The Switch
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Chapter Two: Howard and Vince Get Into Trouble
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"I'm just saying—it gets right down to it, a nitty gritty life-is-on-the-line type situation—an ostrich would beat him in a fair match, every time."
"An ostrich hasn't got any thumbs, has he? How would he hold the stick?"
"'E's got heart, though, you can't deny that."
"How about, um… Brian Jones?"
Vince considered. "Is the field wet or dry?"
"What does it matter?"
"Brian Jones is like a racehorse. Runs best in mud."
It was early evening, though the summer sun showed little sign of setting as Vince and Howard re-entered the Nabootique with a jingle of the door.
"Whoa there. What's that?" Howard exclaimed.
On the counter of the shop was a large wooden trunk, rotten in places with water damage and encircled with a heavy chain and padlock. Its sides were carved with black runes, and as the two men stared at it, a section of violins played a suspenseful note in vibrato.
"Oh, Naboo said something about that earlier, I think," Vince noted, frowning in concentration. He scratched the back of his head with the hand not holding a shopping bag. "Something about… opening it."
"Opening it?" Howard echoed. Another, more dramatic note sang through the air.
"That can't be right," he continued, completely breaking the tension.
"Yeah, it looks dangerous," Vince quickly agreed.
"Not a good idea."
The pair stood quietly for a bit, Howard rocking back on his heels with his hands in his pockets and Vince kicking at a scuff mark on the floor with one white cowboy boot.
"Shall I put a kettle on?" Howard finally asked, gesturing towards the kitchen.
"That'd be great, thanks."
Howard left, leaving Vince alone on the bottom floor of the shop. The style maven wandered idly around the store front, glancing at a knick knack here, examining a trinket there, until he caught his reflection in the full length mirror in the corner. Straightening, he gently arranged a few strands of his glossy black hair, nodding his approval at the image smiling back at him. Reaching into his shopping bag, he procured an electric blue feather boa and tossed it across his neck, turning his head this way and that in admiration. After a moment, though, he frowned, noticing a small spot on the surface of the glass.
In a few strides, he was standing at the mirror, face to face with the offending mark. He rubbed at it with his thumb, to no avail.
"Howard, have we got any glass cleaner?" he called.
"Glass cleaner?"
"Yeah."
"Under the counter, maybe?"
Vince made his way to the counter of the shop, crouching down to examine the various supplies kept there. He grabbed at a squirt bottle, but an experimental shake proved it to be empty. Annoyed, he rummaged around, finding nothing to suit his needs.
"It's not down here!" he yelled back up to Howard.
Howard didn't answer. However, upon pushing back a few rolls of paper towels, he came upon a large glass bottle full of a jewel-green liquid.
"Never mind!" he called with an excited glimmer in his eyes, grabbing the alembic-shaped bottle and twisting it in the light. He unstopped the cork and poured a little of the green liquid onto a rag, wrinkling his nose a little at the smell.
His prize retrieved, he strode back to the mirror with the wet rag in one hand and the bottle in the other, intent on destroying the smudge that dared to mar his perfect image.
"What are you doing?" Howard asked, eyeing Vince strangely from the stop of the stairs.
"The mirror's got a smudge on it," Vince replied distractedly, having a hard time cleaning the surface with one hand. "Can you help me out a bit?"
Setting two mugs of tea down on the counter, Howard came over to inspect his friend's job.
"I'm not sure that's the right cleaner."
"Probably not, but it gives the glass a nice sparkly shine, doesn't it? Genius. Hold the back of it for me for just a sec."
Howard, mostly out of shock that Vince seemed to actually be tidying up for once, held the back of the mirror still. He poked his head around to look at the shorter man.
"Just where did you get that, exactly?"
"Under the counter, like you said."
"It looks like it might be Naboo's."
Vince scoffed dismissively. "As if Naboo's going to miss a little mirror-sparkle potion."
The surface of the mirror was now sparkly indeed—iridescent swirls glimmered and swam along the mirror's surface like the film on a soap bubble. Vince grinned widely at his reflection, now glittering and bright.
"Howard, you've gotta come check this out. It looks as if I'm in one of those rosy love scene fantasies, beckoning a Duchess to run away with me with my billowy tunic."
Vince leaned forward to inspect his reflection more closely, forgetting that his hand with the rag in it was still pressed against the mirror. Violently, it swung back along its axis. Losing his footing, Howard fell backwards with a shout as Vince tumbled forwards, falling into the surface of the mirror with the sound of a glittering flourish.
