Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: Scherzkeks, Mei Vir D. Ripper, Marse Speaks, Black Maya, this pen is red, Death's Servant, phireye, and Ria Lee. I suck at updating, but I hafta say: Your enthusiasm (and outrage) was very encouraging.
Time to get down to business.
Chapter Two
18 : 45 : 26 : A Fairytale All Wrong
"Good evening, Miss Hotaru Imai."
The elegant young lady of seventeen gave a slight nod to the uniformed young man who welcomed her as soon as she had stepped out of the carriage. She watched him dip into a courteous bow, his flawless composure an odd contrast to the tension that seemed to characterize the entire Academy all day.
"Welcome to Crimson Palace," he greeted pleasantly, a light smile forming his lips. "I am Akira Tsukishiro, and I am the maître d' for this evening. Please come with me," he said, gesturing for her to follow him. He waved a hand to his assistants, as if firing unspoken orders, before turning on his heel and leading her away.
Hotaru silently followed the young man, not missing his meticulousness in that swift movement. Around them, the other uniformed staff promptly moved, some looking rather tense and anxious, but all seeming to know their place and what was expected of them. Not too far off, a lavish, imposing edifice stood proud, as if rivaling the moonlight in its radiance.
Crimson Palace was nothing like any ordinary restaurant, and so far it was living up to its reputation of being only the best. Built and managed by the school's administrators, it was the embodiment of sophistication and glamour which could be found only in a fine institution such as Alice Academy. It aimed (and, as it boasted, always succeeded) to satisfy the students' sense of entitlement as alices, and gave them an opportunity to enjoy an exquisite dinner as one they might have beyond the walls of the school.
Its name, too, was conjured to befit its extravagance. Crimson Palace was, in all appearances, a palace inside the Academy, although much smaller at a length of twenty-nine meters and a width of eighteen. It stood only thirteen meters tall, although the domed chhatris, pinnacles and pavilions created the illusion of making it appear much taller.
It was situated at the far end of the Central Town, where it occupied a generous expanse of the section reserved for the high-end shops and restaurants. Its architectural style was the 19th century Indo-Saracenic; a striking combination of Gothic, Hindu and Muslim aesthetic. In the evening, it was adorned by lights that only emphasized its grandeur, sitting atop an elevated landmass that had been refined for its purposes. Its surrounding landscape was a beautiful garden enclosed by a manmade lake, the wide stone bridges leading to its tall doors draped with wild roses.
Crimson Palace was built on a dream, a wish, a fairytale; a magnificent mimicry of a castle that boasted not of happy endings, but the most delightful entrées from across all continents to its patrons. It was expensive, exclusive, and over the top; overseen by the best culinary alices themselves. Its frequent guests included only the Top Star students, the teaching faculty and the administrators, and sometimes the wealthy visitors that stepped inside the Academy during the Alice Festival.
The young woman glanced over her shoulder as she walked behind the maître d', catching sight of the stagecoach as it slowly took its leave. The secret behind the success of Crimson Palace was partly its ability to draw on the sense of taste and sight, with its outrageous penchant for excess; but for most part it was its effortless aptitude to inspire the feelings, those clandestine wishes for one's own fairytale and happy ending. It was expensive, exclusive and larger than life because it was an embodiment of fantasy into reality, from the crimson roses that were strewn all over the garden down to the horse-drawn carriage ride that it traditionally offered to its patrons from their dormitories to the Palace itself – something that even Hotaru would admit to having enjoyed.
The young genius followed the carriage with her gaze as it disappeared behind the tall rose bushes near the spiked iron fences, inwardly disappointed that the ride had barely lasted half an hour. With a little frown at her childish thoughts, she let her gaze stray to the splendid setting before her, impressed by how far the owner of Crimson Palace had taken the whole fairytale theme to make profits. Hotaru had never been into that sort of delusion, and she never would have thought that something so silly could generate so much money –
Hotaru stopped, realizing what she was looking at. Standing outside the sealed main gates encircling the parameters was a small crowd of young women in pretty dresses. From where she stood, Hotaru could see how most of them were craning their necks to take a closer look at the building that housed the restaurant itself. Next to them, several uniformed guards stood shaking their heads, as if explaining that they were not allowed inside.
