By Jedishampoo T (PG-13) for now, will change to M later (definitely). Some language, sexuality.
Summary: A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).
Author's Notes: This is mostly an excuse to play with the people involved and see how I might make the movie characters would deal with Book!Howl and the book characters deal with Movie!Howl. WARNING: Most of it will be T-rated and lightly humorous but I'll switch it to M later, for SEX. And what I plan to do to the characters is not very nice in some ways, so be warned, you may hate it. Bwah hah.. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. You'll see. ;) Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.
x x x
Chapter 3: Explanations and Baths"And I woke up on the floor," Howl said. It had been a very short story. He'd left out the part about how he hadn't known precisely what the spell would do, as well as the part where he'd thought the wrong words. Basically he'd said, I found the spell, tried it, ended up here. Howl looked around the table at the expectant faces-- Michael's, Lettie's, Calcifer's, and Sophie's. It was obvious that they were waiting for him to continue. "That's it," he added.
"Um," Michael said.
"That's not very helpful," Lettie said. "Spells go wrong all the time, and yet this sort of thing never happens. Are you sure you did it correctly?"
"Um," Howl began.
"I think we can assume he knows what he's doing," Michael said.
"Thank you," Howl told him with some sincerity. He was glad someone here seemed to be on his side. Still, they were all virtual strangers. The tension in his shoulders threatened to bring back the headache; he shook his arms a bit to loosen his taut muscles, and caught a glimpse of a drooping, bright-blue and iridescent sleeve. He held up an arm and stared. "What in the world am I wearing?"
Sophie rolled her eyes. "Howl's favorite jacket. Not his best one, though."
"I should hope not," Howl told her, looking down at the horrible scalloped edges, the too-wide lapels. His fingers flew to his earlobes. Only one ear drooped with the familiar weight of an earring. "Why couldn't I have kept my own clothes, at least?"
"They're not that bad," Sophie said with a prim expression. Her voice grew an edge of sarcasm. "Would you like to change?"
"Yes," Howl said, letting despair take over for a moment again. "No offense, but I'd like to change everything. Get back to my right life, world, clothes, whatever." What he couldn't admit was that he had no idea where to start. Other worlds he had experience with; other realities were something new. "I wonder where your Howl is?" And how many more there are, he added silently.
"Probably wherever you came from," Calcifer answered with a wave of his green flame-hair. "This sort of thing isn't too common. You two just switched, somehow, doing the same magic."
"The spells certainly sound similar," Michael added.
"Do they?" Howl asked with hope. He could accept this as a best-of-the-worst-case scenario. It was disconcerting enough to imagine one other Howl, let alone any more. He looked around the not-quite-familiar room again. From what little he'd seen, his and the other Howl's lives seemed similar enough, eerily so, in fact. It led him to wonder, really wonder, how many other Calcifers and Michael/Markls and Sophies existed--
"Sophie!" he blurted aloud at the thought of her. The redheaded girl shot him a questioning glare and he shook his head at her. "If he's there, then I wonder what my Sophie is doing. Or what he's doing?"
"I know exactly what he's doing," the redhead told the group, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair. "He's waking up on the floor and pretending to be you. He's very clever that way."
"It's what I would have done, if I'd realized sooner what was going on," Howl admitted. He chewed at a fingernail.
"Will your people notice the difference?" Michael asked, tentative. "You do look very alike."
"So I hear," Howl said dryly around the finger in his mouth. But he couldn't shake the new, terrible thought that he wasn't sure whether or not Sophie would immediately know that the other man wasn't him, unless the other man told her. She was so very sweet and trusting, nothing like this world's Sophie, who was even yet staring at him with an expression he would have called confrontational. But while he personally found his Sophie's trusting nature endearing and heartwarming, it could be a liability in situations like these. Calcifer might realize the other Howl was an imposter, or even the old lady. But not, he had to admit to himself, Sophie. At least not right away. He chewed so hard on his fingernail that he threatened to break it and ruin his well-groomed hands. "What's he like? Would he hurt her?"
"No!" this Sophie cried. "He's vain and sly, but he's really quite kind-hearted."
"He just doesn't want anyone to know it. Um. Sometimes he can be difficult to deal with, if you don't know him," Michael warned.
Well, so could he, Howl thought silently with what he felt was great self-intuition. Oh, Sophie.
Aloud he said, "Well, I can promise you all that I won't hurt you. Calcifer can vouch for me, I'm sure, because after all he did enter my brain."
