prologue | kimiko | desert rose [re: ran]
Five minutes into her final phone call with her mother before her flight out of Japan, and Kimiko Narita was already beginning to contemplate whether it would be worth “accidentally” dropping her phone into a conveniently-placed glass of Malbec.
On one hand, she could afford to buy a new one the minute she touched down in the United States; the only issue being that she was on a tight schedule to get where she needed to be going, and likely wouldn’t have the time. Even the most irrational excuses out of one of the millions of conversations she really would rather not be in start to sound reasonable after being forced to mhm your way through Mother Dearest’s rattling for so long.
It was shortly before her flight took off, and Kimiko Narita had only just boarded her private jet when her mother rang—
What, did you really think she planned on flying in coach with the rest of their class? For a flight that’d end up being over ten hours? Hell no. Kimiko Narita liked to think of herself as a person with standards— and those standards were above waiting in long security lines and dealing with crying babies. Besides, it wasn’t like she had gone out of her way to arrange for a larger private jet. Those weren’t even fun unless you were flying with other people, and… well, let’s be real here, it wasn’t like she was on a weekend getaway to Budapest or Naples. School was still school.
(Hope’s Peak Academy was, however— as she kept telling herself throughout the flight— more than just a school; it was good business. The kind of publicity she wanted if she ever planned on keeping her image the way it was now, or otherwise better it. The industry’s eyes were all on her now, after all.)
— Regardless. She hung up the minute she was able to find an opening, and praised whatever higher power was blessing her with this break from her current routine.
If only the rest of her journey could have been as comfortably opulent as reclining leather chairs and filet mignon were. Dragging her luggage across the desert (in heels! heels!) with the sun beating down on her back was not high on Kimiko’s list of things she wanted to do that afternoon. Altogether, the sweltering heat led to a very dry and uncomfortable mouthfeel— making her regret not buying any bottled drinks at the airport, or at least steal some sparkling water from the jet’s minibar. You would think she would have been smarter than that, but no.
The disappointing and outdated (seriously, Hope’s Peak, get your shit together) train that arrived for them wasn’t much better, but at least it offered reprieve from the harsh sun, and an excuse to close her eyes for a bit…
Waking up god-knows-how-much-later in an unfamiliar place— their desert retreat, Kimiko assumed— was also not something she had planned on doing that day. Was it bad that she wasn’t particularly concerned or surprised, though? Part of her wanted to comment on how sketchy their arrival in Meridian felt, but… the rest of her just didn’t give a shit. So what, she had passed out on the train, big deal. Really, the only shitty part was all of the dirt that had gotten onto her jeans while knocked out on the ground, like, what the fuck. That was the actual travesty here: for some prestigious academy, Hope’s Peak sure didn’t know how to treat their students.
She had been loafing around the town square, keycard in her hand (half debating whether it was worth checking out her room just yet) when one of her classmates had approached her— asking her who she was.
(Come on, Kimiko, you were always great at this making friends and casual conversation thing.)
“Ha ha, don’t worry about it! I get that a loooooot.”
And it was surprisingly irritating— constantly hearing wow, why do you look so familiar?, being just famous enough that people outside of the industry recognized her but apparently not so much as for anyone to be able to place a name with that pretty face— but she had slightly more tact than to tell Ran that.
“I’m Kimiko Narita. I’m a model, so like, you’ve probably seen me around in magazines and stuff, yeah?”
(It was hard not to mirror her classmate’s smile, what with all of its charm and decorum.)
“I’ll be honest, I’m, like, way out of my element here. Deserts just aren’t my thing, y’know? It’s so hot and gross out and—”
“Oh my gosh, that is such a pretty hair color?”
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