The Switch

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Chapter Four: Howard and Vince Run Away

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'Vince' had long since begun to tire of dancing, swaying half-heartedly on his feet with a blank expression on his pretty face. He cursed himself for not changing into sensible shoes before he left the flat—the cowboy boots that had come part and parcel with the body switch must have been new, because they were hard and completely unmerciful on his sore feet.

When the dance break had first started, he had been worried out of his mind that Kokimbe would awaken—whether this fantastical beast was a heavy sleeper or a lie Billy Bluebell had invented was now a distinction he found himself barely caring about anymore. He was almost too sick of this entire adventure to think of formulating an escape plan.

Just then, a tall, perfectly accessorized figure in black came to dance next to him.

"Hey! Howard! Great party!" 'Howard' greeted, cheerfully surprised. He quickly gave his friend a scrutinizing once-over. "Electro homemaker? Not too shabby on you, actually. Well, on me, I suppose."

Hearing his own voice, albeit speaking with a light south-London accent, snapped 'Vince' right out of his morose thoughts. "Vince! What are you doing here? Where've you been?"

"I was at Lester's for a while, but that didn't work out," 'Howard' explained, still dancing. "Then I found out about this party—the bouncer said I wasn't on the list, right, so I had to gate-crash. D'yeh know there's an actual gate on this place, too? I've never gate-crashed at a place with an actual gate before—though I suppose I didn't actually crash into—"

"Never mind that, we have to get out of here!" 'Vince' interrupted.

"What? No way! I'm having a good time," 'Howard' scoffed as he danced.

"We haven't got time for any more distract—actually, what did Lester want, was it important?"

'Howard' didn't even look at his anxious friend. "I don't know, something about sending letters somewhere," he said dismissively as he shot a wink at a dark-haired doll who seemed to be admiring his dance moves.

'Vince''s eyes went wide in realization. "The letters to the editor! The jazz activism letters!" He grasped 'Howard' by the shoulders. "Did you finish them in time?"

'Howard' regarded the man in the pink apron clutching him with a strange look and shrugged off his grip. "Do you mind? I'm trying to get my tall, Northern groove on. And no, I don't think we did. About halfway through Lester accidentally impaled himself on a letter opener," he remarked, miming a sharp jab to the throat. "So I figured I'd take off."

'Vince' stared, upset by this casual confession for more than a few reasons.

"Listen," he began, deciding to just ignore this gruesome explanation if only to avoid the obligation to give 'Howard' a long lecture about it. "We both need to get out of his factory, now. There's a giant sleeping monster living here and I'd rather not risk being around when it wakes up."

"What?" 'Howard' yelled over the noise.

"I said there's a sleeping—"

"Speak up, I can't hear you!"

'Vince' leaned in and yelled straight into his ear. "We're leaving!"

'Howard' sighed in frustration as he watched 'Vince' begin to stalk off, only to stop, remembering something. He hastily unknotted his frilly apron and threw it to the ground.

"Come on!"

The pair began to weave through the tiny crowd bobbing in their stilted, puppet-like way to make their way to the doors, 'Howard' only a little reluctantly. They hadn't made it ten feet, however, when they heard the loud thunk of a switch and were hit with a spotlight. The music instantly shut off.

"Where are you daisies going?" Billy wailed grumpily.

'Vince' and 'Howard' froze, blinded by the light and lost for an excuse.

"We're all out of crisps?" 'Vince' attempted, his sheepish smile a dismal failure at convincing.

Billy puffed out his cheeks and glowered at the two men, and as he stared, the crowd of toys began to cower and shrink back into the corners of the room. An ominous squeaking echoed from the decayed rafters, which incidentally looked like much more appropriate décor for an abandoned factory than the fresh paint and bubbles. Hanging from the rotten beams were hundreds of gray and white greeting cards, flapping open and closed like so many tattered bats. A smattering of them flew down into the room, circling Billy Bluebell and landing in many a distressed dolly's curls. 'Vince' shuddered at the sudden and obvious change in atmosphere—the room even seemed colder than it was a moment ago.

"I can't see, is he angry?" 'Howard' whispered to 'Vince', squinting anxiously to get a better view. "It's like looking through one of those eclipse-viewing boxes," he muttered in frustration. The real Howard, however, had seen everything and was much too frightened to provide a proper comeback.

