cashew (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} cashew) wrote,@ 2005-01-31 12:26:00 |
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Prince Cafe - Chapter 02
Title: The Prince Cafe
Chapter: 02
Fandom: Tenipuri
Pairings: Some GP. Maybe TezuxFuji if you stare hard enough.
Disclaimer: Original series belong to Konami-sensei. I take absolutely zero claim for this.
Idea for this story was inspired by the newest set of clear cards with "The Prince Cafe" theme.
Author's Note: Love me dammit. I'm missing lunch to post this thing up. Also? Feedback earns you good karma.
===
Chapter 02 – The Rumor Spreads
After the disastrous opening the day, the Seigaku Regulars slowly adjusted to the café life and, as a result, were able to avoid large amounts of property damage. Coincidentally, the improved coordination amongst the teammates meant the café was operating on a level that actually resembled sanity.
“Not a single blow up today,” Inui reported to Tezuka, who was once again lounging near the bar and keeping an eye on everyone’s activities.
“Aa.”
Putting away the newly wiped glasses, Inui continued with his verbal observations. “I see that Momo and Kaidoh are doing much better as busboys. Momo hasn’t dropped a single plate yet, Ryuzaki sensei must be happy about that. We haven’t had any incidences from the kitchen either, although that doesn’t seem to matter to Oishi.
“Ne, Tezuka,” Inui suddenly addressed his buchou, “While I see Kikumaru’s coordination have improved in the kitchens, was it really a good idea to separate him from Oishi?”
“Taka-san will take care of Kikumaru.”
“I’m sure. However, that wasn’t what I was worried about. Oishi looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.” Inui nodded towards their jittery receptionist. “His eye has been twitching at 3 second intervals in the last half hour, a 78% increase from yesterday.”
Sure enough, the fukubuchou of Seigaku was currently sporting a spastic facial expression while greeting yet another customer. Neither third year at the bar failed to notice the punctual glances towards the kitchen area.
“Oishi worries too much,” was the calm observation.
“Was his position as receptionist supposed to help him overcome this problem?”
“In theory.”
Tezuka failed to elaborate further and Inui didn’t bother to pursue, as he calculated the probability of Tezuka explaining in greater detail was only 28% and the time would be better spent on collecting data from the other members.
The two third years fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the rare serene atmosphere. Thus, they were a little startled when a high-strung Oishi suddenly graced their presence.
“Tezuka.”
“Oishi, is something the matter?”
“Ah, no.” Oishi shook his head and looked slightly guilty. “There’s a lull in the business and I wanted to use this time to ask you something.”
A quick glance at the front door confirmed that it was indeed cleared, a rare, but unsurprising, development. After the rather cold reception from Echizen and Fuji, most of Seigaku’s female fans had decided it was better to observe from the sidelines, leaving only the most tenacious fans to make up the current customers.
Tezuka waited for Oishi to state his question.
“Tezuka, how will my position as the receptionist help me with training? Wouldn’t it be more reasonable for me to work in the kitchens and develop my coordination with Eiji? We are a doubles team after all.” Oishi’s voice was getting higher with each successive question and he began to wring his hands in agitation.
“Ryuzaki sensei was afraid you will die prematurely from stress.”
Oishi blinked. “Tezuka,” he pointed out timidly, “did you just make a joke?”
Tezuka steadily stared back, indicating that no, this wasn’t a joke. Inui choose this moment to pipe up. “That does sound like something Ryuzaki sensei would say.”
“Go back to your post, Oishi, and let the others worry about their own responsibilities.” It was as much of an assurance as Tezuka was capable of giving. Defeated, Oishi trailed back to the front of the café, still twitching sporadically.
Back at the front desk, Oishi continued to remain unsettled. When they had closed after the first day, he had managed to get the first year trio to give him an account of what had happened in the kitchen. Taka-san’s yelling traveled far enough into the front room that even Oishi’s normal hearing had picked it up. The news of Kikumaru’s antics had left a feel of unease in the fukubuchou, which had grown to a full-blown panic as the quiet wore on. He sincerely hoped that Eiji hasn’t managed to kill Taka-san and the three first year volunteers.
So concerned was he with the possible tragedies in the kitchen – decapitated chefs made a few appearances in some of his scenarios – that he failed to recognize the newest customers and seated them carelessly at one of Fuji’s tables.
*
Fuji Syuusuke was not, as rumor would have one believe, a sadistic or evil person, despite his retaliatory response to the unwanted touches from the flocks of fangirls on the first day. He was also not so stubborn that he hadn’t learned his lesson quickly, recognizing that in the face of Tezuka’s anger and possible threat of Inui juice, he would gladly suffer through his waiter ordeals stoically. There are, however, limits to the amount of distress that he could silence and seeing Mizuki seated at the same table with his beloved younger brother was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Fuji felt the last of his grasp on his temper snap and stalked forth to table 12.
