boosh fic, now called THE ULTIMATE ACCESSORY
same applies as before.
“This is well rank!” Vince waved his hand about his face trying to disperse the smell.
Howard looked around. Piled in huge stacks were hundreds of bin bags. To the untrained eye it looked like a pile of rubbish. Actually to Howard’s trained eye it looked like a pile of rubbish as well. But it was rubbish with order and meaning.
“Vince, you have been granted a great honour, an honour not even I...” Howard’s foot snuck up onto a nearby pile of pizza boxes, “Howard T.J. Moon, had been granted until now.” His hands made their way onto his hips. “Welcome, my friend, to the land...” he paused for dramatic effect, “...of the Bin Men.”
“Howard. Howard! Where are you, ya ballbag? Put away your trumpet socks! They’re giving Bollo the creeps!”
Naboo came a couple of steps down the stairs.
“Howard? Vince?”
He rounded the corner on the stairs and stopped dead. On the floor was his book of Black Magic and the scorch marks from the circle of flame, and in the air hung the heavy smell of old garbage.
Naboo’s face remained impassive. He turned about and stomped back up the stairs. This was their mess, they hadn’t taken the book, they could sort themselves out.
Howard strode ahead, his cape (Vince had told him he could keep it, he was never going to be able to get the smell out) swirling behind him, tail held high.
Vince behind him picked his way over the rivulets of bin juice and tried to avoid getting his white gogo boots dirty.
Around Howard the fabled bin men popped out of carefully constructed junk houses and saluted.
“Who are these people?”
“These are the bin men, Vince. Not a people you would know much about.”
“Yeah I know that. But why do they live ‘ere? The smell is horrible!”
“The bin man has a finely attuned sense of smell. He can pick the odour of a rose from a mile away.”
From out of the shadows a short, tubby bin man appeared.
He saluted Howard.
“O Great and Wise One,” Howard gave Vince a pointed look that said ‘See? He knows how to treat a man’ “...we would be honoured if you and your...” he paused and looked Vince up and down disdainfully, “...friend would join the Bin King at his palace.”
“We would be honoured to accept.”
“ ‘Ey Howard, is this a good idea? We’ve got to get that map. And I was really looking forward to discussing bodysuits with Lucifer.”
“We’re in the land of the bin men. This place is exclusive.”
Vince rolled his eyes and trudged after Howard.
They wound their way around the piles of rubbish. The sun was high in the sky and glinted off Vince’s mirror ball suit. The light danced over the refuse, highlighting bright colours that kept catching Vince’s attention. A stunning scarlet red, a bright aquamarine, a rich maroon. In its own way it was beautiful.
In the distance, towering above the other piles was the Bin King’s palace. A magnificent structure complete with turrets and a drawbridge. At the very top of the highest tower fluttered a patchwork flag. Cascading down the walls was old tinsel, still shining, and shards of broken mirror shone blindingly out, rivalling Vince’s suit.
Ahead of him, Howard was in deep discussion with the messenger from the King. Vince hurried to catch up.
As he neared them he caught snatches of their conversation.
“...Vince doesn’t understand the value of Designated Refuse Areas...” The messenger shook his head disapprovingly. “...Dissolve in the rain like Berocca...” Howard and the messenger laughed.
Vince frowned, and dragged a hand through his hair. A thought occurred to him that put all thoughts of Howard out of his head. ‘Would they have shampoo, conditioner, root booster and product here?’ They hadn’t brought the book with them and had no way of getting back to the shop, which meant they were in for the long haul, and Vince’s hair wouldn’t survive that.
As they neared the palace the drawbridge lowered and they were ushered inside, a footman in livery carefully removing Howard’s cape.
They were provided with drinks, though in rather different manners. Howard’s was presented to him on silver platter, above the head of a footman on bended knee. Vince’s was shoved unceremoniously into his hands almost as if it were an afterthought.
Vince frowned again. This ignoring him thing was getting a little old.
The horde of attendants surrounding Howard were moving off, taking Vince, like a piece of flotsam and jetsam, with them.
The moved through the castle, heading higher and higher, deeper and deeper towards the throne room.
They reached a large set of double doors. A drum roll started, tapped out on upturned garbage bins.
The doors swung open and the footmen bowed down.
Howard strode forward, Vince followed tentatively behind. He wasn’t used to feeling like this. Wasn’t used to feeling second best.
The Bin King rose, arms spread wide in greeting, a large grin on his face.
The rest of the meeting was a blur to Vince as he was shunted about, ignored and lost.
Howard was the centre of attention, everyone wanting to meet him. Vince moved about in a daze. Occasionally a bin man dignitary would stop and introduce himself, but as soon as Vince looked to begin talking they’d quickly excuse themselves and move away.
Eventually he found himself sitting in a corner nursing a flirtini (someone had at least listened to him ling enough to prepare him one) and feeling sorry for himself. He hadn’t felt this down since Lance Dior and Harold Boon. And then Howard had been there to help him get through it.
Still he wouldn’t let himself get depressed. Sunshine people didn’t get depressed.
It was just all this rubbish everywhere. It was getting to him. And the smell was getting inside his head and curling around his thoughts making them seem not his own.
He stumbled to his feet. He spotted Howard through the crowd, doing party tricks with his tail. He’d really taken to that tail. Vince pushed his way through the crowd and got Howard’s attention.
“Howard. I’m going to go and check on my hair. All this walking in the sun can’t be good for it.”
“Ok. Good. You come back when you’re ready.” And Howard turned back to the flock of admirers.
