Hiya!
Okay so Tamsin (Swisstony) comes up with this brilliant idea to do a Mint Royale AU fic based around... well, you can read it and find out =]! And we decided we wanted to try an write it together... God knows how it's gonna turn out; lol. (Actually, we know as well because it's being cooked up in our brains as I type.)

D/C: Neither of us owns The Mighty Boosh... yet! We have hatched a cunning plan that should take effect on the 6th of July... bollocks, that was yesterday! =[

Anyway, this is our attempt at AU... We hope you love it and feel compelled to review *hint hint*

I hate this.
I really fucking hate this.
Letters, fuck, who even … I want to see you.

Letters, I don't think I've ever written one. Do you remember the notes I used to pass to you at school? Under the desks. Desks, shit we're old. 'spect they don't have desks no more, those modern twatty brats. Lucky fucks. They were a bit like letters.

What was those things, those things that girls, other girls used to make? The triangle thing, you know with the colours, and initials of the people you fancied, how many kids you'd have, all that shit. I made one once. I know, me, making something. See you don't know everything Moon. I cheated, there's a surprise. I only wrote your name inside. No kids though, you ain't got the hips for it.

Whatever happened to that dog you wanted to buy? We never got round to that did we? We should have. Could have been like one of them surrogate baby things. You could have named it, fussed over it and been the Mum, and I could have been the abusive Dad, belting it when it pissed me off. I thought about buying one for you once, I even got a lead, looked up a couple of breeds, the low maintenance ones, course. I don't know what stopped me. Still, fuck knows what would have happened to it now, probably have gone into care. Do dogs go into care?

I'm worried about you. You need to be tougher, I can't … if I was there, but I'm not … you need to be strong. I can't do this if you're not there, do you understand?

Did you do anything for the other day? Anything special? Did you get anything in the post? I counted it, you know we've been together for 19 years! 19 years! I can't fucking believe it. You get less for murder, or well, so I've heard.

Where the fuck has the time gone? It's not fair, I want another go. I'm laughing, it was a joke. Wouldn't do anything differently. Well, nah, probably would have given that last job a miss. Before you think it, that WASN'T your fault.

I'm sorry. For all of this. For dragging you into this shitty, shitty life. You should be doing something wonderful. You're so clever. Yeah, I know I am too, but I don't apply myself do I? You should have done your masters. It was selfish, I'm selfish. I didn't want you to go without me, I'm sorry. I'll always be sorry for stopping you. No, I did, you know I did, I put pressure on you, you know how you are with pressure, I know it. You should be a professor, bet you could have written at least one decent book by now. Alright, two.

You should start writing again, keep your mind occupied, focused. Send it to me, nothing too dry though, I don't wanna slip into a coma and die, I ain't on death row. Not yet anyway. Do some of that cream poetry stuff. You're really good at up!

Don't do that tutting thing, it annoys the fuck out of me, and even more cus I can hear you doing it in my head. Yes my grammar is lazy! Yeah I got a 2.1 at Uni, but that was then, it was 11 fucking years ago! You know I never write anything, what was the last thing I wrote, that you saw me actually physically writing?

Yeah, okay birthday cards. And the occasional shopping list.

Shut up!

That ain't IS NOT writing is it?

Oh, get fucked four eyes!

Don't. You better fucking not. I ain't laughing, I'm serious, if anyone fucking touches you, you know what I'll do….

I dunno how to end this? That was pretty bad, as an ending, me threatening your 's our life though. There's never been a ME, not since I was thirteen, it's always been you. YOU! Us.

Christ, this is shit. I ain't gonna sign my own name, I can't, it feels….

I'll talk to you later. Like on the phone. Do you remember when you used to ring me, at night, when you'd go home for the weekends, and I'd be in halls, I used to fall asleep listening to your voice. You've got a nice voice Moon, have you ever thought about a career in audio books? Or voiceovers, reckon you could even sell insurance.

If I just do it quickly it won't hurt as much….

Vince xxx

Fuck, nah, that hurts just as much, it's looking at me. I feel stupid. My own name makes me feel stupid.
I love you.
I'll always love you.