"To be able to dine in Crimson Palace strictly requires a reservation at least one week prior to the desired date."
Hotaru turned her head in the direction of the voice, realizing that she had halted her tracks halfway through the stone bridge. She found the young maître d' walking back to where she was, taking his place beside her as he followed her gaze.
"I apologize, Miss Imai. Mr. Hyuuga himself asked me to make sure that your dinner here tonight would be kept top secret," the young man said, giving her an apologetic smile. "I'm uncertain as to how the word got out, but I hope they don't bother you. To compensate, I've already seen to it that we'll keep the Black Cat's – " at this he gave an awkward cough " – admirers from disrupting this evening."
"I understand," she simply said, the odd tone of her voice making it seem like it was the most trivial thing she had ever heard all day. She knew for a fact that Natsume had chosen Crimson Palace not only because of what it offered as a restaurant, but even more so for the security that it was able to guarantee. Everyone in the school knew how important this particular evening was for the two most esteemed students of the Academy, and the young man had been prudent enough to ensure that their dinner would not be intruded on by his crazy admirers.
It was a thoughtful gesture; one that even the young woman could not dispute. She was not Hotaru Imai if she would be bothered by such trifling matters like fangirls, but it was at least nice to know that Natsume had enough sense to do something about them.
Of course, it wasn't as if she was going to ever tell him that.
Hotaru glanced over to the young women once more, feeling almost impressed when she counted only seven of them. Over a year ago, the number of girls that hounded the Black Cat was nearly a hundred percent of the school's female population, and to find that they had been reduced to this number in such a short span of time was definitely remarkable.
The thought of Natsume Hyuuga losing his fangirls so easily was an idea that no one had ever considered because of its inherent preposterousness. It was something simply too unfathomable for anyone to even consider – or at least, before the staggering announcement that Hotaru Imai herself had made exactly one year ago.
"My Last Dance will be Natsume Hyuuga."
It was simplest of all words; strung so casually and uttered in the coldest, most unfeeling fashion. And yet that single statement was easily one of the most potent there could be, because it was spoken by the most unlikely person about the most unlikely suitor under the most unlikely circumstances.
It had been quite a spectacle; something that rendered the school utterly silent in the next several minutes that followed. Even now, Hotaru could still remember how ashen the fangirls' faces had been when they realized that it was their precious Natsume whom she had chosen to be her Last Dance – the person whom she had chosen to be with.
One a year ago, on the night that concluded the Alice Festival, Hotaru Imai left the entire Alice Academy in a state of disequilibrium when she staked her claim on its infamous Black Cat.
Hotaru turned away from the sight dismissively, knowing that the fangirls were the least of her worries, especially this evening. They did not concern her, and they never would, because even the girls who worshippedthe ground that Natsume Hyuuga walked on knew better than to provoke Hotaru Imai's wrath.
Still, Hotaru had to admit that knowing that even Natsume's fangirls were terrified of her was funny, in a morbid sort of way.
It was barely two minutes later when Hotaru and the maître d' finally reached the massive mahogany double doors that led to the interior of the renowned restaurant. A pair of uniformed young men stood on either side of the doorway, curtsying elaborately as soon as they caught sight of her.
"Good evening, Miss Hotaru Imai."
The young woman walked past them with a slight nod, following the maître d' as he led her further into the room. Hotaru barely had the time to take in the details of the small foyer before they reached the end of it: a tall, sculpted archway. It stood far smaller than the main double doors, the passageway underneath it enshrouded in absolute darkness. It seemed to stretch on for miles, like a gateway to a forbidden territory.