“This is well rank!” Vince waved his hand about his face trying to disperse the smell.
Howard looked around. Piled in huge stacks were hundreds of bin bags. To the untrained eye it looked like a pile of rubbish. Actually to Howard’s trained eye it looked like a pile of rubbish as well. But it was rubbish with order and meaning.
“Vince, you have been granted a great honour, an honour not even I...” Howard’s foot snuck up onto a nearby pile of pizza boxes, “Howard T.J. Moon, had been granted until now.” His hands made their way onto his hips. “Welcome, my friend, to the land...” he paused for dramatic effect, “...of the Bin Men.”
“Howard. Howard! Where are you, ya ballbag? Put away your trumpet socks! They’re giving Bollo the creeps!”
Naboo came a couple of steps down the stairs.
“Howard? Vince?”
He rounded the corner on the stairs and stopped dead. On the floor was his book of Black Magic and the scorch marks from the circle of flame, and in the air hung the heavy smell of old garbage.
Naboo’s face remained impassive. He turned about and stomped back up the stairs. This was their mess, they hadn’t taken the book, they could sort themselves out.
Howard strode ahead, his cape (Vince had told him he could keep it, he was never going to be able to get the smell out) swirling behind him, tail held high.
Vince behind him picked his way over the rivulets of bin juice and tried to avoid getting his white gogo boots dirty.
Around Howard the fabled bin men popped out of carefully constructed junk houses and saluted.
“Who are these people?”
“These are the bin men, Vince. Not a people you would know much about.”
“Yeah I know that. But why do they live ‘ere? The smell is horrible!”
“The bin man has a finely attuned sense of smell. He can pick the odour of a rose from a mile away.”
From out of the shadows a short, tubby bin man appeared.
He saluted Howard.
“O Great and Wise One,” Howard gave Vince a pointed look that said ‘See? He knows how to treat a man’ “...we would be honoured if you and your...” he paused and looked Vince up and down disdainfully, “...friend would join the Bin King at his palace.”
“We would be honoured to accept.”
“ ‘Ey Howard, is this a good idea? We’ve got to get that map. And I was really looking forward to discussing bodysuits with Lucifer.”
“We’re in the land of the bin men. This place is exclusive.”
Vince rolled his eyes and trudged after Howard.
They wound their way around the piles of rubbish. The sun was high in the sky and glinted off Vince’s mirror ball suit. The light danced over the refuse, highlighting bright colours that kept catching Vince’s attention. A stunning scarlet red, a bright aquamarine, a rich maroon. In its own way it was beautiful.
In the distance, towering above the other piles was the Bin King’s palace. A magnificent structure complete with turrets and a drawbridge. At the very top of the highest tower fluttered a patchwork flag. Cascading down the walls was old tinsel, still shining, and shards of broken mirror shone blindingly out, rivalling Vince’s suit.
Ahead of him, Howard was in deep discussion with the messenger from the King. Vince hurried to catch up.
As he neared them he caught snatches of their conversation.
“...Vince doesn’t understand the value of Designated Refuse Areas...” The messenger shook his head disapprovingly. “...Dissolve in the rain like Berocca...” Howard and the messenger laughed.
Vince frowned, and dragged a hand through his hair. A thought occurred to him that put all thoughts of Howard out of his head. ‘Would they have shampoo, conditioner, root booster and product here?’ They hadn’t brought the book with them and had no way of getting back to the shop, which meant they were in for the long haul, and Vince’s hair wouldn’t survive that.
As they neared the palace the drawbridge lowered and they were ushered inside, a footman in livery carefully removing Howard’s cape.
They were provided with drinks, though in rather different manners. Howard’s was presented to him on silver platter, above the head of a footman on bended knee. Vince’s was shoved unceremoniously into his hands almost as if it were an afterthought.
Vince frowned again. This ignoring him thing was getting a little old.
The horde of attendants surrounding Howard were moving off, taking Vince, like a piece of flotsam and jetsam, with them.
The moved through the castle, heading higher and higher, deeper and deeper towards the throne room.
They reached a large set of double doors. A drum roll started, tapped out on upturned garbage bins.
The doors swung open and the footmen bowed down.
Howard strode forward, Vince followed tentatively behind. He wasn’t used to feeling like this. Wasn’t used to feeling second best.
The Bin King rose, arms spread wide in greeting, a large grin on his face.
The rest of the meeting was a blur to Vince as he was shunted about, ignored and lost.
Howard was the centre of attention, everyone wanting to meet him. Vince moved about in a daze. Occasionally a bin man dignitary would stop and introduce himself, but as soon as Vince looked to begin talking they’d quickly excuse themselves and move away.
Eventually he found himself sitting in a corner nursing a flirtini (someone had at least listened to him ling enough to prepare him one) and feeling sorry for himself. He hadn’t felt this down since Lance Dior and Harold Boon. And then Howard had been there to help him get through it.
Still he wouldn’t let himself get depressed. Sunshine people didn’t get depressed.
It was just all this rubbish everywhere. It was getting to him. And the smell was getting inside his head and curling around his thoughts making them seem not his own.
He stumbled to his feet. He spotted Howard through the crowd, doing party tricks with his tail. He’d really taken to that tail. Vince pushed his way through the crowd and got Howard’s attention.
“Howard. I’m going to go and check on my hair. All this walking in the sun can’t be good for it.”
“Ok. Good. You come back when you’re ready.” And Howard turned back to the flock of admirers.