REWRITE OF THE FIRST CHAPTER. I deleted the original, like a fuckin' idiot. This is GENERALLY chapter 1 of my story! Actually, I DID make some changes from the original, that I think make more sense so, it might even be better now.
Thank you to those who have been reading and reviewing thus far :D Enjoy my first Ouran story, Everything.
Chapter 1: Porcelain
12:00 in the afternoon was still not the right time to wake up Ootori Kyoya.
In fact, anytime of the day, morning afternoon or night was not the appropriate time to wake him up. Nicknamed the Low Blood Pressure Dark lord, (or any other variation of the name) Kyoya rose according to his schedule, and his only. Anybody who wished to wake him up any earlier clearly had a death wish, or simply did not value their arms. To date, only a handful have survived the wrath of Kyoya after a good night's sleep (the ringleader of whom was Tamaki, who was so moronic, he wouldn't have even seen death coming.)
Perhaps all of the above was not quite true, but exaggeration or not, Mei, a maid in the Ootori household, was terrified.
She knocked on the door and politely allowed herself in, as permitted by Yoshi, Kyoya's father. "Kyoya-san?" She beckoned. When she got no response, she called out, "Kyoya-san? It's time to get up."
Mei approached cautiously and reached out a hand to shake him, "Kyoya-san? It's 12:00 in the-"
She stopped dead in her tracks when she heard a rumbling groan. Kyoya had risen from his mattress, growling. She saw his pale, slender frame slouched in the darkness. A flash of glass told her he had put on his glasses.
"Is there a reason for your waking me up, Mei-san?" He had a monstrous expression on his thin, normally handsome features.
"A-a-ano, w-w-well I came b-because, uh-"
"Excuse me?"
"W-well, I was sent to-!"
"State your reason!" he snapped, throwing an angry glance.
"Setsuko-sama is here!" Mei cried out and burst from the room, nearly in tears.
Another innocent escaped with their life...
Kyoya heaved a sigh of exasperation. Really. These conversations would go much more efficiently if people knew how to speak properly. Maybe it's time for new servants. Males, perhaps.
However, it had been no shock that Setsuko had arrived. Her visits had been recurring over the course of a few months. The first couple of times, Kyoya had been suspicious, but after a certain deal of deliberations and several stages of denial, it had become clear. His father was always welcoming her into the Ootori home with open arms and inviting her on little social vacations. Kyoya was certain now. Setsuko was to be very important in his future.
It was fairly predictable, and Kyoya, as the observant boy he was, deduced it easily.
Although, anybody with common-sense could have come to the same conclusion that he had and he was surprised that Yoshio hadn't been more secretive.
He dressed himself, sharp as always, in black dress pants and a smooth white button-up. There were a few tactics that he'd picked up from the Host Club that he found very useful in these situations. For instance, he unbuttoned the top three buttons for decent exposure — risque enough for any high-class girl to believe she is defying her father, because of course, Kyoya knew very well that even the most spoiled, docile caged bird longed for a bit of disorder every now and then.
He emerged from his bedroom and was met with blinding sunlight pouring in from every orifice of the room. Normally, the curtains on his windows were drawn and he would use the ceiling light, but Setsuko always enjoyed the natural sun rays.
The maids greeted him with a, "Good morning, Kyoya-san," and bow, but they were extremely apprehensive — he must have exploded on each of them at one time or another. Serves them right if they still have enough sense to wake me up unnecessarily.
A woman at the end was chattering quietly about what an honour it was to be in the presence of 'Setsuko-sama'.
He peered down over the glass railing to where the sitting area of his room was, on the floor below. There Setsuko was, perched like a lark on a branch on the cushion of his couch, daintily sipping on a glass of tea.
Abukara Setsuko was a natural bred beauty. She was much like Tamaki, only half Japanese and half American. She had long, curly blonde hair (always worn with her bangs clipped back with a silver hair brooch), electrifying blue eyes and peach skin. Setsuko was a small girl, Kyoya had discovered to be around 5'1. In several ways, she reminded him of a china doll. She wore conservative old English dresses and long silky gloves and white socks. She never exposed more than her face and knee.
