A.N.: Authoress's comments are at the end of the chapter. The usual warnings apply: not my characters, not my native language, unbetaed, yada yada. Oh, and this is rated M, by the way. If you're a young and impressionable lad or narrow-minded adult, don't read this. Unless you want to be traumatized – then by all means, proceed.
Of All the Unlikely Things to Happen
Sometimes, Zell Dincht regretted telling his friends he was gay.
Suddenly, it became all oh-so-convenient to have Zell around. It was like he had become everyone's favorite, all-purpose gay guy. Need someone to help Selphie with Christmas decorations? Ask Zell. He's gay, so he's good with this stuff. Feeling down? Speak to Zell – gay people are great listeners. He'll know for sure what to say to cheer you up. Wanna go clubbing? Take Zell along – all gay men love dancing so he's bound to want to spend his Friday night listening to too loud electro music with a bunch of thrashing tipsy girls. Need a Seed to bodyguard some politician's wife on a shopping frenzy in Deling? Zell's your man – he's gay, so he won't mind. Hell, he'll probably enjoy himself too. Don't gay people love shopping?
Gotta send undercover Seeds to a high-class male host club in Esthar? Pick Zell. He's gay, so he'll obviously be thrilled to spend the night mooning over fancy men in expensive designer clothes.
Only he was not.
Zell could honestly say he had never, not even in his wildest dreams, imagined he could despise a place as much as he despised the Madarake Club. There was not a single redeeming feature to the establishment. He hated absolutely everything about it, from its snobbish white couches and crystal furniture to its annoying background music and detestable clients – especially its clients, in fact. The Club's clientele seemed to consist almost exclusively of affected, whiny, spoiled middle-aged women. Cross that: they were drinking affected, whiny, spoiled middle-aged women. And there were. Just. Everywhere. The club was filled to the brim with them, the very air so stuffy with their heavy perfumes and crystalline laughs Zell almost felt like retching.
The hosts were barely any better. As far as Zell could tell, their job was to listen to their clients' ramblings with complacent smiles, spew compliments when prompted and liberally pour alcohol into their glasses when they were not looking. Nothing to recommend them, really. And they weren't even all that handsome either. A couple of them were cute, sure, but they were far too sleek for Zell's tastes. Besides, they were so androgynous-looking that next to them, Squall would have passed for a burly hunk. He got the feeling that if he tried to hold onto one, it would snap in two. Or complain it broke a nail or something.
The martial artist let out a sigh of frustration a toyed nervously with his too-tight collar. No doubts, this mission was rapidly turning into the lousiest assignment he's even been given. It even beat that one time he had to escort the spoiled four-year old twin daughters of a rich Galbadian Industrial and ended up with puke all over his clothes. And as if things couldn't get any worse, they had been in there for nearly two hours and their target was still nowhere to be seen.
This was ridiculous. He was looking ridiculous, for a start. For the thousandth time, he wondered what on Earth he was doing there. Why couldn't Squall have sent some other woman here instead? He couldn't believe the Garden was so short on women they couldn't spare another one. And he totally didn't buy Squall's bullshit about this being a high-level, top-priority mission, or Xu's ramble about how the three of them were already a proved team. This fancy bar-thing – this so-called host club or whatnot – was not his thing and he stood out like a sore thumb. At least Selphie and Quistis seemed to be somewhat in their element and they looked the part with their glittering dresses, fancy hairstyles and over-the-top make-up. He was a tattooed man in a gray suit with a pink tie in a sea of women – how could he not stand out?
They could have at least picked up Irvine instead. The man was practically a living host himself, he'd have fit in all right. He wouldn't have looked ridiculous in a suit, and he would have had no trouble sitting back for hours on in a sea of coy women, drinking expensive alcohol and pretending to be enjoying himself. Hell, the guy would have probably actually enjoyed himself! As things were, Zell had a hard time just staying still and refraining from squirming in his seat. He was a man of action, for Hyne's sake! But ever since he told his friends he was homosexual, it was like they all assumed he'd suddenly become good at all those things gay guys were supposed to be good at – like saying the right things at the right moment, being patient, picking up clothes, stuff like that. Quistis said it was nothing personal, that he kept on getting those ridiculous missions because the war was over and their clients didn't need hired muscles as much anymore. Zell thought that was total bullshit, because if it were the case, they would have at least picked up the most competent person to complete this team, which was very obviously Irvine, not him. But nooooo, of course, they didn't give Irvine the damned mission. They put their service gay guy on the task. Again.
If Zell had known it would come to this, he would have stayed in the damned closet.
"Zell, could you at least try to stop scowling?" Quistis said under her breath as she took a sip of her outrageously expensive red wine glass. "You're drawing attention on us."
"We've been here forever. Why isn't she here already?"
"She's bound to show up pretty soon," Selphie said, her voice surprisingly mission-like considering the girlish smile she was wearing. "According to the file, she's one of the regular patrons. She probably has her own assigned host, so we can expect her to turn in shortly before they do, around 11p.m." Zell blinked.
