Cosplays That Never Made it out of the Closet.
Never expose Tamaki to rap music. EVER.
What a gorgeous day! The sun was shining with a vengeance, the birds were rapturously off-key, and there weren't any customers to entertain today at the Host Club!
Haruhi couldn't wipe a small, satisfied smile off her face as she trotted cheerfully to the third music room.
Ah, Mondays! The days free of senseless chatter. All the Club ever did on Mondays was plan further cosplays and tease Tamaki, and since Haruhi had no say in planning costumes and staunchly refused to take part in the grotesque pleasure of making Tamaki cry, she usually just sat in a corner and did her homework.
Oh, the bliss of extra homework time! It was all she could do to keep from skipping.
She arrived in front of the grand door, and heaved a contented sigh before yanking it open.
All the six hosts were perched on stools, and at least twelve seamstresses and assistants were scurrying about, half hidden behind huge piles of material.
Crud. She'd forgotten that today was costume-fitting day. That was an unpleasant surprise, but the prospect of getting fitted for another costume wasn't what made Haruhi's face turn a strange shade of blotchy maroon.
What the devil are those idiots wearing?! Is this some sort of sick joke?!Haruhi thought frantically, as she collapsed into a nearby chair.
"Haruhi!" Tamaki spread his arms wide, preening. "How do you like our new look?"
It was like Nightmare from A-Town.
Tamaki was wearing a white baseball cap emblazoned with NY, and an impossibly huge white t-shirt. As if by magic, the waistline of his ginormous jeans hung around his knees without slipping. That same strange brand of sorcery was also what kept his neck erect under the pounds of golden bling he had on.
The rest of them were clad in similarly garish outfits, in various colors. Mori was also sporting a beanie, and the twins had somehow managed to get their auburn hair into cornrows. Kyoya peered at her through his stunna shades, outfitted with prescription lenses. Hunny was nowhere to be seen at all.
"Er, where's Hunny?" Haruhi asked, partly out of fear for her little friend, partly to buy herself some time to think of an excuse, any excuse, to leave ASAP.
"Haru-chan! I'm right here!" A perky little voice rang out, coming from absolutely nowhere.
Haruhi scanned the room, and followed the chipper voice to a wobbling heap of fabric piled onto the smallest stool. About six seamstresses and their assistants were hovering around the pile, pinning this and that, folding here and there, taking this measurement, groaning, ripping out seams and resewing them in again.
"Turn around please," one of the seamstresses requested.
The bundle of fabric moved to respond, then, thrown off balance by the solid gold medallion on his neck, swayed, and plummeted to the ground.
"Tall tees are too tall for Hunny," Mori explained calmly, stating the obvious. He picked up Hunny and set him upright on the stool again. How exactly he knew which end of Hunny was up, we shall never know.
"Haruhi, what do you think of our new look?" Tamaki repeated, taking no notice of Haruhi's ghastly pale face.
"If I have to wear that, I'll die."
Tamaki laughed airily. "I'm glad you like it."
He attempted to twirl around to flaunt his new threads. Unfortunately, when he did this, the material billowed up around him like a parachute, and he did a fantastic triple Lutz off the stool. Even more unfortunately, the parachute-like appearance of Tamaki's outfit did nothing to help him land his Lutz gracefully, and he fell upon his face, catapulting his stool into the air, where it flipped about three or four times, and landed square on his buttocks.
Tamaki giggled like an excited schoolgirl. "Of course, there are some adjustments that must be made, but aren't these outfits fun?"
Ignoring him, Haruhi turned to Kyoya. Speechlessly, she gestured wildly towards the costumes, nothing but abject terror in her eyes.
Kyoya simply shrugged. "Tamaki's idea," he said, by way of explanation, as he tied a royal blue do-rag on his head, making sure that the knot was perfectly symmetrical.
Tamaki nodded vigorously, his bling clanging like discordant church bells. "This is all the rage in America!" he insisted.
"Somehow," Haruhi managed to choke out, "I don't think this is the way you're supposed to wear that."
"Ridiculous," Tamaki replied airily. "See these pictures? That one's Skittles, and this guy's name is Snoopy Kitty." He thrust a pile of magazine clippings under Haruhi's nose.
Kyoya coughed. "I do believe they're Eminem and Snoop Dog."
"No, that's ridiculous. I'm sure their names are Skittles and Snoopy Kitty." Tamaki shrugged. "Strange country, America. Anyway. They're all dressed very baggily. Apparently, this is some sort of American mating ritual in which the man who can get the most cloth on his body without smothering himself wins the beautiful princess!"
Haruhi didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.
"Anyway, we debut these costumes at tomorrow's meeting, so hurry up and get into yours!" Tamaki reached out to gently nudge Haruhi in the right direction.
Mercifully, he never made it that far.
As Tamaki stepped towards Haruhi, he tread on the hem of his pants. Trying frantically to pull them up, he tangled himself in his Sean Jean tent, tripped, and went flying. When the dust cleared, Tamaki's pants were pooled around his ankles, revealing black boxers emblazoned with smoochy lips and the words "Red HAWT" scrawled across the back in red glitter.
With that, (and after reviving Haruhi) all the costumes were promptly donated to charity, and what was bluntly and repeatedly refused by the charities (surprisingly, not many Japanese people have a 900 cm waist) was summarily shredded, cremated, then set adrift at sea.
Except for Kyoya's stunna shades. He'd tucked those into his blazer.
Note to all readers. I've got absolutely nothing against gangsters, but I AM sick and tired of staring at this wankster's butt as he bends down to reach his bottom locker, which happens to be directly underneath mine. The whole Tamaki's pants falling down thing was inspired by a friend of mine who wore baggy pants and had the same thing happen to him. Not even kidding.