A/N: I am in a very, very bad mood. The reason is this - I no longer have Microsoft word. The program has gone all stupid on my computer and confused itself. How utterly annoying. But I am now on school holidays! Wooo! :D Anyway, I think that this counts as the last chapter, in that the next chapter is going to be the tying up of loose ends and a kind of epilogue. :D
Disclaimer: Yeah I own the Boosh. I also own 5 tame unicorns, my own country and a record deal. Dream on.
Dedications: This chapter is dedicated to Beakyboo, Chalcedony Rivers, Hats-For-Alice, and Smelling Margaret, whose lovely conversations keep me sane 3
It was mere seconds until a polo dropped from his eyes and rolled across the cement. Spinning round like a penny until it lay still.
…
Naboo gulped. He was rapidly returning to his normal height, which wasn't very imposing or particularly threatening. The Hitcher; (who had, seconds previously, been the exact same height as him), now towered above him. The eyes he had been using now turned against him in an evil, if not slightly confused, sneer.
He knew there was no point in trying to move, he knew that if he did there was every chance he would end up trying to hold back the tears on the floor again. And right now the floor, next to the Hitcher's boots, was not looking to be a enticing place. He screwed up his eyes as he felt his face contort back into it's natural position. He knew that he was probably only being left to do this in peace because the others were too disgusted to come near enough to hit him. Only able to open his eyes again when the pain from his skin being stretched had stopped. He was met with quite a disturbing sight.
Not only had Bollo not reappeared with help yet, But the Hitcher was standing directly in front of him, flanked on either side by Lance and Harold, (glowing amulets intact). And he was standing a few feet shorter than them, close enough to see up the Hitchers oversized nostrils, and he was wearing a dressing gown. A dirty, yellow, dressing gown. His hair was pulled back from his face in a way that left his neck completely on show, and he was feeling very self conscious without his turban.
This wasn't how he had envisioned the rescue mission to end.
In front of him, the Hitcher seemed to be torn between killing him with his bare hands, or laughing at him. Thankfully, he opted for the latter; for the moment anyway. And as the cockney laughter filled his ears, Naboo debated running. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the Hitcher stopped laughing; and with the wave of a green hand, Lance and Harold stood behind him. Encasing him in an almost triangular ring. That was when he knew he was going to need to 'up his game', and keep his enemies occupied, and hope on every bloody star and eyelash there was that Bollo hadn't taken a wrong turning on his way to the board of Shamen.
….
Meanwhile, Howard was still dragging a scarily distant Vince around the many winding corridors of the warehouse. Worrying about Naboo and Bollo, worrying about what he would do if he couldn't find a way to get Vince out, worrying about what to do if he did. The smaller man was still scarily silent. And in a short break to get his breath back, Howard was able to study his face in the light from another window, which he had already assessed to be locked and too high-up to clamber through.
Vince's once-gleaming hair now hung in greasy clumps around his face. Shorn bits of scalp showing through the black of his hair. He no longer had any layers, but every part of his hair was a different length; the fringe being the only part that remained at his normal length, if a little higher and less even. His skin was bruised and battered. He had a split lip, with the remains of blood crusted at the edge of the cut. A black eye showed the contrast between his ghostly pale complexion and the deep purple of the bruise, a cut where the attacker must have been wearing a ring. Both his wrists and ankles were rubbed raw from the ropes, angry red burns perfectly encircling the thin bones. His skin was dry and his lips were chapped from lack of water. His eyes were sunken and he looked about ready to collapse from lack of sleep; but Howard was sure he hadn't even seen him blink once.
This was not the Vince he knew. The Vince he knew would have been dragging Howard around, ignoring his whispered implorations to be quiet. Talking about how much he needed a bath, or a haircut, or something. In fact, Howard had no idea what to do with Vince. No idea where they were. And no idea how to get out.
So he sat down with his back against the steel wall, and waited in the silence. Vince swaying slightly above him. He didn't know how long he sat there, holding his head in his hands, and trying to calm his screaming brain. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours.
Either way, he was startled from his reverie by the sound of aggressive laughter coming from the other side of the wall. He jumped violently, and noticed that the voice had provoked a reaction from Vince as well; as he began to shake violently. Howard jumped up and held onto him tightly, all fears about how he wasn't acting like he normally would expect gone from his mind.
All he knew now was that it was his Vince stood in front of him. His Vince was terrified of whatever was happening outside, and Howard needed to look after him.
So he carefully manoeuvred the trembling man into a sitting position, with his legs splayed out in front of him, noting that his body was as floppy as a rag doll's. When he was satisfied that he was comfortable enough, and not likely to wander off on his own, Howard set off in search of the entrance. For he was sure that the people he could hear outside were relatively close, which in turn meant there had to be the front door here somewhere. He wanted to check that the cockney voice outside was Naboo's, and then he'd be able to bring Vince round and they'd be able to get him home. He had only been looking for about 5 minutes when he saw the rectangle of moonlight cast across the floor by the doorway.