As it continued to swing, Howard too was consumed into the mirror as its back crashed down on his head with another ringing sound. Room empty, the mirror spun several times along its frame, resonating with a shimmery-sounding hum. Suddenly, both men were thrown from the mirror and landed with a simultaneous 'oof'.
"Nice going, Duke Love-Dream," Howard remarked sarcastically, rubbing at his tailbone. It was then that he noticed a few things were not quite right.
He was holding the green bottle, for one, and there were several out of focus black shapes sitting above his brow. He frowned, swiping at them with his hand. His hand—he stared down at it, dumbfounded. It seemed smaller, somehow. And was that the sleeve of a blue bolero jacket?
Vince groaned, one hand instinctually darting up to feel his hair. It connected with his head in a strange, stilted motion, like when you expect one extra stair while descending a staircase in the dark. Alarmed, he felt at his head with both hands, the only padding against his skull being a thin, soft covering that felt more like down than thick, textured strands.
"H-howard?"
Howard was frantically grabbing at the boa around his neck, feeling the narrowness of his shoulders, the length of his face. In a panic, he spun around to look at Vince, only to have his gaze met by his own small brown eyes, bulging in horror, staring back at him. Hands that should have belonged to him clutched handfuls of hair from his own head.
The two whirled back to face the mirror they had both just been thrown from. Vince grasped at his head, his nose, his collar as he stared into the glassy surface—but it was Howard's reflection which mirrored his own movements. Based on the horrified expression of Vince's reflection, Howard was coming to a similar realization. They faced each other again, each finding their own face staring back at them. It took another beat for the two to truly grasp their current situation.
Outside the Nabootique, several birds preened themselves contentedly on the rooftop of the building across the street. Suddenly, two ear-splitting screams pierced through the calm, startling the birds into flight—the shout's echo reverberated through the entire street.
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"This isn't working out, Howard," a distinctly Vince-sounding voice announced fretfully as the mustachioed Northerner hurried down the staircase.
"No, it's not working out, glad you could bring that gem of insight to the table." 'Vince' retorted sarcastically. His lithe body was slumped over the counter behind which he sat, poring over shaman books and scrolls that surrounded the mysterious box from earlier. His jet black hair sported several flyaways and a single curled lock was plastered unattractively to his forehead by a thin sheen of sweat.
Vince, in contrast, had taken the time to meticulously shape Howard's "brown smoke" hair to look halfway stylish. The taller man's skin was brighter and more youthful looking, either due to makeup or a thorough moisturizing routine, and his eyes even looked wider thanks to a very subtle application of… something.
"This is absolutely the ONLY look I can pull off with this—" he gestured in frustration to the length of Howard's body. "At first I thought it would be fun, 'Ooh, let's give Howard a makeover, get 'im some highlights, show 'im my chops, prove I'm up for the challenge.' But this is hard. My old body's like a clothes hanger—you can put anything on it. Yeah, the hair's a bit of work sometimes, but I don't think I can keep up with this forever, Howard, I really can't."
Howard surveyed what Vince had put his body in. Staring back at him with his hand on his hip in indignation was Howard Moon, wearing silver ankle boots with shiny black leggings and a tight black jumper beneath a loose fitting silver fishnet wrap that was studded with just a few red rhinestones along one shoulder. His neck was adorned with a white priest's collar and several layers of silver necklaces, the longest of which displayed a gothic looking cross. 'Vince' apprehended him with repulsion—he wouldn't have batted an eye if Vince were wearing it on his own body, but seeing something so utterly unpractical on his own form left a bad taste in his—or Vince's—mouth.
"What is this look, exactly?" he managed to ask.
"It's 'The Flirty Vicar,'" 'Howard' explained, lazily striking a few poses. "You're too tall for Le Boulanger and Steampunk Beekeeper was just not jiving well with your chin."
'Vince' shot 'Howard' an incredulous look. "I ask you to go upstairs and look for some more clues on how to change us back, and you're up there playing dress up for four hours and poking around all my shameful bits in front of a mirror?"
"There are a lot of them," 'Howard' admitted, making an awkward face.
"Unbelievable," 'Vince' muttered, his face contorted in a Howard-esque anger that had never before graced its features.
"Hey now," 'Howard' warned anxiously. "Watch your attitude, yeah? Look at you, all hunched over and laden with hatred like an icy winter branch. You're going to ruin my body, you keep that up!"
"Is that so?" 'Vince' deadpanned, already bored by the barrage of criticism he knew would soon come at him.