"Woah, hang on. If hosts show up at eleven o'clock, who are these guys then? Walk-ons?"
Selphie dismissed the comment with a wave of her petite hand. "These are just decorative. They're sort of the opening act; the real attraction is the senior hosts." Zell's blank look got him a genuine smile from the brunette. "They're the most popular hosts of the moment, really. The ones patrons are ready to spend a fortune on."
"There she is," Quistis cut them softly, "seven o'clock, the purple dress."
Reaching out for his glass, Zell subtly eyed their target, a middle-aged woman flanked by two grim-faced bodyguards. A pedantic groom was already guiding her toward one of the secluded love seats on the left side of the room while her guards awkwardly remained by the entrance. Her gorillas were obviously not allowed to follow their mistress into the patron lounge. At least, that was good news.
Discreetly, the three Seeds watched as one of the junior hosts appeared out of nowhere to entertain her. She rewarded his efforts with a polite smile, but kept on glancing at the massive velvet curtains on the other end of the room. Zell figured she was waiting for her informant, but when the lights suddenly got a little brighter and every patrons' head turned toward the curtains, he understood she'd been simply waiting for her favorite to show up and felt rather let down.
As on cue, the senior hosts started pouring out of the curtains, the whole room shuddering and buzzing with excitement at the sight of them. Zell eyed them curiously. There were about twenty of them, all of whom were wearing tailored black suits with one single, pearly-white rose in their front pocket. They all had stunning good looks, if you went for that sort of thing – Zell personally found them too spruce and oily for his tastes. He could easily see what these women saw in these pretty men and their disarmingly charming manner, though. Obviously, they were luxury objects. Expensive fantasy material for women who already had everything money could buy. In a way it made sense, but that thought did little to improve the martial artist's appreciation for the hosting business in general.
The senior hosts quickly started to work their magic and soon enough, alcohol was flowing freely and the room was filled with even more high-pitched laughers and coy giggles. Their target was joined by a tall, long-faced man who chat her into buying an expensive bottle of champagne in no time.
And then strictly nothing happened.
Zell had never been simultaneously this bored and edgy in all his life. For hours, it went on and on; there seemed to be no reason why it would ever stop. Now and then, a senior host would get up and visit another group of patrons, a junior host rapidly filling the void to make sure alcohol kept flowing and the bitching and giggling went on – a bit like a twisted version of the musical chairs game. A junior host would occasionally show up at their table to make sure they had everything they needed, but since they weren't regulars and hardly drank anything, they never stayed very long. More alcohol to be served and tips to be made elsewhere, Zell assumed. It was sickening.
"I can't imagine her meeting her contact here," Quistis whispered after several long hours of watch. "And she doesn't seem close to be leaving this love seat any time soon."
"Perhaps she'll meet her informant in the lady's room," Selphie suggested without conviction.
"Yeah, and I bet the host is their middle man," Zell added as the middle-aged woman let out a very loud drunken giggle. "Look, it's past 3 a.m. and she's smashed. Whoever her informant is, obviously she's not going to be meeting him tonight. Let's just cut our losses and get out of here already."
Quistis sighed. "Perhaps. But we have to stay to make sure." Zell groaned loudly, which earned him a pointed, disapproving look from his ex-instructor.
"Damn it, why can't Estharian clubs close down at 3 a.m., like everywhere else? They think they're too good to respect conventions or what?"
"Zell..."
Selphie suddenly gasped. "Oh! It can't be!"
"What?"
Gaping, the young woman seemed too shocked for words. "I don't believe it! It's- it's...! Look! It's him! At four o'clock!"
Puzzled, Zell eyed the crowd curiously. "Who? The lanky brunette?"
"Behind them, dummy! The couch on the right!"
Stretching his neck, Zell gazed at the couch in question, which was occupied by three women in their prime and a tall, broad-chested man with short blond hair. Zell was about to ask what was the big deal when the host tilted his head and he got a sight of his face. Right then, his jaw hit the floor.
Twenty feet away from them, in an expensive senior host suit, was sitting the one and only Seifer Almasy.
Beside him, Zell thought he heard Quistis gasp, but he hardly took notice. He was wearing his hair a tad longer than he had the last they had met, but it was Seifer Almasy alright. With his dark blond hair, his ocean-coloured eyes, his chiseled facial features and that exceptionally manly built of his that set him apart most men (even among professional mercenaries and trained soldiers), Seifer Almasy afterall wasn't the kind of guy that you could easily mistake for somebody else.
Yet, it couldn't be him. Zell Dincht had known him most of his life and he could feel it in every fiber of his body – this wasn't Seifer Almasy. This handsome man, with his smooth manners and suave smile simply couldn't be his rash childhood bully. Zell stared in utter disbelief as a tipsy women bend forward to mutter something in the man's ear and he started to chuckle –chuckle!- like a high class gentleman. Seifer Almasy, chuckling?! Had they landed in an alternative dimension or what? The martial artist felt it could start raining chocobos any minute – hell, it would make more sense to him than a nice, chuckling Seifer!
