A few days had passed since the quartet had gotten together, and Marianne was trying very hard to practice, but having little luck. Every time that Marianne got her violin out, Dawn also suddenly had the need to practice for her numerous appearances. It was on such a day when Marianne's cell phone vibrated and she used this as an excuse to escape from Dawn's fawning and rather spotty practicing.

"Marianne, weren't you going to practice with me?" Dawn stuck her lower lip out and pouted.

"Not right now, Dawn," Marianne replied, looking down at her phone and starting when she saw the name of the text-sender. "This is kind of important. We can practice together later today." She kissed Dawn on her forehead and left the sitting room, going up to her own bedroom and sitting on the bed to read the text.

To: Marianne, Stuff, Thang

From: Boggy Kingy-Wingy

Subject: Strange Music

I have a conflict with our usual rehearsal time this week. Would you guys be able to reschedule for another day?

Marianne stared at the text with a bit of confusion as well as annoyance at her sister's change of Bog's contact name. Bog had always seemed like the least likely of the group to cancel, what with everything that he had said the day before. She decided to immediately text back:

To: Boggy Kingy-Wingy

From: Me

Re: Strange Music

Chickening out, King?

Marianne lay back on her bed and let out a deep sigh. She had been looking forward to practicing with the group again. Even though she had convinced herself that playing in another group was something that she did not desire, Marianne was exhilarated to have these new people, who all seemed very considerate, in her life. A vibration on her stomach caused Marianne to nearly rocket upward in anticipation.

You would know, Tough Girl. But unlike some other people, I actually have a social life.

Marianne grinned and quickly shot a text back.

That's not what you were saying yesterday.

As soon as she'd sent the text, Marianne thought a bit. What if he was missing the practice due to a death in his family? What if he had caught a deadly illness? She quickly typed a new text message:

Is everything okay?

It seemed like ages until Marianne got a response from Bog, and it was long enough for her to think up every possible scenario that could be keeping him from the practice.

Yeah, I just have a family thing to go to. Worried about me, Tough Girl?

Marianne growled in frustration at the man. I try to be nice, and what do I get? She thought in frustration. Men were all the same. They thought that being nice was a sin or someth- The phone vibrated again and Marianne looked at the text with a feeling of immense confusion as an odd warmth that spread through her chest, a feeling that she thought she'd never feel again.

Thanks.

Marianne sighed, looking at her watch on the Wednesday of that particular week. This was the day that the quartet would usually practice, but they'd all decided to just meet up the following Wednesday as any other day was met with conflict on at least one person's end, which ended up with Marianne taking a ride on a dirty city bus when she would've much rather been playing with the quartet. Arthur had forgotten his lunch at home that day, as he had many times before, and as Dawn was going to an autograph-signing session, the duty fell upon Marianne to deliver her father's lunch to him. She knew the route to the studio quite well, but unfortunately she had to ride a bus to it. I hate the disgusting air in here, Marianne thought, making a face as she noticed that her right hand was sticky. Maybe Dad will let me just drive his car home… She removed her hand from the overhead bar and looked around for something to wipe her hand on when movement towards the front of the bus caught her attention. A very familiar, tall man with a case on his back was trying to squeeze his way onto the bus. Bog frowned at the amount of people on the bus; there was no way he'd be able to fit on there, let alone with his cello case. He sighed and looked at his watch nervously. He'd gotten held up at the coffee shop and now was almost late for the recording session. Bog had no choice; he would have to walk the ten blocks to the recording studio and hope that the orchestra would wait for him. As he dejectedly got back off of the bus, he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Bog looked up to find Marianne squeezing through the crowd of people and stepping off of the bus to join him.

"Fancy seeing you here, King," Marianne arched a brow at the young man, who was merely studying her with that bored expression of his. "I thought you had somewhere to be, canceling on us all like that."

"Yes, well," Bog cleared his throat, something that Marianne noticed he did when he was nervous. "I do have somewhere to be…I'm actually quite late, so if you'll excuse me…"

"Well, where are you headed?" Marianne asked, not letting the man escape. He was hiding something, and she was determined to find out what was so important. "Maybe we could walk part of the way together."

