Valentine's prompt fill, a bit late: Potion Commotion, 1/2
Title: Potion Commotion, 1/2
Summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and the shamen are determined to ‘have it large’ in Naboo’s flat...
Rating: R
Warnings: drug use; soft-focus vomiting at one point
Length: about 3400
Spoilers: Vince finds himself trying NOT to attract attention
Disclaimer: none of these characters is mine, I own none of them and I make no profit from my demented ramblings
Notes: Fill for V-Day prompt number 10 about the potions mixup. There will be at least one more chapter, possibly two if you twist my arm...
Potion Commotion, 1/2
Vince drums his heels on the floor, and frowns at the TV screen. ‘This is rubbish. Why are we watching it?’
‘Because it’s Valentine’s Day.’ Howard raises his beer bottle to his lips, and takes another swig. ‘And there’s nothing else to watch, unless you want to watch Four Weddings and a Funeral, and you know that always makes you cry.’
‘Me too,’ a deep voice agrees from the far end of the sofa.
Naboo takes the hash pipe out of his mouth and frowns. ‘Shut up, Bollo. This is my flat an’ my TV an’ that makes it my choice of channel. I’m not havin’ you two snivellin’ all over each other.’
‘Yeah, but did you have to choose The Hundred All-time Most Romantic Power Ballads?’
‘I’m a romantic at heart,’ Naboo says, deadpan. ‘An’ I quite like Celine Dion.’
Vince shakes his head in despair. ‘You’ve gone wrong.’
‘We’ve all gone wrong,’ Howard says, getting up and going to the fridge. ‘Otherwise we’d all have dates tonight and the TV channel wouldn’t be an issue... Anyone else want another beer?’
‘Might as well.’ Vince holds out a hand for the cold bottle. More alcohol might just get him through the evening without putting a platform boot through the TV screen. Although it’s going to be a close thing... ‘Cheers, Howard.’
Howard slumps back into the corner of the sofa beside him. ‘You’re welcome.’
He doesn’t sound as though he means it. He sounds well pissed off. Vince wonders whether he himself is the cause of that.
Surely Howard can’t entirely blame Vince for failing to produce the sure-thing Valentine’s dates he’d had lined up for both of them? As a modern man of the world, Howard must understand that sometimes girls change their minds when you show them a photo of a bloke with a moustache... perhaps it wasn’t the moustache, perhaps it was the very short shorts combined with the pork-pie hat and the medallion? Maybe if he’d chosen another picture...
Vince is quite relieved when his train of thought is derailed by the doorbell going.
‘I’ll get it.’ Naboo pads downstairs and they hear him open the door and say ‘Oh,’ a bit nonplussed. Then there are lots of footsteps on the stairs, and the happy chatter of several voices, and a clinking of bottles in carrier bags.
‘I got a bad feeling about dis,’ Bollo mutters, and a moment later the room is full of people. Loosely speaking, anyway, since at least one of them is a legless alien...
‘Oh fuck,’ Howard groans. ‘This is the last thing we need. The entire Bucket of Shitheads.’
And so it is. The entire Board of Shamen: Dennis the Head Shaman and his wife Methuselah, Tony Harrison, Kirk, Saboo, Diane, and at least a dozen other robe-clad individuals whose names and faces Vince doesn’t know but most of whose hats are completely genius.
All are clutching bottles and snacks and party poppers, which they dump on the coffee table.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’ Harrison crows, sticking out a pink tentacle to grab the TV remote. ‘You can turn that gloomy shit off for a start. We’re ’avin’ a party!’
‘What do you want,’ Kirk asks, fiddling with the controls of the hi-fi. ‘Dubstep or garage?’
‘We do not mind,’ Methuselah tells him, ‘but just don’t mention acid house or my Dennis will freak out.’
‘We saw in the crystal ball that you were all on your own tonight,’ Dennis says very seriously to Naboo, ‘so we thought we’d come over and cheer you up.’
‘I wasn’t on my own,’ Naboo protests, but Tony dismisses Howard, Vince and Bollo with a wave of a tentacle. ‘As good as, my son. Call this lot company? More like mourners at a fuckin’ funeral.’
Saboo puts a hand on Naboo’s shoulder, making him jump. ‘Get your cauldron out, you little tit, and make it snappy. We need a punch and we need it fast.’
‘Yeah,’ Kirk adds, ‘some of us haven’t had a drink in over half an hour.’
Diane frowns down at him. ‘Some of us aren’t old enough to drink.’ Kirk serenely ignores her and starts unpacking bottles onto the kitchen worktop.
‘C’m’on Bollo,’ Naboo says resignedly, ‘get the cauldron.’
The punch is mixed, accompanied by a lot of arguing and commenting and ‘help’ from the other shamen; crisps are opened, pills are popped, and soon there is a party going.
Howard slumps in the corner of the sofa, frowning into his glass, ignoring (and being ignored by) everybody.
