For ratings, disclaimers, and author's notes, please see the previous chapter.
Dedicated to: vino-chan
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"I'm home!" Sophie called, hanging up her coat and hat. "Markl, Howl?" She received no answer, but did receive quite a shock when she turned around and saw Howl standing not four feet away from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to help stifle a little choked scream.

"Am I really that scary?" Howl asked, grinning broadly while Sophie caught her breath. As soon as she had reclaimed it, she turned on him, scolding about foolish wizards who throw power around for useless trifles. Howl cut her off with an elegant wave of one perfectly manicured hand.

"Now, now, my dear, I'm sure you'll forgive all when you see what a little fairy has left in your coat pocket." Howl feigned disinterest while Sophie crept to her coat uncertainly and dug through the pockets until she found the two yellow slips of paper.

"What? Howl," she asked, drawing them close to her nose in order to read the calligraphic script. "Tickets to Charité? What in the world…?"

"I'm taking you," Howl said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. "Tomorrow." He waited patiently for her enthusiastic, albeit belated response, but it never came. Sophie placed the tickets silently on the coffee table and sat on the sofa, her eyes never once leaving the floor.

"Of course, if you don't like it…" Howl sounded slightly hurt, but still Sophie couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "Well," Howl finally muttered stiffly, "it's your choice. You can come with me or not." His attempt at sounding casual failed miserably. He left the room abruptly, putting the opera tickets in a more conspicuous location as he went. Sophie didn't look up until well after he had disappeared into his room.

"Fine." She spat to no one in particular, "I'll go to the sodding opera. As long as it will keep the great fop happy." With that, she too closeted herself in her room, leaving the living room, in Calcifer's opinion, ominously silent.

"Rise and shine, my darling!" Howl trilled, throwing aside her curtains. "Come on, chop chop, our lunch reservations are for noon!"

Sophie sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, regarding Howl with something akin to distaste.

"Now, now," he scolded jokingly, "don't be angry with me for disturbing your beauty sleep. But you need to get up and get ready if we're to be punctual."

Sophie was irked that Howl had never even considered that she might refuse his invitation, but as she had decided to go, she decided she wouldn't start a row over it. After all, it wasn't bad advice, Sophie reflected as she carefully tied her largest apron over one of her formal gowns. Knowing this household, there probably wouldn't even be breakfast on the table yet.

She was proved correct by Markl's too-hopeful expression as she entered the main room. She chuckled at his doe eyes, ruffling his hair and making her morning greetings to Markl and Calcifer as she passed the hearth to wrestle one of the pewter frying pans off its hook on the wall.

"How would you like your eggs this morning, Markl?" Sophie sang, allowing the cheerful presence of her patchwork family to soothe her ruffled feathers. It was some time as she was humming cheerfully, cooking breakfast, that she felt Howl's warm smile on her back, but she ignored it stalwartly, not letting it distract her from the cheerful banter she was keeping up with Markl and Calcifer.

Sophie smiled impulsively at her surrogate son as he wolfed his breakfast, all her best efforts at improving the table manners Howl had never corrected steadfastly disregarded.

"So, aren't you going somewhere today, Sophie?" Markl gargled out around a mouthful.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly, but Howl interrupted her with a flippant reply of his own.

"Why, or course we are! I'm taking her to see an opera." Markl gazed at him, unblinking, for several seconds, until finally,

"I'm glad I'm not going." Howl suppressed a snort of mirth while Sophie laughed outright.

"You're quite a lucky boy," Sophie admitted, smiling as if it were a joke, but looking on with earnest eyes. If Howl noticed the obvious jibe, he ignored it, instead starting some superfluous conversation with Calcifer.

At half past nine, Howl ordered Sophie to her room, telling her to get ready with a decidedly patronizing air, announcing that they were to see the sights in Kingsbury before stopping off at an expensive Frengland bistro for lunch 1.

Sophie, taking a spiteful pleasure out of being as contrary as possible, took as long as she could manage while getting ready. Howl, instead of rising to the silent bait merely knocked at her door and called to her that he was flattered she was spending so much time on her appearance for him, but that she really needed to have some regards for the time. At ten-fifteen she was at the end of her stalling tether, and emerged from her room in a cyclone of silks and lace. She was greeted by a mysteriously empty house, which Howl brushed off with a wave of his hand and a few murmured words about how the other occupants had left hurriedly some time ago, muttering about a 'bad aura'; and with that, they set off.

Howl really had spared no expense on this trip, Sophie mused to herself, contemplating the chaise-and-four Howl had rented to ferry them about the capitol. Although, on the other hand, she might have been able to buy into the sincerity of the occasion slightly more if Howl had managed to refrain from flirting with every shop attendant and waitress they met.

