Fic: The Logistics of a Cuddly Bear Mating With A Peacock (6/10)
The Logistics Of A Cuddly Bear Mating With A Peacock (6/10)
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13, this chapter
Word Count: 1360, this chapter (7989, so far)
Warnings: is "reads like a 1970s sitcom" a warning?
Disclaimer: I own an electric fan that doesn't seem to be doing much today, but not the Boosh.
Author's Notes: *cowers in fear*
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
This was not the stag do that Vince had envisioned. He had envisioned flashing lights, mountains of sweets, a huge throng of admirers, then probably getting completely blotto on flirtinis, feeling up a girl in a neon miniskirt, and stripping naked in Trafalgar Square loudly shouting about blessing the rains down in Africa.
That was not the stag do that Howard had envisioned. Howard had envisioned a cavernous jazz club lit by candles, drinking wine, whiskey, and beer. He had envisioned a night of improvised jazz and spoken word with his nearest and dearest and a handful of Europe’s leading jazz musicians, all greatly impressed by his mad skills on his clarinet. If things got really swinging, he thought he might even bust out the bassoon.
But neither of them had envisioned wearing paper party hats at a tapas restaurant with Mr. and Mrs. Moon (Howard’s mother and father, who had made the arduous journey down from the wildnerness of Yorkshire), Leroy, and his new girlfriend Marva - at least Leroy said he was fairly sure that was her name - who was on a student visa from the Netherlands and, as far as any of them could tell, spoke no English.
“How exactly do you two communicate?” asked Howard. “You don’t speak Dutch, Leroy.”
“We don’t need words, we have the language of love,” said Leroy with a cheeky grin. Marva smiled uncomfortably, shifting a few inches further from him in her chair.
“There’s so much love in this room,” enthused Mrs. Moon, her many loud bangles clattering loudly against each other as she reached for a helping of patatas bravas. “You know, Howard, your father and I always had a feeling this would happen.”
“Really?” asked Howard.
“Well, ever since you came home from school that one day and told us you met a new friend named Vince,” said Mrs. Moon, tucking her greying ginger curls out of the way of her obtrusive abstract earrings, “and then told us that one day you were going to get married and become famous explorers.”
“The traffic on the M1 was as you’d expect this time of year, especially once we hit Milton Keynes,” said Mr. Moon, poking at a plate of some kind of meat. “Is this Cumberland sausage?”
“It’s chorizo, Mr. Moon,” said Leroy, as Marva idly nibbled at some goat cheese and gazed wistfully at the door.
Mr. and Mrs. Moon were, not surprisingly, geography teachers: Mr. Moon sported a proud moustache that would intimidate even the most unruly of students, and Mrs. Moon wore the sort of loud yet soft fabrics one might have more readily expected on an art professor. It was not hard to see where Howard got his, well, anything from.
Vince sighed, leaning into Howard’s shoulder. “Not exactly what I had in mind for tonight, Howard,” he whispered, arranging the caramelized onions and ham on his plate into a somewhat stylized portrait of Howard.
“Me either,” whispered Howard. “I couldn’t exactly say no to dinner, could I? They’re my parents! They’re two out of the three people in the world who think I’m special!”
“Aww, Howard, I’m number three, aren’t I?” blushed Vince.
“Well, you do, don’t you?” ventured Howard, somewhat tentatively.
“Course I do, you muppet,” giggled Vince, batting Howard playfully on the arm.
“Then there was that time we called you on your thirtieth birthday and you still had yet to mention ever having a serious girlfriend,” Mrs. Moon continued, gesticulating somewhat dangerously with her forkful of eggplant. “I mean, we always knew you were something of a late bloomer, love, but needless to say, we had our suspicions that you were probably, you know, a homosexualist. So tell me, how long have you and Vince actually been having intimacy?”
“That’s… very personal, Mum,” said Howard, sinking ever further into his chair and blushing like 546437981.2 large jars of pimentón.
“It’s a perfectly natural question,” she reasoned. “Sex is a perfectly natural act. Your father and I have sex; how do you think we made you? As a matter of fact, last month we decided to start experimenting with - “
“You’ll probably want to stop now, Mrs. Moon,” said Vince, placing a comforting hand on Howard’s arm. “We don’t want Howard to have to cover his ears and start drowning out the conversation with improvised jazz.”
“So,” said Mr. Moon, turning to Marva, “I understand that you’re from the Netherlands, Mrs. Leroy. You must have some very interesting anecdotes about canals.”
Marva pointed to Leroy, said something in what was probably Dutch, and shrugged in what was probably either annoyance or confusion.
“How soon can we leave?” Howard whispered into Vince’s ear.
“Want me to cover for you?” Vince replied. “Just say you have to go to the toilet and make a break for it. I’ll use my cunning persuasion to keep everyone from suspecting! They don’t call me The Persuader for nothing.”
“Who calls you The Persuader?” squinted Howard.
“You know, important people,” shrugged Vince.