"You're bad at playing with us. You're bad at dancing with us. And you made Jelly Otter insecure about his body!" Billy listed angrily. 'Vince' frowned when he heard the last grievance mentioned.

"Beg pardon?" he asked, politely confused. 'Howard' winced guiltily.

"I may have called Jelly Otter a gravy-faced fatball and hurled a cheese platter at his wife."

"Why on earth would you do that to Jelly Otter?" 'Vince' hissed at 'Howard,' terrified for his life. 'Howard only jutted his chin out rebelliously at 'Vince'.

"It's a long story, but suffice it to say Jelly Otter would do well to watch himself from here on in." he muttered angrily.

From a dark corner of the room, an extremely sad pink puffball of an otter with a pastel jellybean design on his back and bright amber eyes whimpered piteously. 'Howard' narrowed his eyes and sneered at the round toy, gesturing with his arms sharply as if daring the creature to come fight him. It cowered in fright and 'Vince' hit him lightly on the shoulder, incredulous at this exchange.

"What's the matter with you?"

"You are bad, bad toys!" Billy Bluebell interrupted in a shout, button eyes flashing dangerously. "And bad toys are given to Kokimbe to play with!"

"Now you've done it," 'Vince' whimpered, bottom lip curling in terror in a very Howard-like fashion. "We're going to be eaten alive. This is it!"

A deep gong resounded from the darkest reaches of the room, startling several groups of card-bats into flight. Its long echo made 'Vince' and 'Howard' aware of how empty and dark the room had become now that all the toys had fled—only a few bats and paper cups remained to litter the air and floor. Billy Bluebell waddled over to a conveniently placed trapdoor near his feet, needing to lean all the way to the floor in order to grasp it with his stubby hand. Somehow he managed to get it open.

"Goodbye, step-pumpkin! Goodbye, tall monster!" he called, looking as though he was trying to fling his arms into the air in a dramatic exit but failing miserably. "Dance your last sad dance with our prince!"

Spinning three times on the steps of the trap door, he finally disappeared and slammed the door behind him.

From the furthest reaches of the room, two bright circles of light pierced through the darkness, accompanied by a low rumble.

"Oh, god," 'Vince' whined, clutching at 'Howard''s silver fishnet shawl. "Don't kill me… I've got so much to give!"

'Howard', not exactly braver than his companion, leaned back fearfully. "Yeah, like my body back!" he reminded, voice climbing several octaves as he glanced around in wide-eyed panic.

Alone in their island of light, the two men stood close and watched nervously for activity in the empty room. They couldn't see much outside of their spotlight, but they could hear shifting sounds, as if someone were dragging a sack of cement along the floor.

Then there was silence.

Suddenly, an enormous coil dropped down around 'Vince''s body, hauling him towards the rest of the even more enormous body of a snake. 'Vince' cried out, and 'Howard' stumbled back in horror and awe.

Now the monster could be seen in the light. It was easily twenty-five feet long, with almost ten feet of head and torso that it kept erect. The fanged prince was made entirely of what looked like a giant beige sock, with dark red and purple yarn scales sewed onto its surface. Its eyes were two black spirals of yarn, lit from within by the most sinister of black magic—or perhaps some sort of internal flashlight. Its head was not incredibly distinct from its body, save for the eyes and the opening for its mouth—which was, at the moment, twisted in a triumphant grin at the fact that it held a small man trapped in its coils.

"Help me!" 'Vince' yelped as the enormous snake began to wind more of itself around his body, constricting him. 'Howard''s eyes went wide with panic.

"How to stop a snake, how to stop a snake, how to—err…" he mumbled frantically to himself. Suddenly his face lit up with an idea.

"…Choke it!"

"What?"

"Well, it's used to eating dolls and stuff, yeah? Dolls are rather small," 'Howard' reasoned, eyes gleaming with excitement. "So what you do is, you let him eat you! And then he just chokes on your body 'cause it's too big. And then maybe you can like… make friends with someone on the inside who'll help you find an exit, like a friendly zombie field mouse. Or punch your way out."

'Vince' stared at the man in his body, who was currently miming a few punches, as if he had grown two heads. "That's your plan?" he asked in disbelief as the snake continued its job of wrapping him. "Let him eat me?"

