(A/N) I am clichéd.

Disclaimer: This protects us not-so-humble MarySue-ers. Or at least, this I assume.

I like songs about drifters, books about the same

They both seem to make me feel a little less insane.

Symphony Of A Hostage

Katja Goldsmith was confused, more confused than she had ever been before in her life. Hand her a Tchaikovsky to sight-read, no problem, ask her to write a three hundred page thesis on watermelons in two days, sure, but stick her in a foreign country…now there was slight issue.

She had mulled over the situation at hand for the entire nine-hour flight from Germany to Japan, and had gotten nowhere, only earning herself a migraine and a nasty case of jetlag. It hadn't seemed real, and not until had she stepped off the plane and into the airport did Katja realize that this was no dream. The signs surrounding her were, in fact, written in Japanese and the majority of the people around her were speaking Japanese. Every so often, she heard a snippet of something she could understand, whether it was in German or English, but everything else was lost on her.

Which Katja found extremely perplexing, considering she was visiting Japan as a foreign exchange student to a private academy.

Had the situation been a normal one, had she had proper notice of the event, Katja would have at least attempted to learn some of the language of the country she was going to be living in for the next six to twelve months. But only three days prior had she received a call from the dean of her school, breathlessly explaining that she had been selected to attend Ouran High School as an exchange student. Free of charge. She had, of course, accepted, out of shock more than anything else, and had barely the time to pack every item of clothing she owned into her trunk, let alone realize that she didn't know anything about Japan.

And now, standing blinking in the late afternoon sun that was shining through the glass ceiling of the airport lobby, Katja was beginning to wish more and more that she had simply stayed in bed that morning. She leaned on the tall plastic case beside her, the one that held her favorite instrument and her personal forte, a cello. Fingers toying with the sticky tags from customs at the handle, Katja recalled the curious conversation she had had with a representative from the Japanese high school over the phone just the day before she had left Germany. The man had specifically told her to bring her instrument with her to Japan, and it was this that she found this rather odd.

It wasn't as though Katja wasn't used to carting the heavy thing around, when she wasn't attending school; she was playing at some gala or another, her cello at her side. But that wasn't why she had come to Japan. She had come as a foreign exchange student, for a reason Katja didn't know.

And this was why Katja Goldsmith was confused. Confused because she was filling a position that was normally, or so she had thought, was given to students who actively study the language of the country in which they will be visiting, and confused because she had been expressly told to bring an item which had nothing to do with this. So to Katja, it was no surprise that, considering all the information, or lack therefore, she was beginning to feel as though she was being set up.

All the thinking she had been doing had aggravated her migraine, and Katja was feeling slightly dizzy. Shifting over, she collapsed in the very fashion she had been told not to behave in (in other words, like a lazy teenager) onto the top of her oversize trunk, only to sit up straighter when she heard the lid give an audible crack. A woman who had been standing besides her took a quick step to the right, creating a barrier of space between herself and Katja, despite the packed lobby.

"Happy Christmas to you, too, ma'am," thought Katja irately, rubbing her thumbs at her temples. Just another reason for her to want to jump on the next flight back to Germany. It was Christmas Eve, and she was without her family, without her traditions, without…anything. Did Japanese people even celebrate Christmas?

Yep, this was going to be a fabulous trip.

"Where is that damn escort…isn't that how these things usually work, they send an escort to pick you up? Or do they expect me to get there on my own." Just as confirmation, Katja glanced up, scanning the crowd of guides holding cardboard cards, for one with her name. Upon not finding one, she shrugged and slumped back against the wall behind her. "Well if they can't bother to come get me, I'm guess I'm not going anywhere. Even if I could call a cab, I don't have any…what was it…yen, on me. Doubt the driver would like it if I paid him in Euro."

Closing her eyes, Katja smiled as she imagined the expression of a Japanese cab driver as she handed him or her a wad of Euros. Enjoying the scene playing out inside her skull, Katja did not see the man clad in a rather expensive suit pushing his way through the sea of people towards her. She didn't even open her eyes until she felt the hand on her shoulder, and she couldn't hold back a shriek of surprise as she jumped.

"Ah, Herr, es tut mir Leid!" Katja apologized quickly when she noticed the Ouran crest on a pin in the man's lapel. Upon seeing the man's creased brow, she tried again in English, getting swiftly to her feet. "I'm sorry, sir, you…surprised me."

"It is I who should be apologizing, miss Goldsmith," said the man in accented German, soothing Katja slightly. "There was a mix up with concerning your methods of transportation."

Katja blanched. "Am I in the wrong country or something?"