“But I can’t abandon you, Little Man,” whispered Howard. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Don’t worry about me, Howard, save yourself!” whispered Vince.
“You two whispering sweet nothings and shit?” cringed Leroy, pouring himself a large glass of wine. “That is well sweet. And gross. I’ve never been more uncomfortable than I am right now.”
Howard blushed. “No, it’s just… I just… I have to go to the toilet,” he stammered, and ran out of the room.
“Oi Leroy, do you reckon Howard looked a bit poorly? I should probably go check on him,” said Vince, smiling apologetically as he excused himself from the room.
When Howard and Vince had sprinted a safe distance from the restaurant, they allowed themselves a break, ducking into a narrow alley to catch their breaths.
“You know,” observed Vince, “the others probably think we’ve snuck off for a cheeky shag in the toilets.”
“No, no, no, no no, no, no, no, no no no, no, no no, no,” said Howard. “I’m fine with my sexual prowess being the stuff of legend to the rest of the world, but to my parents, I would rather they didn’t think of me as any kind of a... sexualist.”
“It’s all right,” giggled Vince, pulling his mobile from his pocket, “I’ve got a plan. I’m texting Leroy to let him know that you had a bad reaction to the Cumberland sausage and I’ve taken you home for the night. It’s foolproof! It’s genius!”
“So now everyone thinks I have the pre-wedding shits?” asked Howard.
“You’re right,” cringed Vince. “I’ll text him that the third stall from the door in the men’s toilets is actually a gateway to a parallel dimension made entirely from corn and soft cushions, where everything runs on the energy generated by old hippies’ brainstorms, and we’re having a bit of a look round, watching a pair of oak trees play doubles against a two-headed dugong.”
“Vince, that’s ridiculous,” sighed Howard. “Don’t you think he’d just come investigate, if that were true?”
“Not likely,” Vince winked, “Leroy’s allergic to corn. Did you really tell your mum we were going to get married and be explorers?”
“I was about six at the time, Vince,” eyerolled Howard.
“Why didn’t you say so ages ago? You know I’ve been in love with you for practically forever,” said Vince, leading Howard home, arm in arm.
“Why didn’t you?” asked Howard.
“All right,” conceded Vince. “Now I feel a bit of a muppet. Took us fifteen whole years to live out your dreams!”
“Uhh, it’s been more like nearly thirty years, Little Man,” corrected Howard, eyeing Vince with suspicion.
“I think your math’s a bit off there, Howard,” chuckled Vince. “I’m twenty-one, so... yeah, fifteen years.”
Howard nodded, choosing, for the sake of harmony, to hold his tongue.
Chapter Seven
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13, this chapter
Word Count: 1360, this chapter (7989, so far)
Warnings: is "reads like a 1970s sitcom" a warning?
Disclaimer: I own an electric fan that doesn't seem to be doing much today, but not the Boosh.
Author's Notes: *cowers in fear*
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
This was not the stag do that Vince had envisioned. He had envisioned flashing lights, mountains of sweets, a huge throng of admirers, then probably getting completely blotto on flirtinis, feeling up a girl in a neon miniskirt, and stripping naked in Trafalgar Square loudly shouting about blessing the rains down in Africa.
That was not the stag do that Howard had envisioned. Howard had envisioned a cavernous jazz club lit by candles, drinking wine, whiskey, and beer. He had envisioned a night of improvised jazz and spoken word with his nearest and dearest and a handful of Europe’s leading jazz musicians, all greatly impressed by his mad skills on his clarinet. If things got really swinging, he thought he might even bust out the bassoon.
But neither of them had envisioned wearing paper party hats at a tapas restaurant with Mr. and Mrs. Moon (Howard’s mother and father, who had made the arduous journey down from the wildnerness of Yorkshire), Leroy, and his new girlfriend Marva - at least Leroy said he was fairly sure that was her name - who was on a student visa from the Netherlands and, as far as any of them could tell, spoke no English.
“How exactly do you two communicate?” asked Howard. “You don’t speak Dutch, Leroy.”
“We don’t need words, we have the language of love,” said Leroy with a cheeky grin. Marva smiled uncomfortably, shifting a few inches further from him in her chair.
“There’s so much love in this room,” enthused Mrs. Moon, her many loud bangles clattering loudly against each other as she reached for a helping of patatas bravas. “You know, Howard, your father and I always had a feeling this would happen.”
“Really?” asked Howard.
“Well, ever since you came home from school that one day and told us you met a new friend named Vince,” said Mrs. Moon, tucking her greying ginger curls out of the way of her obtrusive abstract earrings, “and then told us that one day you were going to get married and become famous explorers.”
“The traffic on the M1 was as you’d expect this time of year, especially once we hit Milton Keynes,” said Mr. Moon, poking at a plate of some kind of meat. “Is this Cumberland sausage?”
“It’s chorizo, Mr. Moon,” said Leroy, as Marva idly nibbled at some goat cheese and gazed wistfully at the door.
