The slim dusty pink envelopes littered the floor of the cosy keeper’s hut. Howard Moon traipsed through them, scuffing them up over his slippers like autumn leaves as he shuffled his way to the kitchen area, mug in hand, dark blue robe trailing behind him.
His hair had curled into dark smoke-like wisps in the night, and a soft hiss came from the sleeping bag on the floor as Vince Noir eyed them warily.
Howard narrowed his eyes until they were thin dark lines of accusatory standards, running the water over the tiny sink until enough staggered out of the taps to rouse bubbles from the generous blob of green fairy liquid he had squirted onto last night’s cups and plates.
“I don’t know why you’re making that sound, Little Man,” Howard watched Vince rub the dreams out of his eyes and open them fully, “Look at your hair. It’s like a mane. Look like you should be in the circus,”
“I’d quite like to be in the circus actually,” Vince said, sitting up and drawing some of the envelopes towards him, voice already thick with a childlike daydream.
“What; like a little circus boy?”
“Mm. The swashbuckling circus boy.”
“What; and his mane?”
“And his mane of knowledge.” Vince’s eager fingers slid under the flap of an envelope addressed to him.
Howard smiled, focusing on making the both of them breakfast, “We both know there’s no knowledge in that thing. In there lies only candyfloss.”
“Candyfloss, glitter, and a little bit of the meaning of life,” Vince was too eager to pull the letter free, and the corner ripped.
“What, just a segment? Like a tangerine?”
“Like a puzzle piece. Just a little taster,”
Thank you for following and sorry about the unconventional absence.
I’m not conventional, I’m Boosh ;)
Anyway, I’m back and here to get fics posted, mainly focusing on writing new ones/requests before shifting all my old ones over from ff.net
THEY’RE MOVING HOUSEY X
Title: Why we Shouldn’t do Parties
Rating: T for now
Again Vince darted into the room with several jackets of obvious fashion, holding each one up to himself in the mirror in turn.
”M spoilt fer choice.’ he said, more to his reflection than Howard.
Howard sighed again.
With a carefulness usually reserved for neurosurgery, Vince laid the jackets on his bed, and then began to fumble through the mishmash of cosmetics on his dressing table.
Howard yawned and looked up at the clock on the wall with tired eyes. It was two o’clock in the morning.
What was Vince going to have done this time? Or perhaps he wouldn’t present him with the truth but a beautiful, sculpted, fantastical and utterly ridiculous lie; perhaps he had been carried off by unicorns with golden wings, or maybe a monkey wearing a hat had stolen his jacket, no, even better, perhaps he’d stopped for a chat with a talking hexagon.
Title: Out of the Blue
It just wasn’t my day that day.
That was what I didn’t get.
It’s always supposed to be my day, I’m Vince Noir, the days trip over themselves tryin’ to get to be my day first, but that day they didn’t even stumble.
My hair weren’t right. I dunno what was wrong with it but it just weren’t right.
Then I couldn’t find my hat, the one that had to go with my outfit. It literally just evaporated into the ceiling or something.
And then my jeans were at least a size too big for me. Dunno ‘ow that ‘appened. They just fell off my hips like I’d stepped into a pair of those clown trousers without the braces.