Fic: Urban Wildlife Blues (Part 4 of 9)

Title: URBAN WILDLIFE BLUES

Or, maybe not the tail you thought it was.

Part 4 of 9

 

Pairing: Howard/Vince

Author: Unbelievable2

Rating: PG13, probably.

Word Count: 2,431

 

Summary: A bit of an adventure. A new departure for Howard, a surprise for Vince and the return of an old enemy.

 

This chapter and the next a bit dark…..

 

Warnings: For story as a whole, some nastiness, violence, drug refs and swears, talking animals, character death (oh, and some s/ash ;) here and there)

 

Disclaimer: Sadly I own neither the creators nor their characters, and I will not, nor would I ever wish to, profit from either.

 

 

Notes: Sorry for the R/L- necessitated gap since the last posting.

Once again, huge thanks to the wonderful themogwai for her insightful and inspiring beta-ing, at great speed.

 

Part 1 here:

Part 2 here:

Part 3 here:

 

Part 4

 

The carpet touched down again at early light, a hung-over Bollo having to navigate carefully to avoid the large puddles left after the storm. There was a chill to the back yard, but it was more than could be shifted by the early sunshine. Naboo stepped gingerly off the floating rug and paused, nostrils flaring. It was not only the faint, unpleasant smell that brought him to an abrupt halt. A sense of something else hung in the air – a shifting mix of despair, pain, hate, evil. Involuntarily he clutched the robe at his throat.

 

“I gotta a bad feelin’…”

“Damn straight, Bollo. So have I. Just go easy for a …”

Bollo wasn’t listening. He suddenly started shambling in haste towards the back door of the shop. Now Naboo saw what Bollo had noticed; the door was wide open.

 

He picked up his skirts and ran.

 

But even before he got to the door he saw Bollo pull up short and make a sound that Naboo hadn’t heard for many years. A sound like a wild animal in pain.

 

He pushed past and saw what the whimpering ape was staring at. There on the floor, stretched out like a marble figure on an ancient tomb, lay Vince, unclothed but for his underwear. His head was turned away from them; his arms half encircled his own body as if he had been clutching hold of something that had been torn away.

 

Naboo fell to his knees beside the prone figure. Gently he turned Vince’s face towards him. No bruises; no marks save for a fine line of dried blood on the neck. The skin was deathly white - paler than Naboo had ever seen him. He wore no expression, but there was no life either. He lifted Vince’s eyelids, and looked into dark emptiness. He lowered Vince’s head to the floor and tried to straighten his arms so they looked more restful – a pointless gesture. He closed his own eyes, controlling his emotion as best he could.

 

“Howard do this?”

Naboo turned in sudden exasperation to his familiar.

“Of course he didn’t, you jerk-off!”

And then he saw the awful grief in the gorilla’s eyes. His voice softened.

“Of course he didn’t. Howard could never…. Even if he is a pointless ballbag, Howard would never….”
“So where Howard gone?”

“Good question, Bollo” Naboo got up, his gaze fixed on the back yard. Bollo’s eyes had never left the figure on the floor.

 

“Naboo? Precious Vince….?”

When the shaman didn’t answer, Bollo made that sound again. Naboo could bear it no longer. He pushed past him and walked out of the shop, his fists clenching and unclenching. He knew who was responsible. He also knew that the trip to see the Board had been unnecessarily prolonged for recreational reasons. He would have found it difficult to refuse to participate, but even so… if he had been here….

 

He paused part-way across the yard, sniffing again, his shaman’s senses working overtime despite the stress of holding his grief in check. He could smell something else now.

Blood.

There had been blood here, just where he stood. Washed away now, of course, but it had been there on the ground.

 

“Naboo?”

“It’s the fox, Bollo. They said it was him and they were right.”

“Naboo?”

“I’m sorry, Bollo. Vince… Vince is….” He still couldn’t say it. “And Howard may be too. He’s been taken, I’m sure of it.”
“Naboo!”