Additionally, she didn't have a wide variety of facial expressions. In fact, just one: a vague smile, that was only visible in her lips. Her eyebrows did not raise and the corners of her eyes did not crinkle.
Today, she wore a red turtlenecked dress with an off-white ascot puffing up at the neck, with similar coloured gloves and stockings. Her frilly bonnet was folded on her lap. At that moment, he thought she looked especially like a porcelain doll; her eyes were glassy and her body was perfectly motionless — not a stand of hair out of place. Her face looked as though it had been painted on.
"Welcome," he called her attention. "It's been a while."
"Kyoya-san," her tiny, placid voice greeted. "It's so nice to see you.
After he descended the stairs, he bowed low before her and pressed his lips to her silken glove. "And you, Setsuko-san."
"It's too much. You're embarrassing me, Kyoya-san. How many times have I told you that it's quite alright to call me Setsuko?"
"Too many," he said. "My deepest apologies."
So, as routine, they sat on the couch while the maids served up a few courses of tea and crumpets (Setsuko was always fond of English pastries) while they spoke of mind-numbingly dull things. He found that she enjoyed discussing things that adults insisted on.
It was always, "My, what nice weather we're having," or "I've never had this tea before," or "Your house is quite marvelous." Kyoya always engaged her in those conversations to keep her entertained, but his mind was always elsewhere.
Somehow, they had begun talking about him.
"So, I hear you're starting in Ouran Academy in April? How exciting. I would have loved to join you," she said with a faint smile touching her rose lips. "Unfortunately I haven't been to school in a few years. I began my private tutoring at the age of ten."
Kyoya nodded appreciatively. "That's wonderful. All outstanding young ladies should have a tutoring experience tailored for them to become splendid young women. Not that you need the extra help, that is."
She tittered gently as she wrapped her fingers around the handle of her tea cup. "You flatter me too much," she said. "But still. Even if I were to attend Ouran, I imagine it would be quite lonely, as you are older than me."
"Not at all. I would never let you be lonely, Setsuko-san."
A blush rose to her otherwise fair cheeks and she fixed her sapphire eyes to the shag carpet.
Target accomplished, he thought haughtily to himself. Much too easy. However victorious, he couldn't smother the feeling that he had just sealed away his fate and any chance he had for deciding his own future.
Setsuko stayed for the rest of the afternoon and they made pleasant conversation (while Kyoya prayed the Host Club would stay miles away) until evening when Yuuji, Setsuko's father, came to pick her up.
"Kyoya-kun!" He burst when he entered the room. Yuuji was a rawboned man, unlike Yoshi (Kyoya's father). His business suits were nearly always draped on his lanky frame and his scruffy salt-and-pepper hair was always disheveled, flopping in peculiar shape. Sometimes, Yuuji arrived at the Ootori mainhouse looking refined and orderly, however, more often than not, he looked slovenly and frankly, neurotic. Nevertheless, he radiated a boisterous friendliness, not unlike Suoh Tamaki.
"Yuuji-san, it's nice to see you. You look well," Kyoya lied.
Yuuji cracked a grin. "I've come to pick up Setsuko, but forgive me, will you allow me to have a visit with your father? I haven't seen him in a while."
Kyoya knew quite well that this was a lie. He and his father had been best friends since elementary school and Yuuji made biweekly visits. This time, Kyoya had a nagging suspicion that they weren't having an innocent conversation.
I suppose the arrangement I've been anticipating is about to be organized, he thought. Otherwise, Yuuji would have never come personally pick Setsuko up when he has all those personal city-cars at his disposal.
"Of course. Take your time, Yuuji-san. Setsuko-san and I were having a nice conversation, anyway."