--

Well little man, that's easily the most you've ever written. And most of it was spelt right. I'm impressed.

I hate this, too. I miss you so much, too much. It's like a physical pain inside me. Like melting cream in a … somewhere where cream melts. Oh I don't know. This place is suffocating me, I can't even write cream poetry anymore. I hate it. I want to see you. The only thing I have to remind me of what you look like is a crumpled, faded Polaroid, which would be alright but it's the one you put your grubby fingers all over before the photo had a chance to develop properly. It's all I have and it's ruined.

And I don't need a dog Vince. I wouldn't have time to look after it and you! Don't swear and get all huffy. You know it's true. Can you even cook a proper meal? And don't make me bring up that time in Pompeii or that boat journey across the Atlantic. Not the best anniversary ideas, were they? One near a live volcano and the other on a boat your dodgy mate lent you. I always knew you were a tight git but hiring a (so called) 'cruise' with a hole in it … that was unbelievable. Still. Beats this anniversary I suppose. At least I was actually with you for those, and not staring at the cold, breezeblock wall of a cell.

I swear I'm going crazy in here. People are in for murder, Vince. Actual murder. And what if someone tries to rape me? Or kill me? Or worse? Okay, I'm not sure what would be worse but … I don't want to think about it. My cell mate's a right wanker … literally. He's at it now. It's distracting and disgusting. Doesn't he know I'm trying to write a heartfelt letter of apology? Because that's what this is; an apology. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you said that Jimmy was trouble. I'm sorry that I got us into this mess.

Talking of Jimmy, did he bring you the chocolate brownie I made you? I bet he didn't. I saw him eyeing it up. I doubt he'd even left the prison before he'd munched it down. It was exactly the density you like and, yes, I added those chocolate chunks you love so much, and put an extra cup of sugar in. Though you don't need extra sugar, you're sweet enough. Oh God. Even I know that was cheesy. And, before you think it, I know these cooking classes aren't exactly the most manly thing in the world but at least it takes my mind off missing you so much. It helps. I don't suppose you do anything to take your mind of anything. I bet you wallow in self pity as much as is humanly possible. But you always loved to see yourself as the distressed hero. Though I guess we're not heroes. Heroes don't get arrested. Heroes don't have the love of their life ripped from them and taken to the other side of the country. Heroes don't get locked up in towers with murderers and rapists. Heroes don't need rescuing - I need rescuing, Vince. Please.

I can't cope here. I pretend I can cope. I act strong and tough like you told me too but I can't keep acting forever. You've said it before … I'm not that good an actor, that's why I hide in the shadows on these jobs and that's why you're the one who goes undercover.

I've written you a poem for our anniversary, though it's not one of my best and it's a bit late.

I love you like a rat loves a sewer and like a rat … you infest me,
You consume me, creep through me,
Find parts of me I didn't even know existed,
It doesn't matter what I'm doing,
You're only ever three meters from my thoughts.

I'd like to say it's a work in progress but it's not. It's all I can manage in this place. I think the never-ending concrete has diminished my brain power. Gone are the days of outstanding cream poetry; here are the days of appalling rat metaphors. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is;
I love you. Always.

Howard xxx

--

Little man; I've missed you calling me that. I miss the sound of your voice. I miss you so much.

And Howard, calm down, okay.

I know it's hard but you have to be strong, yeah? You're not going to go crazy, I won't let you. If you lose it, who am I gonna have to talk to? Plus I'm the one with the crazy edge, not you, you'll wreck our dynamic.

