Howl's Moving Castle Fan Fiction ❯ Yn y Dechrau ❯ In which there are a lot of assumptions, stress, anxiety and a strong sense of doom ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: “Howl's Moving Castle” and all its characters belong to Diana Wynne Jones. “The Queen of Melanesia” is created by Neil Gaiman. The “Dirtdemon” and everything else not part of the original HMC universe are figments of my very strange imagination.

October 30, 2005

Yn y Dechrau
Chapter Three: In which there are a lot of assumptions, stress, anxiety and a strong sense of doom

by Ina-chan

A shrill screech, like a yowling cat in unearthly pain, pierced loudly in the air. Then again, Felicia Reilly (a.k.a. Mumbles) never prided herself as a violin virtuoso. In fact, she hated playing the damned instrument. The only reason she agreed to take lessons when she was eight was because of her parents' insistence that she take up playing a musical instrument or a hobby. It was from some stupid parenting book which advised such activities build character and pull shy children like Mumbles out of their shells.

So Mumbles then decided that the shrill shrieking of a violin was the best instrument to comply with her parents' wishes and create the maximum amount of misery at the same time. She actually debated between a violin and a tuba. The violin won simply because rubbing strings to make a godawful noise seemed less of an effort than blowing into a tube. As expected, her parents finally gave in to their daughter's will after three days of enthusiastic practice, and pretty much left her alone. Nowadays, she only took out the offending instrument to express her displeasure with the world.

To conclude that Mumbles was unhappy at this moment would be an understatement.

Howell, who was standing by her door and who just happened to be the reason why Mumbles was throwing this specific tantrum, was quite unhappy as well. Being forced to be subjected to his best friend's onslaught was not making the situation much easier. Though like every unpleasant thing that he had been enduring the past fourteen years, he had somewhat accepted that this was simply yet another burden that he had to tolerate.

It was true that all teen-agers have their share of angst against the world. Howell, like every other teenager, had always felt that he had been given more than his fair share of unhappiness. Like the fact that all the boys in the Ninth Year had already caught up physique-wise with their female counterparts, while the alarm in his biological clock was yet to set off to adolescent mode.

Howell, however, still looked no older than twelve. Being the runt of the pack … well… it brought a lot of problems. Especially when he was at an age when getting girls to take him seriously was the priority in life. Then there was also the fact that Howell's taste in women had been quite different from boys his age. Not to mention the way he pursued them…

“You joined the home economics club, because of HER?” Mumbles couldn't help letting a flicker of surprised emotion to pass across her normally stoic features. Then again, it was really only around Howell that she even allowed to show any semblance of emotion.

That was a few months back when the school year started… during the after-school routine of walking home together… the precise moment when Mumbles found out the idiotic reason why her best friend would openly make a fool of himself.

“When love calls, mortal men cannot help but answer,” Howell simply replied grandly.

Mumbles stared at her friend in disbelief. “Have you completely gone insane? Look, this is really stupid. It's one thing to have a school-boy-crush, but actually believing that something will come out of this hopeless cause of yours is just going to put in you in a lot of grief.”

“It's not hopeless! Love knows no obstacles and boundaries. Juliet--” Howell remarked

“Howell, this is not Romeo and Juliet, alright? Your obstacle is not a stupid family feud,” Mumbles interrupted irritably. “Juliet Farrell is the bloody home economics teacher. She's twenty-five years old and you're… jail bait!”

“Oh, you of little faith…” Howell let out a patient sigh before patting the girl's arm. “You should know about this, my dear Felicia, being a girl yourself and with your obsession with the romantic prose.”

“There's nothing romantic about your sudden lapses of insanity,” Mumbles replied blandly with a frown. She had long given up her poetry books in exchange for the dusty reference textbooks in the village public library relating to abnormal psychology. “And I resent that comment. What does being a girl have anything to do with this current mundane obsession of yours? I personally have better things to do with my time than play house or put war paint on my face.”

“Mock it then, if you must. But this `mundane obsession' really opened my eyes at how women see things,” Howell stated solemnly, “and here I was, living with women all my life and I really had no idea how your mind really works.”

Mumbles arched an eyebrow at that. “Well pray tell, how exactly do our mind work?”