It took a beat for the brightness to fade from 'Howard''s face as Vince realized the absurdity of his plan. But in a snap, it was back. "Wait! I heard somewhere that snakes are allergic to soy…"

"Vince!" 'Vince' managed to gasp in a muffled voice as the sock snake squeezed tighter. "Use the flute!"

Vince cocked Howard's head. "Sorry, what?"

"The flute!" 'Vince' choked out, one of the snake's coils already winding its way around his head.

'Howard' looked beside him, and on a golden flute stand laid a golden flute. His mouth formed a little 'o' in realization. "Right!"

'Howard' examined the flute hurriedly, turning it sideways and upside-down, trying to figure out which side was up. Finally, he discovered the correct orientation for holding the flute with an understanding nod and smile.

"Hurry!"

Finally having figured out which way to hold the instrument, 'Howard''s childlike smile soon morphed into a cocky one as he held the flute up threateningly.

"Time to get tamed, you sewing machine reject!"

'Howard' lifted the flute up, narrowing his eyes in concentration, and with a deep breath of preparation…

…threw it at the snake as hard as he could.

'Vince' groaned in anguish at the ridiculous tactic.

The flute actually hit its target, however, lodging itself in one of the snake's big yarn eyes. It reared its head with a low growl, loosening its coils long enough for 'Vince' to get over his surprise at the success of 'Howard''s ploy and scramble out to freedom.

"Run!" 'Vince' shouted, and both men raced to the exit as the sock snake roared in fury.

They managed to pry open the heavy double doors before the snake managed to dislodge the golden flute and give chase, both glancing back in panic as the serpent rumbled towards them. The creature's body didn't wind back and forth in a slither as it moved, like other snakes. With its head reared and its body straight, it propelled forward much like a nightmarish freight train, yarn circled eyes lit like headlights. With the head start, however, Vince and Howard managed to keep it at a distance conducive to not being devoured. They hurried down the front steps and through the courtyard.

"Go! Go!"

The sock snake was too big, and smashed through the front door, stone pieces and chalky debris flying free from its frames as the two shopkeepers fled.

Inevitably, the yarn-covered behemoth chased them down the streets of Dalston. It chased them past shop fronts, winding, cobbled streets slick and rain and dreary in the lamplight, and other scenery so similar it felt like it could have been on a loop.

"This is great, Howard," 'Howard' remarked cheerily as he pumped his arms up and down in a light jog. "Your legs are about a mile long! I feel like I'm running on one of those moving sidewalks at the airport—half the effort, twice the distance. It's like a leisurely night-time stroll!"

'Vince' couldn't even scrounge up the energy to glare at his fresh-faced companion. His jet black hair was plastered to his cheeks in unattractive, primal-looking strips in some places and sticking almost straight up in others as he sucked down air in ragged, spluttering gasps. 'Howard' didn't even look at his companion, still beaming happily as he shook his head once in amazement.

"Brilliant."

The sock snake roared in frustration as its quarry made a quick left turn at a sidewalk lined with hedges, disappearing from sight.

The snake barreled around the corner, straight past two men sitting closely together on a bench, each holding a newspaper to obscure their torsos and faces. The headlines of the newspapers which they clutched close to their bodies read, "News Pages Provide Excellent Cover While Hiding, Sources Say." Birds, the kind that chirp even in the night-time if something completely inconspicuous were going on, sang gently in the background, lending a serene quality to the scene. Each of the pair mirrored the other's posture, complete with casually crossed legs sporting white cowboy boots and silver ankle boots which looked like they belonged to a rather flirty sort of vicar, respectively.

'Vince' and 'Howard' ran up to them.

"Oi, mate, can we borrow those newspapers a tic?" 'Howard' asked hurriedly of the men as he jogged to a stop. 'Vince' took the first chance as soon as they had stopped to basically collapse on his feet, bending double and wheezing heavily from the effort of running with Vince's shorter legs.

"Piss off," retorted an impossibly deep, grumbling voice from behind the papers. 'Howard' frowned.

"We're in kind of a tight spot here. Be a sport, yeah, lend us a hand?"

"No."

'Howard' sighed impatiently. "Can't you just give us a part you're not reading? How about, uhh… travel?"

"Reading it."

"Umm…" 'Howard' floundered, increasingly agitated. "Society!"

"Next after travel," the low voice immediately intoned.

"Come on, who reads Society?" 'Howard' burst out in frustration. "We're on the run from a fugly stocking snake over here!"

