A/N: This fic has been driving me insane for the past couple of months, so I decided to yield to temptation (and conqueror procrastination once and for all..) And actually write it. This fic is rather serious (or will be when I'm done with it) and touches subjects that are personally dear to me. Now, your role in this, is to tell me whether I should continue with this monstrosity or just not waste my time (though I would write it anyway, just not post it ^^). Also, this is unedited version, so pardon any spelling and/or grammar mistakes, I promise I'll correct those soon.

Disclaimer: Listen all you lawyers and executive people with a whole lot more money than I, I say this only once (for this fic, anyway) I own nothing of the characters (official,) they belong to the wonderful people of CLAMP, but I do however own the plot and if you dare even so much as to file one law suit, I promise, I'll set my cat on you – she bites =^__^=

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Rhythm Divine

Chapter 1: Charleston

"Please have a seat, Mr. Hiiragizawa."

Came the drone voice of the middle-aged secretary, which just so happen to grate on my nerves and was followed by a careless gesture toward the row of seats along the far wall. She reminded me of a vulture, or some other ugly bird, perched atop her desk and looking down disapprovingly at everyone who happened to catch her eye. Sighing, I complied with the lady's request, moving toward the worn out chairs. I glanced at the interior of the room, unconsciously clutching my brief case closer to my chest. She gave me the feeling of very unpleasant landlady, though why, I had no clue.

Shifting my feet uncomfortably on the cheep linoleum, I glanced at the other occupants of the dingy waiting room. To my right, half-sprawled on a leather upholstered chair, was a skinny man. I noted with a small feeling of distaste the man's yellowed and saggy skin and hat that pooled over his eyes. To my left, a small coffee table littered with outdated magazines and paper cups separated me and a middle-aged woman with a fur collar. She reminded me of an ill-tempered Schnauzer. In fact, if I looked at her from a certain light, I was sure I could see floppy cheeks and chin emerge.

Weird people, I thought with a mental shrug and turned my attention to the screened window. I had met quite a large amount of strange people during my short life. Mostly because the annual juggling of jobs permitted me to see the various odd balls and weirdoes. My current occupation, a writer for the local newspaper, the Gazette du Arles (A/N: not a real newspaper, I think...), was just a half-hearted excuse to meet as many strange people as possible without actually admitting it to anyone. In truth, I thought it was really brave of them, though just a bit outdated, to show off their weirdness; I would never dare to do such a thing.

"Mr. Hiiragizawa?"

The raspy voice of the secretary broke the pattern of my musings and he was forced to turn away from the less than cheery scenery beyond the dusty glass.

"Mr. Strorm will see you now."

I hastily got up from his seat, all too eager to be rid of the less than pleasant company, and headed for my boss' office. As I walked, I could feel the secretary's eyes travelling along my back, and I involuntarily shivered. Sometimes, the stares I got from the middle-aged woman made me feel like a medium-to-well done steak; I did not like the feeling at all. "Perverted old crone" came to my mind then, but I pushed it to the back of his head with an imperceptible snort. I decided to avoid her from thence on.

Once I reached the door to my boss' office, I felt a need to release a breath that somehow managed to jam itself in my throat. Having checked that all my gears in perfect working condition, I knocked on the door, listening carefully for signs of life beyond the heavy wood. No sound. I knocked a couple of times, and even called out to the man supposedly inside, though not loud enough for the people in the waiting room to hear (otherwise, they'd think I was some sort of a mental case). Signing, I was beginning to head back toward the lecherous secretary, when the door swung open.

I glanced around, seeing no one about, and peered in the now exposed room. There was, indeed, nobody there. How could that be, though? Surely invisible bosses did not give out appointments with their employees. My boss had a tendency to be in a bad mood – all the time. I wouldn't be surprised if I suddenly found missiles and grenades were thrown my way. I sighed. I would just have to face the risks and venture into the secret world of my boss ' office. Steeling my nerves (brave in the face of foes), I pushed at the open door and walked in. No daggers went sailing for my head and I made the treacherous path through the office just a bit more relaxed.

After sitting idle in the weather beaten chair (how come my boss' chair was brand spanking new?) for the next ten to fifteen minutes, I began to feel a bit restless. I drummed my fingers irritably on the desk, scanning the small office. The ceiling fan was on – surprising, that, considering it was the middle of November – and was sending the litter on the floor levitating around the room. The house plant that dominated the western corner was overgrown and browning with dehydration. The filing cabinets were left open, the papers spilling in masses. I scrunched my face in disgust; my boss was an anthropomorphized swine.

Speaking of the pig, my boss chose that moment to amble in, finally. He walked with self-imposed importance, I noticed. He opened the dusk caked window and threw his cigarette to the world below, he then dumped a stack of untidy papers into the trash and I suddenly understood why the secretary had a tendency to bite ones head off. Plopping into the overstuffed chair, the swine-man shifted the litter on his desk, looking for his cup of coffee. I waited with barely controlled anticipation as the man took a sip of the dark liquid. I nearly burst at the edges trying to contain my mirth as I saw my boss scrunch up his pudgy face and spit out the stale beverage.