“The most important thing I learned is that while the fastest route to a man's heart is his stomach, the fastest way to catch a girls heart is through her vanity, “and speaking of which… you really should considering some layering and highlights for your hair, taming the unibrow, and maybe a teeny bit of rouge on your cheeks…”

“If that's what you learned on how to woo a girl, then you need a lot more help than attending a home economics club,” Mumbles muttered, not hiding the annoyance in her voice

Howell stared at her with in utter mortification, “Why would I want to woo you? It'll be like incest… UGH! And you're the one who always tries to pain ME as a social deviant!”

“Oh, wow. Thanks a lot,” Mumbles answered in a sarcastic tone that sounded almost like she was torn between feeling relieved and feeling offended before quickly switching to her usual serious monotone. “But aren't you afraid that everyone will think you're a queer?”

“Because I joined the home economics club?” Howell replied incredulously. He looked as if he was going to add something else, when he suddenly stopped at his tracks as a thoughtful look fell on his face. He then turned to his best friend with a very serious expression. “Do you really think everyone will think I'm gay?”

“It's a big possibility,” Mumbles admitted

“Can I ask you a personal question then? Give me your honest opinion as a woman?” Howell continued on

“Alright…” Mumbles answered hesitantly

“Is it true that women don't make a big deal about getting naked in front of gay men?” Howell asked solemnly

This time, it was Mumbles who stared at her best friend in utter mortification. Without even bothering to give a reply, she turned away from him and started walking faster.

“What?” Howell called out after her, “You said that you would give me your honest opinion!”

“People will think you're gay until you open your mouth,” Mumbles argued, “Then they'll realize you're really a pervert.”

Howell laughed as he quickened his pace to catch up with her, “Well then, your-all-knowing-wisdom-ness, what do you think in your opinion is the club that I should have joined to earn a shred of respectability.”

“I don't know,” Mumbles shrugged. “You've always obsessed over rugby, why didn't you try out for the rugby team?”

“And play what position?” The boy replied with a loud sarcastic snort, “Jeff Malcomson's ball? No thank you. I may love the sport dearly but not at the cost of dying for it.”

Thus, the second problem that traditionally fell with the runt of the pack… Jeff Malcomson, two years older, two feet taller and two times Howell's total body weight… very scary Year 11 student who happened to have taken his hobby of bullying smaller underclassmen to an art form.

Howell's first encounter with him and his friends involved an after-school impromptu rugby match in the school yard which resulted a bloody nose, a sprained wrist and Megan having an embarrassing screaming match with Jeff Malcomson's father. Of course the screaming match incident only made things worse. On top of being weary of Jeff Malcomson's bullying, he had to dodge guerrilla attacks from the older boy's minions too.

“You're just being melodramatic,” Mumbles sighed

“I am not!” Howell shot back indignantly. “While it looks very cool when you see it on the telly, you gain a very different perspective when seven guys twice your size loom over you that split second before you find yourself in the bottom of a scrum. I'd take the sight of naked boobies over that horror anytime.”

“Well, you do realize that there's a certain flaw to your logic,” Mumbles replied, “if women think you're gay, they're not likely going to have sex with you.”

“That's not right!” Howell exclaimed in utter horror. “All that naked action leading to nothing? That's not right at all!”

At that time, Mumbles couldn't help bursting in uncharacteristic laughter. It was noteworthy to point out that anything that has a semblance of an argument between the two of them almost always ended that way. If there was one thing consistent about Howell's flightiness and unpredictability, was the fact that he hated confrontations. Anything that had the potential of turning into a quarrel was often quickly diverted or intentionally ignored by him.

Thus formerly mentioned scene regarding the battle of the wills involving an unhappy Mumbles with her violin, and a displeased Howell standing by her door was completely out of character for the both of them. Though in all fairness, everyone around them had been on edge for the past couple of weeks as their entire village buzzed with great excitement. After all, they don't hold a wedding everyday.

“If you don't stop right this instant,” Howell, who finally had enough, stated in a clear, expressionless tone over the violin's screaming, “you're going to regret it.”

As if to further infuriate him, Mumbles passed the bow over the instrument to let out another ear-piercing wail with great flourish. But before she could finish, all the strings snapped suddenly, causing the long grating sound to come to a complete halt with a surprised squeak.