"Where are you headed?" Bog replied suspiciously, looking down at her impatiently. He hoped to avoid telling her what he had planned for today for as long as possible.

"I have to give my dad his lunch over at the studio," Marianne held up a brown bag that had "Daddy" written on it, surrounded by little hearts and flowers. Bog snorted at the design.

"You've done a lovely job decorating it," his mouth twitched into that almost-smile. Marianne seemed to take the hint and had dropped the subject of where he was going.

"Yeah right," Marianne stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry. "Who likes this stuff?"

"Not me," Bog sniffed in disapproval.

"Well, I hate it," Marianne crossed her arms and smiled ruefully.

"I hate it more," Bog replied stonily, hoping to end the conversation there and beginning to walk down the street. However, Marianne was soon walking beside him, almost jogging in order to keep up with his long strides.

"Oh yeah?" Marianne challenged Bog yet again. "I think they're all fools."

"They're just rushing in," Bog agreed, looking down at the girl who held more spite in her for the notion of love than he had thought. "They…can't help it." He pitched his voice as high as it could go, attempting—and failing—to mimic a Valley Girl. Marianne chuckled at this appreciatively.

"They're in chains that bind you," Marianne added distastefully, but Bog's impression and his expression of amusement made it impossible to be entirely serious about the subject. She was surprised that Bog often made her laugh even when she felt that familiar surge of anger and betrayal. She was actually enjoying herself immensely, and didn't even notice when Bog stopped in front of her father's music studio until he cleared his throat.

"It was…lovely…to see you," Bog forced out, and even though he grimaced as he forced the words out, it did not leave his mouth with a bad taste. In fact, he had to acknowledge that the statement was true. Rarely did Bog have the luxury of bantering with someone who wasn't afraid to stand up to him, as Stuff was the boldest one of the small group of friends he entertained, and Thang was always saying something that was, in Bog's opinion, stupid. He opened the door for Marianne, gesturing her inside before him, and decided that he would walk the block until he was sure that she was gone before heading inside, himself.

"Thanks, Boggy," Marianne grinned at waved at the cellist.

"Bog," Bog corrected again, although his mouth twitched upward slightly even as he said it. "If you really were a tough girl, you'd have opened it yourself."

"Hey, I thanked you, didn't I?" Marianne placed her hands on her hips and glared at Bog, who suddenly seemed to notice that he was still holding the door open.

"Well…I'll see you next week," he waved awkwardly and closed the door before walking away. Marianne waved back and turned to see one of her father's many assistants standing behind a polished mahogany desk, merely staring at her.

"Hey, June," Marianne sighed, plopping herself down on the receptionist's desk. "Dad forgot his lunch today, again."

"Believe me, Marianne," June laughed at the young girl's bored expression. "Your father noticed. What I wasn't expecting was that you'd be walking in with that guy who's recording today."

"What do you mean?" Marianne wrinkled her eyebrow in confusion.

"That young man with you," June replied cheerily, looking in the bagged lunch Marianne had set on the desk. "Oh, your father won't shut up about these brownies."

"There's a few extra in there, so make sure he shares," Marianne straightened and picked herself up off of the desk. "What do you mean, he's recording today?"

"Oh, he's part of the community orchestra," June reached into the bag nonchalantly and emerged with a thick brownie. "He actually wrote the piece that they're recording, I guess? But he's also playing in it, which confuses me. I didn't think that songwriters performed their own songs." Marianne, however, didn't catch this last part as she was lost in very confusing thoughts. Why hadn't Bog told them that he had written a piece? More importantly, why didn't he tell them that he played in the community orchestra? I guess I could understand if he didn't tell me, Marianne thought a bit angrily. But why wouldn't he tell Stuff and Thang? I thought they were all really close friends. "Oh, hello sir," June piped up happily, turning Marianne's attention to the tall man who had just walked through the studio doors.