The aged man's eyes flickered with delight as his small, off-focus pupils shifted between them. "I see. Excellent. I'll be seeing you then."
When he left, he and Setsuko remained in silence. While waiting, they didn't engage in any more conversation. Instead, they enjoyed the aromas of the oolong tea they were being served while Setsuko periodically said something dreamily and wispy, "Ne, Kyoya-san, I really quite like your room," to which he would reply, "Hmm."
Finally, after the clock ticked by twenty long minutes, Yuuji strolled back into the room and he and Setsuko bid Kyoya a polite farewell.
He figured he would be called for a conference with his father soon, so he sat down with a newspaper. Precisely thirty-two minutes later, a messenger told him that his father had summoned him.
He was waiting for him, back toward the door, gazing out of his enormous window. Yoshio was a gaunt man with high cheek bones and a well groomed moustache which made him look distinguished. He was quite the dapper man with his sharp Versace glasses and Armani business suits for every occasion; he was so conservative that, in fact, even Kyoya couldn't recall the last time he had seen him without a jacket and tie. Although he had an air of youth around him, there were deep creases in his face like waterless riverbeds, and there were few streaks of silver in his tidy jet black hair.
In every conceivable way, Yoshio was the precise portrait of a cutthroat business man, with the personality to match.
When he turned away from the window, his face was severe as always and he curtly said to Kyoya, "Sit now."
His son strode across the vast room. Yoshio's office seemed to match his atmosphere of the room. He had rich mauve curtains and royal green carpets; the furniture was oak, pricy and lavish. However, the majority of the office was open space. It intimidated Kyoya.
They both sat across from each other. The enervated desk lamp's golden light was not enough to illuminate his father's face which was shady, yet firm, firm like never before.
"Yuuji tells me that you and Setsuko are getting along famously," he said. "Would you agree?"
"Yes, father." Kyoya assumed his role as oblivious. He'll ask me now. I'm sure of it.
Yoshio didn't twitch. "Excellent. In that case, Yuuji has requested that you take advantage of your good relationship with Setsuko to fulfill a certain role," he paused. "Her chaperone."
Now, he was genuinely surprised. "A chaperone, father?"
Without uttering another word, he opened a filing cabinet and browsed through several well-organized files until he drew out one small leather booklet, which was itself very tattered, and it had jagged pieces of paper spilling out of it. He slid it toward Kyoya.
Kyoya tentatively began to riffle through the pages.
All were newspaper and magazine clippings, all surrounding the Abukara family. However, most articles were themed around the 'fabulous, scandalous life of Abukara Setsuko.'
He'd seen these stories. It was uncommon to find anybody who hadn't.
Abukara Enterprises, once prosperous, untroubled but most of all, scandal-inconspicuous, got into hot-water when the media caught wind of the declaration of dissolution of Yuuji's marriage. He was married to an American woman named Maria approximately 2 years before Setsuko's birth. They divorced when she was 12.
There were three important details that had surfaced during the divorce and custody battle that landed them in a tough position: the first being that the reason for the divorce was Yuuji's infidelity. He had allegedly cheated several times throughout the marriage, with several different women.
The second detail was that Maria (ironically a church activist) was battling with alcoholism. Sources say that they had spotted her in disguise, intoxicated in red light district bars.
The third detail was the most publicized. In the furious custody battle, it was revealed that Setsuko was not Maria's child, but the product of an affair that Yuuji had. There had been a mad scramble for the real birth mother, and a surge of American women coming forth and claiming that Setsuko was their daughter.
In the end, unsurprisingly, they turned out to be con-artists attempting to reap benefits.
When the divorce was finalized, the judge saw Maria to be unfit of having a child and Setsuko had ended up with Yuuji, staying in his estate and after about 6 months, the scrutiny withered and died, as did most gossip stories, however, Abukara Enterprises struggled to rebound for the blunder and never really did fully recover.