Akira Tsukishiro decisively halted his tracks in front of it, turning to Hotaru with a polite smile. "Beyond this is the main dining hall of Crimson Palace. Shall we, Miss Imai?"
Hotaru nodded. "All right," she said, letting the young man guide her into the passageway. She took several steps forward and into the darkness, feeling the heels of her shoes dig into the surprisingly soft carpeting underneath. It was barely a heartbeat later when the shadows were suddenly lifted, the gothic wall scones automatically coming to life as soon as it recognized their presence.
The two of them treaded the long passage in silence, the wall scones lighting up as they approach and quickly dying out once they had passed. The young invention genius noted all of this with a detached curiosity, taking in the gothic architecture of the interior. Tall, full-length paintings adorned the walls, the scarlet wallpaper accented by the dim chandeliers that were hanging from the high ceiling.
Despite her wealth, Hotaru had never been to Crimson Palace prior to this evening, always having chosen to conduct most of her business deals in the less conspicuous cocktail lounges within the area. Crimson Palace had always held little appeal to her. It was simply too loud, too bold, and too flashy for her taste. It was a little too unreal, and too much like a fantasy; and the young woman preferred discussing business in a setting she considered closer to reality, and much more strict and reserve and stern.
But then again, this was her anniversary, and there was always an exception to the rule.
"There is, however, a catch."
Hotaru halted her tracks, having reached the end of the passage. Standing before her was the spacious main floor of the dining hall, its wallpaper of scarlet accented by hints of gold. The ceiling was much higher than it had been in the foyer, draped with velvet, billowing tapestry of crimson. Several pieces of old-fashioned furniture were sprawled across the room, the detailed pillars setting up much of the ambiance. Eight linen-covered tables for two were situated on either left and right, and that evening all of them were occupied.
In the middle of the room in front of these tables sat a makeshift of a stage, where an orchestra was playing a mellifluous music box version of a popular ballad. Facing it was an expansive dance floor in a shade of russet, with the pattern of a single, vintage flower. A massive, brass crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, the faint lighting giving the hall a romantic, antiquated atmosphere.
"Mr. Hyuuga made a reservation for a table in the balcony," the maître d' said, leading her away from the passage and into the main hall. It took her a moment to realize that they were heading to a Y-shaped grand staircase seated opposite the orchestra, at the other end of the room. Its banisters were a shade of gold, contrasting the red carpet draped on it. A smaller chandelier hung above the intermediate landing, effectively drawing attention to the enormous painting of Crimson Palace at the center of it.
"When did he make it?" she asked, starting her ascent without much care for the eyes that were suddenly fixated on her. She had been under much thorough scrutiny before; and looks of jealous and envy and respect were things she had been accustomed to for far much longer than anyone might think.
Akira Tsukishiro gave a smile. "Exactly two months ago, Miss Imai," he said, looking impressed despite himself.
Hotaru chose not to comment on this until they reached the balcony. Once more, silence seemed to engulf the place as the rest of the restaurant patrons looked over to the young woman with the maître d'. Everyone had known she would be there that evening, although this prior knowledge seemed to have done nothing to overwhelm them any less.
That, or they didn't think she and Natsume would actually go on a date.
It wasn't longer afterwards that Hotaru finally caught sight of the table reserved for her and Natsume. It was unsurprisingly draped with a tablecloth of crimson and white, illuminated by the ornamented scarlet candles on top of it. It was situated next to the railing of the balcony, giving her a magnificent view of the orchestra and the very heart of the dining hall below. The table setting was simple but elegant, and the number of silverware and glassware indicated that a ten-course meal was going to be served that evening.
It was also unsurprisingly empty, the seat meant for Natsume Hyuuga sitting there cold and vacant.
Hotaru stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, her pretty face remaining cool and impassive despite the sight.
" – Miss Imai?"