“You owe me a set of strings,” Mumbles stated calmly in her soft, almost inaudible whisper, as she returned her instrument into the case

“Blame your ruthless playing for that. You knew it was just a matter of time before your violin finally had it with how you abuse it!” Howell replied huffily

“I'm sure you had a hand in it. Accidents when you're around seem to happen on just the right moment to pull a situation in your favour,” Mumbles retorted matter-of-factly

“If that were true, Megan wouldn't get her way all the time,” Howell muttered grumpily. “The wedding is in five hours, and you're not ready.”

Mumbles glared at him and crossed her arms. “In case you've forgotten Howell, your sister is the one who's getting married! If you need to fuss over something, go to your house and cause chaos there.”

“I will not have you marching down the aisle with the rest of the bridesmaids looking like your usual self,” Howell replied as he deposited a big metallic make-up case on her study table for emphasis, “and your Aunt Josie agrees with me. She practically shoved this monstrosity to me.”

The girl froze and eyed the case as if it contained the plague, “NO! I agreed the wear the dress, but I will allow you to not gussy me up like a harlot of Sodom and Gomorrah!”

Howell glared at her irritably, “I've never made anyone look like a harlot of anything!”

Which was true. As Mumbles predicted, Howell's reputation took an interesting turn when people found out about the home economics club. It was quickly forgotten the evening the home economics club worked with the drama club to hold a variety show fundraiser, wherein Howell enthusiastically volunteered to work backstage. It was discovered by accident that he actually had the eye and the natural talent to make girls look very pretty.

“I bet you acquired it after all those years of spying on Megan's sleep-over parties,” Mumbles remarked in amusement that evening.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might actually be gifted,” Howell shot back.

“Riiiight,” Mumbles retorted, “primping yourself and applying warpaint in front of a mirror for five hours will take you a long ways in life.”

“Laugh all you want,” Howell replied in the same manner, “but the last laugh will belong to me when I am surrounded by my harem of beautiful Supermodels as they strut their stuff on the catwalk in Milan.”

“You do realize that you only make yourself look pathetic at the lengths you would do to get girls to notice you,” Mumbles commented blandly.

“When you're the underdog, you milk every chance you get,” Howell sighed pathetically in agreement, despite himself.

“And it all started for the sake of the opportunity of zipping up some poor drama club girl's dress, obviously,” Mumbles said idly

“Why is it that you always think the worst of me? Do I look like I'm some kind of perverted sex maniac?” Howell shot back irritably

“Your words, Howell. Your words, not mine,” Mumbles replied smugly

“I hate you.”

He was teased and persecuted mercilessly by the boys in his class at first, but nobody was laughing after the popular girls in the senior classes had started seeking out to befriend a mere Ninth Grader nobody like him.

“Vanity,” Howell sighed, clasping his hands over his chest theatrically, “who would have thought that one of the seven deadly sins could actually bring about a greater good.”

“You are a very sad and disturbing little boy,” Mumbles muttered under her breath in disbelief.

Nonetheless, no one could dispute the fact that Howell did indeed have a gift. He would later on reveal that it wasn't just a matter of making girls look pretty. Whether it be craft, carving, creating something with his hands... with the exception of drawing (which was rather odd for someone to be quite creative and artistic with everything else). As if to fulfill the words his grandmother uttered when she first laid eyes on him, Howell proved that he was gifted with a unique sight. Combined with his imagination, it almost seemed that anything he touched turned into something beautiful. Like magic.

Of course, none of that soothed Mumbles' feelings. The heart of the current argument was not because of the question of Howell's skill. It was a matter of principle! Mumbles had never allowed anyone to bully her into doing something she disliked, not her peers, her brother, or even her parents. She spent all these years building a strong impenetrable shell around her to keep others from making her submit to their will. Howell would not be an exception!

“If ever, it will be a vast improvement over the homeless look that you perfected so much,” Howell, whose patience finally completely ran out, continued on tactlessly.

“Oh thank you for being so considerate of my feelings,” The girl spat back, “why are you acting more pig-headed than usual?”

“I should ask YOU that question!” Howell retorted in strained voice. “Why do you have to join with everyone else and make this more difficult than it already is?”

“Howell,” Mumbles sighed, trying to calm down, “I'm just a little afterthought in this whole affair. Nobody will care if I show up in a burlap sack. Whether or not I look like the Queen of Melanesia or a bag lady is simply not important.”