The blue-and-green Calcifer managed to look somewhat sheepish at this.
"All I want to do is find a way home," Howl continued. "And I assume you want him back?"
"Of course!" Sophie said, voice holding the same vehemence with which she'd defended the other Howl earlier. She held out a slim hand that was heartbreaking in its size, shape and familiarity. A small, reddish stone winked at him from one of her fingers. "We're engaged to be married."
"Oh, me too," Howl began, and took his finger out of his mouth to hold up his own hand, then remembered that the ring upon it was not his. He dropped the hand to his side, out of sight, and looked at Michael, his ally. "Now that my intentions are clear, can I see the spell?"
"Oh! Perhaps I should contact Mrs. Fairfax," Lettie spoke up. Her dark eyes widened with some other idea. "Or Wizard Suliman."
"Suliman?" Howl asked with some trepidation. She might know what to do in this situation. But then, he'd hoped to spend the rest of his life avoiding her. And now that he knew about them, all incarnations of her.
"He's Lettie's sweetheart," Sophie explained with a sly smile.
"He?" Howl asked. He was beginning to feel like an idiot. And his head was starting to hurt again.
"Why, yes. Is your Wizard Suliman a woman?" Sophie asked. She looked interested. She still didn't appear to like him, but, perhaps now that her initial shock had worn off, she had lost some of her animosity. Howl decided that having this Sophie on his side could only make his time here more bearable.
"Yes. She was my teacher," Howl told her. He smiled at her, one of his own personal favorite lady-killing smiles.
But she wasn't going to fall for it. Her interested gaze morphed into another glare. She stood and looked at Lettie. "Still, that's a good idea, Lettie. Why don't you go and get him? I think we're going to need all the help we can get to set things right."
"I'll show you the spell," Michael said, standing.
"I can't leave you here, not without a chaperone," Lettie said with wide eyes.
Sophie pooh-poohed that comment with a wave of her hand. "I'll be all right with Michael. And if he tries anything, then Calcifer, you have my permission to fry his brain."
"Gotcha," Calcifer laughed.
"I'm not going to try anything," Howl objected, loudly, but he had the distinct impression that no one was listening.
x x x
Howell stood in the other Howell's bedroom, looking out the window at the white clouds and blue sky. There was no rainy backyard, no swingset, no greeny-gray Wales. He looked around the room. Nothing recognizable met his eyes; the room was packed near to the ceiling with glittering (and some quite interesting-looking) objects, but all of them were unfamiliar, and none of them comforted him in the least. He began to feel a little sick.
He looked up at the ceiling. There weren't even any spiders. Wait, there was one, building a web between two of the ceiling-beams. Howell watched its eight legs working and weaving for a few moments, and felt better for having seen it.
"Right," he said. He went back out into the hall and spotted the bathroom directly across from the bedroom. He hadn't had a real bath since yesterday, because this morning he'd figured on finishing the King's spell first thing.
The bathroom wasn't modern. It contained no shower, only an old claw-footed tub. He turned one of the taps experimentally. Hot water gushed out and Howell smiled to himself. "Thanks, Calcifer," he whispered. He undressed, dropping the plain blue shirt and black pants to the floor, and looked at the packets lined neatly next to the tub. Sophie's doing, surely. He examined the words and pictures of flowers printed upon them, and sniffed the contents of a few of them. They were close enough to what he needed.
He'd been soaking happily for a good fifteen minutes when the bathroom door opened. Howell was a bit shocked to see Sophie squeeze through the gap, carrying a couple of fluffy white towels. She laid these on the closed toilet lid.
"You'll need these, I think," she said, and set her hands on her hips, and smiled at him.
"Sophie," Howell said, with what he was sure was a scandalized expression. "I don't know if you'd noticed, but I'm in the bath."
She had the grace to blush a little. Watching her, he had to admit that it looked well with that strange silvery hair.
"Well fine, then. Be modest if you wish," she told him with a little sniff. She bent to pick up his discarded clothing and turned to leave.
She hadn't quite shut the door behind her when Howell had an idea. "Sophie," he called after her. He considered his words, and decided to be as nonchalant as possible. "You know the land of Wales?"
"I think you've mentioned it before." She halted but didn't turn, and he could sense her tension through the back of her green dress. "Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking about it," he mumbled, not having heard the answer he wanted. "No reason."