At table 12, the two St. Rudolph tennis players were chattering away, rather Mizuki was once again drowning a fit of narcissistic indulgence and Yuuta bore with it out of a sense of kohai duty, and were unaware of the misfortune waiting for them.
“Like I said, Yuuta, although we didn’t make it to the nationals this year, you’re skills have improved delightfully and I am absolutely convinced that next year, St. Rudolph will trounce its opponents and ride to the top! We’ll…” Mizuki broke off as he suddenly sensed a murderous aura that sent a fearful chill down his spine. Turning, he found himself faced with a pair of azure eyes that pinned him like a butterfly in a display case.
“Ahahah, Fuji-kun,” Mizuki chuckled. Then in a fit of suicidal arrogance, he asked pleasantly, “Are you here to take our order?”
Yuuta gaped at his manager and then tried desperately to distract his brother’s attention to prevent possible homicide. “Aniki! Hi! I heard about your new training from Saeki-san. I guess he wasn’t pulling my leg.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Fuji replied, his eyes still firmly locked on St. Rudolph’s manager. Then he addressed his customer with a frosty voice, “Mizuki-san, how may I take your order?”
Just as Yuuta was about to plead with his brother to please don’t kill Mizuki-san because despite his arrogance and relative incompetence, he was still the best bet St. Rudolph had at the nationals, Echizen popped up interrupting the building tension.
“Fuji-sempai, buchou wants a word with you at the bar.” The boy could not have sounded more apathetic if he tried.
“In a minute, Echizen.”
“Now,” Echizen emphasized with a tug at Fuji’s sleeve. This gained Fuji’s attention and Echizen stared intently, conveying the message that despite wanting to remain far away from the conflict between Fuji and Mizuki, he had been threatened by 200 laps and a full mug of Inui juice if he failed to prevent the death of a customer, as deserving as the death may be.
With one last piercing glare, Fuji relented and nearly stomped back to the bar, possibly for a dressing down from their buchou. Yuuta watched his brother leave feeling guilty and relieved.
“Thank you, Echizen,” he said to the young waiter.
Not bothering to reply, Echizen pulled out his pen and paper pad. “How may I take your order?”
*
Fuji was spared yet another painfully terse conversation with their buchou when the rare peace at the Seigaku Café was broken by a loud crash. At the door of the kitchen, Momoshiro and Kaidoh were once again a tangle of limbs and broken ceramic. They were still cursing each other with rather simple vocabulary, not bothering to make an effort to straighten the mess and that was how Tezuka found them.
“What’s going on here?” Tezuka’s voice silenced the quarreling second years.
“Mamushi crashed into me.” Momoshiro was the first to get his senses back.
“I did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did–”
“Silence!” Tezuka once again stopped the infantile behavior. Then he spotted a familiar shade of forest green. “Echizen? What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to take over for Fuji?”
“Buchou, I don’t think that’s Echizen,” Momoshiro respectfully corrected.
“Hn, you’re that kid who’s always following Akutsu,” was Kaidoh’s input.
Tezuka stared down at the small boy who was now shifting back and forth under the buchou’s intimidating glare. “How did you get back here?”
“Ah, I wanted to see Echizen-kun,” Dan, manager and fanboy, began to explain. “And Akutsu-sempai had over heard from Mizuki-san that Seigaku had a special training program and wanted to see what it was about.”
At this, Tezuka looked towards the front door and sure enough, it seems the entirety of Yamabuki’s tennis club was standing on the other side of the window waiting to be seated. He looked back at the shrimp before him and asked almost wearily, “Are you aware of anyone else who may have known about this?”
“Hai! Mizuki-san said he heard the news from Rokkaku’s Saeki-san. And I saw Yanagi-san from Rikkaidai on my way here. Shinji-san and Kamio-san of Fudomine were walking here with An-chan and…”
Before Dan could continue with his list of people, a familiar chant began to grow outside the café.
“A-to-be! A-to-be!”
Suddenly, a fanfare of trumpets sounded as the glass doors of the café was pushed open by two servants in tuxedos. A red carpet seemed to roll itself into the lobby, followed by two flower girls dressed in white satin sundresses. Each had a basket full of sakura petals that they sprinkled upon the carpet. The chanting had increased to a loud roar.
Then, with the flair and drama that could only be associated with Hyotei’s buchou, Atobe stepped into the shop in a white Armani suit, matching colored Italian leather shoes, and a bright violet cravat. With a snap of his fingers, the chanting silenced as onlookers gaped upon the new arrival.
“Ore-sama no bigi ni yoina!” (*)
Tezuka rolled his eyes and muttered rather fatalistically, “Of course.”
