Fic: The World Just Keeps On Ending (6/6)
Title: The World Just Keeps On Ending (6/6)
Author: doctorpancakes
Word Count: 859 (this chapter, 6528 in total)
Genre: fluff/angst/giggles
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13
Warning: immature content
Disclaimer: If you're seriously under the impression that I own the Boosh, yeah, no.
Author's Note: And this is the big scary last chapter you've no doubt been awaiting with like much anticipation and stuff. For those of you who actually stuck it out right to the end, I love you! I hope it inspires less hate mail than, say, the abysmal last episode of Star Trek: Enterprise. DO NOT get me started.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
“What the hell are you doing? Shop was supposed to open hours ago!”
Howard woke with a start, jerking into an upright position, nearly sending himself toppling off the roof. Vince rubbed his eyes sleepily, squinting in response to the harsh sunlight he was suddenly acutely aware of. He also was peripherally aware of an irritated voice somewhere in the murky distance of his emerging consciousness, like when you're phone's ringing but it's somewhere at the bottom of your purse, and every time you think you've found it, you just find you've pulled out your emergency hair spray or that turkish delight you'd been saving for later. He opened his eyes, and there was Naboo's head poking out of the roof's entrance, Bollo following behind him.
“Naboo? What's going on?” asked Vince.
“And it's a bloody mess down there. Whatever you can't fix is coming out of your wages,” said Naboo. Naboo looked right fucked off at them.
“But, isn't the world ending?” asked Howard, head spinning.
“Oh, that. Didn't I tell you? I figured out I'd got the date wrong, it was supposed to be in the year 20010, not 2010. I thought I rang you last night,” said Naboo.
“Naboo dropped serious voodoo E last night. Bollo find him spooning a Vespa,” explained Bollo.
“So when I rang Vince...?” asked Naboo.
“Talking into Paul Oakenfold's armpit.”
Naboo laughed. “Oh yeah, that was brilliant. All right boys, you've got an hour to clean up down there and open up, yeah?”
Howard and Vince climbed off the roof and stumbled back to their room to dress for the day. Vince was just shimmying into his trousers when Howard said
“Vince, I think we should talk.”
Vince looked askance at him. “Uhh, about what?”
“Well,” Howard began, shrugging into a camel-coloured turtleneck that muffled some of his words in an amusing manner, “in light of certain events that took place last night, things that transpired, things that may have been said, I thought we - “
“Howard, you are not seriously dumping me, are you?” asked Vince, incredulous.
“What? No,” Howard reassured him, “I just wanted to - “
“Brilliant,” Vince beamed at him, adjusting his jacket.
“As I was saying,” Howard began again, “in light of recent events, I think we should establish the MMMMmmffmmffffmfffmfffmmmmfffffmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” Howard’s speech was interrupted by the presence of Vince’s face, suddenly - though by no means unpleasantly - in contact with his own.
“Yes, I think that’s settled things,” said Vince, patting Howard on the shoulder. “Good talk!”
On the way downstairs to the Nabootique, Vince stopped in a fit of giggles, squirming about, causing Howard to crash into him from behind, sending them both toppling forwards until they hit the bottom step with a loud thump.
“What was that?” asked Howard, standing up, then helping Vince to his giggly feet.
“It’s just my phone,” said Vince, pulling it out of his pocket, flipping it open. How Vince managed to fit a phone into those impossibly tight trousers he poured himself into, Howard had no idea. “I’ve just got a text.”
Vince squinted slightly at his phonescreen, beaming. Howard shifted round to see what was so entertaining.
“Oi, get off!” shouted Vince, shoving Howard out of the way. “This might be personal!”
“Oh? Is it from one of your girlfriends?” teased Howard.
“Might be,” smiled Vince. “Might be from one of my legion of fangirls.”
“You mean Maggie?” asked Howard.
Vince blushed. “Yeah, Maggie.”
It wasn’t.
Howard had only been able to read the first letter of the sender’s name before being shoved out of the way, but had at least seen that said letter was definitely not M. He couldn’t be sure what of the other 25 letters it was, but suspected it may have been U or V, or perhaps L. Some longish-looking letter, he thought, though he had been unable to ascertain whether it was curvy or pointy in nature.
“How is she? Still chewing?” he asked.
“It’s not from Maggie, you daft crease! You remember that DJ I had a chat with the other week at DANCE, MOTHERFUCKER!” he said, New Wave Gesturing along. “Well, turns out he was at our show at the Velvet Onion a couple months back, and we’ve been texting since we met at DANCE, MOTHERFUCKER!, and he reckons we should collaborate on a side project! What do you think?”
Vince grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Howard. Howard furrowed his brow.
“Would I get to play the bassoon?” he asked.
“Hang on, I’ll ask him,” said Vince, manically punching in letters with this thumbs.
The waited a moment. Vvvt vvvt vvvt, the phone vibrated. Vince flipped it back open.
“Is-it-an-e-lec-tric-ba-ssoon, question mark,” he read out loud.
“I could go electric,” said Howard after much consideration, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Brilliant!” said Vince, putting an arm nonchalantly around Howard’s shoulder. Howard retreated slightly, by reflex, but willed himself to get over it. “We’re called Dancing Banana Trees, and he’s already booked us a gig in New York!”
“But Vince, we haven’t even rehearsed yet,” said Howard, with great skepticism and even greater concern.
