Interludes from the Third Music Room
Oruan High School Host Club Drabbles

Interlude 1: Austeneque
Rating: K+
Theme: Jane Austen
Disclaimer: Don't own it even if I wished I did.
Author's Note: This is my first Ouran High School Host Club fic. I can't come up with anything substantial that would make a remotely interesting story, but I do have these little flashes make excellent one-shots. Basically no more than one to two pages each. I've decided upon a collection of ten drabbles that will make up the interludes, usually revolving around the theme of the day for the Host Club (like this one is about Jane Austen).

That said, the theme of this fic was inspired by, well, Jane Austen. I've re-read Pride & Prejudice, not to mention re-watched the entire BBC mini-series (woo, Colin Firth!). Then I starting thinking about it, and it seemed like something the Host Club would do.


Haruhi stared through the open French doors that lead into the Third Music Room. How was it that she never managed to see these sorts of things coming? Tamaki pranced around in breeches, a frock coat, waistcoat and necktie, with a shiny black top hat settled neatly upon his blond head. He stuffed one hand into his waistcoat (which had an elegant design of black and periwinkle blue paisley that managed to set off his eyes) Napoleon style, before he stood like said Emperor in the middle of the room, surveying his "empire."

Each of the remaining Host Club members also wore Regency era clothing. Long trousers or breeches, waistcoats, frock coats, ties that looked like a hideous dickey . . . in all Haruhi wasn't extremely impressed. "Um, Tamaki-senpai? Why the clothes?"

"Why? Why? My dear daughter! As a girl I thought you would know why!" Tamaki explained in exasperation as he glided over to her and grabbed one of her hands, bringing it to his mouth in a swift kiss. "Jane Austen is all the rage with girls – rich and common alike! Isn't it obvious! I'm Mr. Darcy!"

Haruhi tilted her head to one side and studied her senior. "I dunno, you seem more like a Mr. Collins to me."

Struck by the bluntness of her words, Tamaki retreated to his corner, his hat settled in front of him, steadily growing mushrooms.

"Ha-ru-hi!" the twins chimed, flanking her in their matching costumes, ignoring their lord's pouting.

"Look what we have for you!" Kaoru said, holding up a gold and black waistcoat.

"Made specially for you!" Hikaru said, smiling widely. The matching frock coat was elegant and it was cut and tailored for her petite frame.

Kyoya was busy scribbling notes at the small tea table. Smokey grays and blacks were his colors, cool just like his personality. And if Haruhi didn't know any better, Kyoya would represent Mr. Darcy in the first volume of Austen's classic. "Kyoya-senpai, why exactly are we doing this?"

Not even bothering to look up from his notes (scribbled, she now noticed, with an elegantly plumed quill complete with a matching period ink jar onto rolls of parchment), Kyoya answered her matter-of-factly. "It is just as Tamaki-kun said. There has been a recent interest in Jane Austen and therefore in order to make the girls happy we are doing a Regency day. We shall all behave like the men from Austen's novels."

"So then I suppose that Hikaru and Kaoru are Wickham and Willoughby?"

"That's correct!" the twins chimed, smiling roguishly.

"And Mori-senpai must be Col. Brandon."

Indeed, Mori was dressed in a bright red coat, though much more elaborate than anything every worn by British Army officers. The starched white trousers and the black boots gleamed in the sunlight that was pouring in from the window he stood next to.

"Haru-chan! Guess who I am! Guess! Guess!"

Honey-senpai bounded up in a pink embellished waistcoat with a beautiful starched white silk shirt beneath it. He had removed his frock coat, and it was lying across the back of one of the many sofas in the room. Studying him for a moment, Haruhi was stumped. "I don't know."

"I'm Mr. George Knightly!"


With a giggle, Honey grinned at her. "Because I'm the oldest!"

Haruhi remained silent as Honey-senpai pranced away. That's right, even though he looked about ten years old, Honey was the oldest member of the club, and likewise, George Knightly from Emma was one of the oldest heroes. Realizing that the other members had been assigned characters, she was then only one left.

"Ano, Tamaki-senpai," she started slowly. "Who am I supposed to be?"

Tamaki brightened when she addressed him, standing with a flourish and draping his arm around her narrow shoulders. "Why, my dearest daughter, you get to pick! I am Mr. Darcy, even if you say otherwise."

"Kyoya-senpai is better suited to be Mr. Darcy," Haruhi voiced this time, causing Tamaki's face fall momentarily before he shook it off and regained his happy countenance.

"Nonsense, Haruhi-chan!" Tamaki tut-tutted. "Anyway, you may choose whom you'd like to be."

With a sigh, Haruhi wracked her brain for a suitable Austen hero to claim. "I suppose the last one really worth claiming is Edward Ferrars."

"Excellent choice," Kyoya said, quickly handing her a bible.

Staring at it, Haruhi bit her lip. "Um, why do I need this, senpai?"

With a wicked grin, Kyoya answered, "You're going to be a vicar, remember? Hikaru, Kaoru, the change of costume, please."

Nodding, Hikaru and Kaoru produced a plain frock coat and black breeches with black stockings. The waistcoat was a simple one of black cotton. The whole outfit was bland by comparison to what everyone else was wearing.

"Wait a minute, Kyoya-senpai!" Haruhi exclaimed, put out by the fact that her beautiful costume had been shoved back into its box. "Why the costume changes?"

Pushing his glasses up, Kyoya smiled. "You're going to be a vicar, remember."


Okay, the reason why I had Tamaki stand like Napoleon is because I was taking a cheap shot at his French heritage. I swear, no more mocking Tamaki's French-ness, even if it would be fun or even funny.

Anyway, I truly appreciate reviews, particularly constructive ones that tell what people liked or didn't like about the story. I like reviews that help me improve as a writer, and flames will be laughed at and thrown away.