In Which Howl Meets a Little Gray Mouse
Chapter 10
A/N: If this chapter seems over the top and angsty, well, that is only because Howl is over the top and angsty. And moody. Let him whine. He'll be better next chapter, I promise. [Plus a little angst is always fun: angst, angst, angst, angst]
Side note: we've reached double digit chapters! Woo hoo :D
Disclaimer: It's still a no.
Dedication: To you, dear reviewer – because you make me happy. ^^
In Which Beauty Fails
Howl was flying.
Not walking on air, but truly flying – soaring horizontally through the brightening sky.
Below him stretched the outskirts of The Waste, but the landscape did not deserve its horrid name. Each foothill he soared over was a promise of a hidden pool – so glass-like it could have been a patch of sky – or a meadow filled with innumerable flowers. The wind was refreshing; sweet and cool, not sticky.
Before long he passed over the foothills and reached the most expansive meadow yet. The flowers seemed to stretch on for miles. He touched down lightly, careful not to crush any of the precious blossoms. With his concentration elsewhere, he failed to notice he was not alone.
Someone else stood in the field of flowers, back facing toward him. Her dress billowed in the wind. That had to be –
"Sophia!" Howl called out, or tried to – his voice didn't seem to be working properly.
He started to run toward her, but the distance between them would not diminish. If anything, it grew. Despairing, Howl frantically skipped over the daffodils and irises and leaped over countless roses and daisies; All to reach Sophia faster. But something caught his bare foot, and he fell face-forward, earning a mouth full of petals and several grass stains.
Howl struggled to get up, and saw Sophia was now next to him. He reached for her, but then tried to recoil as her vice-like grip grabbed hold of his arm.
Howl stood in horror. Her face melted away, revealing that of the Witch of the Waste. The Witch gave him an evil smirk, and just then Howl started sprouting hyacinths out of his body.
They were everywhere; his eyes, nose, torso, mouth. They were suffocating him. How was he supposed to breath?
...
...
A thud of spell books hitting wood resonated in Howl's ear, followed by the jostling of the table his head was resting on.
Coming to, Howl sat up in a jolt and promptly slid off his stool. He was then caught in a coughing fit, determined to rid his body of those blasted hyacinths, but just as he was starting to realize there were no hyacinths and that the smell was simply himself, Michael abruptly interrupted his thoughts.
"So, Master Howl, here are the spell books. You promised to teach me some magic today, remember? 'In exchange for letting me off the hook for May Day,'" Michael mimicked. "Sound familiar?"
Howl glanced around the castle, only half listening to what Michael was saying. Calcifer's flames flickered about, reflecting off the castle walls, competing with the bright light streaming through the windows.
Then Howl stood up in a start.
"What time is it?" he questioned Michael.
"Just past one," was the hesitant reply.
So late? Howl thought frantically.
"We've been trying to wake you from your beauty sleep for hours," Calcifer chimed in, cackling.
"Damnation!" Howl exclaimed. "Calcifer, quick, make hot water for my bath."
Without another word Howl sprinted upstairs.
Michael and Calcifer froze, gob-smacked at Howl's sudden reappearance. Howl Jenkins – the Howl Jenkins – had just beautified himself in 47 minutes flat. That had to be a new record or something.
He looked impeccable too, not a bleached hair out of place. His jacket was crisp, his black pants laundered, and his white tunic practically glistened in the firelight. An overwhelming smell of hyacinths filled the air, stronger than usual. Warily, Calcifer and Michael eyed each other. Clearly Howl had gone overboard (and in such a time crunch too!). Either A), he had finally gone insane (they had already discussed the probability of this event occurring sooner or later, and so it was not such a terrible surprise), or B), he was exceptionally eager to woo this girl (in which case the sooner it was over, the better).
Impervious to his friend's stunned, and slightly appalled looks, Howl bid them a hasty farewell.
The bang of the castle door still seemed to echo moments after he had left.
Michael silently hoped Howl would court the girl quickly so they could resettle into their semi-normalcy. Calcifer just prayed this wouldn't end in someone dripping on him.
Howl arrived just outside of Cesari's as the last chime filled the air, signaling to the passerby in the Square that it was 2 o'clock sharp. He quickly whipped out his hand mirror, making sure nothing got rumpled in his journey over; he had not been able to fly as leisurely as he would have liked, and he feared his hair was atrocious. After Howl was satisfied the he did indeed look rather handsome – verified by the fact that several damsels fainted from sheer eye contact – he began looking eagerly around for Sophia.