“So?”
Author: doctorpancakes
Word Count: 859 (this chapter, 6528 in total)
Genre: fluff/angst/giggles
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13
Warning: immature content
Disclaimer: If you're seriously under the impression that I own the Boosh, yeah, no.
Author's Note: And this is the big scary last chapter you've no doubt been awaiting with like much anticipation and stuff. For those of you who actually stuck it out right to the end, I love you! I hope it inspires less hate mail than, say, the abysmal last episode of Star Trek: Enterprise. DO NOT get me started.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
“What the hell are you doing? Shop was supposed to open hours ago!”
Howard woke with a start, jerking into an upright position, nearly sending himself toppling off the roof. Vince rubbed his eyes sleepily, squinting in response to the harsh sunlight he was suddenly acutely aware of. He also was peripherally aware of an irritated voice somewhere in the murky distance of his emerging consciousness, like when you're phone's ringing but it's somewhere at the bottom of your purse, and every time you think you've found it, you just find you've pulled out your emergency hair spray or that turkish delight you'd been saving for later. He opened his eyes, and there was Naboo's head poking out of the roof's entrance, Bollo following behind him.
“Naboo? What's going on?” asked Vince.
“And it's a bloody mess down there. Whatever you can't fix is coming out of your wages,” said Naboo. Naboo looked right fucked off at them.
“But, isn't the world ending?” asked Howard, head spinning.
“Oh, that. Didn't I tell you? I figured out I'd got the date wrong, it was supposed to be in the year 20010, not 2010. I thought I rang you last night,” said Naboo.
“Naboo dropped serious voodoo E last night. Bollo find him spooning a Vespa,” explained Bollo.
“So when I rang Vince...?” asked Naboo.
“Talking into Paul Oakenfold's armpit.”
Naboo laughed. “Oh yeah, that was brilliant. All right boys, you've got an hour to clean up down there and open up, yeah?”
Howard and Vince climbed off the roof and stumbled back to their room to dress for the day. Vince was just shimmying into his trousers when Howard said
“Vince, I think we should talk.”
Vince looked askance at him. “Uhh, about what?”
“Well,” Howard began, shrugging into a camel-coloured turtleneck that muffled some of his words in an amusing manner, “in light of certain events that took place last night, things that transpired, things that may have been said, I thought we - “
“Howard, you are not seriously dumping me, are you?” asked Vince, incredulous.
“What? No,” Howard reassured him, “I just wanted to - “
“Brilliant,” Vince beamed at him, adjusting his jacket.
“As I was saying,” Howard began again, “in light of recent events, I think we should establish the MMMMmmffmmffffmfffmfffmmmmfffffmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” Howard’s speech was interrupted by the presence of Vince’s face, suddenly - though by no means unpleasantly - in contact with his own.
“Yes, I think that’s settled things,” said Vince, patting Howard on the shoulder. “Good talk!”
On the way downstairs to the Nabootique, Vince stopped in a fit of giggles, squirming about, causing Howard to crash into him from behind, sending them both toppling forwards until they hit the bottom step with a loud thump.
“What was that?” asked Howard, standing up, then helping Vince to his giggly feet.
“It’s just my phone,” said Vince, pulling it out of his pocket, flipping it open. How Vince managed to fit a phone into those impossibly tight trousers he poured himself into, Howard had no idea. “I’ve just got a text.”
Vince squinted slightly at his phonescreen, beaming. Howard shifted round to see what was so entertaining.
“Oi, get off!” shouted Vince, shoving Howard out of the way. “This might be personal!”
“Oh? Is it from one of your girlfriends?” teased Howard.
“Might be,” smiled Vince. “Might be from one of my legion of fangirls.”
“You mean Maggie?” asked Howard.
Vince blushed. “Yeah, Maggie.”
It wasn’t.
Howard had only been able to read the first letter of the sender’s name before being shoved out of the way, but had at least seen that said letter was definitely not M. He couldn’t be sure what of the other 25 letters it was, but suspected it may have been U or V, or perhaps L. Some longish-looking letter, he thought, though he had been unable to ascertain whether it was curvy or pointy in nature.
“How is she? Still chewing?” he asked.
“It’s not from Maggie, you daft crease! You remember that DJ I had a chat with the other week at DANCE, MOTHERFUCKER!” he said, New Wave Gesturing along. “Well, turns out he was at our show at the Velvet Onion a couple months back, and we’ve been texting since we met at DANCE, MOTHERFUCKER!, and he reckons we should collaborate on a side project! What do you think?”
Vince grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Howard. Howard furrowed his brow.
“Would I get to play the bassoon?” he asked.
“Hang on, I’ll ask him,” said Vince, manically punching in letters with this thumbs.
The waited a moment. Vvvt vvvt vvvt, the phone vibrated. Vince flipped it back open.
“Is-it-an-e-lec-tric-ba-ssoon, question mark,” he read out loud.
“I could go electric,” said Howard after much consideration, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Brilliant!” said Vince, putting an arm nonchalantly around Howard’s shoulder. Howard retreated slightly, by reflex, but willed himself to get over it. “We’re called Dancing Banana Trees, and he’s already booked us a gig in New York!”
“But Vince, we haven’t even rehearsed yet,” said Howard, with great skepticism and even greater concern.
“So?”