===
(*) – Roughly translate to “Indulge yourself in the beauty of my skill.”
Title: The Prince Cafe
Chapter: 02
Fandom: Tenipuri
Pairings: Some GP. Maybe TezuxFuji if you stare hard enough.
Disclaimer: Original series belong to Konami-sensei. I take absolutely zero claim for this.
Idea for this story was inspired by the newest set of clear cards with "The Prince Cafe" theme.
Author's Note: Love me dammit. I'm missing lunch to post this thing up. Also? Feedback earns you good karma.
===
Chapter 02 – The Rumor Spreads
After the disastrous opening the day, the Seigaku Regulars slowly adjusted to the café life and, as a result, were able to avoid large amounts of property damage. Coincidentally, the improved coordination amongst the teammates meant the café was operating on a level that actually resembled sanity.
“Not a single blow up today,” Inui reported to Tezuka, who was once again lounging near the bar and keeping an eye on everyone’s activities.
“Aa.”
Putting away the newly wiped glasses, Inui continued with his verbal observations. “I see that Momo and Kaidoh are doing much better as busboys. Momo hasn’t dropped a single plate yet, Ryuzaki sensei must be happy about that. We haven’t had any incidences from the kitchen either, although that doesn’t seem to matter to Oishi.
“Ne, Tezuka,” Inui suddenly addressed his buchou, “While I see Kikumaru’s coordination have improved in the kitchens, was it really a good idea to separate him from Oishi?”
“Taka-san will take care of Kikumaru.”
“I’m sure. However, that wasn’t what I was worried about. Oishi looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.” Inui nodded towards their jittery receptionist. “His eye has been twitching at 3 second intervals in the last half hour, a 78% increase from yesterday.”
Sure enough, the fukubuchou of Seigaku was currently sporting a spastic facial expression while greeting yet another customer. Neither third year at the bar failed to notice the punctual glances towards the kitchen area.
“Oishi worries too much,” was the calm observation.
“Was his position as receptionist supposed to help him overcome this problem?”
“In theory.”
Tezuka failed to elaborate further and Inui didn’t bother to pursue, as he calculated the probability of Tezuka explaining in greater detail was only 28% and the time would be better spent on collecting data from the other members.
The two third years fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the rare serene atmosphere. Thus, they were a little startled when a high-strung Oishi suddenly graced their presence.
“Tezuka.”
“Oishi, is something the matter?”
“Ah, no.” Oishi shook his head and looked slightly guilty. “There’s a lull in the business and I wanted to use this time to ask you something.”
A quick glance at the front door confirmed that it was indeed cleared, a rare, but unsurprising, development. After the rather cold reception from Echizen and Fuji, most of Seigaku’s female fans had decided it was better to observe from the sidelines, leaving only the most tenacious fans to make up the current customers.
Tezuka waited for Oishi to state his question.
“Tezuka, how will my position as the receptionist help me with training? Wouldn’t it be more reasonable for me to work in the kitchens and develop my coordination with Eiji? We are a doubles team after all.” Oishi’s voice was getting higher with each successive question and he began to wring his hands in agitation.
“Ryuzaki sensei was afraid you will die prematurely from stress.”
Oishi blinked. “Tezuka,” he pointed out timidly, “did you just make a joke?”
Tezuka steadily stared back, indicating that no, this wasn’t a joke. Inui choose this moment to pipe up. “That does sound like something Ryuzaki sensei would say.”
“Go back to your post, Oishi, and let the others worry about their own responsibilities.” It was as much of an assurance as Tezuka was capable of giving. Defeated, Oishi trailed back to the front of the café, still twitching sporadically.
Back at the front desk, Oishi continued to remain unsettled. When they had closed after the first day, he had managed to get the first year trio to give him an account of what had happened in the kitchen. Taka-san’s yelling traveled far enough into the front room that even Oishi’s normal hearing had picked it up. The news of Kikumaru’s antics had left a feel of unease in the fukubuchou, which had grown to a full-blown panic as the quiet wore on. He sincerely hoped that Eiji hasn’t managed to kill Taka-san and the three first year volunteers.
So concerned was he with the possible tragedies in the kitchen – decapitated chefs made a few appearances in some of his scenarios – that he failed to recognize the newest customers and seated them carelessly at one of Fuji’s tables.
*
Fuji Syuusuke was not, as rumor would have one believe, a sadistic or evil person, despite his retaliatory response to the unwanted touches from the flocks of fangirls on the first day. He was also not so stubborn that he hadn’t learned his lesson quickly, recognizing that in the face of Tezuka’s anger and possible threat of Inui juice, he would gladly suffer through his waiter ordeals stoically. There are, however, limits to the amount of distress that he could silence and seeing Mizuki seated at the same table with his beloved younger brother was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Fuji felt the last of his grasp on his temper snap and stalked forth to table 12.
