When the Shoe Fits...
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Concussion
(The song in this bit is 'Dead Flowers'. It can be sung fast and cheerful but is heartbreaking when sung slow and sad.)
“Vince? Vince?”
He could hear the voice and the slap of Naboo’s strange shoes as he ran out of the chateau, but it sounded strange. He tried to get up but his body just wouldn’t do as it was told. Vince closed his eyes and let out a harsh breath.
“Vince! Vince, you batty crease, I don’t know which window’s yours. Open up so I can break you out!”
Naboo’s voice sounded odd when he yelled, like he wasn’t made for making so much noise, almost as if he had a muffler built in to the back of his throat, a thought which made a silly little grin creep across Vince’s face. Naboo was funny, and batty crease, that was funny too.
He opened his eyes and squealed.
“Don’t scream at me, you idiot!” Naboo snapped, leaning over Vince, an inch away from his face. “What are you doing lying here in the bracken anyway, I nearly tripped over you. Couldn’t you hear me yelling?”
There were two smudges of pink on Naboo’s otherwise pale and expressionless face, the only indication that he wasn’t actually as calm as he seemed and Vince tried to concentrate on what he was being asked but there was a serious ringing in his ears that was making it tricky.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Um...” Vince mumbled. “Do I have any lines in this bit?”
Naboo blinked and pulled back to look at Vince long and hard through narrowed eyes. Then he turned around to look up at the house, his gaze traveling all the way up to the attic window with the sheet rope cascading from it like Rapunzel’s hair
“Did you... Did you fall out of your window?”
Vince tried to nod but it made the world turn funny colours so he stopped and tried to figure out how to make his tongue work again instead.
“I din’t... fall all the way,” he said slowly. “I climbed some of it. Then somebody screamed.”
“Yeah,” Naboo nodded. “That was Anthrax. Things have gone a bit gore and horror in there to be honest. D’you think you can sit up?”
Vince tried to lift his head but stopped when a rainbow of tiny fireworks began exploding in front of his eyes.
“Apparently not.”
“Shit!” Naboo swore, “We don’t have time for this.” He said other things too and glanced back nervously toward the front door but Vince couldn’t hear them. Naboo had nice hair, all black and silky, like a curtain of night when he turned his head. It was probably really soft too, Vince thought, like flower petals or something. He’d landed in the flowers, he realised muzzily, but they hadn’t been soft or broken his fall. He’d broken them. They were all dead now. And that was sad.
“Take me down little Susie,” he whispered shakily, “take me down.”
“I know you think you’re the queen of the underground.
And you can send me dead flowers every morning
Send me dead flowers by the mail
Send me dead flowers to my wedding
And I won’t forget to put roses on your grave.”
Naboo turned back to him and Vince tried to pat his hair.
“Nobody’s going to die, Vince,” he lisped quietly. “But there will bloody well be a wedding and you’re going to be in it.”
Vince smiled dreamily. Naboo had a nice voice, like warm Milo at bedtime. He told Naboo so and watched as the tiny shaman fought back a smile.
“Yeah, thanks for that, but we really need to get going now. So I reckon I should do something about your concussion. It’s making you talk like you’re high.”
Vince nodded solemnly (or tried to) as Naboo took his head in his small hands.
“I was up high,” he said seriously. “Then I fell. Somebody screamed.”
“I know. You said already. It was Anthrax. She managed to get her foot into your boot so she can marry the prince.”
Vince sat up with a jolt, his eyes wide but his vision suddenly, almost painfully, clear.
“My boot! She can’t take my boot! Her feet are a size and a half bigger than mine. She’ll ruin it!” Naboo stood and pulled Vince to his feet and as he brushed the leaves and twigs from his outfit he took a moment to wonder at how Naboo had managed to take away the sharp edge to the pain in his body. The hurt was still there, he could feel it if he concentrated on it, but it was muted, as though it was all hidden under a nice, snuggly blanket, and the headache was gone completely. He smiled at the shaman in thanks but was suddenly hit with a pressing realisation and his mouth opened wide until he looked like something out of an Edvard Munch sketchbook.
“She can’t marry Howard! He doesn’t even know how to talk to girls!”
Naboo just rolled his eyes and scanned the garden for a way out that wouldn’t lead them back near the front doors.
“Good to have you back, Vince. Now how the hell are we going to get out of here?”