Vince has a vague feeling that perhaps he should go and talk to Howard, but he just can’t help moving to the music, the bass pumping through his ribcage and making his heart and his whole body keep time.
There is a touch on his leg; he jumps, and looks down into Tony Harrison’s grinning pink face.
‘Hey,’ Harrison shouts above the noise, ‘you are one sexy mover. I think I’ve got platform boot envy.’ He rubs himself against the silver leather enclosing Vince’s calf. ‘Wanna dance?’
‘I was dancing, you pink freak,’ Vince says indignantly. ‘You’ve put me off my rhythm now.’
‘I’ve got a rhythm of me own.’ Tony starts to hump Vince’s ankle in time to the music.
Vince shakes his leg frantically. ‘Get off me. I’m - I’m gonna get a drink. Find someone else’s leg to climb.’
‘This is an outraaaage!’ Tony squawks, as he flies through the air and disappears into the crowd.
Vince turns his back and heads into the kitchen.
The punch is bubbling softly in its cauldron on the table. It’s a pretty shade of pink, but Vince has had long experience of Naboo’s ‘brews’ and he isn’t sure about this one; it was a bit of a rush job after all.
He is about to play it safe and go for another beer instead when Naboo appears from behind a chair, brandishing a brimming glass of the pink liquid. ‘Drink, Vince?’
‘Ummm... okay then.’ Vince takes the glass; it feels slightly warm. ‘Thanks, Naboo.’
His first cautious sip confirms his suspicions. It tastes completely horrible. How on earth Naboo has managed to make something that is too sweet even for Vince’s sweet tooth, Vince doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know. It’s like Parma Violets and Turkish Delight and Floral Gums all mixed together and super-concentrated. Only about a million times worse.
‘Good, isn’t it?’ Naboo is looking at him with wide, anxious-puppy eyes; it would be unbearable to hurt his feelings...
Vince nerves himself to take another mouthful. ‘You’ve excelled yourself tonight, Naboolio. Never tasted anythin’ like it.’
The little shaman’s face lights up with relief. ‘Oh, good. Was a bit worried about this one, between you an’ me, too many cooks an’ all that... it changed colour a few times but it seems to be stable now....’
‘Cheers.’ Vince clinks his glass against Naboo’s. ‘Hey, you should smile more often, you know, it suits you.’
‘You what?’
‘Never mind,’ Vince says hastily. ‘I’ll, um, go an’ see if anyone else needs a top-up, shall I?’
He leaves Naboo happily stirring the cauldron, and sashays to the other side of the room, where he swiftly tips the rest of his undrinkable drink into the potted climbing plant next to the TV.
There’s an almost-full bottle of sparkling rosé wine on top of the set; Vince fills his glass with that instead, hoping Naboo won’t notice the difference.
Feeling slightly guilty, he glances across the room; from the kitchen, Naboo raises a glass to him and smiles again.
It does suit him.
‘Ah, Vince. Good to see you.’ Dennis looms up, seemingly out of nowhere, and stands very close to Vince, backing him against the television set.
‘Alright, Dennis?’ Vince wonders how much the man’s had to drink. ‘Enjoying the party?’
The Head Shaman’s blue eyes are wide and unfocussed. He reaches out a big hand to stroke Vince’s hair. ‘This is the most beautiful hair I have ever seen,’ he says earnestly. ‘I do love a nice head of hair, wish I had one myself...’
Vince smiles politely and ducks under Dennis’s arm, losing himself in the crowd. Dennis has evidently had several too many, or maybe he was just getting off on the atmosphere in the room, heady with drugs and smoke and the sweet, perfumey smell of the punch.
Vince pats his hair back into perfect shape and goes back to the dance floor, carefully avoiding looking in Dennis’s direction too often, although Dennis is now apparently absorbed in a deep conversation with Bollo.
‘Good party, this.’ Kirk pops up in front of Vince and grins at him.
Vince just nods and keeps on dancing.
‘You want some pills?’
Vince glances down at the handful of gear the small blond boy is proffering, and shakes his head. ‘Not tonight, thanks, I’m sorted.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Kirk shoves the pills back in his pocket. He’s still grinning broadly, his pupils blown wide and dark. ‘Hey, those are brilliant boots, by the way.’
‘Cheers. I had them specially made, cost a fortune but they are well genius.’
‘Yeah, they are. They put your crotch at just the right height...’ Kirk stares at Vince’s tight trousers, licking his lips in a way that’s entirely inappropriate for his pre-teen body and angelic little face.
He clearly takes Vince’s stunned silence as an invitation, and moves closer, rubbing against Vince’s knee. ‘Shall we take this to the bedroom, then?’
‘No way, what is wrong with you people? I mean, I know it’s Valentine’s Day an’ all that, but there are limits...’
‘Is this little titbox bothering you?’ Saboo appears beside Vince and glares at Kirk. ‘Go on, beat it, hit on someone your own size.’
Kirk looks mulish.
‘I said get lost.’ Saboo pulls him away from Vince. ‘Or I’ll never take you to see another Squarebob Spongepants film ever again.’