Look, no one's gonna kill you. Not unless you get branded a snitch - this is one of those times when being teacher's pet is something you've gotta avoid, Howard, do you understand? Seriously, that's REALLY fucking important. And no one is gonna rape you either, you're a big fucking bastard Howard. Just give them that look you give me when I come home from clubs and stuff and I'm full of ale and pills, that always works. And don't draw attention to yourself, just keep your head down yeah, read a book or something, I'll send you some. Or you could go to the gym. Bet your old love handles have made a 'reappearance', you better not be getting all tubby and flabby in there especially if you're making brownies!And don't worry. I got the cake() off Jimmy. Trust me, he knows better than to cross me again. Fucking bastard! I still can't fucking believe what he did to us. To you! And I know you're thinking I should calm down but fuck off. If it wasn't for him … well…

Anyway, it was great, the brownie. It better not be a regular thing though. I don't wanna get fat. Or is that your plan? I reckon you've always wanted me to be a Teletubbie. Are you a secret feeder, Moon? No, I loved it. I miss your cooking.

And I reckon cooking is well manly, look at Gordon Ramsey, bet he could mess you up seriously. Most telly cooks are blokes now, ain't they? Just no fairy cakes, hey. I'm glad your doing it, I'm proud of you. Plus it'll look good when it comes to parole.

Which could be much sooner than you think … I'm working on it, four eyes. Could be the best anniversary present you've ever had. Even better than the ones you mentioned - Pompeii.

I can't believe you brought up Pom-fucking-peii! A lot of people would sell their souls to spend a weekend near an active volcano with me, Howard. I don't think you understand how lucky you were. And it weren't active, not really, that bloke said.

And that cruise was the most I could afford at the time. I was twenty-one, Howard. I had a massive student loan, and no fucking job, I was trying to be romantic on the small amount of money I had. The minimum wage was a lot less back then. I have never been tight when it comes to you. I bought you that fucking Porsche, didn't I?

And, since we're getting into this, lets talk about birthdays, specifically my twenty-fifth, my twenty-eighth and my well, you know that other one we DON'T EVER MENTION! Right where did you take me on my twenty-fifth, Howard? That Jazz club yeah, and what do I hate most in the fucking world? Jazz. Yeah, jazz. And what did you spend most of the night doing? Peering over my shoulder, while we had dinner, WHICH I PAID FOR, cus you 'forgot' your wallet! You just wanted to see that fucking band! It was my twenty-fifth! I still ain't forgiven you.

I can't believe you kept that fucking photo (and the fact it's ruined has nothing to do with my fingers) and don't say it's all you got. You got me and a life outside. And that house we bought with the heist money. Fucking opti- opta- optu- stupidly confident that was. But we'll live there when we get out. We'll go straight. Finally buy that fucking puppy you wanted or something with less upkeep - like a fish. And we can be bored out of our fucking skulls looking out over endless fields and bastard flowers - fuck, bet it's worse than prison. Sorry, I really hate the idea of going straight, even now. Dunno what I'm gonna do when we're not playing the game anymore. You still wanna go straight though, right? If you do, I will. I'll do anything to make this up to you, Howard. You know that. It's my fault we're in the mess, NOT yours, got it? It's not your fault!

I DON'T wallow. I brood, I am a brooder, Moon. Brooding is manly, wallowing's pathetic. I'm a distressed anti-hero. Bit like Robin Hood, you can be my Maid Marion, nah don't have a spaz attack, you can be Robin Hood's 'mate' who he has special cuddles with at night. Bit like sailors what miss their wives. Although we never gave to the poor, missed that bit out, went straight into the joint account. Still, we did buy that car for your sister, and my Mum and Dad have got a new swimming pool. Neither of us come from underprivileged backgrounds, though, do we?

Don't panic about your ability to write. You've probably just got writers block, you're always getting it … what do you expect when your main subject matter is comparing me with cream? CREAM! Where can you go with cream exactly? Just relax, yeah.

I have to get rid of the letters you send me but I'm keeping the poem. I know I shouldn't but I can't tear it up and flush it down the toilet. It's beautiful. Although, I don't fancy being compared to a rat, still I've got the nose for it. Maybe rats are your new muses, you can be Britain's leading rat poet. Even when you're not here, you make me remember Howard, you have to get rid of these letters from now on, okay. Just do it, I know what a sap you are … but you have to do this. I'll see you soon, I promise.

I know you love me.
God we're soft, if any of my mates saw this letter they'd skin me alive, literally.
I loves ya, too, Howard.
Here goes…

Vince xxx