As he casually leaned against the brick wall of Cesari's, and glanced through the densely populated Square, a fearful thought began to take hold of him. What if he had missed Sophia? She did seem like the kind of girl who could be annoyingly punctual. But if that was the case, shouldn't she have waited longer? Or had that cautious fear that had possessed her when he first saw Sophia the other day returned? Perhaps she had not come at all.
Howl's chiseled features settled into a pout. Several stopped to stare in awe, and a few even stopped breathing altogether.
Howl racked his brains for some last hope. Aha! She worked in that hat shop – she had been working up until now. She was probably held up at the shop. Of course she was held up at the shop. She wouldn't shy away from him; she agreed to meet him. What's more, last night she had turned out to be much less timid than he initially judged. Plus he was rather dashing, an opinion that seemed to be echoed by the fainting ladies in his midst. She would come.
...
...
The clock-tower chimed in every quarter hour, half hour, quarter till, and finally again at the hour. That sonorous bell, echoing through his insides, only reminded Howl of his current disappointment. He came to despise the sound of it. Before long, Howl lost count of the chimes. He suspected he even dozed off for a bit, slouched there against Cesari's, the back of his clothes all rumpled. At any rate, it was darker now, and Sophia was not coming.
Howl was too confused to function. Shakily he delved into his pocket for his trusty hand mirror, and studied his reflection in the fading light. His glassy green eyes shown in the dim light, and the approaching shadows gave his face a mysterious and – if possible – an even more handsome air. There was no denying it. He was beautiful. Then…
"Why?" Howl's voice came out ragged and strained from disuse.
Slowly, like an injured man, Howl stood up. His joints were stiff from leaning against the wall all afternoon. He stumbled along blindly, away from Cesari's. For the moment, he did not care that he looked rather foolish.
Howl's thoughts raged, depression pressing in on him. He could sense the Spirits of Darkness were just a moment away from engulfing him entirely. Eager to escape, Howl barged in to the nearest building. By chance it turned out to be a bar.
Howl stumbled over to the closest stool and slumped into it. Face in palms, he let out a despairing wail.
"But I'm supposed to be pretty!"
He let out a ragged breath. The world used to make such sense.
The bartender bustled over to see what the ruckus was about.
"Hey pretty-boy," he said upon sizing up his new customer, "do you want something or not?"
Wordlessly Howl plopped his money onto the dirty countertop.
Michael had challenged Calcifer to yet another staring contest. Ostentatiously, Michael wanted to beat the cheating fire demon (after all, Calcifer deliberately distracted him with all those crackles and pops), but Michael also did it to keep Calcifer entertained. He could sense the fire demon was either bored or lonely – probably both – and staring contests were just about the only game the two of them could play together that didn't end in third degree burns.
Just because Michael had yet to win that evening didn't make Calcifer feel like going easy on him. In fact, he upped his game, and added a few more tricks. When wagging his long, fiery tongue through the air had no effect (Michael was expecting this by now), Calcifer tested how close his flames could get to Michael's nose without actually touching him. Sure enough, Michael went cross-eyed, yelped, and blinked nearly all at the same time.
"I win again!" the fire demon cackled.
"That was dirty Calcifer!" complained Michael.
"Hey I never said I –"
The rest of the fire demon's sentence was drowned out by the opening of the castle door and the ferocious winds of the wastes that swept in as a result.
"Howl, shut that door at once! I'll blow out!" Calcifer waited for Howl to comply, but he merely tripped toward a nearby stool and tried to sit down. Howl, however, missed his target entirely, and seemed mildly astonished that he was now sprawled across the floor. "Michael?" Calcifer pleaded.
As soon as the door had been shut, Calcifer re-emerged from the logs he had been hiding under and gave Howl a stern, fiery gaze.
"Howl, you look like hell," crackled Calcifer.
There was a muffled grunt in response.
"You better take him upstairs," the fire demon addressed Michael. "I'll move the castle away from Market Chipping. I have a feeling Howl won't be welcome back there anytime soon."
A/N: I like to hear your thoughts; 100th reviewer gets something awesome, maybe.
Oh, and I know italics are standard for dreams, but that rather gives the beginning away don't you think?
Alert me of any spelling mistakes if you see them; I can't catch 'em all.
Haha and I know I should feel sorry for Howl, but unfortunately I can only bring myself to feel amusement at his expense. Oh well. It's sometimes hard to feel sorry for a vain man no longer in possession of his heart.