(The song in this bit is 'Dead Flowers'. It can be sung fast and cheerful but is heartbreaking when sung slow and sad.)
“Vince? Vince?”
He could hear the voice and the slap of Naboo’s strange shoes as he ran out of the chateau, but it sounded strange. He tried to get up but his body just wouldn’t do as it was told. Vince closed his eyes and let out a harsh breath.
“Vince! Vince, you batty crease, I don’t know which window’s yours. Open up so I can break you out!”
Naboo’s voice sounded odd when he yelled, like he wasn’t made for making so much noise, almost as if he had a muffler built in to the back of his throat, a thought which made a silly little grin creep across Vince’s face. Naboo was funny, and batty crease, that was funny too.
He opened his eyes and squealed.
“Don’t scream at me, you idiot!” Naboo snapped, leaning over Vince, an inch away from his face. “What are you doing lying here in the bracken anyway, I nearly tripped over you. Couldn’t you hear me yelling?”
There were two smudges of pink on Naboo’s otherwise pale and expressionless face, the only indication that he wasn’t actually as calm as he seemed and Vince tried to concentrate on what he was being asked but there was a serious ringing in his ears that was making it tricky.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Um...” Vince mumbled. “Do I have any lines in this bit?”
Naboo blinked and pulled back to look at Vince long and hard through narrowed eyes. Then he turned around to look up at the house, his gaze traveling all the way up to the attic window with the sheet rope cascading from it like Rapunzel’s hair
“Did you... Did you fall out of your window?”
Vince tried to nod but it made the world turn funny colours so he stopped and tried to figure out how to make his tongue work again instead.
“I din’t... fall all the way,” he said slowly. “I climbed some of it. Then somebody screamed.”
“Yeah,” Naboo nodded. “That was Anthrax. Things have gone a bit gore and horror in there to be honest. D’you think you can sit up?”
Vince tried to lift his head but stopped when a rainbow of tiny fireworks began exploding in front of his eyes.
“Apparently not.”
“Shit!” Naboo swore, “We don’t have time for this.” He said other things too and glanced back nervously toward the front door but Vince couldn’t hear them. Naboo had nice hair, all black and silky, like a curtain of night when he turned his head. It was probably really soft too, Vince thought, like flower petals or something. He’d landed in the flowers, he realised muzzily, but they hadn’t been soft or broken his fall. He’d broken them. They were all dead now. And that was sad.
“Take me down little Susie,” he whispered shakily, “take me down.”
“I know you think you’re the queen of the underground.
And you can send me dead flowers every morning
Send me dead flowers by the mail
Send me dead flowers to my wedding
And I won’t forget to put roses on your grave.”
Naboo turned back to him and Vince tried to pat his hair.
“Nobody’s going to die, Vince,” he lisped quietly. “But there will bloody well be a wedding and you’re going to be in it.”
Vince smiled dreamily. Naboo had a nice voice, like warm Milo at bedtime. He told Naboo so and watched as the tiny shaman fought back a smile.
“Yeah, thanks for that, but we really need to get going now. So I reckon I should do something about your concussion. It’s making you talk like you’re high.”
Vince nodded solemnly (or tried to) as Naboo took his head in his small hands.
“I was up high,” he said seriously. “Then I fell. Somebody screamed.”
“I know. You said already. It was Anthrax. She managed to get her foot into your boot so she can marry the prince.”
Vince sat up with a jolt, his eyes wide but his vision suddenly, almost painfully, clear.
“My boot! She can’t take my boot! Her feet are a size and a half bigger than mine. She’ll ruin it!” Naboo stood and pulled Vince to his feet and as he brushed the leaves and twigs from his outfit he took a moment to wonder at how Naboo had managed to take away the sharp edge to the pain in his body. The hurt was still there, he could feel it if he concentrated on it, but it was muted, as though it was all hidden under a nice, snuggly blanket, and the headache was gone completely. He smiled at the shaman in thanks but was suddenly hit with a pressing realisation and his mouth opened wide until he looked like something out of an Edvard Munch sketchbook.
“She can’t marry Howard! He doesn’t even know how to talk to girls!”
Naboo just rolled his eyes and scanned the garden for a way out that wouldn’t lead them back near the front doors.
“Good to have you back, Vince. Now how the hell are we going to get out of here?”