"Hi," Bog replied curtly, walking closer to the desk until he saw Marianne leaning on it casually, fixing him with an accusatory stare. His first thought was that he should've just told her that he was recording today…it would've no doubt spared him the immense feeling of discomfort that washed over him now. "Marianne, uh…"

"Hey, Bog," Marianne greeted the man rather coldly, and he winced. The last time she'd called him by just Bog, it had felt heavy and serious, as the air did right now.

"Marianne, I can explain," Bog shifted his cello awkwardly. "I just didn't want the quartet to think that I would prioritize it under this, and—"

"Even though that is what you're doing," Marianne frowned at the stammering Bog. She wasn't really mad, just confused…and she wanted to watch the man squirm.

"You see, Marianne," Bog paused a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. He cursed inwardly; did he really think she'd have been gone by one walk around the block? "I…I've been working on this piece for a really long time and I wanted to make sure everything went well at the recording."

"What piece?" Marianne demanded, an idea forming in her head.

"It's an orchestral piece," Bog replied, squirming as Marianne had hoped. "I wrote it for—"

"King! There you are!" a sharp voice cut through Bog's and he winced. "You were supposed to be here half an hour ago! Time is money, you know!" Bog looked beyond Marianne to see Mr. Steele, the conductor of the community orchestra, tapping his foot impatiently and glaring at him. "You told us you'd be here. It's your song, and you're still late!"

"I'll be there in two minutes, Steele," Bog growled at the man, hoping that he'd just leave it at that. Steele narrowed his eyes at Bog and nodded, whipping on his heel and striding back the way he had come. Bog then turned to Marianne, who he was surprised to see had a slight smile on her face. "Marianne, I didn't want to hold information from you, but…"

"Bog," Marianne began slowly, glancing up at the man from under her eyelashes. "You don't have to explain yourself to me…I know that there are some things that are better kept to ourselves." Bog looked at her a bit suspiciously. She was drawn in around herself and not looking directly at him.

"Thank you, Marianne," Bog replied instead, scrutinizing the young woman. He sighed heavily and she finally looked at him curiously. "Since you have…invaded this rehearsal already, it seems, would you like to listen to us record?" Marianne was shocked; this had been, a minute ago, such a private part of Bog's life that he hadn't wanted even his closest friends to know about it. And yet here he was, inviting a girl that he'd known for nearly a month, into his private life. Yet there was an odd look in his eyes, a look that almost, but not quite, pleaded with her to listen to his strange music.

"You really want me to listen to it?" Marianne asked doubtfully, now no longer looking at Bog from an angle but really looking straight into those bright blue eyes.

"Yeah…" Bog scratched the back of his head awkwardly, but he did not break eye contact with Marianne. She felt the warm feeling spreading through her chest again as she saw him visibly soften. "I mean…if you want to hear it."

"Sure," Marianne murmured, turning her head down in order to hide the sudden warmth spreading across her cheeks. Bog then chose the moment to be unexpectedly gentlemanly and held out his arm for Marianne to take and with a surprised look at the stony face, she slipped her arm through his and the two made their way downstairs.

"They are so into each other," June commented to herself, sighing and shoving another brownie into her mouth.

"What kind of piece is it?" Marianne asked curiously, turning her head to her companion as they approached the studio door.

"It's an orchestral piece," Bog replied curtly, offering nothing else. Marianne glanced sideways at the man, whose mouth was set in a thin line and whose stare was hard as rock.

"Don't be nervous," Marianne stated nonchalantly, and she felt Bog's arm tighten. "I'm sure it's a wonderful piece."

"That isn't—" Bog began to exclaim impatiently, when suddenly the studio door was banged open. It was Bog's mother, Griselda, and she positively beamed at Marianne.

"Oh, hello again, dearie!" Griselda practically skipped over and leaned in to Marianne's personal space conspiratorially. "Don't you have a comb?" Griselda whispered to Marianne, who leaned back and shot a confused look at the small woman. Griselda proceeded to make hair-combing motions at Marianne until Bog decided to turn his glare in her direction.

"What are you doing here, mother?" he sighed in exasperation. "I thought you were going to lunch today with your friends."

