Naboo went through another drawer with a rising sense of panic. It had to be here somewhere, there was no way that he'd left it lying around somewhere.
"Looking for something?" Vince asked from the doorway, fiddling with a strand of his newly restored hair.
"What do you want for it? Money, time off work? I won't even try to get you back this time just tell me what you've done with it," Naboo asked, some anxiety creeping into his trademark calm voice.
Vince looked at him with a predatory look in his eye.
"I've mailed it to the Board of Shaman," he replied at length, examining his fingernails.
Naboo sat down heavily on his bed.
"You're lying. You want me to panic and offer you more," he said, though he knew that he was only fooling himself.
"It's gone a bit beyond half holidays and shopping trips at this stage Naboo. You went after my hair." Vince looked more dangerous than he ever had, "I must say it was an interesting read. Very educational, I was never sure how you did it exactly," he went on casually, shaking his thin wrist from side to side to illustrate his point.
Naboo felt faint with, what felt like, all the blood in his body rushing into his face.
"You've gone too far this time Vince," he said shakily.
"This is why keeping a diary is a bad idea. Don't write things down that you don't want read," Vince replied cruelly.
"I can't remember things if I don't write them down," Naboo muttered into his chest, "When did you post it?"
"This morning, first post," Vince said gleefully and giggled for some unfathomable reason.
Naboo nodded slowly and got to his feet.
"Excuse me please Vince," he said with dignity and walked out of the room.
He made his way to the living room, running on autopilot. There was nothing Vince could possibly do to him now, and in a way that was liberating. When he arrived, Howard was watching a subtitled documentary about the history of the French horn and Bollo was doing the Times crossword (nineteen across: banana, seventeen down: banana, four down: shaman) on the couch. He cleared his throat and they looked towards him in polite confusion. Usually he'd announce himself with a call of, 'Oi, ballbags.'
"I don't know if you've noticed, but Vince and I have been having a minor disagreement these past few weeks," he said quietly.
Bollo and Howard shook their heads, nonplussed. Naboo rolled his eyes before continuing.
"Well anyway, we have, and he's taken it upon himself to send my diary to the Board of Shaman. Which is why I need to do this. It's better in the long run," he scrunched up his face and looked at both of them in turn.
He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Vince couldn't do anything to him, but if he let the Board settle this with a bloody 'mediated chat/group therapy session' with a full council, then things would get unimaginably worse. He opened his eyes and made his way across the room, wishing that his legs were longer, or the room was smaller. He placed himself in his familiar's lap and covered his mouth his his own.
"That's it really," he whispered and ran off back to his own room, where thankfully Vince had buggered off.
