Fic: Flying Lessons (5/12)
Flying Lessons (5/12)
by Me, doctorpancakes
Fandoms: Boosh/Barley crossover
Pairings: Dan/Jones and Howard/Vince
Rating: PG, this chapter
Word Count: 1352, this chapter (6324 so far)
Warnings: cigarettes and shopping
Disclaimer: SURPRISE SURPRISE I don't own them.
Author's Notes: I spent a good portion of this afternoon eating Marshmallow Fluff. Also HOLY CRAP ILLUSTRATIONS. Took me ages to paint those, don't you know.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Dan was visibly disturbed by the sight that met him when he and Vince exited the subway station into the busy street. Williamsburg, it seemed, was populated with emaciated, nineteen-year-old Nathan Barleys in downy moustaches and 1980s aerobics costumes - a particular brand of American Idiot. It was what would have happened if Ned Smanks and Rufus Onslatt had finally got together and made babies with each other.
“Ah, we really don't need to do this, Vince,” said Dan. “Why don't I just, maybe, find someplace to have a coffee and you can meet me there when you're done?”
“You're going to have to be there to try outfits on, stupid,” laughed Vince, leading them down a busy street.
Dan was more than a little awkward, thought Vince. Not just because of the cane; indeed, it seemed that he had become quite adept at understanding the logistics of negotiating his way through the world encumbered by an old injury and only ever having one hand free. Rather, it was as though he was still searching for where he belonged in the world, and at the same time fought - perhaps even raged - against belonging at all. It was a conflict that Vince supposed he'd probably live with forever. Or maybe he just hadn’t found the right pair of confidence-boosting boots.
“Vince, aren’t you just making me do this because you're mad at your boyfriend?” Dan stared flatly at Vince.
“No, of course I... am,” admitted Vince, sheepishly.
“For fuck's sake. How long have you two been together?” asked Dan.
“You mean shagging? Couple of weeks. But it's always been me and Howard, ever since we were at school together, and I was the only boy who wasn't afraid of his moustache,” replied Vince, with a wistful chuckle of nostalgia.
“Yeah, guess I can't really give you advice, I mean, we’ve basically just met. But yeah, it's... wacky? Sex... fucking... whatever. Changes everything, and it doesn't change anything. Complicates everything, and it really shouldn't. You can't just forget about it and carry on as normal because the definition of normal has changed. I know,” said Dan, exhaling thick smoke in heavy curls that languorously billowed around him like a dirty halo. “Are you saying he's had that moustache since school?”
“I think he was born with it, to be honest,” said Vince.
“That's kind of wrong.” Dan stopped to stub out the end of his cigarette on a rubbish bin.
“Listen, you can't tell anyone this,” whispered Vince, leaning in as close as possible before continuing, sotto voce, “but I actually think it's a bit sexy. Not just anyone could pull off such a bold look. I can't believe I just said that out loud.”
He clasped a hand over his mouth nervously. Dan shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you even know where we're going, Vince?” he asked.
“Todd the Giraffe's,” said Vince.
“A giraffe's?” asked Dan.
“Yeah, Todd,” said Vince. “No signs on the door, you know, very exclusive place. You have to know the password to get in to shop. Mind you, the giraffe bit's something of a misnomer,” he explained.
“Because there's no actual giraffes in there,” nodded Dan.
“No, because he's only 75% giraffe. He's 25% human. And his teeth are made out of diamonds,” explained Vince.
“Of course,” said Dan. It was probably best not to question these things, really.
“See, once upon a time, Todd the Giraffe was the most popular of all the giraffes on the African savanna, on account of his teeth being made out of diamonds,” said Vince.
“Everyone loved him. It was brilliant! No one knows exactly how he came to be only 75% giraffe, though some say it has something to do with his granddad being a former cabinet minister.
"Whatever the reason, the other giraffes were furious at his deception, and demanded that he leave the savanna forever.