Setsuko got a fair amount of publicity in all the commotion. Since she was a young child, people considered her a fashion icon as she made many appearances to celebrity events since the age of 5. She was a famous idol in both America and Japan, as she was a mixture. Once the divorce initialized, she gained the pity of her countrymen in both locations.
Unfortunately, about 2 years later, rumors began to fly about citizens spotting Setsuko on the streets of New York. Some claimed to have seen her at raves and parties, but no reliable sources.
A photo taken by some sleaze paparazzo was released in a popular American magazine that showed a blonde girl, around Setsuko's size and stature, mashed up against a large teenage boy in a leather jacket. The faces and details were blurred, and so, there was no solid evidence.
The media was divided into two opinions about her, but the predominant fraction believed she was guilty. Despite Abukara's efforts, these beliefs couldn't be quashed.
Soon enough, the press had painted an image of their family as a dysfunctional wreck; Yuuji as an enemy to women, Maria as a raging alcoholic and Setsuko as a rebel and a delinquent. Business had gone sour for the Enterprise.
All of this information raced through his mind as he thumbed through each clipping.
He had already known these details, as he researched Setsuko thoroughly a month ago as a preemptive strike.
Still, he was doubtful that these rumors were true.
He had never considered gossip and celebrity magazines to be pieces of non-fiction. They were always tampered with opinions and embellishments, so much that the real story was somehow lost in all the malicious interpretation.
As for as he was concerned, Setsuko, in person, was well-spoken and good-mannered and how he thought about it, it all seemed very fantasy. As he stared down at the photo of the sloppy girl, it was impossible to match it up with the porcelain doll that he knew.
In any case, he couldn't see what a rebellious daughter and a failed marriage had to do with a company, besides emotional instability and impaired judgement. As far as he knew, Yuuji kept his head throughout the ordeal.
"Abukara Enterprises is plummeting. Since the divorce, deals have been in a steady decline. The unwanted attention from the media is affecting sales at all locations. However unusual, the fickle minds of the people still refuse to discard the rumors," Yoshio said. "The scrutiny of the divorce was inevitable but the leakage of Setsuko's," his face twitched slightly with contempt. "nightly activities was unforeseen."
Yoshio shifted in his chair, leaning forward to stare Kyoya in the face. "Naturally, opportunity is shutting it's doors on Yuuji; a man who cannot take control of his family cannot be expected to control his empire."
I get it... control the daughter, make the media forgive Abukara, he resolved. A stroke a genius.
"Seeing as Ootori Group has remained in the media's good graces, Yuuji and I have made the arrangement. You will be Setsuko's chaperone as she enters Ouran Academy in April. For maximum security, Setsuko will be placed in the mainhouse, effective immediately. Her room will be next to yours, no locks and no sound-proofing to insure that you have the upperhand."
They treat her like a menace. She's miniature... Kyoya nodded. "I understand, father." Even as he said he understood, a question still remained, What does the Ootori have to gain? What's the benefit for us?
Yoshio tented his fingers and continued to bore into his son with his piercing eyes. "You are expected to guide her, forcibly if necessary, away from all trouble. Trouble: defined as boys, parties, alcohol and boys. Furthermore, Yuuji insists that I stress that should you be the trouble that finds her, you will be severely punished. Is that clear?"
"Of course, father."
"I don't doubt you." His solid stare never wavered. "Setsuko has been described by past tutors and nannies as immensely burdensome. Most never lasted much more than 6 months. I must urge that you don't underestimate this challenge, I cannot stress this enough. Approach with all the friendliness of companion and all the strictness of a prison warden. She must be your first priority. Do you understand?"
Kyoya, although still baffled by how a little girl could be treated like a prison convict, bowed his head. "Yes. It will be of utmost importance."
Yoshio's ironclad expression still never faltered. He hadn't spoken but instead, paced back to his windowsill and fixed his eyes on the Ootori estate. Kyoya rose from his seat and made for the door when he heard his father utter, "Be cautious. Remember, do not underestimate her."
He smirked. "Yes, father."