Not wanting to reveal his presence immediately, he flattened himself against the wall and poked his head around the doorway. Trying desperately to remember an old spy film Bollo had once made them all watch. When he did eventually peer over the dismal sight of the concrete car park, he saw the one thing that he really didn't even want to think about.
He saw the Hitcher with his back to him, laughing and pointing at something stood before him; something yellow. Naboo.
'Oh dear' was pretty much the first thought that crossed his mind. Followed immediately by 'Where's Bollo?'
…..
The ape was at that very moment speeding back to the warehouse. Grumbling about the uselessness of Dennis and scowling at Tony as he puked over the side of the carpet unknowingly onto some woman's head down below, (she was hailed as a new style icon).
Really he was worried about Naboo. He really didn't know what to expect when he got back, and if the Hitcher had thought to wonder yet about why exactly Naboo was wandering around impersonating him, then the scene might be worse then he even wanted to think about. He hoped that Howard had enough sense to keep an eye on Vince, and not do anything stupid until he got there with help.
Help going by the names of Tony, Saboo, and Kirk. The Carpet was only a 4 seater, and apparently Dennis had had some kind of honest reason for being a completely useless prick.
Growling at the arguing Shaman behind him, he urged the carpet on faster through the night.
….
Naboo was racking his brains for anything that would help him to keep alive until Bollo got back. The ape was getting closer, he could feel it in that part of the brain that humans liked to forget about; the bit they called the 'sixth sense'. Thanks to the fact that he was a Shaman, this sense was heightened and he could tell that his familiar was getting closer. He had about 6 minutes, tops.
The Hitcher had stopped laughing by now. The small yellow man had been amusing for a while; and although he knew that with Lance and Harold by his side he had the upper hand, he couldn't shake off the feeling that his captive was waiting for something, or somebody. And it just wouldn't do to let him get out of this that easily. No one thought they could trick the Hitcher and get away with it. So he lunged forwards towards the smaller man, fully intending on slashing him right back to the planet he came from. He was prepared for the futile attempts at distraction, it almost always happened.
Naboo was panicking. So he did the only thing he could think of; he'd seen it once in an old spy film Bollo had once made them watch.
"look!" He suddenly shouted, pointing over Lance and Harold's heads into the distance, "What is that?"
He hadn't really expected it to work, and sure enough the Hitcher showed no signs of being fooled by such a simple trick. Unfortunately for the Hitcher, Lance and Harold weren't so suspicious of Naboo's motives, and immediately turned their heads to stare at the nothing that Naboo had pointed out to them.
Naboo quickly realised that this was probably going to be his only chance to stop Lance and Harold; and give himself a better chance against the Hitcher. So, without even a pause, he reached up and snapped the glowing amulets from around their necks. Throwing them to the ground and smashing them against the concrete before the Hitcher could make any attempt to stop him.
There was an awkward moment of silence where the four men all stared at the smashed amulets in amazement. Waiting for something to happen.
Then with a shake of their heads, Lance and Harold seemed to wake up from a dream; blinking drowsily and swaying slightly on their feet. Harold looked unsteady and slightly nauseous, and placed his hand on Lance's shoulder in an effort to steady himself. Lance was grabbing at his head, as if he feared it might fall apart if he didn't keep it in place. His own legs looking shaky and unbalanced. Naboo grinned, they'd be fine, it just seemed that their bodies were having difficulties in catching up on what they'd missed.
Naboo was snapped out of the reverie this small victory had granted him by the Hitcher grabbing the collar of his dressing gown and yanking him upwards off his feet. His green face pressed almost nose-to-nose as he sneered down at the dangling Naboo.
"Well done boy, praise where it's due and all that. But you're gonna regret that. That was a stupid thing to do. Very stupid. You aren't in a nice position now are you. Enjoying this are you boy?"
Naboo, suffice to say, wasn't enjoying it at all. The dressing gown was being clutched so tightly around his neck by the Hitcher that he was finding it difficult to breathe. He tried throwing his legs about wildly, trying to catch the Hitcher's kneecaps or other 'delicate male areas'. But as his supply of Oxygen began to diminish further he gave up, opting instead to try and drop out of the clothing. This didn't work either. And as he felt to world begin to turn grey at the edges; the Hitcher jumped violently forwards; dropping Naboo unceremoniously onto the cement.
…..
As soon as Howard had seen the position Naboo had got himself into, he sprang into action. Noting that Lance and Harold were still under the Hitcher's control, he realised that he would be of no help to Naboo if he ran over and tried to engage a fight. He knew deep down that he was no match for his doppelganger. Trying not to panic he had formulated a plan. Well, it was more of a 'plan' seeing as he had only got as far as to decide to go back to Vince's room and arm himself with the chair that was in there.
This done, he threw caution to the wind. As Howard peered once more around the edge of the warehouse door, he saw Lance and Harold staggering hurriedly away from the Hitcher, who happened to have Naboo dangling in front of him by his dressing gown.
Realising that now was the time to live up to his reputation as a 'man of action' Howard crept up behind the laughing cockney, signalling to Naboo to keep quiet, and abruptly swung the chair down onto his head. Trying not to cringe when he heard the crack of the impact. Naboo was flung backwards onto the hard floor; where he lay struggling to get his breath back. Howard only had time to register that there was some purple glowing pieces if old amulet next to him before the Hitcher jumped up, brandishing an old dagger.