"All alone, he sailed to America to seek his fortune.
"Not long after he arrived, he discovered that he was really into designing clothes for people, and not long after that, people discovered that he was well genius at it. Now he's one of the most influential designers in the country.”
“Vince, what, I don't even... that's pretentious bullshit,” said Dan. “Giraffes don't design clothes. They don't even wear clothes.”
”You can ask him about it yourself if you don't believe me,” dismissed Vince, rolling his eyes. “We're here.”
---
“Massive!” shouted Jones, slumping back into an overstuffed white chair. “I think we were really onto something there.”
“Indeed, sir. Adding that woodblock to the mix really brought something fresh to the whole experience,” agreed Howard, punctuating his observations with large, artsy-fartsy hand gestures.
Jones and Howard had made great strides in that three-hour jam session. They had invented grating drones and bleeping bloops and big massive beats; it was the sound of ascending to a state of pure being, which would no doubt be even more transcendent when coupled with Vince's vocal acrobatics. It was now time for lunch.
“Lunchtime?” asked Jones.
“I'd say it's about that time,” agreed Howard.
“More coffee, let's go!” said Jones, jumping up from his seat and bouncing to the door.
“Coffee's not lunch, Jones,” observed Howard.
“Bit early for food though, don't you think?” asked Jones. “I don't normally have anything solid until at least my sixth cup of the day.”
“That's why you're such a jumpy little hummingbird, my friend,” replied Howard. “A jazz stallion such as myself needs to eat a solid meal thrice daily to maintain creative equilibrium.”
“So... Israeli place across the road looks all right,” shrugged Jones.
“Strong coffee and hummus,” said Howard. “Let the refueling commence!”
---
It was early evening by the Vince dragged Dan, overburdened with shopping bags and looking a little worse for wear, back to the hotel suite. Their respective companions were both quite heavily involved in chasing soundshapes and inventing spontaneous tone poetry.
“Can you see that one, Howard?” asked Jones.
“I'd say this drone's rather a loud peacock blue,” replied Howard, eyes shut tightly in intense concentration.
“This one's kind of an oblong shape, yeah?” shouted Jones, producing a loud, grating throb. “Oi, let's take a break, Howard! Looks like they're back.”
The two men slowed and quieted their sound meanderings as the others entered the room.
“That. Was. Beautiful,” beamed Vince, arms outstretched, laden with colourful bags.
“You like how the song's coming?” asked Jones.
“Pretty good, actually,” enthused Vince. “Though I meant the shopping... was beautiful.”
“So, Dan didn't mind...?” Jones was suspicious.
“It wasn't that painful,” handwaved Dan, handing Jones a small object. “Brought you something. Made me think of you, so... yeah.”
“Aww, it's a little Chewbacca! It's perfect, Dan! It can go next to Seventies Lesbian Barbie and my lucky Gonk. There you are. Be nice to the new kid, guys,” he said to his turntable menagerie, placing his new little friend down gently among them.
Howard just observed the others, arms crossed. He definitely wasn't jealous, no sir.
“I got you something too, Howard,” said Vince quietly, blushing. “Dan had to help me inhale an entire packet of allergy pills just so I could go into the shop without going into jazz-induced anaphylaxis. It was well horrid. I'm still itchy, but I just... Happy New York, Howard.”
Howard eyed Vince suspiciously as Vince rifled through his bags. What Vince retrieved was a flat, brown paper bag. He handed it to Howard. Howard was suspicious. Apart from (at long last) the bouncy castle incident, Vince didn't buy him stuff. He carefully opened the bag. It was a mint condition first pressing of Blue Train. He was speechless.
“You know, to replace the one I smashed,” explained Vince.
Howard smiled a smile so gigantic that would have almost been creepy if it wasn't so endearing.
“Vince, that's incredibly thoughtful,” said Howard, almost touching Vince's arm in response, then thinking better of it. Then recoiling in anger, realizing that this meant
“You smashed my copy of Blue Train?”