It went like those kind of things usually do in sappy movies and chick lit books. As he poured another drink, Seifer happened to look up and saw them. For a fraction of a second, his face went blank and he froze up like a deer in the headlights. Zell could have sworn that, even more briefly, there was a flicker of genuine panic in his eyes. But the next thing he knew, the blonde had regained his charming host persona as if nothing happened at all – and it all happened so fast his clients probably hadn't even noticed a thing. But Zell had. However briefly, there had been recognition in those sea-green eyes, and the way he was now very carefully avoiding eye contact with them was tale-telling. No doubt about it, it was Seifer Almasy all right.
Still, Zell simply couldn't wrap his head around the idea that the arrogant, self-centered bully was standing right there, acting like a charming gentleman to the most irritating lot of spoiled women there was. The very idea was so far-fetched it seemed to come right out of a Galbadian burlesque movie. To think they had looked for him everywhere, only to run into him in an Estharian host club, of all places!
Squall was going to have an aneurysm when he heard the news.
"What's he doing here?" Selphie whispered. "I mean, I figured he was hiding away in an abandoned shack in Centra, or in a grotto in Trabia, or-or living on a boat off Fisherman's Horizon...! But here...? In Esthar, working in a host club?!"
"In a way, it makes perfect sense," Quistis murmured back, a pensive frown marring her pretty features. "Esthar is a pretty big city, easy to get lost into. Most people here wouldn't know him personally. And none of us would have ever thought to look for him here, of all places."
Zell was almost too shocked for words. Well, almost.
"Whaaat? This is making sense to you? We're talkin' about Seifer Almasy here! Seifer, the biggest self-minded, arrogant prick in modern history, flattering rich old hags for a living? How's that even possible? Nobody changes that much in five years!"
As to prove him wrong, Seifer let out another discreet laugh, looking dazzlingly handsome and suave. Zell frowned, feeling oddly uneasy about the scene unraveling in front of him. It just didn't seem right. Seifer not constantly acting like a dick was like Selphie refusing to go to a party. Or Squall not wearing leather. Or Irvine being prude. You get the general idea. It was plain weird.
Before Zell could get used to the idea however, lights dimmed down. One after the other, the senior hosts walked back to the curtains they had come out of, smiling flirtingly to the crowd as they disappeared behind the thick velvet walls. The room started buzzing anew with excitement. As music suddenly died down and spotlights lit the curtains, Zell had a feeling he wasn't going to like what would come next.
"Oh, dear God!" Selphie gasped, "Don't tell me they're...!"
The curtains parted to reveal a small stage, on which all senior hosts were lined up, holding a microphone and smiling seductively at the crowd. Overjoyed, the patrons started applauding and cheering on them loudly, nearly drowning the sound of the very cheesy karaoke music that started coming out of the speakers. Seifer was the fourth one from the left, standing out from the rest of the well-groomed men for he was a few inches taller and fairly manlier than most of them – it was truly a wonder they hadn't spotted him before. The ex-knight was smiling warmly at the room, but even from afar the martial artist could tell his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. Zell gaped blankly as the horror of what was about to come slowly dawned on him.
That was when the singing began.
They all sang in turn, smiling coyly and flirting shamelessly with the crowd. None of them were very good signers – some of them barely sang on tune, but the patrons didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, they were drinking in the men's voices with obvious bliss. By the time Seifer's surprisingly deep and melodic voice came out of the speakers, Zell was so flabbergasted a mini-van could have fit into his mouth. When he thought it couldn't get any weirder, music picked up some rhythm and all the hosts started singing in chorus while executing the lamest, gayest choreography he'd ever seen. Thrilled, the captivated audience cheered, asking for more.
Zell Dincht had gone through a great deal of strange things in his short life. He'd fought fearsome monsters, hosted GFs in his head, battled against a crazy sorceress from the future, gone through time compression, let Selphie drive his car and even had a rabid herd of chocobo chase him across Windhill because of Irvine once, but nothing compared to this. Nothing prepared him for this.
But this was not the worse part. The worse part was that despite the bad singing and cheesy choreography and whatnot, Zell could not for the life of him peel his eyes from Seifer.
A.N.: I know, I'm supposed to be working on my other fics... But, you know. One morning, I was having a perfectly normal breakfast like any good, normal citizen, when the plotbunny unexpectedly dropped by, uninvited, as per usual. So I started laughing like a loon alone in my kitchen at the thought of what would happen if Seifer Almasy worked in a Japanese-style male host club. And ever since, I haven't been able to get the ridiculous idea out of my head, so I decided to write it down as a oneshot to appease the Gods of Author's blank. Alas, in the meanwhile, the plotbunny visited me again – it's become a bad habit of late, really – and in the end the short oneshot I had foreseen turned into this monstrous, multi-chapter story.
Enjoy and leave comments, please.
The usual warnings apply: not my characters, not my native language, unbetaed, yada yada. Oh, and this is rated M, by the way. If you're young and impressionable or narrow-minded, don't read this. Unless you want to be traumatized – then proceed. If it's already too late, then it's your own damned fault for not heeding my first warning at the top of the chapter.