Howard wasn't a fighter. He knew this. He knew that what had just happened with the chair was a rare fluke. He knew that he had about as much chance against the Hitcher and his dagger as a stray hair had against Vince and his hairspray. He knew all this, but he also knew he'd have to try, if not to just try and keep the Hitcher away from Naboo, who was still laying gasping on the floor. It briefly occurred to Howard that Naboo had been doing that too much lately.
But suddenly, he didn't have anymore time to think. The Hitcher squared up to Howard, and glaring at him, ran at him with the dagger pointed straight at his chest. Howard dodged, then ran backwards in a slight circle. Raising the chair in anticipation.
Sure enough, the Hitcher made another charge at Howard; but this time Howard blocked the dagger with one of the chair legs, managing to knock the Hitcher off balance slightly with the back of the chair. The Hitcher responded by throwing himself at Howard, knocking him to floor and making the chair fly out of his grip. He lay on top of him, holding the dagger teasingly above his throat, enjoying the look of panic in his eyes. Naboo was still trying to catch his breath; the combination of being strangled, and then winded as he hit the floor, had not been good for his already smoke-damaged lungs. Vince was still sat, trembling and silent, in the warehouse where Howard had left him; unaware of the action taking place outside. Even if he had known, Howard would have preferred for him to stay safe inside anyway.
Just when it seemed the Hitcher had won, as he pressed the point of the dagger harder against Howard's neck, causing a drop of blood to ooze out, there was a commotion from above. Someone was screaming in the sky.
The Hitcher looked up in confusion, and was greeted with the sight of Tony Harrison's flying pink underbelly for a few seconds before it hit him square in the face. The Hitcher pushed himself up in a panic, trying to claw the pink tentacles off his face. Howard took the chance to wriggle out from beneath the Hitcher, snatching the dagger from where it had fallen as he did. Hearing a noise behind him, he swung around to see Bollo running over to where he stood. Kirk was kneeling next to Naboo, helping him breathe through a pipe that looked suspiciously like a hookah. 'Well' Howard thought, 'Shamen will be shamen'.
In the distance he saw Saboo talking to a very dazed and confused Lance and Harold. He appeared to be giving them a lecture; Howard didn't pity them one bit. It was what they deserved.
Tony Harrison remained clinging to the Hitcher's face, laughing manically and apparently having the time of his life. Howard fought the urge to laugh as Bollo grabbed the Hitcher's arms and placed them in special Shaman handcuffs. Tony Harrison seemed unwilling to admit that his job was done. Choosing instead to continue shouting at the handcuffed green man.
"Take it you slag! Feel the wrath of the tentacled Tony Harrison! They say I can't handle the crunch, I am the crunch!"
"Tony, you finished now. We have Hitcher. You can get off face." Bollo grumbled.
Tony ignored him, continuing to scream obscenities at the immobile Hitcher. Bollo let him continue for a few minutes, before trying to swat him off the Hitcher's face, whilst keeping a firm hold on the handcuffed hands. Not that there was any chance a thumb of the size could slip through the metal circles.
Howard felt slightly giddy. He didn't know whether it was because their plan seemed to have, eventually, worked. Or if it was because he'd hit his head quite hard when the Hitcher jumped on him. Either way, the events around him seemed to be happening quite quickly, like how you would imagine someone stuck in a black hole would see the world outside. He felt distant, and a bit disorientated. It briefly crossed his mind that he could have concussion, before he was hit with the overwhelming urge to go to sleep. And since there was no one nearby to warn him of the dangers of doing so, he did.
…..
Howard was woken up by the feeling you get in dreams, when you think you're falling down the stairs or tripping up. What had actually happened was that he'd nearly rolled off the carpet - mid flight.
He was lying on the right hand side of the carpet, with Bollo at his side, and Saboo steering them (presumably) home. Turning his head slightly, Howard saw another carpet to their left, Being driven by Dennis with Kirk, Naboo, Tony and Vince as passengers. Naboo was looking a little worse for wear after his ordeal, but definitely better than earlier. He was sat up, leaning slightly on Kirk, who was not only supporting Naboo, but also holding onto Vince to ensure he didn't fall off the carpet.
Vince was lying perfectly still. If it wasn't for the gentle rise and fall of his painfully skinny chest, Howard would have guessed he was dead. Although even the thought of that being true scared him too much.
Howard realised he couldn't see the Hitcher anywhere, and he was almost concerned - before remembering that if he had indeed fallen off the carpet, he couldn't give less of a damn.
For now though, with sleep pulling his eyelids closer shut, he was content to know that Vince was ok, heading back home, where he would be looked after.
He was content to know that although everything most definitely hadn't gone to plan, it was almost over.
Another A/N: We're nearing the end :'( Reviews? :D
(I'm also planning on going back and re-formatting Chapter 1, in case anyone was interested, because I looked back at it and got annoyed at how bad it looks!)