A dull ache began in the backs of Sophie's temples at the first 'Now what is such a lovely young lady as you doing working on such a lovely day', and it only increased in ferocity every time Howl added a 'certainly a gorgeous girl like yourself can find us a matching pair of gloves' to the bill, or put in an extra tip to a particularly handsome shopgirl 2.

It didn't help that Howl only paid attention to Sophie when asking her if she approved of something – when with the complete strangers employed by the shops he prattled on about everything from historical drama to the weather. She was almost at her breaking point – almost to the point where she was about to order Howl to take her home, when they arrived at the Frengland bistro, and the careful courtesy Howl paid her as they situated themselves among their parcels, and the romantic feel of the restaurant mollified her temper. Howl was quiet and attentive to her needs and whims, allowing her to sink into her thoughts, and only disturbing her, rarely and briefly, over something small that caught his eye.

"Sophie?" he asked her at one point, genuine concern in his eyes. "I know I pressed this hard, but if you're not feeling up to it we can go home, all right?" A silent battle ensued inside Sophie's head – reason and spite fighting to the death inside her skull – and eventually spite won. She flashed Howl the most brilliant smile she had in her repertoire and murmured something neutrally soothing to calm his ruffled feathers. If Howl raised his eyebrows at that response, he only did it after Sophie had subsided into quiet reflection once again, and he questioned her no more on her willingness for the selected outing.

After taking some wine in the hopes it would soothe her headache, and fortifying herself on delicate dishes of fish and salad, Sophie felt well-enough equipped for the trials ahead to paste an almost sincere smile on her face when Howl indicated it was time to go.

Although Sophie didn't readily notice it, her behavior had had more of an effect on Howl than she would have assumed. As they ascended the carriage, Howl caught up her gloved hand, making worried circles in her palm with his thumb along the whole silent journey to the opera house. Once they had reached the grand theatre, however, amid the hustle and bustle of the famous and wealthy, Howl was in his element, and visibly shrugged off any unease he might have been harboring. Contrarily, as Howl became more talkative and flamboyant, Sophie became more distant and withdrawn, becoming ever more the submissive, meek little mouse who had worked in a hat shop once upon a time.

The lobby was stuffy and crowded, the city's wealthy citizens standing back-to-back and elbow-to-elbow. Away across the distance, two harried-looking ushers could just be seen, standing on either side of the gilded auditorium doors. Sophie, standing on tiptoe and screaming into Howl's ear, just barely made herself heard above the dull roar of the crowd, slipped off his arm, and glided through the tangled mob with an ease that belied of either natural talent or long practice. Howl mused idly for a while, as he stood in the endless line that eventually ended at the auditorium doors, on why he had never before noticed the extraordinary talent of Sophie's to slip seamlessly into a crowd. Preoccupied by these thoughts, he was startled out of them by the reappearance of his lady from the powder-rooms, and together they entered the darkened hall. In addition to the light being poor, it seemed to be, if it was possible, sweatier and more crowded than the lobby outside, with people tripping over themselves and each other to get into the aisles, or out of them. Eventually they found their seats and made themselves comfortable, or at least as comfortable as they could be with a fat, red-faced gentleman on one side, and a bony lady with numerous dogs on the other. Both Howl and Sophie subsided into silence, both, unbeknownst to the other, preparing themselves for the expected trials of sitting through the show.

As the curtain went up and a more perfect darkness descended upon them, Sophie vaguely reflected on how the thunderous applause would sound distant, softer, from the stage. The band struck the first chord, and Sophie's breath caught in her throat as memories of a time in her life she had buried deep came rushing to the surface.

Howl was just settling himself in for a nice, long nap, when the Prima Donna of the show – playing the part of an unlikely heroine, according to the program – caught his eye and fixed it there. She was harsh, young, and vibrant, seeming very out of place in the role her character started out in – a moderately successful merchant's daughter, training to be whatever sort of mistress or professional her father could set her up as. She had red curly hair, an ample figure, and a predatorial gaze – and, Howl realized with something akin to guilt, had he still not had a heart she would have been his next conquest. Howl looked over at Sophie, and let her calm, attentive gaze reassure him. He did not notice the forced schooling of her features, or the unnaturally stiff and still way she was sitting in her chair, and as he returned his attention to the stage, he completely missed the too-bright reflection of the stage-lights on her grey eyes.
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1 Someone once pointed out to me that the language of Ingary would be Inglish, which is English, from England. Using this same method, the language of Frengland would presumably be French.
2 Sophie is overly sensitized to Howl's behavior at this point of the story. Although the things that Howl are doing are real, she's most likely over-reacting. Don't worry about his behavior .

CLUE: The author of the book is celebrated for his portrayals of rural life, as well as loneliness, brotherhood, faith and fairness.

A far more obscure clue this time, but the character has made her debut. Any guesses? Any comments, questions, concerns, compliments, or criticisms? Well then, review, of course!