approaching him, Kichi hesitated a moment in speaking, but on further retrospection found her inquiry solidly ground, and continued before her courage could fail her. "Kyouya-senpai," she began, her voice slowly growing as she continued with what she intended to say. "Kyouya-senpai, I get that the host club uses themes as a way to entertain the guests and draw in more attention and custom, in essence making them more a cosplay club than a host club, and I also get that in order to further this goal all the members are fundamentally required to dress up to fit the selected theme, but my question is how come I have to look like I come from a fancy fairy tale too when I'm not even a part of the club?" she asked, finishing in a slightly raised voice, her eyes casting wary glances around her in hopes that no one else had heard.
Especially Tamaki, the "Rose King"; if he heard she had no doubts that he would cry and worry himself over her not enjoying her position. That, or she would inevitably make the guests uncomfortable with her attitude, something that would only make matters much, much worse.
Turning from writing on his scroll, Kyouya-senpai firstly adjusted his glasses in a rather scholarly manner then set his fist on his hip, scanning the contents of what he'd written even as he spoke to her. "Honestly, Kichi-kohai, I thought for sure I had explained this enough before. Since you are always around the Host Club during hosting activities, invariably, inevitably, you have become a member. Just because you don't actively participate in hosting does not exclude you from contributing to our, as you put it, 'cosplay club' every once in a while. Since, when all things are considered, you do eat the snacks we provide, and drink the beverages set before you, freely and without cost, so I suppose that if you must have a less, shall I say, 'sentimental' reason for going along with our 'dress up' you can attribute this involvement in repaying us for such.
"Besides," he added, a slim smirk spreading across his face, "you may not have noticed, considering your complete lack of attention to things relating to yourself, but the moment you began joining us the population of male visitors has increased by a considerable margin, giving you a certain amount of use despite your being a known female host among a contingent of female guests. Before you we had only dealings with the ladies of Ouran Academy, and your complete lack of socialization doesn't seem to matter in the slightest to the new additions in the guest population, since they seem for now merely content to watch you from afar. Keep in mind, however, that in the future this may change should you desire to continue your association with the Host Club's inside activities. But please, don't take that as a threat to leave, merely as a warning to your increasing importance within the club's systems."
As Kyouya-senpai's speech drew to a close, Kichi merely gaped, her voice refusing to allow her to emit any sound as she watched him jot something or other down on the parchment in his hand. She couldn't even move to stop him, either, when he strode away, not bothering to spare her a second glance as he traversed the ground to encounter the young women awaiting him. In fact, it wasn't until a small breeze kicked up and froze her skin that she managed to close her mouth and envisage in full what she had just been told.
Only barely was she able to comprehend that her presence within the club had somehow made her useful, but when she finally did understand just exactly what he may have meant, she couldn't help but look around the enclosed area, searching for any hint that what he had said was truth. Of course, knowing that it was Kyouya-senpai, and that in concerned the club, there was no way he could have been wrong, though Kichi wished he was.
Discreetly she searched the space provided the hosts in attempt to identify the blue uniforms of the boys Kyouya-senpai had implied.
It did not take her long, unfortunately.
In bare moments she had discovered the first, then the second, and the longer she looked, the more the numbers grew. No wonder Kyouya-senpai had allowed her to stay around. She really was creating some amount of revenue—the only thing Kyouya seemed passionate about. She on the other hand was not so delighted. With each new addition she counted her anxiety simply grew, and the moment she saw they were continually casting her curious glances her embarrassment increased twofold. She had to escape their eyes; they were practically tormenting her with their laughter. For certainly that's all they could be doing. She must look worse than she thought, ridiculous, even, to have elicited such a response.
Adjusting her belt uncomfortably, Kichi ducked her head and turned to face the entrance she had been stationed at. Beneath her belt, tucked against her waist, her fingers brushed against her iPod. It did not take long for a solution to emerge in effect of her growing unease.
Discreetly slipping her ear buds into place, Kichi took one final cautious glance around her to make sure no one was watching before she clenched her hands into fists and stepped between the pillars. She easily avoided the stream of people walking up and down the main way from the school to where the Host Club was, and crossed the path to the unoccupied grass beyond.
As soon as her slipper-covered feet had crossed to the cool lawn, the dim buzz of people beyond the sound of the music in her ears vanished, leaving her alone to listen to the singing voices of the artists in her iPod. In the welcome moment of armistice she couldn't help but close her eyes and inhale deeply, a cool breeze brushing against her fake hair and bringing a scent of lavender to her nose. A grin spread across her face, and automatically her lids slid open to view the dimly lit landscape of the school grounds.
Impulsively she began to walk, no destination in mind other than away from the hubbub and stares of the Host Club.
Though there was some danger in not watching where she was going, Kichi browsed her songs anyway as she strode, unconsciously avoiding ruts and roots and rocks in her path. She paid no heed to where she was, nor how long or far had she gone, until suddenly and unexpectedly her iPod died.
Thrown without warning into utter silence and darkness, her eyes still partially blinded by the impression the small device's bright screen had left, Kichi tore the ear buds from where she had put them and with a practiced motion wrapped it around the body of her iPod. As she did so, she blinked rapidly to aid in the adjustment of her eyes to the lightless area, meanwhile searching for something familiar.
It wasn't until she had tucked her music-maker back under her belt that she realized she had no idea where she was.
Her heart rate leapt to a faster pace, and her search for a landmark of some kind became ever more frantic. Yet the harder she searched, the clearer it became there was nothing to help her figure out where she was. Not even the school was in her sight. Perhaps it was simply a trick of the light, and the knowledge that she was lost and alone, but she felt abruptly very isolated.