‘All right, all right, I’m going. But it’s not fair,’ Kirk pouts.
‘Life’s not fair. But if you take enough pills you’ll stop caring. Now piss off and let the grownups talk.’
Kirk sticks his tongue out behind Saboo’s back and vanishes into a group of girls.
‘I’m sorry about that.’ Saboo has a bottle in his hand; he refills Vince’s glass. ‘Pink champagne. None of your cheap rubbish, this is the real deal... cheers.’
Their glasses clink; their fingers meet.
Vince hastily puts down his drink and rejoins the dancers.
‘You know, you really are a classy mover. Harrison isn’t right about much, but he’s right about you.’ Saboo is right beside Vince again. ‘Here, have some more bubbles.’
He holds out Vince’s full glass, but he’s looking into Vince’s eyes and misses his outstretched hand; the whole lot goes straight down Vince’s front.
Vince shrieks with indignation. ‘What are you doin’, you idiot?’
Saboo is looking with frank appreciation at Vince’s wet T-shirt and drainpipes; he puts a hand on Vince’s arm. ‘Whoops. Sorry.’
‘Sorry don’t begin to cover it,’ Vince snaps. ‘I need to go an’ change.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No you bleedin’ won’t. Piss off an’ pour your posh booze over someone else.’
Vince wriggles away, his wet shirt clinging stickily to his stomach, only to find his escape blocked by yet another shaman.
‘Had an accident?’ Diane says kindly, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Here, let me help you with that. I’m a dab hand at washing.’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Vince backs away.
‘No, you’re not.’ Diane’s green face is full of concern. ‘You can’t stay in that wet shirt, you’ll catch cold.’ She takes hold of the soggy fabric, yanks the bottom of Vince’s shirt up, and strokes his bellybutton. ‘Oooh, you’re all sticky. I’ll just get this in the machine, then I can run you a nice bath and get you all clean too...’
‘Just leave me alone!’ Vince storms out and locks himself in his bedroom.
He checks in the wardrobe and under the bed, just in case there are any more oversexed magical nutjobs lying in wait for him, but thankfully there aren’t.
Vince strips to his underpants and carefully cleans the stickiness off his precious boots.
He takes his time picking another outfit, eventually dressing down into black drainpipes and his old Stones T-shirt and some very understated cowboy boots.
He could do without attracting any more attention.
In fact he thinks seriously about hiding in his room for the rest of the party, but all that sparkling wine is having its inevitable effect and he really needs the bathroom.
He peeks cautiously out of his door. The noise level’s dropped... someone has changed the music... is that Whitney? Surely not. But then again....
‘I...eee...I... Will always... Love You...oo...’
Several tuneless, drunken voices are singing along, Bollo’s and Tony Harrison’s among them.
There’s nobody in sight; Vince dashes for the bathroom and locks himself in.
He’s just washing his hands when Naboo comes through the bathroom door without bothering to open it, drops to his knees in front of the toilet bowl, and starts to be horribly and violently sick.
Vince doesn’t really do sick, it makes his own insides feel all queasy and he never knows what to do to help, but he can’t leave Naboo like this.
Trying to blank out the sounds of coughing and retching, Vince kneels beside Naboo and holds his hair out of the way, like Howard always does when Vince has overdone it on the Flying Saucers yet again.
Sick in your hair is the pits. And Naboo has such fabulous hair, heavy and silky and so soft...
Finally the worst seems to be over, and Naboo slumps down into an exhausted heap, moaning faintly. Vince carries on stroking that beautiful hair, while he tries to remember the other comforting things Howard always does...
There’s always a towel. And a glass of water. And a nice back-rub while Howard waits for him to recover.
It’s hard to let go of Naboo, but two out of those three need Vince to get up and fetch them.
Naboo wipes his face; sits up and sips at the water. After a while he says in a small voice: ‘Sorry.’
‘You ’ad a bit too much?’ Vince rubs slow circles across Naboo’s back.
‘No, someone’s spiked the punch.’
‘What with?’
‘Love potions.’ Naboo looks tragic.
Vince giggles. ‘A love potion? That explains a lot. I’ve ’ad five shamen try to get off with me already tonight... hey, how come you’re not comin’ on to me as well?’
‘They don’t work on me.’ Naboo looks even more tragic. ‘I’m allergic to them..’
‘So that’s why you were throwin’ up.’
‘Yeah.’ Naboo sniffs, and wipes his eyes on the towel.
‘Hey.’ Vince puts an arm round him. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Yes, it fuckin’ well is that bad.’ Naboo struggles to get to his feet. ‘You’ve no idea what’s happenin’ out there. It’s not just one love potion, it’s at least three or four - those idiots must’ve all brought their own home-brews and tipped them in while I wasn’t looking. They’re all all over each other, it’s gonna be a right mess to sort out even if the punch doesn’t poison the lot of them.’
Vince helps him up and puts an arm around him again, holding him.
‘I could lose my position on the Board over this.’ Naboo is trembling from head to foot.