“It's important to me,” Howell replied in a quiet voice.

There was something unusual with how he spoke that instantly erased all trace of the girl's irritation. Mumbles looked at her best friend in surprise, and clearly saw something that she didn't notice before… or at least Howell had skilfully hidden underneath his usual infuriating demeanour. All at once, Mumbles felt her shell crack.

It was very subtle that if it weren't for the fact that Mumbles knew her best friend very well, she probably wouldn't have noticed it at all. There was an unmistaken aura of anxiety enveloping his entire being. It was like watching a person desperately trying to hide an itch. On hindsight, she realized now that her friend's odd behaviour already started several weeks before. Just roughly before his sister announced that they decided to pull the wedding ceremony almost 6 months ahead of the original plan.

The ceremony itself was supposed to have been just a simple affair with family and friends. But the village would have nothing of the thought that beloved Ma'am Jenkin's only granddaughter quietly spirited away without much celebration. Mumbles had always suspected, however, that everyone in their boring village just wanted a reason to hold a party. Just a little change of pace from the yearly mediocre events that the Social Community their Parish organized. Then again, it wasn't everyday that their village's favourite girl gets married. Before anyone can blink, everyone was pitching to put in motion to make it the perfect fairytale wedding that any girl could possibly desire. The chaos that washed through the Jenkins household the past weeks was enough to drive anyone up on edge.

Then there was Lloyd Jenkins.

It wasn't a secret that Howell was ever close to his father. She had only seen Lloyd Jenkins possibly once or twice in her lifetime, since her best friend's family had moved to their town. Howell, himself, almost never talked about him. But Mumbles knew for a fact that Howell's father was one of the few things that would cause Howell to go into weird moods.

Right then the question of whether Howell's father would actually make it on time for his own daughter's wedding was the top priority Father-related problem of the day. Lloyd was supposed to have arrived the day before, but a flight delay prevented him from arriving until early that morning. Mumble's father had gone to pick up Lloyd in the airport in the city, but with only five hours to go before the ceremony, they had yet to arrive.

With a defeated sigh, Mumbles walked over and sat by her study table. She set her framed mirror on her table and looked at her friend's face with a stern expression through their reflections. “You owe me a set of replacement strings and your first born child.”

Howell gave the girl a small grateful smile, his good humour slowly returning as he took his place behind her with a hairbrush at hand in order to start working on her hair. “And what do you intend to do with my first born child. Put it in a boiling pot and have it for dinner?”

“It tastes best with tomato sauce, basil and just a pinch salt and pepper,” Mumbles rejoined mercilessly, and prepared for another round of verbal jousting.

To her surprise, Howell didn't reply. He simply continued on with his task in silence for the next couple of minutes that Mumbles couldn't help feeling a bit worried that he was falling into one of his weird moods again.

“Are you sure you should be here, Howell?” Mumbles finally spoke in a serious tone, “Megan might need you more if…”

“Gareth's already there. Megan never really needed me,” Howell interrupted in an atypically quiet tone.

“What happened?” Mumbles asked point-blank.

Howell paused, as if debating whether to speak or not. Just as the girl was about to let it go, he suddenly spoke in that same uncharacteristic small voice, “She was crying last night after my father's telephone call.”

“I'm sure your father will be here on time,” Mumbles said reassuringly. “My Tad may drive like maniac, but he always gets where he needs to be safely and on time.”

Howell began hesitantly, still uncertain if he wanted to share what he was about to say or not, but again spoke at the last minute just before Mumbles was about to dismiss the subject. “She's been crying a lot when she thinks no one's around to hear her. Something's happened and it's making her unhappy. And there's nothing I could do about it.”

“Well, getting married is a big deal,” Mumbles reasoned out, “it could be just a case of pre-marital stress.”

“It's not… It's even before…” Howell began to protest but his voice trailed off to silence.

Mumbles frowned but decided not to prod. She knew from experience that Howell was a lot like a stubborn tom cat. The more he's forced to things before he's ready, the more he dug his claws in resistance. So she decided to use a different approach.

“The way I see it, the problem isn't really about Megan,” Mumbles stated thoughtfully. “This is really all about you.”

