Alright everyone? :D. Well, I love you all, as always, and so I have decided to update.

Basically, this chapter is where Vince loses it properly. Because you know when everything builds up and builds up and eventually you snap? I do, anyway, and I figure it would happen really quickly to Vince. I think he'd just start to wither without Howard. And so this is, in fact, the most depressing thing I have ever written.

Uh...I was feeling really low when I wrote this, which is why it's just... sad, really. I mean, I guess writing is my outlet, where all my bad feelings go, and that's how I survive day-to-day. And never before has it come across so clear, I'm afraid.

In fact, the next few chapters are a bit... bad. I wrote them all in one go, see. But after that, I got a good night's sleep, and woke up to beautiful reviews, and felt really good for once, and so the Shaman Council will return in all their fantastic glory in about three/four chapter's time, depending on whether I add another chapter in between (which I'm considering).

So yeah, I'm really sorry for this downer of a chapter, but try and enjoy, yeah? :P.

Warning: mention of Vince's naked torso may cause a beauty-induced attack.


The next morning, Vince woke in sheer confusion. He had only a vague idea of what had happened the night before, and his head hurt too much to search for the missing fragments. He wasn't sure how he had come to be on the floor, and when he finally mustered up the energy to make it into the bathroom, he discovered that there was sick in his hair.

Immediately, he ran the shower, stripping and discarding his clothes in the corner. What did it matter if they got all creased and crumpled? He definitely wouldn't be wearing them ever again. He didn't want to be reminded of Howard's travesty of a funeral every time he caught a glimpse of his jacket, or his jeans, or his boots did he?

As he crossed the bathroom, he caught sight of is naked torso in the mirror. Bruises decorated his ribs. That explained the aching then. But how had they got there?

It took him a full two minutes to remember. But then it flooded back. He had been beaten up.

The memory didn't alarm him. In fact, he was left with a strange sense of numbness, like the attack had meant nothing. There would have been a time when he would have been shocked. His self-confidence might even have taken a knock. But then he would have sought out Howard, and the older man would have made it all okay with his kind, comforting words.

But those days had passed, and Vince was certain he deserved nothing more than to be beaten to shit.

The hot water was refreshing, but Vince didn't want to stick around in the silence of the bathroom to be tortured with his thoughts, so he made his shower quick, dashed back into the bedroom with a towel around him and found some clothes for the day. Then he cleaned up the rug as best he could, although it remained stained.

Finally, he made his way to the living room, but there was no sign of Naboo or Bollo. They weren't in the shop either, nor their bedroom. Finally, Vince found a note taped to the fridge.

Vince,

I bet you don't remember me telling you where we're going this week, so I'll say it again. Me and Bollo have gone on a lad's holiday with the gang- it's Saboo's six-hundredth birthday on Thursday. I've got my phone so ring if you need anything, but make it good or I'll set Tony on you. There's a week's worth of meals in the fridge, so they'd best be gone when we get back. And don't just think you can chuck them away. I'll know.

Don't think you can get away without working either. I want the shop open at least three days this week. Understand?

See you on Sunday,

Naboo.

PS, your phone's in the bread bin. You'd better have a good explanation when I get back. Bread bins are for bread, Vince.

Vince sighed deeply, ripping the paper off the fridge and crumpling it up. Great- just what he needed. A week alone with nobody but himself. And... did that mean it was Monday?

Unsure, he peered inside the bread bin, seeking his phone. Curiously, Naboo was right. How the hell did it end up there?

"Are you haunting me, Howard?" he asked aloud. "That'd be just like you, coming back to make my life a misery." There was a faint smile on his face, but all traces of humour faded from his voice as he carried on talking to a man he knew would never hear him again. "Oh, I don't mean that Howard. I'm sorry. Even when you're dead... I just can't help myself."

Shaking his head, he brought up the phone's calendar. Sure enough, it was Monday.

"That Linda woman's coming today, Howard," Vince began again, because he had nobody else to talk to. And, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself, it made him feel a tiny bit closer to his missing friend. "I bet you would have liked her. You'd probably start chatting her up and everything. It'd be well sad," he laughed. Then his face fell again. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm a horrible person, aren't I? I don't mean to be. It just sort of happens. I can't control it."