“What, Bollo?” Naboo finally looked up at the gorilla looming over him.

 

“Bollo found this, Naboo, by door.”

Another doll. Naboo stared at it, numb, unwilling to make the effort to comprehend.

“And Bollo find this bloody needle.”

“Swearing about it won’t bring Vince back, Bollo.” Naboo sighed wearily, then focused on the long needle lying in Bollo’s leathery palm.

“Where did you find that?”

“Doll was by door. Needle on table.”

 

Naboo took the needle, still staring, feeling something… something….

He raised it to his nose and sniffed delicately.

“Oh my fuckin’ god. Oh shit. Bollo! Come on!”

He raced back towards the shop.

 

“Oi! Naboo tell Bollo no swear…”

Then Bollo started running too.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Howard Moon was, sadly, quite accustomed to being abducted by unwholesome creatures of one type or another and left in peril of his life. So waking to find himself tied up again with little prospect of kinky enjoyment and every expectation of imminent death was by no means an unfamiliar feeling. It was, however, unusual to find he was wrapped from chin to toes in black bin-bags.

 

It took him a while to work all this out, though. First he had to recall why he was there. That took some effort. His head pounded, his neck felt sore. He was ragingly thirsty. But more than that, he woke with the sudden absolute conviction of disaster; of his world gone wrong. Physically he ached all over, but his heart ached most if all.

 

And then he remembered. And then he couldn’t forget. Blue lightning, thunder, a maniac’s laugh, and Vince’s uncontrolled flailing, his deathly, tortured face and the final moments when he lay limp and lifeless in Howard’s helpless arms. A flood of nightmare images - suddenly the last thing Howard was ready to do was lie there in his plastic cocoon and feel sorry for himself.

 

He had saving to do.

 

Easier said than done, like most times in his life.

 

He seemed to be in a dark cavern. A strange diffused light flowed weakly from high above and gave the scene a bit of definition. And there were odd patches of light on the walls. Focusing on them he could see they were light bulbs attached to torch batteries, all glowing very dimly. Rubbish – old magazines (of the top shelf variety), cartons, bits of plastic packaging – lay all around. Some calendar pictures were fixed to the walls - wildlife calendars, but with dubious additions to the images made in black marker pen. The floor was damp and cold and slimy. Two dark openings in the black walls looked like corridors leading away. At the mouth of each a jumble of stuffed bin-bags lay awkwardly piled.

 

Howard Moon, Man of Action, could not move.

 

The best he could manage was a kind of awkward wriggle, like a caterpillar.

No good, he thought. This is no good. I need to cut this thing open. And fast.

He had no idea how long he had been incarcerated, but clearly every moment longer was a moment Vince was deprived of the antidote.

 

Wriggle, shuffle, wriggle, across the damp floor. Looking for something – anything - that was sharp. Surely amongst all this crap….

Something was glinting in the dim light, jutting out of a patch of deep shadow.

Wriggle, shuffle, wriggle.

If only he could get a hand free – even a finger….

Almost there, he thought. Maybe if he could get it to rip the plastic… maybe if…

 

The gleaming bit of metal moved, and Howard flinched back in his plastic cocoon as it reached out and prodded his chest. A crutch.

The accompanying high-pitched giggle did not come as a surprise.

 

“Yo’ goin’ somewheres, binman?”

The pointed teeth were bared. Twisted forepaws began to pluck at a banjo, a slow tune emerging from the harsh notes. The glowing eyes never left Howard’s face.

 

“How does it feel, binman, to be left all helpless? All useless? Like a crushed piece of garbage? Like a bit of roadkill left out in the rain?”

 

Might as well start with the obvious, thought Howard

“Will you set me free? Please?”

 

More notes, the tune building in pace.

“Yo’ have to listen to ma song first.”

Oh dear.

“Look….”

A harsh chord.

“Once upon a time there was a poor, poor little foxy…..

 

Howard gritted his teeth. There was little else of him he could grit, in fact.