Vince pulls him closer. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart.’
‘Sweetheart?’ Naboo looks sharply at him. ‘How much did you drink?’
‘Only a mouthful,’ Vince admits. ‘I didn’t really like it.’
‘Just as well. Gonna need your help.’ Naboo seems really small and frail as he leans against Vince.
It makes Vince feel all big and protective. He tries to make his voice deep, like Howard’s. ‘I’ll help you, course I will.’
There’s a knock on the door. ‘Is anyone in there?’
‘Just comin’, Dennis.’ Vince unlocks the door and opens it.
Dennis looks thoughtfully down at the two of them. ‘Oh. I see.’
‘Naboo was a bit under the weather,’ Vince says, holding him up, ‘think he’s mixed his drinks a bit unwisely.’
‘Quite.’ Dennis nods sagely. ‘Well, I... er... yes.’ He sways on his feet, staggers across the bathroom and grabs the washbasin for support.
Vince shuts the door behind him, and turns to Naboo. ‘Right then, what can I do to help?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, there must be somethin’ we can do, even if it’s just chuckin’ a bucket of cold water over everybody.’
‘I don’t know,’ Naboo wails. ‘It’s a disaster. I don’t even know where to start.’
‘Come on, you can do better than that.’ Vince gives Naboo’s shoulders a friendly shake. ‘You’re a mighty shaman, aren’t you? You must have, I dunno, spells or potions or... Hey, what about those thousand-year-old books of yours?’
‘Like they’re gonna help.’
‘It’s gotta be worth a try, hasn’t it? I mean, this can’t be the first time love potions’ve got mixed up. Someone somewhere must’ve worked out an antidote or something.’
Naboo sighs. ‘We could have a look, I suppose.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Vince propels Naboo down the corridor to his bedroom.
Naboo opens his secret cupboard and hauls out a pile of dusty old books; the two of them sit on the bed and start thumbing through them.
‘These are well useless.’ Vince chucks the first two books aside. ‘I can’t even read them, they’re all in runes.’
‘I know. Dunno why I keep them, really, I can’t read ’em either...’ Naboo picks up a thick, leather-bound volume from the pile. ‘This one might have somethin’, though.’
Vince peers at the gilt-lettered spine. ‘Dictionary of Magical Solutions. That sounds like just the ticket.’
‘Yeah, but where to look? There’s about a million things in ’ere.’ Naboo flicks helplessly through the tissue-thin pages. ‘Is it under A for Antidote, P for Potion, L for Love...’
‘How about M for Mixup?’ Vince suggests.
Naboo snorts and drops the book on the bed. ‘It’s hopeless.’ He buries his face in his hands. ‘I’m finished.’
‘Well, I’m not.’ Vince picks the book up, turns to ‘M’ and starts reading. ‘Masterwords... Meerkats... Merkins... Mermaids... Here you go, look. Mixups. In cases where an unknown mixture of potions may have been ingested, Jaguar Tears are recommended as a universal antidote. Add to mixture and wait until blue colour appears, then ensure all affected individuals partake...’
‘Vince, if I ever called you a ballbag, I take it back. You’re a genius.’ Naboo flings his arm round Vince’s shoulders and kisses him.
For someone who claims not to have sex, Naboo is a surprisingly expert and passionate kisser. Vince is too astonished to do anything other than kiss him back.
For a little while the world is a pleasant blur of soft lips and warm breath and the silky-softness of Naboo’s hair, until the little shaman pulls away and buries his face in Vince’s shoulder. ‘Prob’ly shouldn’t’ve done that. But it was nice.’
Vince hugs him and strokes his hair; he doesn’t want to let him go, he’s so small and delicate and pretty, and he smells fabulous...
‘It was really nice. A bloke could fall for you, y’know?’
‘Not much sign of it so far,’ Naboo sighs.
It’s never occurred to Vince that Naboo might even be interested in getting off with anybody. ‘You ’ad your eye on someone?’
‘Hopeless. He’s never even liked me. Never mind falling for me.’
‘I could fall for you...’
‘You’d better not. Howard wouldn’t like it.’
‘Howard? What’s it got to do wiv Howard? He wouldn’t even notice.’
Naboo looks up at the fourth wall, rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
There is the sound effect of a penny dropping onto a wooden floor.
‘Oh.’ Vince suddenly realises that it does have something to do with Howard. Quite a lot to do with Howard. In fact, it might all be to do with Howard...
He lets go of Naboo. ‘No hard feelings, eh?’
‘It’s fine, Vince. It was just the potion talking... C’m’on, let’s sort this mess out.’ Naboo scrambles off the bed and goes back to the cupboard. ‘Jaguar tears,’ he mutters, ‘where are they... Ah.’ He turns round with a triumphant smile, holding up a soggy little skin pouch. ‘Good thing I stocked up last time we went to Shamansbury’s. An’ they’re still within their spell-by date. I just hope it’ll be enough.’
‘Course it will,’ Vince says heartily.