Slowly, Vince crossed to the couch and sat. He flicked on the television and tried to watch it, but he just couldn't focus and so he turned it off. Then he drew his legs up onto the chair and sighed again, a deep, heavy sigh.

"It doesn't really matter anyway," he said thoughtfully. "It's- what's that word you taught me ages ago? Oh yeah, 'moot'. It's a moot point. Because if you were here, Linda wouldn't be. In a way, she's like your replacement. But she's not nearly good enough, Howard."

For a moment, Vince just listened to the silence, half-expecting to hear a reply back. But he was bitterly disappointed.

"You're not even listening, are you?" he muttered, more to himself than to Howard.

And that was the beginning of Vince's week of pure hell.

For lack of anything better to do, Vince had the intention of opening the shop every day for as long as possible. It would keep him occupied at least. But he gave up on the second day when not one single customer crossed the threshold. All he ended up doing was standing in Howard's old spot behind the counter and glancing around, horribly drawn to all the objects that reminded him of his deceased friend, lost in bitter-sweet memories.

Linda arrived for the appointment as promised, but she caught Vince in the midst of a particularly low mood swing and he ended up going on a hysterical tirade about the adventures he had been on. All of his stories revolved around Naboo as he desperately tried to prove he wasn't delusional and failed miserably. She left with even less faith in Vince's sanity than she had arrived with, and so he wrote the whole day off and went to bed early- mid-afternoon in fact- after taking four sleeping pills, just for good measure.

That was when the nightmares started. Images of Howard, bleeding, injured and broken. Dying. And Vince was always the one with the knife, or the one knocking him down with a car, or the one pushing him off the roof.

It was clear what his subconscious was trying to tell him. He was a murderer. And he knew it.

The thought plagued him from the very moment he woke up, sweating and screaming in his tangled sheets, to the moment he went to sleep, craving the rest but frightened of what his sick imagination would conjure up next. By day four of the week, Vince's self-confidence had been destroyed by his own mind, his self-esteem and self-worth shredded with it. He was turning his anger in on himself, turning his pain into sheer self-hatred. By day five, he could no longer look himself in the eye. By day six, he wanted to punch his own stupid head in.

There was nothing left to distract him now, nothing that could quieten the voices. They hissed at him, spat words of hatred, told him time and time again that this was all his fault. They assured him that had he not been such a selfish, air-headed dick, he wouldn't have been in this situation. Howard wouldn't have had to die.

Vince tried to eat. He really did. But the first time, his body rejected the food, having been basically starved for almost three weeks. And then he realised that he deserved nothing better. Why should he be allowed to eat, when Howard couldn't? When he had made it so that Howard couldn't?

The next time he ate was when he was in one of his rare, brighter moments. When the voices weren't there. When he could almost believe that it wasn't his fault.

It didn't last. Ten minutes after he'd eaten, the voices closed in on him again, calling him out on his meal, shouting at him for being so fucking selfish, yet again.

Twenty minutes after that, he was in the bathroom with his fingers down his throat.

He didn't cry any more. All the tears in the world couldn't fix this- fix him. He wasn't Vince Noir: Rock Star, Socialite and Sunshine Kid any longer. He was Vince Noir: Broken, Lonely and Disturbed. It was funny, because now that Howard was gone, Vince could finally understand how he must have felt every day of his sad, awful existence. And now he completely empathised with that feeling of wanting to die, because he was treading the exact same path.

He couldn't even bring himself to get out of his bed for most of that week. He would just lie there, despondent, but still with those angry voices in his head. He didn't bother to shower, or change his clothes. What did it matter? Nobody would see. His precious hair became tangled and matted, but he barely gave it a thought.

Vince couldn't cope. He hated being alone at the best of times, and according to Howard, he had minor abandonment issues. Or something. Whether or not it was said in jest, Vince didn't know. But now he found himself starting to agree. Howard had gone, left him, and now he was falling apart. Naboo wasn't there. Bollo wasn't there. He wasn't designed to live without human contact. He couldn't take the loneliness. But he didn't bother to tidy himself up, venture outside and attempt to recapture his social life because he didn't want the empty smiles of old acquaintances and the meaningless interactions. He didn't want the mates that cared more about his shoes than his bruises. Nothing, no one, could fill that Howard-shaped hole, so there wasn't any point in trying.