I waited patiently for the man to settle down; it seemed as if Mr. Strorm had a perennial stick up his unmentionable and was trying to get it out with as little movement as possible. My boss continued to fuss over something or other on his desk, decidedly ignoring me. I knew he hated my guts, but believe me, the favour was returned ten folds. I needed the job though, more for the experience than the money.

I wanted to get into politics one day, become an advisor or even minister; change the world perhaps. Politics is a difficult field to get into, however. You have to have an individual philosophy, one by which you made all your decisions, as well as a tremendous amount of guts and ruthlessness. The world of the politicians is very cruel and unscrupulous, you cannot allow anyone to have even one point over you, or you'll be out of the game. You had to keep your secrets and ideas to yourself, even friends were not dependable when politics came about. In the end, even your best friend would betray you, and then you would have nothing but your battered pride. It s a difficult field to choose, but I love the challenge of it and the prospect of having power – the ability to influence and change something.

"Ahem," I "coughed" when my foot was beginning to fall asleep.

My boss looked up from the paper he was holding – upside down! – and glanced from atop his bulbous nose. "Is there anything you want, Hiiragizawa?"

I cringed at the sound; I hate the way he pronounces my name, makes me feel like dirt. Heh. As if he is any better. "Yes. I was told you needed to discuss something with me...?"

He looked at me again, and I could feel the contempt seeping from his buggy eyes. There was no love lost there, and for a second I wondered if I was "let go because of financial difficulties". I erased that thought with a mental shrug; I am his most valuable employee, he would not dare to fire me.

"Oh, yeee–s," the Swine-man said in his slightly nasal voice, purposely elongating the words, as if I was mentally challenged and could not for the life of me comprehend the words. "There is a new assignment for you, a one-on-one case..."

I stopped paying attention after he said those magic words. In truth, the company that sponsored this newspaper was, indeed, in financial trouble. As a result, there was a large amount of layoffs and interviews with the elite came more and more infrequently. I felt as if I was slowly rotting from lack of activity. Sure I had my University thesis, bills, prating friends and family to think about, but sending perfectly skilled journalists to cover the importance of ponds was just ridiculous. Cruel and unusual punishment to those who have and know how to use their intellects, I tell you.

"I realize that you are still young and your level of expertise is...limited..." I tuned into what my boss was saying just in time to hear that last sentiment. I felt blood rush to my ears. Was he referring to me or himself? Hah! What gull he had! "But you are the best fitted for the job."

He then handed me a manila folder from somewhere in the mountain of trash, and I noticed (with no small amount of disgust) smudged food bits and a coffee ring. I glanced at my name written in chicken letters, noting that it still managed to be misspelled even after a year of working for this company. As I skimmed through the contents of the folder, I noticed that my boss was trying to stifle snorts and other unpleasant sounds. It was then that I actually started paying attention to the sheet in my hand. By the time I've read to the last word of the last sentence, I could feel my eyes bulging to almost unnatural proportions.

"Is anything the matter, Hiiragizawa?" Mr. Strorm asked after seeing my initial reaction, his voice seeming too sugary for my taste.

I gritted my teeth and forced out a polite reply, "No, of course not. I'm just a bit confused concerning the assignment."

The said assignment was to interview the belle of Arles and the local celebrity, Daidouji Tomoyo. Like myself, Daidouji-san was Japanese by birthright. She was currently taking the local, and partly national, worlds by a storm. I've heard her being referred to as "Anna Pavlova of the modern and the pop-cultured". Rumours had it that she was ambiguously talented in the visual and performing arts as well as exotically beautiful. I can just imagine what the interview would be like with her. To my experience, people like this Daidouji-san were conceited and quite narcissistic. I hated the thought of it, hated the concept of associating my self with somebody like her. I've met her type; they are the artistic know-it-alls, wearing outdated clothes and trying to revolutionize the world with silly ideologies. Nonsense, really.

"What is so confusing about it? Is it not written out in plain, black and white English?" My boss interrupted my wave of thinking; his comment made me feel stupid and I flushed in anger and subtly bit my lip. "All you have to do is show up for the interview, ask a bunch of nonsense questions, and make the broad appear a national hero or something in the final product."

Besides being a slob, a pig, and a jerk, my boss was also a teensy bit sexist, but I suppressed the urge to smack him upside the head.

I scowled at the manila folder still clutched in my hands. "That's perfectly understandable. I will do my best for this special occasion."

"Won't you, boy, won't you..."

I heard my boss saying quietly before I closed the door on my way out of the cramped office. As I passed the lecherous secretary and the two weirdoes, my mood was beginning to sag (maybe even permanently) and all I wanted was to get out of the stuffy building into the confines of my own tiny apartment. Great, just hunky-dory great! I had boss who was just bouncing up and down with the anticipation of me screwing up so he could finally get rid of me, and a Prima Donna to interview. And as if my day couldn't get any better, the clouds drew together and began spilling their contents onto my head. I glared at the puddles; why weren't there any reliable weathermen these days? How hard was it to tell that it was going to rain that day? Yeesh, I hate Mondays.

(tbc)

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