Silently, she berated herself, and instead of remaining in place Kichi couldn't hinder the urge to move forward, her steps quick and heavy with growing fear. The longer she walked the more often she started at unknown noises and the more potent her imagination became. In her mind's senses she imagined she heard someone following her, and her vision constantly plagued with illusions of people jumping out from behind trees. At every turn she made she was prepared to jump into action, anger at herself for getting lost and apprehension at what may find her hurrying her along.
So frantic was she that she did not even see the monstrous hedge towering high above her until she had run into the dense flora head on. Sharp twigs glanced off her vest but twisted painfully into her hair and face, dirtying her cotton undershirt in a sprinkling of dirt and leaves. Letting loose a strangled yelp, she leapt away from the clinging monster, her hands chopping harmlessly at the carefully manicured plant. Instinctively she backed away from it in order to see the thing that she knew would simply jump out at her, but instead she couldn't resist staring at the gigantic plant with a sense of wonder and utter calm.
Curiosity outweighing her fear, Kichi looked to either side of the hedge as though to see where it ended. She was not satisfied in her search, however, when she saw nothing but a distant continuance of it on either side of her. It was almost never ending, until she took another few steps back and saw the minute break in the wall of nighttime green. It was arched, like a doorway, and showed a dim light the instant she looked at it.
Growing suddenly more cautious than she had ever been Kichi nevertheless approached the break, stepping lightly and hardly making a sound. It took her nearly two full minutes to reach it such was her pace, though once she had she glanced at what lay beyond she entered entirely with one long stride.
The moment she was through, any breath of fear within her dissipated, her conscious gripped by the marvel set before her. She couldn't stop herself from speaking the most obvious question dancing in her mouth, her mind swallowing what her eyes sent to her whole.
"What is this place?" she whispered, but no one answered to her great relief.
Set before her like some brilliant painting was a circular clearing much smaller than the hedge had implied outside the space, its edges lined in a flowerbed of lavender and roses and bushes shaped into that of animals of the mystical and natural variety. On the edges of the ring of flowers statues of angels stood holding saucers above their heads, all facing toward the center of the clearing with smiles dimpling their cheeks and flowing dresses draping from their shoulders. There were thirteen total, beginning on one side of her at the entrance to the grove, and ending on the other, completing a full circuit of the space.
Yet it was the centerpiece of the grove that caught her attention most, as well as that of the thirteen statues. An arbor walled in clinging purple clematis with a tree trunk set as the seat within may have been what she saw first, but it was what lay behind that dragged her forward.
Rearing upon a rounded pedestal in a pool of crystalline water, was a glorious Pegasus, her wings spread wide in a show of her exaltation and beauty. Kichi couldn't help but allow her eyes to travel slowly down the magnificent piece of art in admiration, her gaze starting first at the water spilling from a tray balanced on the magical animal's muzzle, the clear liquid splashing over the elegant angles and curvature of her face, neck and chest. Dripping also from her foot long horn and gigantic wingspan were slow rivulets of the same liquid, invisible spouts allowing the sound of droplets meeting the pool of water below to be continuous and pleasant, calming, and as Kichi advanced she noticed for the first time small white birds chirping and playing in the shimmering pool at the mystical creature's feet, the activity giving the scene before her an almost surreal halo, and though the day had long since shifted to night, the fountain still appeared stark white, glowing with a radiance of its own.
Immediately, Kichi regretted not having a pad of paper and pencil, or at the very least a camera, with which she could use to create a solid representation of what she saw. But as she had neither, she allowed herself to burn the image into her memory, and only when she could close her eyes and see it as a reflection of her conscious did she finally admire the arbor placed before it.
Smelling the fragrant clematis clinging to the delicately structured dell, Kichi moved around to the front of it and stood before the tree-trunk seating, admiring the simply built arbor with interest. It seemed quiet inside, dreamlike with the glow of the fountain shining from behind.
Cheerfully, the small space acted as though it were beckoning her, tugging at her with an invisible string attached to the center of her chest. As though of her own accord she obeyed the pull and stepped forward, reaching a hand out to brush the trunk. Instantly electricity seemed to fizz on the tips of her fingers, and she withdrew her hand to gaze at them, almost expecting to see sparks flashing upon her skin. But she was sorely disappointed when her hand remained the same, normal.
Abruptly, she felt a powerful urge to sit, to have the fountain at her back, the ring of statues around her, and the entrance before her. She yearned to be almost suspended in time, her daydreams taking her over. Involuntarily she turned, her heels at the base of the trunk, one hand on the hilt of her sword to keep it from digging into the ground, the other brushing a strand of hair from her face. Slowly, painstakingly, she sat, and the instant the seat of her pants touched the trunk she lurched forward.
It felt as though a bucket of ice water had been flung over her, and though she was dry she knew she was soaked to the skin with it. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably and her arms tucked in, her hands clasped under her chin as she rocked back and forth. She knew she should just get to her feet, and that it would all be over if she did, but her knees were like jelly, her legs the bread. Around her fireflies appeared out of nowhere, but she didn't take notice.
Just as suddenly as it had bent her forward, her spine snapped backwards, flinging her torso over the edge of the tree trunk and into the pool below the rim of the fountain. This time, she really was soaking, but she didn't realize it, acknowledge it. Her head had clipped the bottom of the pool, and on impact Kichi was unable to retain her consciousness as blackness swirled about her vision. She sucked in a final breath, thinking it would be her last, as all control over herself faded into the abyss of unbidden sleep.