A/N: I'm not sure how long this fic is going to be, but I have a lot of ideas. Hope you enjoy part 1.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Boosh and I certainly don't make money off of this ridiculousness.
Howard's not sure how they got to where they are, but the burly man with the rippling arm muscles shutting the door behind him might have had something to do with it.
Howard looks around. They're in a building that looks very similar to their little house at the zoo. But where are they, exactly?
Something shivers near Howard's right arm. "Graagghhh," Vince says.
"Indeed." Maybe he should move. That would probably help with figuring out the surroundings.
"I can't see," Vince moans.
A voice yells, "HORSE TRANQUILIZERS!" The voice sounds horrifyingly similar to Bob Fossil's.
Howard whips around, nearly knocking Vince off the couch they're sitting on. A couch that looks very familiar.
There's a laptop in front of them, and Fossil's face is on the screen. "I gave you horse tranquilizers," he says helpfully.
"…What the hell?" Howard says, because he can honestly think of nothing else to say.
"Howard," Vince says. His hand is reaching out blindly, grasping at air until it comes in contact with the front of Howard's shirt. "There's clones of Fossil everywhere, oh God, they're terrifying—they're calling out to me—Howard, make it stop!"
"Shh," Howard says, placing his hand on top of Vince's head. "There's only one Fossil and he's not even here."
"I'm right here! You need to hear about your mission!"
"Where the hell are we?" Howard cries. "I'm going to close the laptop if you don't talk!"
"No!" Fossil shrieks. "You're in a rented apartment in Ohio. Your furniture is there. You need to track the shrew, you know, the big scary one we talked about? And check in with me every day. And—anything else, Bainbridge?" Fossil calls over his shoulder.
"Tell them to use the map!" calls Bainbridge from a ways off.
"Oh right, there's a tracking device in the laptop—"
"And for God's sake, get me my chocolate pudding!"
"Right away, Bainbridge!" Fossil says. Then the communication window closes.
"I ate a lot of cheese right before we were supposed to leave," Vince says after a moment of confused silence. "Bainbridge just had it on his desk."
"Horse tranquilizers and cheese don't mix. Can you see now?" Howard asks.
"Yeah, better. I was so worried about the multiple Fossils."
"With good reason," Howard says solemnly. His arm is about to fall asleep.
There's a pause. Then Vince says, "D'you want some toast?"
"…Yeah."
Things become much clearer after the initial confusion and horror. The rented apartment, it turns out, is not in Ohio; it's in Michigan close to the Ohio border. As Dixon Bainbridge himself said, "Not even I'm that horrible of a person."
The mission is thus: the shrew, whom Vince has already named Betty, regardless of its actual gender, must be captured and brought back to the Zooniverse within two months, because "Do you know how much those frickin' apartments cost?" The shrew in question was once in a movie, which is why Bainbridge wants it. Howard can't figure out how Bainbridge knows this particular shrew is the right one, but then he remembers the tracking device. God, this is all so weird.
When Howard closes the laptop, Vince says, "Fossil sounds happy. D'you figure Bainbridge finally caved and let him stroke his moustache?"
"I doubt it."
There's a semi-awkward silence until Vince says, "We'll have this done in two days or so. Then we can go back and forget it ever happened."
"I hope so," Howard says. "Presumably we've only been here for a few hours, and the neighbors are already starting to annoy me." He points up to the ceiling. "It's not even four o'clock and it sounds like there's a drunken party going on up there."
"Maybe we should join them," Vince says innocently.
"Are you crazy, little man? We're on a mission. We're not going to be distracted by some idiots upstairs."
"Yeah, and what are we doing now? Is sitting around getting angry part of the mission?"
"Vince," Howard says, "this may seem like a little vacation for you; you're probably thinking about what new fashions you should debut and all the clubs you're gonna go to, but remember, we're still at work, and I won't let you slack off. If I die—"
"Oh, for God's sake, Howard, no one's going to die! Would you shut up already?"
This seems to stun them both, and for a moment they sit there staring at each other, saying nothing. Then Vince drops his gaze and says, "I'm sorry. I'm just—this is really strange."
"Yeah," Howard says. "It's okay." Now they're both looking at the fabric of the couch; the stitching is quite fascinating.
"Hey," Howard says suddenly, looking back up, "I think we've had our first real argument."
"Yeah! What a milestone," Vince says. When he lifts his head back up, his fringe sweeps over his eyes, and he laughs quietly. "We should celebrate. Go out to dinner or something. That's what normal people do, right?"
"I wouldn't know," Howard says. "But that sounds nice."
Vince smiles at him. Howard feels compelled to add something else, so he says, "I do love you, you little shitbox."
Vince laughs. "Thanks so much. That's good to hear."
"So where should we go?" Howard asks.
"I dunno. I hardly even know where we are."
Just then, a light starts flashing on the laptop. Howard picks the laptop up off the floor and opens it.
"Hey!" Fossil says. "Why are you still sitting down? Start your assignment!"
"You mean we don't even have time for a romantic candlelit dinner?" Vince asks.
"NO! Get your romantic candlelit asses on the trail of that shrew!" The window closes.
Howard shuts the laptop. "…I do not have a romantic candlelit ass," he says quietly.
Vince laughs and reaches for Howard's hand. "At some point, we'll see about that."
Cheeky bastard.