So he suffered the loneliness, because it couldn't be healed, it couldn't be helped, and deep down, he knew he had brought it on himself. He deserved this. Sometimes, in his lighter moments, he would take to talking to Howard and that would ease the crushing emptiness he felt. But the rest of the time, he was silent. He just left the voices to do the talking. He didn't argue or fight back, because he knew they were right. He was useless, selfish, and everyone would be better off without him.

By day seven, Vince had never been in a worst state. He needed to eat. He felt dizzy and light-headed, and the hunger gnawed at him constantly, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He was no longer attractive skinny. He was unhealthy skinny. He needed to shower, to sort his hair out, get some clean clothes on and at least appear to be alright for when Naboo and Bollo returned home, but he couldn't muster up the effort.

Somewhere inside his mind, Vince realised what was going on. He had snapped. Something had triggered this mindset. And now, no matter now hard he prayed, he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to how he was. Not without a certain tall, jazzy freak and a lot of time to heal.

It was a fast decline into deep depression, and for the first time in his life, Vince couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel.


Okay, so yeah... I apologise for thoroughly depressing you all.

Um... reviews. I just love them :D. You're all fantastic, and thank you so much for snapping me out of my sad little misery mood swings ;).

Roy The Starfish- I can't believe there's someone on here who lives so close by :L! I wouldn't worry too much though- I expect sharing a flat with me would be quite tedious. I'm messy, loud, and I would in fact end up waking you up at all hours with loud music or asking to borrow stuff or just my general clumsiness (I literally struggle to stand up without falling over. Which is rather embarrassing on the bus. Or it would be, but luckily, I'm not self-conscious, so I find it quite hilarious when I fall down the stairs from the top deck or whatever ;)). But cheers, I reckon it'd be pretty darn cool sharing a flat with a starfish- second best after a shaman, don't'cha know? :D. I can't believe anyone even read my little self-indulgent ramble about my lack of a flatmate, so cheers for that ;P. And thank you for being so kind about my writing, too :D.

BatsNotDogs- It's cool, I love long reviews :D. Haha, of course I don't mind your rambling, it's really nice to see I'm not the only highly-excitable teen on here xD. I do love drama, I'm afraid, I thrive off of it in fact, so lucky you love a bit too, 'cause otherwise I reckon it'd probably get old quickly :L. I think we might get the old Vince back, or something that resembles him, but most of the healing will be done in the sequel. Right now, the main focus is Vince's angst, and general missing-of-Howard-ness I'm afraid. Because I think sad Vince is just the sweetest thing ever (I mean seriously, the start of "The Power of the Crimp" just makes my heart melt every time. Like warm Nutella, in fact). I'm not going to give too much away, but I reckon the direction this is taking will end up being well obvious soon :L. But I do apologise for depressing you. Honestly. Things WILL get better! I think I owe you lot that much :D. Yeah, I'm sixteen, nearly seventeen too- and I completely agree. It's so refreshing to meet someone like me, 'cause I was starting to think I was just a total freak ;). I'm glad that's not the case :D. Oh, Luxury Comedy is just the best, aside from 'Boosh obviously, but it's not really even in the same genre, so I think it isn't fair to compare them anyway :D. I wish my dad was into stuff like Luxury Comedy and 'Boosh- we haven't sat down and watched anything together since my mum died, because he just has no taste in TV :P. But I got my step-sister into 'Boosh (she well loves it now. She's got the moon on her door and everything :L), which I consider to be a massive breakthrough, given that she was more obsessed with stuff like Hannah Montana. I have nothing against it, I just don't find it to be good at all xD. "You take your little black pants off boy." Ah, quotes are good. And that squirrel makes me laugh every time, without fail xD. "Yeah, but I could go, 'Hello Michael. Hello Michael. Hello Michael'." "Yeah, but I could go, 'Put him, put him, put him in the dark, Timothy'!" Or jar. I mean, the subtitles say dark, but it sounds like jar. And I'd much prefer for Timothy to be putting people in jars, rather than the dark, because I think that's just a fantastic idea. Putting people in jars, I mean. Just imagine the possibilities! xD. I could get a Noel Fielding and a Julian Barratt in a jar. Wow. I'd feed them Nik-Naks and everything. My tiny mind has just been blown. But back to the freaking point :L. Thank you so much, yet again, for your lovely, lovely compliments. Urgh... I just... I love it :D. Although I fear my ego may swell terribly, and I won't actually have the talent to back it up. Because as previously mentioned, I really don't have a ton of confidence in my writing. But I'm a self-depreciating fool, so thank you all the same :D.