All the same, he crosses his fingers, just in case.
Summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and the shamen are determined to ‘have it large’ in Naboo’s flat...
Rating: R
Warnings: drug use; soft-focus vomiting at one point
Length: about 3400
Spoilers: Vince finds himself trying NOT to attract attention
Disclaimer: none of these characters is mine, I own none of them and I make no profit from my demented ramblings
Notes: Fill for V-Day prompt number 10 about the potions mixup. There will be at least one more chapter, possibly two if you twist my arm...
Potion Commotion, 1/2
Vince drums his heels on the floor, and frowns at the TV screen. ‘This is rubbish. Why are we watching it?’
‘Because it’s Valentine’s Day.’ Howard raises his beer bottle to his lips, and takes another swig. ‘And there’s nothing else to watch, unless you want to watch Four Weddings and a Funeral, and you know that always makes you cry.’
‘Me too,’ a deep voice agrees from the far end of the sofa.
Naboo takes the hash pipe out of his mouth and frowns. ‘Shut up, Bollo. This is my flat an’ my TV an’ that makes it my choice of channel. I’m not havin’ you two snivellin’ all over each other.’
‘Yeah, but did you have to choose The Hundred All-time Most Romantic Power Ballads?’
‘I’m a romantic at heart,’ Naboo says, deadpan. ‘An’ I quite like Celine Dion.’
Vince shakes his head in despair. ‘You’ve gone wrong.’
‘We’ve all gone wrong,’ Howard says, getting up and going to the fridge. ‘Otherwise we’d all have dates tonight and the TV channel wouldn’t be an issue... Anyone else want another beer?’
‘Might as well.’ Vince holds out a hand for the cold bottle. More alcohol might just get him through the evening without putting a platform boot through the TV screen. Although it’s going to be a close thing... ‘Cheers, Howard.’
Howard slumps back into the corner of the sofa beside him. ‘You’re welcome.’
He doesn’t sound as though he means it. He sounds well pissed off. Vince wonders whether he himself is the cause of that.
Surely Howard can’t entirely blame Vince for failing to produce the sure-thing Valentine’s dates he’d had lined up for both of them? As a modern man of the world, Howard must understand that sometimes girls change their minds when you show them a photo of a bloke with a moustache... perhaps it wasn’t the moustache, perhaps it was the very short shorts combined with the pork-pie hat and the medallion? Maybe if he’d chosen another picture...
Vince is quite relieved when his train of thought is derailed by the doorbell going.
‘I’ll get it.’ Naboo pads downstairs and they hear him open the door and say ‘Oh,’ a bit nonplussed. Then there are lots of footsteps on the stairs, and the happy chatter of several voices, and a clinking of bottles in carrier bags.
‘I got a bad feeling about dis,’ Bollo mutters, and a moment later the room is full of people. Loosely speaking, anyway, since at least one of them is a legless alien...
‘Oh fuck,’ Howard groans. ‘This is the last thing we need. The entire Bucket of Shitheads.’
And so it is. The entire Board of Shamen: Dennis the Head Shaman and his wife Methuselah, Tony Harrison, Kirk, Saboo, Diane, and at least a dozen other robe-clad individuals whose names and faces Vince doesn’t know but most of whose hats are completely genius.
All are clutching bottles and snacks and party poppers, which they dump on the coffee table.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’ Harrison crows, sticking out a pink tentacle to grab the TV remote. ‘You can turn that gloomy shit off for a start. We’re ’avin’ a party!’
‘What do you want,’ Kirk asks, fiddling with the controls of the hi-fi. ‘Dubstep or garage?’
‘We do not mind,’ Methuselah tells him, ‘but just don’t mention acid house or my Dennis will freak out.’
‘We saw in the crystal ball that you were all on your own tonight,’ Dennis says very seriously to Naboo, ‘so we thought we’d come over and cheer you up.’
‘I wasn’t on my own,’ Naboo protests, but Tony dismisses Howard, Vince and Bollo with a wave of a tentacle. ‘As good as, my son. Call this lot company? More like mourners at a fuckin’ funeral.’
Saboo puts a hand on Naboo’s shoulder, making him jump. ‘Get your cauldron out, you little tit, and make it snappy. We need a punch and we need it fast.’
‘Yeah,’ Kirk adds, ‘some of us haven’t had a drink in over half an hour.’
Diane frowns down at him. ‘Some of us aren’t old enough to drink.’ Kirk serenely ignores her and starts unpacking bottles onto the kitchen worktop.
‘C’m’on Bollo,’ Naboo says resignedly, ‘get the cauldron.’
The punch is mixed, accompanied by a lot of arguing and commenting and ‘help’ from the other shamen; crisps are opened, pills are popped, and soon there is a party going.
Howard slumps in the corner of the sofa, frowning into his glass, ignoring (and being ignored by) everybody.
Vince has a vague feeling that perhaps he should go and talk to Howard, but he just can’t help moving to the music, the bass pumping through his ribcage and making his heart and his whole body keep time.