"It is so!" "Howard" persisted fervently, rounding the counter to face his companion. "Every second your bitter, poisoned soul lingers in that pristine vessel is like fifty years of life in a coal-mining town with black lung and a leathery wife. It's like taking a sweet summer cucumber and immersing it in salty, vinegary snake venom."
"Vinegar venom, hm?"
"Yeah! Vinegary, Howard venom! It's awful!"
"And I suppose the way you're leaning against that counter on your elbows like a schoolgirl at a sweet shop is doing wonders for preserving my bold, dauntless image, that I've spent years to establish?" 'Vince' retorted condescendingly, straightening if only in an attempt to look down on the now-taller man.
'Howard' chose to ignore this comment.
"I mean it. Try not to be as cross til we get this sorted out?"
Vince squinted Howard's eyes a bit and leaned forward as he noticed something, eyes wide and focused on his own body's forehead.
"Is that a blackhead?" he breathed in horror, reaching out to sweep a bit of black fringe out of the way.
"Get off me," 'Vince' snapped, flailing his arm in annoyance. "I'm not thirteen—I don't get blackheads. And if I did, it would be because of all the stress I'm faced with on a daily basis—sorting out your messes, running the shop by myself. I'm the one who gets things done around here, so excuse me if I can't just flit about, carefree as I please, with my electro-foolery and my tiny, sexual boots."
Vince's cheeky, pleased-with-himself grin translated surprisingly well on Howard's features. "They are pretty brilliant," he agreed, tiny eyes laughing. "I'm surprised your feet fit into them."
Howard rolled Vince's blue eyes dismissively, returning his attentions to Naboo's scrolls. "Yes, Vince, very impressive."
"I think I might have broken one of your toes getting them on, actually," 'Howard' admitted in a conspiratorially hushed tone, still grinning.
"Look," 'Vince' interrupted loudly, clearly annoyed. "Perhaps instead of smearing the Howard Moon name and breaking all my bones, you could maybe take a look at some of these scrolls and old shaman books, hmm? Be useful for once?"
'Howard' once again chose to ignore this request, electing instead to flounce down into a chair and grab a magazine to read.
"Not on my watch, you don't," 'Vince' glared as the man in his body slouched against the chair beneath an issue of NME. "Not while there are ladies about."
"What ladies?" 'Howard' groaned, exasperated. Howard's long legs fumbled as Vince tried to cross them in one smooth motion. What would have been a graceful position for Vince only looked awkward and painful in Howard's body. He glowered over the magazine at his new, bulkier appendages.
"The ladies lookin' for their Howard Moon fix, that's who," 'Vince' specified, not without pride. "The ladies jonesin' for some trombonesin', if you catch my drift. They'll be expecting a sexual dynamo, yes sir, oozing sophistication and charm—not some languid man-child draped over a sofa reading that brain rot."
"What d'yeh rather me read, then, Loafers Quarterly? The Scalp Dryness Weekly Newsletter?"
"You'll find I don't take kindly to sass, Vince, especially not from my own mouth," 'Vince' warned. "Just do as you're bid, please and thank you."
'Howard' rolled his eyes as disdainfully as any teenager might and grabbed a copy of Global Explorer. He pointedly slipped the NME inside, shooting 'Vince' an annoyed look and gesturing with his hands as if to say, "Satisfied?"
Howard's glare looked extremely unbecoming on Vince's face, and the real Vince frowned uneasily.
"Please try not to mess up my face," 'Howard' pleaded. "It's in mint condition. I mean it."
" 'Mint condition'," 'Vince muttered scornfully.
"It even comes packaged with a piece of bubble gum," 'Howard' quipped, winking.
The shop's bell jangled.
"Hey, Vince," Naboo greeted nonchalantly as he entered with Bollo, addressing Howard's body.
"Wait, how'd you know that was Vince?" 'Vince' asked, flabbergasted. The diminutive shaman took off his cloak and placed it on the coat rack.
"Your auras are all wonky," he explained. "That and I have terrible eyesight in my periphery."
"Flirty Vicar?" Bollo inquired of the tall man lounging in the chair. Howard's face lit up, eyes both anxious and hopeful.
"Yeah, what do we think?"
"Tasteful," the gorilla grunted respectfully.
"Do you think you could lend us a hand, Naboo?" 'Vince' interrupted, ignoring the exchange between Bollo and the real Vince.
The shaman sighed in resignation. "What did you do, exactly?"
"Vince was polishing the mirror with some kind of green potion that he found under the counter," 'Vince' explained. "And we both sort of… fell through it."