The man chuckled at this and shook his head, snapping his fingers. Three bellmen appeared at his side out of seemingly nowhere, and he nodded towards Katja. She stepped hurriedly out of the way as the men made to pick up her trunk, grasping the handles at either end.

"Danke, es ist schwer," she said without thinking as the two bellmen heaved the trunk away and the third tipped the plastic case back onto its wheels. "Vorsichtig, bitte – mein neuer Cello ist in diesem Fall." One of the men shot her a strange look and Katja slapped a hand over her mouth. This was going to be a real problem if she could barely remember to speak the English she knew to the people most likely to understand it.

"No, thankfully you're not," the man went on finally, taking a very surprised Katja by the arm and pulling her rather than leading her after the bellmen carrying her luggage through the lobby doors onto the busy street outside. "A private jet had been arranged to pick you up at the last moment, but when our representative tried to contact you to make the arrangements, you had already left for the airport. Through a horrendous series of events, our representative misplaced your flight information and the airline in Germany was in disarray over a mechanical problem on the prime minister of South Korea's plane. Fortunately, however, we were still able to track you down."

This all sounded very unfortunate to Katja, but all the same, her cheeks were burning pink in embarrassment at all the trouble she had caused. "I am very sorry, sir – it's a long drive from my home to the airport, so I had to leave very early."

"Yes, another thing our representative did not take into consideration," replied the man mildly. Katja bit back the smile that was threatening to sneak across her lips.

"Forgive me for saying so, sir, but it doesn't sound as though you like your representative very much."

"Very thankfully, he isn't my representative," replied the man with a small smile. "By the way, you may call me Nakano."

Katja had been about to thank the man when he came to a stop at the curb before a shining black limousine and the words halted halfway to her mouth. Another man in a suit, whom Katja could only assume was the driver, appeared and opened the car door, which Katja slid under after a nod from Nakano. He entered just as Katja was strapping herself into a seat belt and the door closed behind him. Thinking about how a town car would have been far more practical, Katja's stomach lurched as the limousine took off with surprising speed.

Nakano said nothing to Katja during the ride to Ouran High School, although she didn't think she could have held a conversation anyway; she was feeling quite ill. It was a long drive, and while Katja's brains were still slightly scrambled, she guessed that it took the limousine about three and a half hours to reach the school. But she was glad, seeing as how it gave her an opportunity to try and sleep off some of her jetlag, and Katja was thoroughly disappointed when Nakano touched her shoulder and told her that they had arrived.

Stumbling from the car, Katja would have fallen flat on her face if one of the bellmen hadn't caught her by the elbow in time. After thanking the man profusely in English, Katja scolded herself mentally for making an idiot out of herself for the second time that day. She was going to have to behave in a slightly more civilized manner if she ever were to have a hope of surviving at Ouran High School, which looked more like the mansion of an emperor rather than a school. Katja gaped openly at the huge expanse before her, and she felt her heart in her throat. This was clearly going to be a problem.

"Something wrong?" inquired Nakano, speaking German once more, as he stared down at her shocked expression. Katja, closing her mouth quickly, shook her head.

"No, it's just that my dean forgot to tell me that this was a school for the children of presidents."

Nakano chuckled again, making Katja feel as though she were the butt of some great joke. "In a sense, yes. This is a school for the super rich. But surely you have experience in dealing with wealthy people, someone who does what you do."

Katja shrugged uncertainly. "Not really. I usually just shake their hands before my father sweeps me away to play the next piece."

"Well in that case, you are in for quite a surprise."

Again, just as Katja had been about to ask him what exactly that meant, she found herself being swept away towards the school by another man in a suit identical to Nakano's, and Nakano himself turning away to supervise the moving of her luggage. The man grasping her arm walked at an alarmingly fast pace, and Katja almost had to run to keep up. Upon reaching the door to the largest building, after nearly tripping several times on the marble stairs, Katja found herself being passed off to another suited man.

Feeling insultingly like the baton in a relay, Katja barely had time to take in the splendor of the hall in which she was being rushed through. The man who's company she was in now, instead of passing her off to another runner, left her in front of a large set of doors, turning the handles for her and saying something in Japanese she had no hope of understanding before turning and dashing back the way they had come. He was out of sight before Katja even had the chance to call after him.

"Well that was rather rude," thought Katja, tilting her head to the side only to remember the throb inside of her skull. "I'm rushed here in a limousine without explanation and then thirty seconds after I get here, I'm forced to run ten miles. I thought they would be all about manners here. Why did I agree to this again? I want to go home, I really, really, want to go-"

"Goldsmith Katja? Please, come in," a voice called in English from behind the doors before her. Katja, forgetting where she was, started for a moment and then pushed open one of the doors, stepping inside and touching the door closed behind her again. A breath of awe slipped past her lips as her eyes took in the pure elegance of the room she was standing in.