AlKiMi- Then you shall have a sequel, sir! :D. That was my attempt at sounding like Howard, by the way ;). Well, what can I say? Vince isn't on the rug any more, but unfortunately, he is all by himself still. I'm really sorry you to you, too, for being so terribly kind :D. I'm sure I don't deserve it, particularly after a chapter like this! And I know, writing drunkenness is a bitch, isn't it? But it has to be done, because it's simply necessary. And I think you did a pretty decent job in your fic, for someone who hasn't been drunk before :D. I've gotta ask- is that because you're underage, or are you just boring? ;). I'm kidding, of course. You are most certainly not boring, I promise :D. And I completely agree about Luxury Comedy. In fact, I could have just said that without going on a huge ramble. Oh, how I wish I could be direct and to the point :( :P. Cool, I've started writing one, and it has a rather brilliant concept, I do believe. Well, as good as it can get, anyway. The problem I now have is that I keep on typing 'Vince' instead of 'Noel', because they're well easy to get mixed up xD. And I'm sorry for making you tear up, yet again, but prepare because things do get lighter! Just... not right away. So I'm sorry for that xD.

Omg, well, I have to tell you all why I'm like, mega-trega excited. The parents (I refer to them a 'the' parents, in case you're wondering- although I doubt you are- because one of them is my real parent, my father, and the other is his fiancee, although it's like she's my step-mum because we're basically like a proper family now. So when I refer to my 'step-brother and step-sisters', we aren't actually related yet) send their clothes to a laundrette, right, because they haven't got a washer or a dryer yet 'cause they haven't been in their house long. And guess what? Well, the laundrette delivers them back because it's really far away, and the delivery guy is called Noel! So I'm well happy about that. I can't believe it! My life is fairly sad, yeah :L.

Also, I just thought I'd tell you about my Luxury Comedy/'Boosh fic. It's going to be posted in the 'Boosh category, although I'm not sure when, because I think people aren't going to physically look for Luxury Comedy ones, crossover or not, since it's not even a category yet (I don't think- I've not checked for a while). And also, I reckon a lot of 'Boosh fans would have watched Luxury Comedy since it's Noel, so yeah. The plot is well simple. Basically, Secret Peter's helping his mate Bob Fossil out by offering Noel's hut up to Vince and Howard to go and stay. Because they've been sent away to the jungle to recapture their creativity, since Fossil wants them at their best :L. Noel isn't too happy about this, and him and Vince end up clashing a bit (because I reckon they would). So ultimately, it's just about the character's encounters with each other and stuff. And I'll probably stick some Naboo and Bollo in for good measure.

I'm pretty sure it'll end up being better than it sounds. I'm already quite proud of the first chapter, so after I've written a bit more, I'll post, yeah? It's going to be called 'The Luxury Boosh', to let you know. Get me, pioneering into new crossover territories ;).

Also, the first chapter will be rather heavy on mentioning Nik-Naks, since I'm kind of obsessed with them right now xD. Even though I haven't actually eaten a packet of them for about six years. I mean, I think I like them. I'm not sure :L. So try not to tell the company who makes 'em, or they might tell me off, yeah? ;).

Um, yeah, that's actually about all I have to say, to be fair. So please, please, don't hesitate to review, because I absolutely love it when I get reviews. Seriously. And it's not just like, because you're being nice to me or whatever, it's just because I love to hear from my readers, even if it's a bit critical!

Alright, love you all, yeah? :D. Bye-bye :D.