Hotaru flicked her gaze to the young man behind her. "There doesn't seem to be a lot of people here tonight," she told him instead, very aware of the fact that the tables nearby were equally empty.
Akira's smile widened, as if he had expected the remark. "Mr. Hyuuga reserved this entire wing for the two of you."
Even Hotaru had to pause at this, the faintest expression of surprise crossing her face as she lifted an eyebrow. "He did?" she asked. Natsume hadn't mentioned anything like that to her the last time they talked.
"He did," Akira said with a nod, pulling a chair for her. "He was very particular about the date and the time, and he made a very early reservation to make sure that he would get this one."
Hotaru took her place behind the table quietly, watching the young man gesture behind her. It turned out to be another waiter, carrying a tray of food.
"Good evening, Miss Hotaru Imai. Our head chef wishes to pay you his compliments with our special amuse-bouche for the evening," the man said, giving an elaborate swish of his hand as he put down the small plate, "potato nests with crab and apple toppings."
Hotaru kept a polite expression of detachment on her face as she pretended to listen to the man go into the details of the food, murmuring her thanks when he came to a finish and took his leave. The maître d' likewise soon excused himself, saying that he would check on something in the kitchen.
The young woman leaned back against the soft seat, letting her shoulders fall when she was finally alone. Speaking with people had never been one of the things she enjoyed, especially if it included a lot of pleasantries. Her thoughts were almost always about her business and invention, and while too much of it could be exhausting, it was something that she would much rather endure than idle chitchat.
Hotaru glance down to where the main dining hall was, watching several pairs of lovers dance to the soft ballad that the orchestra was playing. Even from where she was, the young woman could see how uncaring of the world they were, as if this moment was the only one that existed, everything else be damned.
Just like a fairytale, she thought, finding her own gaze momentarily transfixed on them.
Crimson Palace was the finest in all of Alice Academy, and it surprised no one in the school to find out that this was where Hotaru Imai and Natsume Hyuuga were going to have their anniversary dinner that evening. It was a castle ripped out of a perfect fairytale, and it was only fitting that the young woman so admired and respected by the school would celebrate a very important evening in such a place.
Hotaru deserved only the best, and it was a fact that most of the female population were wishing to be in her place. To have secured the most sought-after young man in the school as hers and celebrate a romantic evening with him in the Crimson Palace was, as the cliché went, 'like a fairytale come true' – in the truest sense of the words.
Except that Hotaru Imai did not believe in fairytales, and she only found the whole analogy terribly uncreative.
The young woman let her gaze stray to the rest of the hall, a small smirk falling on her lips. The fusion of crimson and gold in this odd setting of vintage and antiquity was so impressively done that it would have been easy to simply close her eyes and relish this make-believe – if she hadn't been Hotaru Imai.
When Hotaru was much younger, her mother would often read to her the stories of princes and princesses. They were called fairytales, and for some reason that her young mind could not understand, most of the children her age found them absolutely fascinating.
Hotaru's own interest in them quickly faded when she realized that most of them were a redundant retelling of girls who couldn't do anything for themselves until their fairy godmothers and charming princes entered the picture. It took only a wave of a wand, a murmur of a spell, and sometimes an enchanted kiss; and somehow things would get better and the girls would get their happy ever after.
Hotaru was intelligent, and even then she knew that all of it was nothing but pretend. At six years old, while she was fleeing with her parents from the men who wanted to take her away to Alice Academy, she understood that fairytales existed only in books; that there were no fairy godmothers; and that she had to grow up fast and learn how to fight and do things for herself.
At ten years old, when a classmate had been kidnapped and her very own best friend had foolishly risked her life to save him, Hotaru realized that hearts of gold were far too cliché and overrated; that jealousy was often more than enough reason for some people to kill; and that she had to be strong to protect the ones who were precious to her.