"Fugly?" the voice echoed, enraged. Both newspapers flew aside to reveal the enormous sock snake, yarn eyes glowing in fury.

'Howard' and 'Vince' screamed in terror, and the trio resumed their chase.

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Their second bout of running was short-lived, however. A few minutes away from the Nabootique, 'Vince' and 'Howard' skidded to a stop. Standing before them on the wide, damp street was a large crowd of about a hundred and fifty two people, wearing roughly hewn vests and shawls, and shouting in a language that made it clear that the country they hailed from most likely ended in "-slovakia." Bushy, grey-blonde mustaches adorned the faces of most of the men and some of the women, and goats baaed anxiously from somewhere within the clamor. Almost all of them clutched at melons, or held them aloft, or dragged them in large carts full of hay and small children. Most of them brandished melon ballers.

"Melons! Melons!" they squalled, the goats echoing their nasaly cries.

"Hey, I remember these guys!" 'Howard' noted, pleasantly surprised. " 'Melons, melons!' " he imitated, laughing and shaking his head. "What crazy characters."

"C'mon, we need to move," 'Vince' finally spoke up, seeming to have finally caught his breath.

Chugging to a stop, the yarn and sock snake surveyed the scene in front of it, eyes narrowing in calculation. In front of it was a loud, clamoring group of humans waving gourds about, but its prey were nowhere to be seen. With a snort of impatience, it sped off in another direction.

'Howard' and 'Vince' glanced around cautiously for any sign of the behemoth beneath two scratchy, woolen shawls. 'Howard' was the first to happily cast his aside on the top of a cart.

"I think he's gone now," he declared as 'Vince' struggled to untangle one scraggly jet black lock of hair from a particularly fibrous bit of shawl. 'Howard' peered around 'Vince''s shoulder, trying to get a look at his friend's face.

"Alright, Howard?" he asked with a touch of concern, patting the shorter man on the back.

"Let's just… get back to Naboo," 'Vince' sighed, finally managing to free himself of the shawl and flinging it to the ground in distaste. "Maybe he's found something out."

'Howard''s face fell, and he let out a long exhale.

"Genius idea, though, hiding amongst these melon gypsies," 'he noted half-heartedly, trying to cheer Howard up a bit and falling flat.

With a moody glare, 'Vince' forcefully blew a strand of hair from his eyes. But then he sighed again, glancing at 'Howard' with a brief, thankful expression.

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," 'Howard' breathed, grateful for his friend letting him lighten the mood.

The two men stood quietly with their thoughts, each varying degrees of disappointed and tired.

"Melon baller?" a fabric-draped woman begged wretchedly of 'Vince' and 'Howard.'

"Yeah, I work at the shop where you all got those melon ballers, actually," 'Howard' mentioned. "We're all sold out now, though."

The clamor fizzled to an abrupt silence as the entire crowd fixed 'Vince' and 'Howard' with identical stares, furious like starving animals.

"Out of the frying pan, eh Howard?" 'Howard' offered with a nervous chuckle as the group of melon-loving peasants moved towards them, very slowly. 'Vince''s eye twitched in a sort of deadened disbelief and rage as they stepped backwards in time with the advancing crowd.

"I hope you know I'm penciling you in right now."

"Penciling me in for what?"

"An appointment. A very important appointment with the good doctor. Tie a string round your finger. Pop it into your daily planner."

"The good doctor?"

"The good Doctor Beatings."

"Oh, come on," 'Howard' groaned.

"Yes, and his lovely assistant Nurse Wallop."

'Vince' put up his fists briefly so that 'Howard' couldn't possibly mistake his intentions.

"Come on, Howard."

"If you're a good boy, at the end of your thorough, thorough checkup he might give you a lolly. A lolly of agony."

"I'm sorry, alright?"

Their backs thumped gently against the wall of a building. 'Vince' shook his head, unmoved. "Can't change it now, Vince," he said grimly. "It's penciled in. In pencil—the most permanent of all writing utensils."

'Howard' sighed. "Whatever."

And the crowd of melon gypsies descended upon them.

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On the next installment of The Switch:

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- The exciting return of the mysterious mystery box!

- Boosh banter and crippling, crippling awkwardness

- The final battle, complete with plot twists and heroic speeches

- Naboo is the ruiner of several moments and adds insult to injury

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Stay tuned!