A/N I do not own anything related to the Mighty Boosh. Its rather dark and not funny at all so it probably doesn't sound anything like The Mighty Boosh anyway My imagination is the reason this story has been created, so please tell me what you think so I will know whether or not to continue. Enjoy…
XXXXX
Vince Noir; king of the mods, the juicy dangler and all round electro boy, stumbled clumsily into the gents bathroom of the local pub. Gripping the tainted white walls with one hand and holding his stomach as best he could with the other still gripping his drink, he stared blearily into the mirror in front of him. Hair was still intact and standing tall, although he could barely see his own reflection, everything was so very blurry to him. He took another gulp of his beverage to try and refresh his parched throat but was hit with a wave of nausea again. All but throwing himself at the nearest toilet, he retched dryly, not quite managing to bring anything up but still feeling the bile rising up his oesophagus. Vince Noir moaned pathetically, loathing this rather unusual feeling of sickness that he was experiencing.
He had never felt this bad when drinking before. However he hadn't been well to begin with. That was why he and Howard had fallen out beforehand. Vince had insisted on going out for a drink, "to actually have some fun," as he quite plainly put it, but Howard had declined, claiming that Vince's fever had not quite gone down yet and that it was a fool's errand to make it worse with alcohol….
"Oh come on Howard, just a few bevvies down The Prince," Vince begged. Howard sipped his tea, a look of annoyance written on his face,
"You've been moaning for the past week about how it feels like a chisel was secretly working away at your head, and you expect me to go along for a drink with you. That's a fools errand sir."
Vince rolled his eyes at Howard's bizarre way of saying simple things like "No"
"But Howard, I'm going mad in this house!"
"You're easily bored. Read a book, reflect on life's unending trials, listen to a bit of jazz," Howard suggested, propping up one knee to rest on his other leg whilst tasting his tea cautiously.
"Or I could go down the pub," Vince pouted childishly.
"By all means go little man," Howard replied. Vince stomped his glittery clad foot in a desperate attempt to make his friend look up from his cup.
"Not on my own, what loser does that? Where are Naboo and Bollo, they're usually up for it."
"Shaman business," Howard said.
"Well fine Howard!" Vince cried, dramatically throwing his arms into the air, "I'll go alone!" And with that he strutted out the door leaving one very bemused jazz/poet self-acclaimed genius in his wake.
It all seemed ages ago that the argument had happened, Vince thought to himself as he sat slumped over the bog, peering down through the not so hygienic rim.
"Stupid Howard, with his stupid jazz," he mumbled, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. His now empty glass clattered to the floor and smashed, but Vince did not notice until he placed his palms onto the tiling in an attempt to get up. The pain was dull and he could not see the shards embedding themselves into his soft flesh. Onwards he moved, leaving the bathroom, and gripping the walls as he exited the pub.
His head buzzing and his stomach churning in an uncomfortable fashion Vince Noir did not feel well at all. The dark London streets were almost deserted at the early hours of Sunday morning, apart from the few hardcore clubbers who were passing the stumbling slim figure, giving him a wide berth.
The stylish London flat he shared with Howard, Naboo the Shaman and his familiar Bollo was a short distance away. 5 minutes walking. However Vince was not walking, but staggering drunkenly, and on more than one occasion he found that the pavement was rushing up to welcome his face.
He finally entered the end of an alleyway and vaguely recognised it as the one he had to walk down to reach the flat. It seemed that the cruel hand of fate (as Howard liked to refer to it as) had other ideas though and halfway down the passage, Vince felt the nauseous experience reach a new height and he fell to his knees, vomiting out the salivary remains of the drinks he had consumed over the past few hours. Then, his eyes rolling back, he fell forward, only narrowly missing the mess he had produced.
XXXXXXXXXX
Howard Moon dozed on the comfortable black and white couch in the living area. His book on the history of jazz was sitting precariously over his face as he snored softly. The object teetered on its papery edge before slipping off Howard's face and hit the floor with a soft thud. It was enough to bring Howard out of his sleepy state. He had decided to try and stay up in order to chide Vince when he finally fell through the door. Truth be told, it was extremely tedious with no one here to talk to. Howard Moon was an island, yes, but he was an Island surrounded by other, slightly less significant islands in which he could communicate with, if he felt like it.
