Title: Richard Gere Called, He Wants His Hair Back.
Summary: Kuranosuke, hippest kid on the block is offered every fashionista's wet dream. "Stylist to the Negishi campaign?" "Sure. You can do everything. Like decide if all those stuffy politician's suits should have shoulder-pads or not." Perhaps not. At least the campaign poster-designer is cute. In an ugly kind of way. AU.
Show/Manga: Kuragehime
Pairing: Tsukimi/Kuranosuke
A/N: So, AU. I kind of love how this show seems to just pay out politics. Makes me giddy.
Chapter 01: Bemoaning
Kuranosuke's father was under the impression that just because a single, attractive, self-assured, talented, social, highly-sought after young man didn't have a job, it kind of made him poor.
Cute, naïve, befuddled old man. Honestly.
Poverty was a result of circumstances, and the last time Kuranosuke checked, he had a pretty damn fine set of circumstances. He had a father, you know, which pretty much sat placidly on number one on the scale of Things You Need Even Though You Don't Want Them list. This was because his father equalled the same position of what had claimed the number one spot on the Things You Need And Will Always Want list, which was his wallet. Succinctly put, dad equalled wallet.
There now. Crises averted.
Now all that was needed was to get the old bugger to open his eyes and see that yes, his son was poor and had no job, and yes it had been hard raising the most gorgeous young man to ever set foot to pavement, but for goodness sake, his son had him, and he had his son. So the bills would always be paid, video games always upgraded, and new fashion lines always perused because he had a father that cared about his welfare.
By George, it almost made him want to burst out singing the national anthem.
What he hadn't anticipated, though, was for his father to be a bit of a heartless old bastard (he of course knew his father was both these things, but had somehow always suspected his own natural charm and beauty strong enough to cancel out the effects). Suffice to say that when the old man turned over and decided to die, he left all the green goodness to his eldest son (responsible, practical, mature, boring) and left an ultimatum for his youngest son:
Get a life.
Or something to that effect. There had been morphine hidden in there somewhere, so he was pretty sure his old man had truly meant to say:
Dear God, you're pretty.
Made more sense that way, anyway.
Now he could have gone all scientific on that one and argued that technically, his life was currently in operation thanks to his actual…living, and pointed out that what had been said was merely a result of societal imprinting where last words are always wholesome and life-altering, but he didn't.
Because the old man had well and truly passed on by then, and to be honest, straight thought was proving to be a little difficult.
So.
A few months pass and he's standing in a dull, grey office with three appalling dull, grey people watching him expectantly, and he can't help but think he hasn't gotten one life for himself to play with, but three.
A/A/N: So here's how it's going to go down from here on in:
Multi-chapter fic with each new chapter 100 words exactly. As you can imagine, this will mean quite a few chapters in order to get through the story. Updated spontaneously but regularly. Reviews loved and cherished, subscribers put upon the Throne of Awesome.
Fic start date and time: 17/01/2014, 11:50am, Australian Eastern Daylight Time