There is a touch on his leg; he jumps, and looks down into Tony Harrison’s grinning pink face.
‘Hey,’ Harrison shouts above the noise, ‘you are one sexy mover. I think I’ve got platform boot envy.’ He rubs himself against the silver leather enclosing Vince’s calf. ‘Wanna dance?’
‘I was dancing, you pink freak,’ Vince says indignantly. ‘You’ve put me off my rhythm now.’
‘I’ve got a rhythm of me own.’ Tony starts to hump Vince’s ankle in time to the music.
Vince shakes his leg frantically. ‘Get off me. I’m - I’m gonna get a drink. Find someone else’s leg to climb.’
‘This is an outraaaage!’ Tony squawks, as he flies through the air and disappears into the crowd.
Vince turns his back and heads into the kitchen.
The punch is bubbling softly in its cauldron on the table. It’s a pretty shade of pink, but Vince has had long experience of Naboo’s ‘brews’ and he isn’t sure about this one; it was a bit of a rush job after all.
He is about to play it safe and go for another beer instead when Naboo appears from behind a chair, brandishing a brimming glass of the pink liquid. ‘Drink, Vince?’
‘Ummm... okay then.’ Vince takes the glass; it feels slightly warm. ‘Thanks, Naboo.’
His first cautious sip confirms his suspicions. It tastes completely horrible. How on earth Naboo has managed to make something that is too sweet even for Vince’s sweet tooth, Vince doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know. It’s like Parma Violets and Turkish Delight and Floral Gums all mixed together and super-concentrated. Only about a million times worse.
‘Good, isn’t it?’ Naboo is looking at him with wide, anxious-puppy eyes; it would be unbearable to hurt his feelings...
Vince nerves himself to take another mouthful. ‘You’ve excelled yourself tonight, Naboolio. Never tasted anythin’ like it.’
The little shaman’s face lights up with relief. ‘Oh, good. Was a bit worried about this one, between you an’ me, too many cooks an’ all that... it changed colour a few times but it seems to be stable now....’
‘Cheers.’ Vince clinks his glass against Naboo’s. ‘Hey, you should smile more often, you know, it suits you.’
‘You what?’
‘Never mind,’ Vince says hastily. ‘I’ll, um, go an’ see if anyone else needs a top-up, shall I?’
He leaves Naboo happily stirring the cauldron, and sashays to the other side of the room, where he swiftly tips the rest of his undrinkable drink into the potted climbing plant next to the TV.
There’s an almost-full bottle of sparkling rosé wine on top of the set; Vince fills his glass with that instead, hoping Naboo won’t notice the difference.
Feeling slightly guilty, he glances across the room; from the kitchen, Naboo raises a glass to him and smiles again.
It does suit him.
‘Ah, Vince. Good to see you.’ Dennis looms up, seemingly out of nowhere, and stands very close to Vince, backing him against the television set.
‘Alright, Dennis?’ Vince wonders how much the man’s had to drink. ‘Enjoying the party?’
The Head Shaman’s blue eyes are wide and unfocussed. He reaches out a big hand to stroke Vince’s hair. ‘This is the most beautiful hair I have ever seen,’ he says earnestly. ‘I do love a nice head of hair, wish I had one myself...’
Vince smiles politely and ducks under Dennis’s arm, losing himself in the crowd. Dennis has evidently had several too many, or maybe he was just getting off on the atmosphere in the room, heady with drugs and smoke and the sweet, perfumey smell of the punch.
Vince pats his hair back into perfect shape and goes back to the dance floor, carefully avoiding looking in Dennis’s direction too often, although Dennis is now apparently absorbed in a deep conversation with Bollo.
‘Good party, this.’ Kirk pops up in front of Vince and grins at him.
Vince just nods and keeps on dancing.
‘You want some pills?’
Vince glances down at the handful of gear the small blond boy is proffering, and shakes his head. ‘Not tonight, thanks, I’m sorted.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Kirk shoves the pills back in his pocket. He’s still grinning broadly, his pupils blown wide and dark. ‘Hey, those are brilliant boots, by the way.’
‘Cheers. I had them specially made, cost a fortune but they are well genius.’
‘Yeah, they are. They put your crotch at just the right height...’ Kirk stares at Vince’s tight trousers, licking his lips in a way that’s entirely inappropriate for his pre-teen body and angelic little face.
He clearly takes Vince’s stunned silence as an invitation, and moves closer, rubbing against Vince’s knee. ‘Shall we take this to the bedroom, then?’
‘No way, what is wrong with you people? I mean, I know it’s Valentine’s Day an’ all that, but there are limits...’
‘Is this little titbox bothering you?’ Saboo appears beside Vince and glares at Kirk. ‘Go on, beat it, hit on someone your own size.’
Kirk looks mulish.
‘I said get lost.’ Saboo pulls him away from Vince. ‘Or I’ll never take you to see another Squarebob Spongepants film ever again.’