"Oh, I was, but then Mr. Steele called me and told me that you were recording your song today!" Griselda exclaimed excitedly. "I know that there was that lovely cellist I wanted you to ask out, so I was going to—"

"Yes, thank you, mother," Bog growled, pushing past his mother and into the biggest recording room that the studio had. "Come on, Marianne." Marianne reluctantly followed Bog into the room, glancing back to make sure that Griselda was following. What she was not expecting was the applause that greeted Bog. She looked around the room to see dozens of instrumentalists, of all ages and gender, putting their instruments on their chairs and clapping, some even whistling. Marianne glanced at Bog and almost burst out laughing; he wore a very deep scowl and did not even acknowledge the applause, merely setting his cello down near a group of chairs set up for a few spectators and the men who would be recording the group. The applause didn't die down until Bog had taken his cello out of its case and sat down in the first chair of the cello section, the place of the king.

"Come, dear," Griselda looped her arm through Marianne's and dragged her over to the chairs. "Let's sit down, it's about to start!"

"Um, okay," Marianne mumbled, scanning her eyes over the orchestra. It was so different from anything that she had encountered in her own musical career; Arthur had always made sure that his girls went to the finest conservatories and had the best teachers, therefore Marianne and Dawn had never really interacted with people who weren't professional musicians or related to a professional musician. These people were from all walks of life, and Marianne did not recognize a single one, but they laughed and talked amongst themselves with such an air of comradery that it almost caused physical pain with the jealousy that wracked Marianne's body. She had had that kind of friendship once…

"Are you okay, dear?" Griselda bent to look at Marianne, who had unconsciously doubled over in her chair. "You look a bit pale. Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine, sorry," Marianne forced a smile and immediately stood upright. "Just feeling a bit sick. So, how long has Bog written music?"

"Well," Griselda began with a huge smile, which made Marianne feel as though she shouldn't have asked. "My dear little Bog has always written music, that's what made his father and I decide to have him play an instrument. He was always playing my husband's old piano, and he could really make it sing…Bog is the light of my life." Griselda smiled over at her son, not as widely as usual and much softer, and Marianne could tell that she was not lying. Bog, as if he could feel his mother's gaze, turned to her and frowned before turning abruptly back to his cello.

"Why is Bog so cold to you?" Marianne asked the older woman.

"Bog doesn't forgive me for many things that I've done in the past," Griselda chuckled. "But, I suppose, I haven't forgiven myself either. What matters now is that I can be with him and make sure he's happy." Marianne looked at Bog's mother in astonishment. The older woman was sitting quite happily in her chair, legs swinging at least a few inches from the ground, eyes locked on her son. "Do be good to him, dear," Griselda suddenly continued, still never looking away from Bog. "He deserves the happiness you can give him."

"We are not dating," Marianne objected quickly, frowning at the ruination of the moment. With a huff, she looked away from Bog's mother and decided that Griselda King was not as deep as previously thought. Love is for spineless, stupid people, Marianne thought in frustration, and merely stewed in her seat until one of the tech gurus yelled, "Quiet in the studio, please! Let's get this song started!" Marianne looked at Bog, who was taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders before placing his bow on the strings expectantly. Mr. Steele had his arms up, baton in hand, and waited there for what seemed like an eternity. It was, as Bog would've had it, the calm before the storm. Mr. Steele's hands flicked down and the brass immediately began playing a long, low note that resonated in Marianne's chest. She sat up straight in her chair as the woodwinds began playing a haunting melody against that long, low note, and the combined efforts sounded almost like a pipe organ. The chorale continued for about a minute before the conductor cut the sections off at the end of the high melody, and then there was a painstaking moment of silence before Marianne heard soft plucking. It was Bog, plucking that melody from the chorale, only in a major key; it sounded much better than the twisted and dark melody that it had been before. Then Bog placed his bow on the strings, and the melody was immediately put back into the minor key, with crunching and sliding galore. It almost made Marianne want to put her hands over her ears, but the violins all began to start playing, and getting gradually louder, continuing the happier, lighter melody that Bog had started out with. It became a duel, the low brass joining Bog's dark side while the woodwinds flipped and danced around the violin's melody. The violas began adding small trills and Marianne hadn't noticed their own melody until it decided to join the war between the violins and the cellos. It was mellow and sweet and it was both its own separate strain, but also an addition to the violin's beautiful melody. The crunching, churning, distorted melody of the cellos and low voices was beginning to fade, more and more of the instruments adding their own voices to what Marianne was now beginning to deem the actual melody of the piece; a beautiful, airy little song that reminded her of running through meadows and ducking around trees, picking up mushrooms and flowers. Bog's eyes were closed and his head was thrown back in an ecstasy that was taking Marianne's breath away. Finally, he was the only one still trying to play the minor version of the melody, and the happy tune played by the rest of the orchestra slowly, slowly faded away until Bog's very soft, low E was the only note being played. It, too, slowly faded and after what seemed like an eternity to Marianne, the conductor slowly lowered his hands to his sides. The orchestra burst into applause, excited whooping, and whistles as Bog slowly retracted the cello's endpin and rose from his chair. He shook Mr. Steele's hand and walked over to Marianne and Griselda.