At thirteen, when her own best friend called the person she liked to be her Last Dance, Hotaru realized that she was in the wrong fairytale; that this particular story already had a precious heroine whom everyone loved; and that she would make a very poor evil witch, because Hotaru loved her best friend too much, and the she could not allow Mikan to know how much it broke her heart to see the brunette with the blue-eyed golden prince that the young genius had always secretly adored.
At fifteen, when she closed her first business dealing with one of the top corporations in the country, Hotaru realized that that she would never be the fragile pretty princess that everyone expected girls to be; that she was too shrewd and too intelligent to bother playing nice and sweet; and that she would never hesitate to crush her competition under her heels.
At fifteen, when Natsume confessed to her four months before her sixteenth birthday, Hotaru knew for sure that her story was not a fairytale. After all, wasn't the beast supposed to fall in love with Beauty? Whichever fairytale told of a beast falling in love with another beast?
Hotaru lifted her gaze to the maître d', whom she didn't realize had already returned. "You said Natsume was very particular about the time," she said, watching him place down a glass of fresh fruit juice on the table. "What time did he reserve for tonight?"
The young man smiled. "The reservation is for seven o'clock, but he told us a few days ago that you would probably arrive a little early," he said. He gestured to his left, and Hotaru found herself looking at another uniformed man holding a big bouquet of fresh white roses. "He told us to give you this."
Hotaru narrowed her eyes, but accepted the bouquet nonetheless. Barely paying attention to the flowers, she quickly took the card attached to it, lifting an eyebrow when she read what was on it. It was only two words, expected and bland, and in Natsume's own careless handwriting.
Happy anniversary.
Hotaru stared at the card quietly, her expression ever so unchanging. Without breathing a word, she handed it back to the maître d', together with the bouquet. "Such poor taste."
There was a brief pause before the young man could respond, awkwardly holding the bouquet of roses in his hands. "…poor taste?" he asked, the sound of his voice making it clear that he thought he had heard wrong. Poor taste was probably a phrase that he didn't hear often, especially since he was working for the fancy Crimson Palace.
"Hyuuga letting me wait," Hotaru said, letting her voice come out cold and blank. She watched the understanding dawn on the face of the young man, and she picked up her fork, poking the delicious amuse-bouche on her plate. "Have those roses sent to my lab. Ring the third bell so someone will pick it up."
"O-Of course, Miss Imai," Akira said, for the first time that evening looking very unsure what to do. He approached the man who had originally been holding the roses to give his orders. He was back shortly after, his face appearing just a bit ashen as he looked at her.
Hotaru met his gaze, chewing slowly on her food as she decided that it was worth its ridiculous price. Damn Hyuuga for knowing her favorite food and using it against her. "You're quite a brave man, aren't you, Akira Tsukishiro?" she asked him.
At this the young man blinked, his mask of perfect composure seeming to crack just a little more. He looked at her uncertainly, seeming surprised that she was still speaking to him, before giving a small smile that was almost impressive with its calm. "I'm sorry, Miss Imai?"
Hotaru reached for her drink with a shrug. "Either that, or you're a fool," she told him, watching his expression twist further with confusion, clearly lost in her wordplay. "You know the conditions of tonight's dinner, don't you?"
This time Akira visibly swallowed. Of course he did. "Y-Yes, Miss Imai. I believe I do."
She stirred her drink with the straw, her dark violet eyes flashing with the same ruthlessness with which she closed a business deal. "And yet you still chose to serve as the maître d' tonight," she murmured. "On the evening of my anniversary with Natsume Hyuuga."
The young man froze, the implication of her words seeming to hit him like a ton of bricks. "T-That's right."
Hotaru lifted her glass, as if offering a toast. "Let's hope you don't regret that soon, Mr. Maître d'."
…to be continued…
One of the reasons for this late update is because I had to research about architectural styles of palaces. Crimson Palace and its details were a delight to write, and I hope you were able to imagine how fabulous it is.
Questions? I know you have a heap, so leave a (lengthy) review! :)
Hilaire
05.31.12