As if on cue, the door clicked open and Howard tilted his head back to see who it was. The flash of a blue turban followed by a large black hairy ape verified that it was Naboo and Bollo back from Shamansburys.
"Alright Naboo, Bollo," Howard called out from his position on the sofa.
"Alright Howard, what you doing up so late?" Naboo replied, pointing at a place for Bollo to put down all the shopping bags.
"Waiting for Vince to come home," Howard said truthfully, then an afterthought, "Its not that late is it?"
"Try 5 o'clock in the morning," Naboo stated, his voice rising slightly to indicate he was annoyed. "Why did you let him go out, hes ill you ballbag!"
"I got a bad feeling about this," Bollo muttered.
Howard felt a twinge of worry run through him. Bollo's feelings were usually right and it was pretty late, even by Vince's standards.
"Maybe he pulled?" the moustached man offered weakly. Naboo, tiny as he was, made Howard feel small with the stern look he was giving him.
"Don't make me turn my back on you," Naboo warned. Howard sighed and clumsily caught the coat Bollo threw at him.
"Well, don't wait up," Howard mumbled, doing up the zip of the brown khaki jacket and walking into the cold night air. Naboo shook his head in exasperation with Bollo as the jazz maverick left, clearly not liking the situation at all.
XXXXXXXX
In order to occupy himself from the icy sting that was reaching his face, Howard started to hum a familiar jazz tune under his breath. There was no one about apart from the odd car zooming past and when Howard turned down the alleyway connecting the flat from their local pub, he found it completely pitch black.
Now a tad nervous, Howard hummed louder, trying to block out the eerie silence of the narrow pathway. He guided himself by using the wall as a guide, only stopping to remark how stupid the whole situation was.
"Theres nothing here. You're Howard Moon, the great adventurer. You've survived in the thundra, escaped from crazed yetis, been captured in a dark box by a cockney nut job. You're not about to get a severe case of the shivers from an alley in London," the poet/photographer/writer chanted to himself.
"If Vince were here he'd be laughing at me right no-" Howard tripped over a large bin bag that had been strewed across the dirty floor. He landed with a loud oomph, his heart pounding at the sudden fall. His legs were still caught up in the black material when he went to rise and it was then that he noticed that the bin bag was a bit… odd.
Howard prodded the object with a foot and jumped back three foot when it moaned softly.
"Ahh, stay back! I know self defence!" Howard all be squeaked, but the thing did not move or make another sound.
A strange curiosity overcame Howard. Although he would deny it through his teeth, in a situation like this, if he felt his life was even minutely at risk he would leg it all the way back to the safety of his room. But this time, he wanted to find out what exactly he had tripped over. Pulling in a large gulp of air, he reached forward and gently rolled the black entity over.
"Vince?"
XXXXXXXXX
A topless Naboo was alerted to the return of Howard when there was a desperate knocking at the door. He calmly uncrossed his legs and got off his large bed to go and see what the racket was. Bollo entered the living room at the same time as the tiny Shaman and they shared a worried look. Howard had not stopped banging on the door.
Naboo unlocked the door and took a step back as it was flung open and Howard rushed inside, carrying what appeared to be a large bundle of clothing. Upon closer inspection, Naboo's eyes widened at the sickening realisation that it was Vince Noir in Howard's arms.
The man in question was lifeless and limp. His head was tilted backwards in an awkward position, mouth slightly open. His black hair was stuck to his sweaty paler than usual face. Blood from Vince's hands had smeared on Howard's jacket, but the man hadn't noticed. What worried Naboo the most was the almost non-existent breathing of his punk friend.
"What happened?" Bollo asked Howard when Vince was laying on the couch, eyes still closed.
"I don't…he was…I can't," Howard stuttered, running a hand through his matted hair.
"Howard, calm down. Did you find him like this?" Naboo pressed. The Shaman moved over to the couch, Bollo in tow. The large gorilla pushed the stunned Howard out of the way to make room for Naboo to do his magic.
"Howard?" Naboo questioned, effectively snapping the man out of his shocked state.
"Yes, I found him like this in the alley. He's not moving or anything," Howard rambled a reply.
Naboo felt the mod's forehead and motioned for Bollo to collect some Shaman related materials.
"Shouldn't we get him to a hospital?" Howard asked, peering over the man's shoulder.
"Well that is the obvious solution yes," Naboo replied, "But until then this potion should stop him from going too far up shit creak without a paddle."