Chapter Six
by Me, doctorpancakes
Fandoms: Boosh/Barley crossover
Pairings: Dan/Jones and Howard/Vince
Rating: PG, this chapter
Word Count: 1352, this chapter (6324 so far)
Warnings: cigarettes and shopping
Disclaimer: SURPRISE SURPRISE I don't own them.
Author's Notes: I spent a good portion of this afternoon eating Marshmallow Fluff. Also HOLY CRAP ILLUSTRATIONS. Took me ages to paint those, don't you know.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Dan was visibly disturbed by the sight that met him when he and Vince exited the subway station into the busy street. Williamsburg, it seemed, was populated with emaciated, nineteen-year-old Nathan Barleys in downy moustaches and 1980s aerobics costumes - a particular brand of American Idiot. It was what would have happened if Ned Smanks and Rufus Onslatt had finally got together and made babies with each other.
“Ah, we really don't need to do this, Vince,” said Dan. “Why don't I just, maybe, find someplace to have a coffee and you can meet me there when you're done?”
“You're going to have to be there to try outfits on, stupid,” laughed Vince, leading them down a busy street.
Dan was more than a little awkward, thought Vince. Not just because of the cane; indeed, it seemed that he had become quite adept at understanding the logistics of negotiating his way through the world encumbered by an old injury and only ever having one hand free. Rather, it was as though he was still searching for where he belonged in the world, and at the same time fought - perhaps even raged - against belonging at all. It was a conflict that Vince supposed he'd probably live with forever. Or maybe he just hadn’t found the right pair of confidence-boosting boots.
“Vince, aren’t you just making me do this because you're mad at your boyfriend?” Dan stared flatly at Vince.
“No, of course I... am,” admitted Vince, sheepishly.
“For fuck's sake. How long have you two been together?” asked Dan.
“You mean shagging? Couple of weeks. But it's always been me and Howard, ever since we were at school together, and I was the only boy who wasn't afraid of his moustache,” replied Vince, with a wistful chuckle of nostalgia.
“Yeah, guess I can't really give you advice, I mean, we’ve basically just met. But yeah, it's... wacky? Sex... fucking... whatever. Changes everything, and it doesn't change anything. Complicates everything, and it really shouldn't. You can't just forget about it and carry on as normal because the definition of normal has changed. I know,” said Dan, exhaling thick smoke in heavy curls that languorously billowed around him like a dirty halo. “Are you saying he's had that moustache since school?”
“I think he was born with it, to be honest,” said Vince.
“That's kind of wrong.” Dan stopped to stub out the end of his cigarette on a rubbish bin.
“Listen, you can't tell anyone this,” whispered Vince, leaning in as close as possible before continuing, sotto voce, “but I actually think it's a bit sexy. Not just anyone could pull off such a bold look. I can't believe I just said that out loud.”
He clasped a hand over his mouth nervously. Dan shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you even know where we're going, Vince?” he asked.
“Todd the Giraffe's,” said Vince.
“A giraffe's?” asked Dan.
“Yeah, Todd,” said Vince. “No signs on the door, you know, very exclusive place. You have to know the password to get in to shop. Mind you, the giraffe bit's something of a misnomer,” he explained.
“Because there's no actual giraffes in there,” nodded Dan.
“No, because he's only 75% giraffe. He's 25% human. And his teeth are made out of diamonds,” explained Vince.
“Of course,” said Dan. It was probably best not to question these things, really.
“See, once upon a time, Todd the Giraffe was the most popular of all the giraffes on the African savanna, on account of his teeth being made out of diamonds,” said Vince.
“Everyone loved him. It was brilliant! No one knows exactly how he came to be only 75% giraffe, though some say it has something to do with his granddad being a former cabinet minister.
"Whatever the reason, the other giraffes were furious at his deception, and demanded that he leave the savanna forever.
"All alone, he sailed to America to seek his fortune.
