Good evening all.
New chapter- helped very much by my boyfriend, and also Marc who told us how many pounds Vince would probably weigh, hehe. Sorry Noel if you weigh less than that and you happen to read this. Whoops! This chapter is shorter than the last, but meh. Hoping this isn't a reaccuring theme of course. It probably won't be.
Enough of me blathering, enjoy x.
Chapter Two
In which Vince loses his straighteners
The morning sun shone through the window as Howard Moon struggled to awake from his dream. I say dream, it was more of a nightmare. His arms were being held back by hairy banana hands as he desperately tried to type a message to his friend Mark Fisher on MSN messenger. It was a strange dream, but reaccuring ones usually were. The weirdest thing about it was that he could never remember the message he needed to send, maybe it was a sign or something.
He shrugged this thought off and wandered into the front room, without bothering to change his clothes. Naboo was still firmly planted on the sofa, where Howard had seen him the night before, staring placidly at the screen.
"Do you just not sleep anymore?" Asked the man of action as he strode over to the kitchen area and poured himself some coffee.
"It's Big Brother Live," Replied Naboo, stretching slightly and straightening his turban. "It's on all night."
"But isn't it just shots of people sleeping?" Howard never could understand the Shamens taste in television. "..Where's Bollo?" He added as an afterthought. As if on cue, the ape appeared on the stairs carrying a pint of milk. He'd apparently been up all night watching television as well.
"Milkman is screwing us over." He stated in his gruff voice, "We pay for two pints and he only give us one."
Naboo twisted round in his seat and shook his head. "Nah, that's not the milkman, it's the milk stealing cheetah's that have moved in down the road. I'll have a word with them later." Bollo nodded as the Shamen turned back to Howard. "Where's Vince?"
The man in question was currently in the same position he'd fallen asleep in, except now sporting a rather painful (but stylish) looking red mark across his stomach, small columns of steam arose from the same area. If Vince had been sober, this would've been incredibly painful, however due to the practically normal, drunken state he had fallen asleep in, he barely felt a thing.
That is, until he began to awaken.
As the horizon of reality began to smother his subconscious, the pain grew stronger and stronger. It felt like a thousand badgers were attempting to tunnel out of his stomach using a series of hot pokers and lightning bolts.
"What the..? Ow! Ow!" He yelped as he shifted and the sensation turned from a sharp sting into a searing hot pain. Fumbling down at his side where the hurting was the greatest, his hand brushed against the heated marble of his straighteners, still burning from the night before. He unplugged them roughly and glared in a somewhat hungover fashion.
"You Jack O'clubs!" He snapped, before opening his window and launching the utensil into the street below. Almost immediately, his face dropped. What had he done?
Back in the front room, Howard settled himself comfortably on the sofa and sipped his coffee. This was just what he needed the morning after a night out. He sighed contentedly into his mug, smiling as the coffee stupor overtook him. It was a nice feeling that disappeared immediately as a loud scream pierced the air. Jumping to his feet, he swopped an alarmed glance with Naboo before being hit with a 140 pound ball of distress, more commonly refered to as Vince.
"ILOfdSTMdkYjeSTRxgAIGeiHTEdkNERSdjILrjkuhjrOSTMrjYSrhTRAghIdgGfjHrhTrhENrjErjRS!"
Howard blinked. "What?"
Vince took a deep breath, "Just read the capital letters, Howard, they'll tell you what you need to know."
There was silence for a moment as the jazz lover thought this over. Eventually his eyes widened and he turned to his friend. "You what? How did that happen? They're probably where you left them last night." He placed his coffee down on the table, "Come on, i'll help you find them."
"No, no you don't understand!" Cried Vince, putting an arm out to stop Howard. "I left them burning my stomach last night, they're not there now because I threw them out of the window in a spontaneous hungover rage this morning!"
The man of action shrugged, looking nonplussed. "Well, then we can just go to the street and get them. no need to worry about these things Vince, you've got Howard Moon, man about town on the case."
"Well.." Vince looked sheepish. "It's not that simple, I think they landed on the roof of a black car as it was driving by."
Howard's face fell, he raised his hands and rubbed his temples, muttering something under his breath. "Nothing's ever simple with you, is it Vince?" There was a moment of awkward silence, before Howard continued. "Alright, well there arn't too many black cars in London, it shouldn't be that hard to track it down.. What did it look like?"
"It's hard to describe.." Vince looked thoughtful, wincing as his stomach twinged, reminding him of the burn. "It was black, big.. It had an orange light on the top of it and-"
"It was a taxi wasn't it."
Vince let out a short laugh of realisation. "Actually yeah, I think it was."