At table 12, the two St. Rudolph tennis players were chattering away, rather Mizuki was once again drowning a fit of narcissistic indulgence and Yuuta bore with it out of a sense of kohai duty, and were unaware of the misfortune waiting for them.
“Like I said, Yuuta, although we didn’t make it to the nationals this year, you’re skills have improved delightfully and I am absolutely convinced that next year, St. Rudolph will trounce its opponents and ride to the top! We’ll…” Mizuki broke off as he suddenly sensed a murderous aura that sent a fearful chill down his spine. Turning, he found himself faced with a pair of azure eyes that pinned him like a butterfly in a display case.
“Ahahah, Fuji-kun,” Mizuki chuckled. Then in a fit of suicidal arrogance, he asked pleasantly, “Are you here to take our order?”
Yuuta gaped at his manager and then tried desperately to distract his brother’s attention to prevent possible homicide. “Aniki! Hi! I heard about your new training from Saeki-san. I guess he wasn’t pulling my leg.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Fuji replied, his eyes still firmly locked on St. Rudolph’s manager. Then he addressed his customer with a frosty voice, “Mizuki-san, how may I take your order?”
Just as Yuuta was about to plead with his brother to please don’t kill Mizuki-san because despite his arrogance and relative incompetence, he was still the best bet St. Rudolph had at the nationals, Echizen popped up interrupting the building tension.
“Fuji-sempai, buchou wants a word with you at the bar.” The boy could not have sounded more apathetic if he tried.
“In a minute, Echizen.”
“Now,” Echizen emphasized with a tug at Fuji’s sleeve. This gained Fuji’s attention and Echizen stared intently, conveying the message that despite wanting to remain far away from the conflict between Fuji and Mizuki, he had been threatened by 200 laps and a full mug of Inui juice if he failed to prevent the death of a customer, as deserving as the death may be.
With one last piercing glare, Fuji relented and nearly stomped back to the bar, possibly for a dressing down from their buchou. Yuuta watched his brother leave feeling guilty and relieved.
“Thank you, Echizen,” he said to the young waiter.
Not bothering to reply, Echizen pulled out his pen and paper pad. “How may I take your order?”
*
Fuji was spared yet another painfully terse conversation with their buchou when the rare peace at the Seigaku Café was broken by a loud crash. At the door of the kitchen, Momoshiro and Kaidoh were once again a tangle of limbs and broken ceramic. They were still cursing each other with rather simple vocabulary, not bothering to make an effort to straighten the mess and that was how Tezuka found them.
“What’s going on here?” Tezuka’s voice silenced the quarreling second years.
“Mamushi crashed into me.” Momoshiro was the first to get his senses back.
“I did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did–”
“Silence!” Tezuka once again stopped the infantile behavior. Then he spotted a familiar shade of forest green. “Echizen? What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to take over for Fuji?”
“Buchou, I don’t think that’s Echizen,” Momoshiro respectfully corrected.
“Hn, you’re that kid who’s always following Akutsu,” was Kaidoh’s input.
Tezuka stared down at the small boy who was now shifting back and forth under the buchou’s intimidating glare. “How did you get back here?”
“Ah, I wanted to see Echizen-kun,” Dan, manager and fanboy, began to explain. “And Akutsu-sempai had over heard from Mizuki-san that Seigaku had a special training program and wanted to see what it was about.”
At this, Tezuka looked towards the front door and sure enough, it seems the entirety of Yamabuki’s tennis club was standing on the other side of the window waiting to be seated. He looked back at the shrimp before him and asked almost wearily, “Are you aware of anyone else who may have known about this?”
“Hai! Mizuki-san said he heard the news from Rokkaku’s Saeki-san. And I saw Yanagi-san from Rikkaidai on my way here. Shinji-san and Kamio-san of Fudomine were walking here with An-chan and…”
Before Dan could continue with his list of people, a familiar chant began to grow outside the café.
“A-to-be! A-to-be!”
Suddenly, a fanfare of trumpets sounded as the glass doors of the café was pushed open by two servants in tuxedos. A red carpet seemed to roll itself into the lobby, followed by two flower girls dressed in white satin sundresses. Each had a basket full of sakura petals that they sprinkled upon the carpet. The chanting had increased to a loud roar.
Then, with the flair and drama that could only be associated with Hyotei’s buchou, Atobe stepped into the shop in a white Armani suit, matching colored Italian leather shoes, and a bright violet cravat. With a snap of his fingers, the chanting silenced as onlookers gaped upon the new arrival.
“Ore-sama no bigi ni yoina!” (*)
Tezuka rolled his eyes and muttered rather fatalistically, “Of course.”
===
(*) – Roughly translate to “Indulge yourself in the beauty of my skill.”