"All right," she said. She hadn't left, but neither had she turned to look at him again. Howell found his eyes drawn to the curve of her hips as she hugged his clothes to her chest and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. It was an interesting situation, having her in here when he was completely naked. The bubbles hid everything, but still. It was disconcerting and rather exciting at the same time. He couldn't decide whether or not he wanted her to leave. This Sophie was definitely nothing like his.
She continued in a soft voice. "You're worrying me, Howl. I do hope you rest. Would you like me to bring you anything else?"
"What a little servant! You don't have to wait on me hand and foot," he told her.
A short silence greeted this. "I know you're grumpy, but I'm only trying to help," she said after a few moments in an injured little voice, and swished out, shutting the door behind her.
Howell soaked for a few more minutes, considering her. Hopefully he wouldn't be here long. Still, he would have to be more careful if he wished to keep her convinced that he was the Howell she knew, but he wasn't sure how to deal with her. Twice now he'd upset her with his normal random, throwaway comments, things his Sophie would not have blinked an eye at. And her reasonable, hurt reactions made him feel guilty in some way. He hated feeling guilty.
Whenever he said something to his Sophie that she didn't like, she would only gripe back at him with something unrelated. When she was really cross, she became utterly silent (and she had no idea that this was how Howell knew she was angry with him).
This line of thought naturally made him consider the other Howell. He wondered if he was there in the Ingary where he, Howell, belonged. If so, then he wondered what Sophie and Michael and everyone were making of him. Howell nursed a forlorn hope that they'd tied him up and locked him in the broom-cupboard, and were feverishly working on a way to get him, Howell, back.
Actually, they were probably petting him and feeding him chocolate and whatnot for being such a nice guy. "Grrr," Howell said, and rinsed his hair. The fluffy towels were quite welcome.
So was the bedroom closet full of clothing. Howell sifted through the hangers. He found a blue suit which was close to acceptable, though its sleeves and collar were much too plain for fashion. He found a nice white lawn shirt and tried it on with the blue suit-jacket over it. It was a tiny bit small around the middle.
"Grrr," Howell said again, and magicked the waist to make it fit. For good measure, he lengthened the sleeves and shirred the edges to give them more flair.
Once he had on the matching pants-- also slightly snug, though he left these as they were-- he checked his reflection in a tall, gilt-and-jewel-edged mirror. The blue color of the suit complemented his blond hair and his new, strange, bluish-green eyes. He decided the suit's color could stay as well. A snazzy pair of impractical black boots completed his sartorial splendor.
Feeling much better than he had over an hour ago, Howell left the bedroom. He resolutely did not look out the window at the Not-Wales, but trod with confidence down this castle's narrow stairway. There was an entire crowd waiting for him in the large yet cozy kitchen/living area.
Sophie was there, her back to him as she pulled something out of a small black stove next to the hearth. Her brown eyes widened a bit when she turned and spotted him. Her cheeks flushed, again, just a little. She didn't speak, just swiveled to set a pan on a trivet at the table. Howell wondered what he'd done this time to upset her, and then he thought once more about how attractive she was despite the white hair.
"I cleaned up the spell, Master Howl. Just in time for lunch," the red-headed Markl said. The boy ran to the table and stuck a fork into the hot pan and pulled something out onto a plate. It looked like toasted cheese. Little bowls of soup already dotted the table. Howell's stomach perked up, rumbling at the sight and smells of the food.
Sophie poured tea into little chipped cups and glanced at him again, then turned away and tossed some crumbs at Calcifer in his grate. Her cheeks were practically flaming this time. Howell hadn't said anything so he couldn't possibly have upset her; he wondered if perhaps she was simply overwarm from cooking.
The flabby old lady creaked her way to the table and looked over at him. Her strangely familiar eyes examined him, up and down and up and down again, and Howell feared that he was about to be exposed. He realized just then whose eyes those were. Then he realized that she was leering at him.
"Nice pants," she said, and then picked up a fork to eat.
Ah, Howell thought, and then rather than doing what he'd planned, which had been to begin his serious attempts to do a home-location spell, he sat down to eat with them. He was bathed, and well-dressed. A little food would set him up just right.
x x x
End Chapter 3
Thanks AGAIN MUCH to those who have commented already, and thanks for reading! Please comment, if you would, even if only to say (1) you liked it, or (2) you hated it. I'd love constructive comments on the characterizations.