Mr. and Mrs. Moon were, not surprisingly, geography teachers: Mr. Moon sported a proud moustache that would intimidate even the most unruly of students, and Mrs. Moon wore the sort of loud yet soft fabrics one might have more readily expected on an art professor. It was not hard to see where Howard got his, well, anything from.
Vince sighed, leaning into Howard’s shoulder. “Not exactly what I had in mind for tonight, Howard,” he whispered, arranging the caramelized onions and ham on his plate into a somewhat stylized portrait of Howard.
“Me either,” whispered Howard. “I couldn’t exactly say no to dinner, could I? They’re my parents! They’re two out of the three people in the world who think I’m special!”
“Aww, Howard, I’m number three, aren’t I?” blushed Vince.
“Well, you do, don’t you?” ventured Howard, somewhat tentatively.
“Course I do, you muppet,” giggled Vince, batting Howard playfully on the arm.
“Then there was that time we called you on your thirtieth birthday and you still had yet to mention ever having a serious girlfriend,” Mrs. Moon continued, gesticulating somewhat dangerously with her forkful of eggplant. “I mean, we always knew you were something of a late bloomer, love, but needless to say, we had our suspicions that you were probably, you know, a homosexualist. So tell me, how long have you and Vince actually been having intimacy?”
“That’s… very personal, Mum,” said Howard, sinking ever further into his chair and blushing like 546437981.2 large jars of pimentón.
“It’s a perfectly natural question,” she reasoned. “Sex is a perfectly natural act. Your father and I have sex; how do you think we made you? As a matter of fact, last month we decided to start experimenting with - “
“You’ll probably want to stop now, Mrs. Moon,” said Vince, placing a comforting hand on Howard’s arm. “We don’t want Howard to have to cover his ears and start drowning out the conversation with improvised jazz.”
“So,” said Mr. Moon, turning to Marva, “I understand that you’re from the Netherlands, Mrs. Leroy. You must have some very interesting anecdotes about canals.”
Marva pointed to Leroy, said something in what was probably Dutch, and shrugged in what was probably either annoyance or confusion.
“How soon can we leave?” Howard whispered into Vince’s ear.
“Want me to cover for you?” Vince replied. “Just say you have to go to the toilet and make a break for it. I’ll use my cunning persuasion to keep everyone from suspecting! They don’t call me The Persuader for nothing.”
“Who calls you The Persuader?” squinted Howard.
“You know, important people,” shrugged Vince.
“But I can’t abandon you, Little Man,” whispered Howard. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Don’t worry about me, Howard, save yourself!” whispered Vince.
“You two whispering sweet nothings and shit?” cringed Leroy, pouring himself a large glass of wine. “That is well sweet. And gross. I’ve never been more uncomfortable than I am right now.”
Howard blushed. “No, it’s just… I just… I have to go to the toilet,” he stammered, and ran out of the room.
“Oi Leroy, do you reckon Howard looked a bit poorly? I should probably go check on him,” said Vince, smiling apologetically as he excused himself from the room.
When Howard and Vince had sprinted a safe distance from the restaurant, they allowed themselves a break, ducking into a narrow alley to catch their breaths.
“You know,” observed Vince, “the others probably think we’ve snuck off for a cheeky shag in the toilets.”
“No, no, no, no no, no, no, no, no no no, no, no no, no,” said Howard. “I’m fine with my sexual prowess being the stuff of legend to the rest of the world, but to my parents, I would rather they didn’t think of me as any kind of a... sexualist.”
“It’s all right,” giggled Vince, pulling his mobile from his pocket, “I’ve got a plan. I’m texting Leroy to let him know that you had a bad reaction to the Cumberland sausage and I’ve taken you home for the night. It’s foolproof! It’s genius!”
“So now everyone thinks I have the pre-wedding shits?” asked Howard.
“You’re right,” cringed Vince. “I’ll text him that the third stall from the door in the men’s toilets is actually a gateway to a parallel dimension made entirely from corn and soft cushions, where everything runs on the energy generated by old hippies’ brainstorms, and we’re having a bit of a look round, watching a pair of oak trees play doubles against a two-headed dugong.”
“Vince, that’s ridiculous,” sighed Howard. “Don’t you think he’d just come investigate, if that were true?”
“Not likely,” Vince winked, “Leroy’s allergic to corn. Did you really tell your mum we were going to get married and be explorers?”
“I was about six at the time, Vince,” eyerolled Howard.
“Why didn’t you say so ages ago? You know I’ve been in love with you for practically forever,” said Vince, leading Howard home, arm in arm.
“Why didn’t you?” asked Howard.
“All right,” conceded Vince. “Now I feel a bit of a muppet. Took us fifteen whole years to live out your dreams!”
“Uhh, it’s been more like nearly thirty years, Little Man,” corrected Howard, eyeing Vince with suspicion.
“I think your math’s a bit off there, Howard,” chuckled Vince. “I’m twenty-one, so... yeah, fifteen years.”
Howard nodded, choosing, for the sake of harmony, to hold his tongue.
Chapter Seven