“What?” Howell made a bewildered scowl at his friend's comment

“You,” Mumbles said with authoritative flourish, “have a Sister Complex!”

“A what?” Howell echoed incredulously

“Remember the story of Oedipus?”

“That guy who killed his father and married his mother?”

“Precisely,” Mumbles confirmed. “It inspired what is called the Oedipal Complex. All boys have this strong attachment to their mothers and have a tendency to feel threatened with any relationship their mothers may have with another male... But in your case, it's pretty much your sister who raised you. So it's only natural for you to feel very threatened with your sister getting married.”

Howell stopped what he was doing and made a face like he bit into a lemon wedge. “That is the most disturbing thing I ever heard.”

“It's really not a big deal,” Mumbles continued on, “It's common knowledge that men will seek out mates who have the same qualities as their mothers. The same goes with women looking for traits in future husbands similar to their fathers.”

“I am NOT jealous of Gareth,” Howell stated firmly as he stuck a bobby pin on his friend's head with more enthusiasm than needed

“OW! That doesn't give you the right to pick on me,” Mumbles growled back. “Besides, didn't you say before that you hated his guts?”

“I don't hate Gareth,” Howell protested between clenched teeth, “Just because I dislike him doesn't mean anything. And I do not look for my sister's qualities in women I like.”

“Sure,” Mumbles replied blandly

“I DON'T!” Howell insisted with great conviction, glaring at the girl's reflection as if to make his point. “Juliet is nothing like Megan. She's very kind and understanding. Not once had I heard her raise her voice at anyone. She's very graceful… and ladylike. She's… she's… blonde…”

“She's almost the same age as your sister,” Mumbles interjected mischievously

“I hate you,” Howell replied automatically, though Mumbles was far gone with her teasing to notice that he didn't reply with his usual conviction

Mumbles fell into a fit of uncharacteristic uncontrollable snickers. “Howell, regardless of what you claim, Miss Farrell is a mere schoolboy infatuation. Otherwise, you would be more broken-hearted than you are after hearing the news that she's practically married to your soon-to-be-brother-in-law's best friend.”

“Not only do you plunge the dagger straight to my heart, you just had to twist it painfully for your pleasure, don't you?” Howell muttered sulkily

“Trust me. Years from now, we will remember this conversation and have a good laugh, as the woman you will truly fall in love with stands by your side,” Mumbles uttered wisely, “and she will be fire-spirited shrew who will put you in your proper place, and to suit your tastes, quite possibly, a woman twice your age.”

“And I suppose she has a habit of falling into lapses of evil cackles and rides a broom in the dead of the night for good measure?” Howell added

“Broom? What decade are you living in?” Mumbles scoffed. “She'll be riding a Dirtdemon L200 model. Cleans like a dream with 20 head attachments for unusual and hard to reach places.”

“Ah, she cleans too…” Howell replied with a weak smile.

Mumbles sighed inwardly in relief upon seeing her friend's grin from his reflection on the mirror. She was about to make another cheerful comment when her breath suddenly got caught in her throat in surprise as the boy wrapped his arms around her from behind, in a tight bear hug. While Howell was never particularly affectionate with her, it wasn't really so much as Howell hugging her that caught her unawares. It was the realization that he was trembling.

“Howell…” Her voice came out strained and frightened, not bothering to cover up her own anxiety with her usual monotone. She tentatively reached out to put her hand over his, but for some odd reason, something made her stop. “Howell, what's wrong?”

“I don't know,” Howell whispered, but the fear in his rasp was undeniable.

Despite her past fascination with divinations and fortunetelling, Mumbles never claimed to have possessed such powers. She wanted to give him a reassuring reply. She wanted to be the dependable best friend. She wanted to tell him that it was natural to feel sad or scared or whatever it was he feeling because Megan's marriage was a big change in his life. But for some strange reason, she couldn't do any of those things.

As Howell clung to her, like a drowning man holding on for dear life, she sensed it. An overpowering sense of doom swirled about her like the frozen breath of the winter wind. She couldn't understand it. She doubted that she'll even understand what happened then even if she poured through every psychology book in the National Library. Back then, after feeling that… she wasn't even sure if she wanted to be in the same room as him.

It was frustrating.

To realize that despite all her efforts, her hard impenetrable shell wasn't enough to keep her immune.

 

End of Chapter Three
To be continued.