"Not long after he arrived, he discovered that he was really into designing clothes for people, and not long after that, people discovered that he was well genius at it. Now he's one of the most influential designers in the country.”
“Vince, what, I don't even... that's pretentious bullshit,” said Dan. “Giraffes don't design clothes. They don't even wear clothes.”
”You can ask him about it yourself if you don't believe me,” dismissed Vince, rolling his eyes. “We're here.”
---
“Massive!” shouted Jones, slumping back into an overstuffed white chair. “I think we were really onto something there.”
“Indeed, sir. Adding that woodblock to the mix really brought something fresh to the whole experience,” agreed Howard, punctuating his observations with large, artsy-fartsy hand gestures.
Jones and Howard had made great strides in that three-hour jam session. They had invented grating drones and bleeping bloops and big massive beats; it was the sound of ascending to a state of pure being, which would no doubt be even more transcendent when coupled with Vince's vocal acrobatics. It was now time for lunch.
“Lunchtime?” asked Jones.
“I'd say it's about that time,” agreed Howard.
“More coffee, let's go!” said Jones, jumping up from his seat and bouncing to the door.
“Coffee's not lunch, Jones,” observed Howard.
“Bit early for food though, don't you think?” asked Jones. “I don't normally have anything solid until at least my sixth cup of the day.”
“That's why you're such a jumpy little hummingbird, my friend,” replied Howard. “A jazz stallion such as myself needs to eat a solid meal thrice daily to maintain creative equilibrium.”
“So... Israeli place across the road looks all right,” shrugged Jones.
“Strong coffee and hummus,” said Howard. “Let the refueling commence!”
---
It was early evening by the Vince dragged Dan, overburdened with shopping bags and looking a little worse for wear, back to the hotel suite. Their respective companions were both quite heavily involved in chasing soundshapes and inventing spontaneous tone poetry.
“Can you see that one, Howard?” asked Jones.
“I'd say this drone's rather a loud peacock blue,” replied Howard, eyes shut tightly in intense concentration.
“This one's kind of an oblong shape, yeah?” shouted Jones, producing a loud, grating throb. “Oi, let's take a break, Howard! Looks like they're back.”
The two men slowed and quieted their sound meanderings as the others entered the room.
“That. Was. Beautiful,” beamed Vince, arms outstretched, laden with colourful bags.
“You like how the song's coming?” asked Jones.
“Pretty good, actually,” enthused Vince. “Though I meant the shopping... was beautiful.”
“So, Dan didn't mind...?” Jones was suspicious.
“It wasn't that painful,” handwaved Dan, handing Jones a small object. “Brought you something. Made me think of you, so... yeah.”
“Aww, it's a little Chewbacca! It's perfect, Dan! It can go next to Seventies Lesbian Barbie and my lucky Gonk. There you are. Be nice to the new kid, guys,” he said to his turntable menagerie, placing his new little friend down gently among them.
Howard just observed the others, arms crossed. He definitely wasn't jealous, no sir.
“I got you something too, Howard,” said Vince quietly, blushing. “Dan had to help me inhale an entire packet of allergy pills just so I could go into the shop without going into jazz-induced anaphylaxis. It was well horrid. I'm still itchy, but I just... Happy New York, Howard.”
Howard eyed Vince suspiciously as Vince rifled through his bags. What Vince retrieved was a flat, brown paper bag. He handed it to Howard. Howard was suspicious. Apart from (at long last) the bouncy castle incident, Vince didn't buy him stuff. He carefully opened the bag. It was a mint condition first pressing of Blue Train. He was speechless.
“You know, to replace the one I smashed,” explained Vince.
Howard smiled a smile so gigantic that would have almost been creepy if it wasn't so endearing.
“Vince, that's incredibly thoughtful,” said Howard, almost touching Vince's arm in response, then thinking better of it. Then recoiling in anger, realizing that this meant
“You smashed my copy of Blue Train?”
Chapter Six