‘All right, all right, I’m going. But it’s not fair,’ Kirk pouts.
‘Life’s not fair. But if you take enough pills you’ll stop caring. Now piss off and let the grownups talk.’
Kirk sticks his tongue out behind Saboo’s back and vanishes into a group of girls.
‘I’m sorry about that.’ Saboo has a bottle in his hand; he refills Vince’s glass. ‘Pink champagne. None of your cheap rubbish, this is the real deal... cheers.’
Their glasses clink; their fingers meet.
Vince hastily puts down his drink and rejoins the dancers.
‘You know, you really are a classy mover. Harrison isn’t right about much, but he’s right about you.’ Saboo is right beside Vince again. ‘Here, have some more bubbles.’
He holds out Vince’s full glass, but he’s looking into Vince’s eyes and misses his outstretched hand; the whole lot goes straight down Vince’s front.
Vince shrieks with indignation. ‘What are you doin’, you idiot?’
Saboo is looking with frank appreciation at Vince’s wet T-shirt and drainpipes; he puts a hand on Vince’s arm. ‘Whoops. Sorry.’
‘Sorry don’t begin to cover it,’ Vince snaps. ‘I need to go an’ change.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No you bleedin’ won’t. Piss off an’ pour your posh booze over someone else.’
Vince wriggles away, his wet shirt clinging stickily to his stomach, only to find his escape blocked by yet another shaman.
‘Had an accident?’ Diane says kindly, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Here, let me help you with that. I’m a dab hand at washing.’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Vince backs away.
‘No, you’re not.’ Diane’s green face is full of concern. ‘You can’t stay in that wet shirt, you’ll catch cold.’ She takes hold of the soggy fabric, yanks the bottom of Vince’s shirt up, and strokes his bellybutton. ‘Oooh, you’re all sticky. I’ll just get this in the machine, then I can run you a nice bath and get you all clean too...’
‘Just leave me alone!’ Vince storms out and locks himself in his bedroom.
He checks in the wardrobe and under the bed, just in case there are any more oversexed magical nutjobs lying in wait for him, but thankfully there aren’t.
Vince strips to his underpants and carefully cleans the stickiness off his precious boots.
He takes his time picking another outfit, eventually dressing down into black drainpipes and his old Stones T-shirt and some very understated cowboy boots.
He could do without attracting any more attention.
In fact he thinks seriously about hiding in his room for the rest of the party, but all that sparkling wine is having its inevitable effect and he really needs the bathroom.
He peeks cautiously out of his door. The noise level’s dropped... someone has changed the music... is that Whitney? Surely not. But then again....
‘I...eee...I... Will always... Love You...oo...’
Several tuneless, drunken voices are singing along, Bollo’s and Tony Harrison’s among them.
There’s nobody in sight; Vince dashes for the bathroom and locks himself in.
He’s just washing his hands when Naboo comes through the bathroom door without bothering to open it, drops to his knees in front of the toilet bowl, and starts to be horribly and violently sick.
Vince doesn’t really do sick, it makes his own insides feel all queasy and he never knows what to do to help, but he can’t leave Naboo like this.
Trying to blank out the sounds of coughing and retching, Vince kneels beside Naboo and holds his hair out of the way, like Howard always does when Vince has overdone it on the Flying Saucers yet again.
Sick in your hair is the pits. And Naboo has such fabulous hair, heavy and silky and so soft...
Finally the worst seems to be over, and Naboo slumps down into an exhausted heap, moaning faintly. Vince carries on stroking that beautiful hair, while he tries to remember the other comforting things Howard always does...
There’s always a towel. And a glass of water. And a nice back-rub while Howard waits for him to recover.
It’s hard to let go of Naboo, but two out of those three need Vince to get up and fetch them.
Naboo wipes his face; sits up and sips at the water. After a while he says in a small voice: ‘Sorry.’
‘You ’ad a bit too much?’ Vince rubs slow circles across Naboo’s back.
‘No, someone’s spiked the punch.’
‘What with?’
‘Love potions.’ Naboo looks tragic.
Vince giggles. ‘A love potion? That explains a lot. I’ve ’ad five shamen try to get off with me already tonight... hey, how come you’re not comin’ on to me as well?’
‘They don’t work on me.’ Naboo looks even more tragic. ‘I’m allergic to them..’
‘So that’s why you were throwin’ up.’
‘Yeah.’ Naboo sniffs, and wipes his eyes on the towel.
‘Hey.’ Vince puts an arm round him. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Yes, it fuckin’ well is that bad.’ Naboo struggles to get to his feet. ‘You’ve no idea what’s happenin’ out there. It’s not just one love potion, it’s at least three or four - those idiots must’ve all brought their own home-brews and tipped them in while I wasn’t looking. They’re all all over each other, it’s gonna be a right mess to sort out even if the punch doesn’t poison the lot of them.’
Vince helps him up and puts an arm around him again, holding him.
‘I could lose my position on the Board over this.’ Naboo is trembling from head to foot.
Vince pulls him closer. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart.’
