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31 January 2007 08:40 pmThere is something decidedly terrible, Howl decides, about being locked out of one's own castle. No matter what he does -- of a normal variety of actions, that is -- the door simply won't budge. And so it's left to violence or magic or some combination of both. Finally, after bouncing the door back and forth with no success he manages to force it open. The sound of a small explosion reaches his ears as he steps in and planks -- obviously there to keep anyone out -- go flying but he doesn't really care about that: he's not in a very good mood.
Finally. He's soaking wet. In fact, he's wet enough that the gray and scarlet of his favorite suit are now lovely shades of black and brown. The sleeves drip water, as do the ends of his hair. Crossly, he storms in and gives Sophie an entirely deserved, entirely exasperated look. "Really, Sophie, this is a bit much. This is my castle and I do live here." She asks where he's been, but his mood is too foul to be polite. "Standing in the rain. None of your business." Now his voice is getting hoarse; it's been a trying morning. "What were those planks in aid of?"
Michael steps forward so very tentatively. "I did them. The Witch--"
"You must think I don't know my own business." The whole day has been irritating; he's irritated. "I have so many misdirection spells out that most people wouldn't find us at all. I give even the Witch three days. Calcfer, I need a hot drink."
As he nears the fire, the fire demon plunges out of his way and hisses. "Don't come near me like that! You're wet!"
Giving up a long-suffering sigh, he turns to Sophie pleadingly, muttering her name. She, in turn, asks about Lettie Hatter. "I'm soaked through. I should have a hot drink."
But Sophie (of course) perseveres in her questioning; exasperated, he steps forward. "Bother you, then!" When he shakes himself off, water falls away from him onto the floor in a neat circle; he's entirely dry and so are his clothes and hair. Moving towards Calcifer again, he takes up the saucepan and turns to Michael. "The world is full of hard-hearted women, Michael. I can name three of them without stopping to think." Again, Sophie starts picking at him beneath her breath, mentioning something about one of them being Miss Angorian and it sounds like a question.
Howl simply ignores her. In fact, he ignores her for the rest of the morning, instead opting to discuss moving the castle with Michael and, of course, Calcifer. "I don't think we need move the Porthaven entrance." Mid-sentence, he feels a sneeze coming on; he conjures a handkerchief and blows his nose. "But I want the moving castle well away from anywhere it's been before... and the Kingsbury entrance shut down."
A sudden knock at the door makes him jump; Michael jumps as well. Neither of them move to answer the door. After the visitor -- whomever it is -- finally leaves, Michael asks about the black-down door, but that, Howl insists, will stay. And he conjures another handkerchief, and another, and another, until the pile of used handkerchiefs round his feet grows to quite an alarming number. And his voice grows more and more hoarse; finally, he's conjuring entire wads of tissues. "Oh, why is it that whenever I go to Wales I always come back with a cold?"
Sophie snorts; his attention is suddenly a bit sharper.
"Did you say something?"
Finally. He's soaking wet. In fact, he's wet enough that the gray and scarlet of his favorite suit are now lovely shades of black and brown. The sleeves drip water, as do the ends of his hair. Crossly, he storms in and gives Sophie an entirely deserved, entirely exasperated look. "Really, Sophie, this is a bit much. This is my castle and I do live here." She asks where he's been, but his mood is too foul to be polite. "Standing in the rain. None of your business." Now his voice is getting hoarse; it's been a trying morning. "What were those planks in aid of?"
Michael steps forward so very tentatively. "I did them. The Witch--"
"You must think I don't know my own business." The whole day has been irritating; he's irritated. "I have so many misdirection spells out that most people wouldn't find us at all. I give even the Witch three days. Calcfer, I need a hot drink."
As he nears the fire, the fire demon plunges out of his way and hisses. "Don't come near me like that! You're wet!"
Giving up a long-suffering sigh, he turns to Sophie pleadingly, muttering her name. She, in turn, asks about Lettie Hatter. "I'm soaked through. I should have a hot drink."
But Sophie (of course) perseveres in her questioning; exasperated, he steps forward. "Bother you, then!" When he shakes himself off, water falls away from him onto the floor in a neat circle; he's entirely dry and so are his clothes and hair. Moving towards Calcifer again, he takes up the saucepan and turns to Michael. "The world is full of hard-hearted women, Michael. I can name three of them without stopping to think." Again, Sophie starts picking at him beneath her breath, mentioning something about one of them being Miss Angorian and it sounds like a question.
Howl simply ignores her. In fact, he ignores her for the rest of the morning, instead opting to discuss moving the castle with Michael and, of course, Calcifer. "I don't think we need move the Porthaven entrance." Mid-sentence, he feels a sneeze coming on; he conjures a handkerchief and blows his nose. "But I want the moving castle well away from anywhere it's been before... and the Kingsbury entrance shut down."
A sudden knock at the door makes him jump; Michael jumps as well. Neither of them move to answer the door. After the visitor -- whomever it is -- finally leaves, Michael asks about the black-down door, but that, Howl insists, will stay. And he conjures another handkerchief, and another, and another, until the pile of used handkerchiefs round his feet grows to quite an alarming number. And his voice grows more and more hoarse; finally, he's conjuring entire wads of tissues. "Oh, why is it that whenever I go to Wales I always come back with a cold?"
Sophie snorts; his attention is suddenly a bit sharper.
"Did you say something?"