The room more than made up for the entrance hall she had missed earlier, from the sparkling marble floor to the imperial rugs that lay across it, from the mahogany wood tables to the gold inlay swirling the ceiling around the crystal chandelier, Katja drank it all in like a man who has not had any water for days.

"I'm glad to see you've arrived, miss Goldsmith," said the same voice, and Katja's gaze searched for the source until it landed on a old, rather stern looking man with wire rim glasses sitting behind another splendid desk with a crystal top. His suit was midnight black, pressed and fitted, the same shade as his hair, which was arranged tastefully around his lined face. Katja didn't need someone to tell her that this was the director of Ouran High School to be able to figure it out.

"Although he might very well think himself a king, by the look of his office," Katja thought, stepping forwards at the man's beckoning. The director gestured to a chair in front of his desk, intentionally set to the side as to make it easier for him to pierce the occupant with his sharp glare.

But his dark eyes were not narrowed, as they usually were, when Katja had settled herself upon the surprising hard cushion, after awkwardly curtsying.

"It is to my understanding that you speak English, do you not, miss Goldsmith?" asked the director once she had gathered the courage to stare at his folded hands. While he was rather forward, Katja thought it would have been rude to look him directly in the face.

"I do, sir," replied Katja in English, for the first time since she had arrived in Japan. Her mind switched gears rapidly, summoning the rules of English grammar to the surface. It was time to put that supposedly brilliant mind of hers to work. "Since I was ten."

The director nodded unassumingly. "And how old are you now?"

"Sixteen, sir."

Another nod. "I'll bet you're wondering why you're here," said the director, a slightly amused note in his voice. Katja caught onto it at once. She really was some joke to these people! She quickly noted that this shouldn't have surprised her.

"Yes, sir; I did find it rather strange that I should be allowed to attend your gorgeous school as a student in an exchange program, seeing as I speak no Japanese," Katja said, slightly quicker than she knew she should have, but she was eager to finally hear the answer. She even chanced a glance at the director's face, and he did not object.

The excitement must have shown in her already bright blue eyes, because the corners of the director's mouth curved upwards and his gaze softened further. Katja supposed it would have made anyone else look friendly, but it only made the director look creepier.

"I'm surprised, Katja, I would have thought that a gifted young woman such as yourself would have guessed the answer to that almost immediately."

"Probably, sir, but it's not my mind that's gifted, just my fingers," she said, lifting her hands and splaying her fingers as if to offer some authenticity to her answer. Indeed, if the director had bothered to look closer, he would have seen that the skin at the tips of her fingers was thick and dull, the result of pressing and plucking at stringed instruments since she had been a toddler. But the director's smile only widened and he shook his head slightly.

"Your hands are beautiful, certainly, and that is why you are here," he responded. "You see, Katja, this school has a refined reputation for culture and the arts and it is because of this that we hold an annual musical festival in May. The festival is one of our grandest and important figures from all different fields within Japan, and some outside, attend. It was through our vast network of communications with influential members of the musical world across the globe that we at Ouran were able to discover your young talent. However, since you reside in Germany, it was most convenient for us to choose you for admittance to our exchange program, seeing as how your academics are also of Ouran quality."

Katja nodded, swallowing this new information, but a mountain of questions soon formed inside her mind, each jostling to be asked first. "I understand, sir, but where and why do I come into the picture?" she said slowly and carefully. "Surely your school has plenty of students more talented than I to play at this festival."

At this, the director sighed unexpectedly. It wasn't an irritated sound; it was far more forlorn, as though the director had been reminded of something he didn't particularly want to think about. "Unfortunately, we do not. In previous years, Ouran has had a large number of students with great musical talent and interest, but recently, that talent has, quite literally, graduated from our midst. As we say, the Age of the Protégé is now dead."

Katja would have laughed at this ridiculous phrase had the director not been so serious. But in an instant he brightened and suddenly grabbed her hand and held it between his, as if he was afraid she would disappear if he didn't.

"But you, Katja Goldsmith, are our saving grace. Our new protégée centerpiece, our lovely little freshman exchange from Germany. You'll also bring a new international flair to the festival, which will no doubt impress our foreign friends."

Forcing a smile, Katja nodded in an excited manner as the director continued to talk, his face far happier than before, even though she had tugged her hand free of his grasp. She should have known this had been coming. In fact, Katja was aghast at herself for not realizing that an event such as this was going to take place. It wasn't the first time her talent had been exploited in such a way, but in all honestly, there were many worse things than having to live and play for some fancy school. It wasn't as though she wasn't getting her fair share; May was three months away, and that meant she would be living in completely free luxury and enjoying some of the finest education available. Not to mention that the international schooling would look fantastic on her already impressive résumé.