"What'd you think, Tough Girl?" Bog wouldn't have admitted it to himself, but he was nervous to hear this high-society girl's opinion of his piece. He accredited it to the fact that her father was indeed the one producing that recording.

"Bog, that was…" Marianne trailed off, trying to find the words to describe what she'd just heard. "That was amazing."

"You did wonderfully, my precious boy!" Griselda approached and hugged her son around his waist, which was about as high as she could reach. Marianne saw Bog's expression soften a bit and he wrapped his free arm around the woman and squeezed slightly.

"Thanks, mother," Bog mumbled, walking over to his case and putting his cello away. Marianne trailed a bit behind him, scratching her arm a bit nervously. "I'm glad you liked it," Bog muttered while putting his cello in his case and zipping it up. "I was thinking about writing something for the quartet to perform at the Banff International String Quartet Competition and it's always good to have the performer listen to a bit of the composer's style."

"What, you think we can't handle it?" Marianne grinned as the man heaved the heavy instrument onto his shoulder and finally turned to face her.

"Only you," Bog sniffed, beginning to walk to the studio door. "You say you're such a tough girl, but I have yet to be impressed."

"Well then, hold onto your socks," Marianne crossed her arms as the two made their way back up the stairs, trailing a beaming Griselda. "Once we get done with this gig, I get to pick what and where we play next."

It's an EXTREMELY long chapter, but I really wanted the whole event to take place in one instead of splitting it up. Also, I'm eager to move on because the next chapter that I'm writing has a lovely character that some people have been asking about, and I'm excited to post that. I know this chapter doesn't really have much to do with the movie's storyline, but I'm trying very hard not to deviate TOO much. Anyway, how do you all like the story so far? Are the characters acting the way that they're supposed to? What'd you think of Bog's composition? Even if I don't necessarily get many reviews or favorites or follows, I'm still going to continue writing this for myself; I'm obsessed with this movie. Anyways, thank you so much for reading and/or reviewing! I really like reading what you guys think about this story, so don't be afraid to post a review (even if you hate this story)! Now to answer reviews.

I Have Gone Away: Hey, thanks for reviewing! I love reading it. I'm really glad that I have someone on the same wavelength as me! [insert another happy dance] MY GOODNESS I'M SO GLAD I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE THINKING ABOUT BOG BEING A COMMON KING I THOUGHT I WAS ALONE! I tried to make it a bit more obvious in this chapter (not sure if it obvious to anyone but myself), so do let me know! God, I just love the fact that they are DUPER SUPER in love with each other but they are TOO STUBBORN to admit it! Gah! I'm glad the banter is coming across well, that's always something that I have a LOT of trouble writing, actually. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much (believe me, I'm having just as much fun writing it)! I intend to finish this story, so don't fear that I will not update it! Also, in regards to Roland (I was going to keep it a secret but it's killing me), he's going to be in the next chapter! So that's something to look forward to! Thank you again for writing such a wonderful review (as I continue to write the longest response in the world)!

Thank you again, everyone! :)