Vince Noir, sitting on his feathers, threw glitter into the air and flopped back down onto his cushions as the glitter cascaded around him, covering him in sparkle.
The shine was wearing thin though, scuffed at the edges he could barely keep up the concealment. A door banged loudly below him and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling for the bathroom.
Howard slammed the door with his shoulder and leaned against it, dropping the bags he was carrying to the floor. He shut his eyes, keys dangling from his right hand. He was broken from his dangerous reverie by the thunderous sound of shaman shoes entering the shop floor.
"Howard, you ball bag. What's the shop doing closed? Come on Howard I don't pay you for nothing you know."
"You don't pay us at all! Vince was supposed t..." He trailed off, who was he kidding. When had Vince ever done anything he was supposed to that didn't involve his appearance?
"Precious Vince need beauty sleep, Harold not have any reason for it." Bollo chimed in, standing at Naboo's shoulder. His remark stung but he couldn't keep protesting, keep fighting and plus he was a gorilla he didn't know any better.
"Alright!" He flipped the shop's sign to OPEN and strode towards the counter. "Happy?"
Naboo nodded and disappeared into the back of the shop where he had emerged from.
Howard slumped behind the counter, a cloud of depression hanging over him. Was this what his life had become? A life once so full of promise now reduced to minding an obscure shop and a futuristic prostitute? Because that is what he was doing, he felt more like Vince's babysitter than his best friend.
Sometimes the thought crossed his mind to get rid of him after all it was Vince who held him here. Held the ties that bound him to Dalston. If he could just get rid of Vince he would be free. But he couldn't. No matter what Vince did to him, he was not strong enough to lose him on his own. He would be his slave for all eternity and the thought sickened him.
Vince stared into the mirror, not preening, but staring blankly, the lustre gone from his eyes, even the glitter plastered onto his face and sprinkled in his hair was dulled to metallic chrome in this light. The conversation happening below him rumbled on in his mind, the words not registering.
The sudden silence broke him from his trance and he quickly spruced himself up, mentally replaced his sparkle and made his way downstairs to the shop floor where Howard was lost in thought.
The figure watched the ensuing stilted conversation intently. The boy was perfect. And a willing aid to his plan. Distress and frustration rolled off him in waves. When the figure stuck out his tongue it landed, marinated in anger to be dissolved by his taste buds. The dark stranger licked his lips and strode out into the city, pulling down his hat to hide his awful grin.