"…We have a room for you prepared in the school's dormitories, and a class schedule will be explained to you tomorrow," said the director, just as Katja began listening his talk once more. "Also, I understand, you are a person of considerable wealth yourself, but have never been taught the proper ways of a lady of Ouran caliber. I will see to it that you are taught on how to become just that, by some of our students who have a large amount of expertise in that matter. You needn't worry about a thing, miss Goldsmith."

"Mister Director, sir," said Katja tentively, wary of interrupting him when he was clearly on a roll, "I have one question, sir, if I may?"

"Of course."

"As I said before, sir, I don't know or understand any Japanese. At all. Isn't it going to be a problem for me to attend class in a Japanese school when I speak only German and English…sir?"

"Worry not, Katja, worry not," the director replied, shaking his finger as though she were a small child. "Plenty of our students are quite fluent in English, as well as our staff. I'm sure you'll encounter no problems."

Although Katja had a million questions she was bursting to ask, she felt as though she had reached her limit and that continuing would borer on the vulgar. That coupled with the fact that the phone on the desk of the director had begun to ring shrilly, caused Katja to close her mouth and lapse into silence. The director answered the phone and began speaking in quick Japanese to the person on the either end, leaving Katja to wonder how the Japanese could understand anything anyone else was saying when they talked so fast, and why the director of Ouran High didn't have a receptionist.

"Maybe he's too important to receive calls directly," she mused, sneaking a side-glance at the wrinkles creasing the director's brow. "He doesn't exactly seem like the director of a school such as Ouran. But then again, I don't exactly seem like someone who would be considered, what was it again, the 'new protégée centerpiece'…?"

The sound of the director setting the phone back into the receiver averted Katja's attention from her own thoughts and back onto the director himself. He smiled again and rose from his desk chair, and feeling that it was what he expected her to do, Katja followed suit.

"Your belongings have been taken to your room and I have arranged for someone to assist you in unpacking and organizing, and to also explain your new Ouran schedule in detail," the director explained, looking more like a kindly father than an intimidating director of a prestigious school. "My son has also offered to show you to your room; you'll find he has quite the liking for persons as sweet as yourself."

"Oh no, sir, I could never expect the son of the director to show me to my room like a…a servant!" interjected Katja, forgetting all manner and waving her hands. "That's quite-"

"Too late," said the director, displaying his own palms and smirking. Katja blanched. The director was smirking at her! What kind of sick, practical joke was this? Was someone about to jump out and yell "Surprise!" before loading her a plane back to Germany? Not that she would have minded, actually….

A knock at the door caused Katja to jump, for the third time that day, and upon the director's response, it opened and a boy barely older than Katja herself stuck his blond head into the room.

"Hello, father," said the boy excitedly, entering the room fully. In truth, he was more of a young man than a boy, and when he appeared suddenly near Katja, he towered a full foot over her.

"That's Director to you!" said the director; his voice hard. The blond boy/young man flinched dramatically and Katja realized, rather lamely, that not only had the director's son addressed his father first in English, but the director had responded back, however rudely, in English. Maybe the language really wouldn't be a problem... "Katja, may I introduce my son, Ta-"

"Tamaki Suou, my princess, but you may call me whatever pleases you most," interrupted the blond, and he was suddenly on one knee, her hand intertwined with his own, purple eyes staring up at her imploringly. He lifted her hand to his lips, barely brushing the skin, and Katja wasn't sure what she felt like doing, but it was down to either laughing hysterically, bursting into tears, or puking violently into the nearest trash bin.

"My son is one of the students who will be teaching you to behave as a young woman is expected to behave here at Ouran," continued the director, as if nothing about the scene before him was strange. "Suou, I have spoken to you previously about-"

"Goldsmith Katja!" Tamaki cut in once more, standing abruptly and pulling Katja towards him, his hand at her back. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

"I have a feeling you'll get along just fine with Tamaki and his Host Club," the director went on, unfazed. "I expect nothing but the best from all of you."
Katja had a not-so-incorrect feeling that this wouldn't be the case. If the rest of this Host Club were going to be like the director's son, she would have gladly accepted the whole thing as a practical prank. Tamaki Suou was overly flamboyant, excessively flirtatious, undeniably handsome, and also, extremely camp. It was almost as though he was…

"Half French," said the director. "My son grew up in France with his mother. There couldn't be a better person for you to be acquainted with, miss Goldsmith."

Katja smiled grimly as Tamaki pushed a strand of tawny hair from her cheek, his face that of an angel.

She could beg to differ.