‘Sweetheart?’ Naboo looks sharply at him. ‘How much did you drink?’
‘Only a mouthful,’ Vince admits. ‘I didn’t really like it.’
‘Just as well. Gonna need your help.’ Naboo seems really small and frail as he leans against Vince.
It makes Vince feel all big and protective. He tries to make his voice deep, like Howard’s. ‘I’ll help you, course I will.’
There’s a knock on the door. ‘Is anyone in there?’
‘Just comin’, Dennis.’ Vince unlocks the door and opens it.
Dennis looks thoughtfully down at the two of them. ‘Oh. I see.’
‘Naboo was a bit under the weather,’ Vince says, holding him up, ‘think he’s mixed his drinks a bit unwisely.’
‘Quite.’ Dennis nods sagely. ‘Well, I... er... yes.’ He sways on his feet, staggers across the bathroom and grabs the washbasin for support.
Vince shuts the door behind him, and turns to Naboo. ‘Right then, what can I do to help?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, there must be somethin’ we can do, even if it’s just chuckin’ a bucket of cold water over everybody.’
‘I don’t know,’ Naboo wails. ‘It’s a disaster. I don’t even know where to start.’
‘Come on, you can do better than that.’ Vince gives Naboo’s shoulders a friendly shake. ‘You’re a mighty shaman, aren’t you? You must have, I dunno, spells or potions or... Hey, what about those thousand-year-old books of yours?’
‘Like they’re gonna help.’
‘It’s gotta be worth a try, hasn’t it? I mean, this can’t be the first time love potions’ve got mixed up. Someone somewhere must’ve worked out an antidote or something.’
Naboo sighs. ‘We could have a look, I suppose.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Vince propels Naboo down the corridor to his bedroom.
Naboo opens his secret cupboard and hauls out a pile of dusty old books; the two of them sit on the bed and start thumbing through them.
‘These are well useless.’ Vince chucks the first two books aside. ‘I can’t even read them, they’re all in runes.’
‘I know. Dunno why I keep them, really, I can’t read ’em either...’ Naboo picks up a thick, leather-bound volume from the pile. ‘This one might have somethin’, though.’
Vince peers at the gilt-lettered spine. ‘Dictionary of Magical Solutions. That sounds like just the ticket.’
‘Yeah, but where to look? There’s about a million things in ’ere.’ Naboo flicks helplessly through the tissue-thin pages. ‘Is it under A for Antidote, P for Potion, L for Love...’
‘How about M for Mixup?’ Vince suggests.
Naboo snorts and drops the book on the bed. ‘It’s hopeless.’ He buries his face in his hands. ‘I’m finished.’
‘Well, I’m not.’ Vince picks the book up, turns to ‘M’ and starts reading. ‘Masterwords... Meerkats... Merkins... Mermaids... Here you go, look. Mixups. In cases where an unknown mixture of potions may have been ingested, Jaguar Tears are recommended as a universal antidote. Add to mixture and wait until blue colour appears, then ensure all affected individuals partake...’
‘Vince, if I ever called you a ballbag, I take it back. You’re a genius.’ Naboo flings his arm round Vince’s shoulders and kisses him.
For someone who claims not to have sex, Naboo is a surprisingly expert and passionate kisser. Vince is too astonished to do anything other than kiss him back.
For a little while the world is a pleasant blur of soft lips and warm breath and the silky-softness of Naboo’s hair, until the little shaman pulls away and buries his face in Vince’s shoulder. ‘Prob’ly shouldn’t’ve done that. But it was nice.’
Vince hugs him and strokes his hair; he doesn’t want to let him go, he’s so small and delicate and pretty, and he smells fabulous...
‘It was really nice. A bloke could fall for you, y’know?’
‘Not much sign of it so far,’ Naboo sighs.
It’s never occurred to Vince that Naboo might even be interested in getting off with anybody. ‘You ’ad your eye on someone?’
‘Hopeless. He’s never even liked me. Never mind falling for me.’
‘I could fall for you...’
‘You’d better not. Howard wouldn’t like it.’
‘Howard? What’s it got to do wiv Howard? He wouldn’t even notice.’
Naboo looks up at the fourth wall, rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
There is the sound effect of a penny dropping onto a wooden floor.
‘Oh.’ Vince suddenly realises that it does have something to do with Howard. Quite a lot to do with Howard. In fact, it might all be to do with Howard...
He lets go of Naboo. ‘No hard feelings, eh?’
‘It’s fine, Vince. It was just the potion talking... C’m’on, let’s sort this mess out.’ Naboo scrambles off the bed and goes back to the cupboard. ‘Jaguar tears,’ he mutters, ‘where are they... Ah.’ He turns round with a triumphant smile, holding up a soggy little skin pouch. ‘Good thing I stocked up last time we went to Shamansbury’s. An’ they’re still within their spell-by date. I just hope it’ll be enough.’
‘Course it will,’ Vince says heartily.
All the same, he crosses his fingers, just in case.