"Well, there's your problem," Naboo noted darkly. "You didn't touch my box, though, did you?"
"No."
The shaman gave 'Vince' a short nod. "Even so. You two've really done it this time. Switching bodies is bad hoodoo. It's not in the natural order of things. Throws a stick in the bicycle spokes of fate."
"How do you mean?" 'Vince asked nervously, rounding the counter.
"Well, just take a look."
From some corner of the shop, Naboo procured a crystal seeing-ball and placed it on a shimmery cloth. Both Vince and Howard peered over the shaman's shoulders.
"This was your future as of a few days ago."
Inside the seeing-ball, an image of Howard sitting outside the Nabootique in a rocking chair swirled into shape. An old man, his hair was even more scraggly than present day, with added unkempt eyebrow and ear hair adorning his wrinkled face. He wore a bow tie under his jacket and a ratty blanket laid across his lap.
"Nice rocking chair." 'Howard' sniggered. 'Vince' shot him a glare.
Suddenly, the image started to go foggy, with the figure of Howard fading in and out of focus erratically. Naboo waved one hand over the ball, and the picture faded away.
"It's not stable to live in someone else's form. This reality is disappearing in and out of existence. In a few days, you might not have a future at all."
"My god," 'Vince' breathed, horrified.
"What can we do, Naboo?" exclaimed 'Howard'.
"You must go on a journey," Naboo intoned solemnly. "My expertise on the matter ends here. To learn the cure, you must seek out Marigold the Pelvis Smasher, in his powdered bone bungalow."
Vince and Howard exchanged an apprehensive look, and the three sat in silence for several awkward, uncomfortable moments. 'Vince' finally cleared his throat.
"Um… just as a point of interest… you say this Marigold character—"
"—The Pelvis Smasher," Naboo added calmly.
"—Right. The Pelvis Smasher. Now he's… the only gent who can help us out?"
Naboo paused. "Actually, I think I've got him confused with someone else."
'Vince' and 'Howard' gave the small shaman twin looks that were equal parts incredulous and annoyed.
"But you should swing by anyway, he owes me thirty euros."
"Who can help us, Naboo?" 'Howard' asked impatiently.
"I'm getting to it, aren't I? Calm down. The one who can help you lives in a far off realm, and to reach him you must travel where few have traveled before…"
Naboo waved his hands over the crystal ball again, murmuring in a strange shamanic tongue that sounded suspiciously like gibberish. Inside the seeing ball, a blackness spread, interspersed with tiny pinpricks of light that sped forward as if the viewer were journeying through the vast emptiness of space.
"The final frontier," 'Vince' proclaimed with a grim determination. "It all makes sense now."
"Actually, that's the screen-saver," Naboo corrected, tapping the side of the ball with his palm. The space scene flickered out of view instantly, revealing a dark, sooty building beneath a foreboding sky. Next to the smokestack was a gritty, peeling billboard featuring a red rose.
"Here is where you will find the answers you seek."
"What, the abandoned greeting card factory?" 'Howard' asked doubtfully.
"I'll make some calls, try to figure things out on this end," Naboo told the pair as he gathered up the crystal ball and the scrolls from the counter. "But you two'd better get going. Who knows how much time you've got left."
'Vince' leapt up, bobbing from side to side like a boxer. "Okay then, let's go, let's get it done, let's take it home. C'mon, Vince. Get those powerful legs in gear."
'Howard' looked up at him, clearly unimpressed. "What, right now? It's the middle of the night. How about tomorrow around noon-ish?"
'Vince' made a face at him. "Are you ill?"
"One-thirty, maybe, and we can do a nice little brunch beforehand. Do you like omelets?"
"You saw the crystal ball!" 'Vince' retorted angrily. "I was disappearing out of existence!"
"Maybe we should make it a continental thing—that might be better. It's supposed to be hot out tomorrow," 'Howard' mused to himself, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. 'Vince' stared at him, dumbfounded at his lack of concern.
"I might not even be around by then!"
"Why, are you going on a trip?"
'Vince' glared as his own face blinked at him in mild interest.
"We're leaving. Now, in fact, so get moving."
'Howard' sighed, stretching a bit. "Okay, okay, we'll go now—keep your shirt on."
The pair had barely stepped out of the shop, however, when Lester Corncrake ran straight into them.
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On the next installment of The Switch:
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- 'Howard' attempts to scat, and Lester recruits him on an important jazz mission
- 'Vince' makes a new "friend," but loses a game
- 'Howard' makes a promise, and Lester takes a stand
- The Moon!
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Stay tuned!