 

“….. who only wanted to dance and have fun with all the beautiful human-folk, with all the funky humanoids…”

 

“Look, can we go through this later? ‘Cos I really do have somewhere to be…”

 

“…. and make his little poor little mark upon the world…

 

Oh god…

 

“…and hurt you REAL bad….!”

 

The music stopped abruptly, and Howard couldn’t stifle his yelp as the ragged, rotting nose and glinting teeth loomed over him again, close to his own face.

 

The fox giggled.

 

“Yo’ like ma house, bin man?” He pulled back suddenly and gestured around. Howard took a deep breath and squinted at the dark walls – anything to calm himself down….

Finally the black cavern made sense. It was all bin-bags, mountains of bin-bags squashed and solid. In some places the massed bags were hard and compacted; in others, the plastic had split so that contents dribbled down the sides like macabre paper decorations.

 

“It ain’t a house, really. It’s a castle. Lots of foxes have castles. But ma castle’s the only one that’s underground!”

 

“Where are we?” ventured Howard, craning his neck again.

“We’re in the pit, binman! We are where the city folks put their garbage. In the pit where all the bags go, tha’s where ma castle is. Everythin’s different ma world!”

 

He gestured to the dim bulbs on the walls.

“You like ma chandeliers? You see ma grand staircase?” A hole in the wall of bags gaped. “You see ma trays of finger food for all ma famous visitors?”

 Howard looked and quickly averted his eyes from the scraps of wood dotted with small unpleasant objects that really did look like…...

“Everythin’s different…”

 

The fox put down his banjo and gathered the crutches under his forelegs, shuffling to his feet.

 

You are a’ honoured guest in Crack Fox’s castle, kind sir binman. You, the kind gentleman who murdered poor ol’ Cracky Fox…

 

“You and your pretty, pretty, pretty friend….

 

“Shows Crack Fox don’t hold no grudges… he just holds crutches!”

 

The fox burst out in manic, piercing giggles – Howard’s ears hurt.

 

“Hey, I made a joke! I’m a funny funny fox…

“No I ain’t…”

 

Helpless in his bin-bag straitjacket, Howard watched with anxiety as the fox edged around his body. The crutches were perilously close to his face. The teeth were gleaming with spittle.

 

“Look, what exactly do you want?” Howard heard himself say it, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. And how far away.

 

The fox grinned wider.

“Ah’m gonna get me some shaman juice, binman! Then see what Cracky Fox does…”

The fox started shuffling away.

“You can’t,” said Howard quickly. “There ain’t none... I mean, there isn’t any…”

“Sure there is, binman! Yo’ magician friend’s gonna get me some. He’s gonna give me some shaman juice for you, binman! In a trade!”

 

Howard gaped.

“He said that?”

“I tol’ him…”

 

 

 At that, Howard knew he was screwed. No way would Naboo be prepared to trade him for such powerful, dangerous magic - not Howard. Playing with it before had almost got the shaman executed. Howard simply wouldn’t be worth the risk. And that’s always supposing he and Bollo were sober enough to consider the question sensibly in the first place.

 

He needed Vince. But was Vince even conscious to hear the question? Was Vince even….?

No! Don’t even think that!

Vince was his only hope.

Vince was his…..

 

“The antidote..” he began. The fox turned back to him, head cocked to one side.

“You said… “ Howard’s courage started to fail him “You said there was an antidote. For what you did to Vince… Look, please, give Naboo the antidote. Then he’ll get you the shaman juice! I promise… please, just get the antidote…please?”

 

Some small part of Howard’s brain registered a departure. He knew this was all the wrong way round. By rights, he should be howling and pleading for his life by now. That was how it usually worked. However much a hero he always tried to be, that grandeur usually eluded him, by several miles. But right now the image of a lifeless body on the floor of the shop outweighed the thought of self-preservation.

 

He put it down to his noble nature shining through on this occasion. This was truly what a hero of ancient times would do - put friends before self. Plus he grudgingly recognized that rescue by a conscious if scatter-brained Vince had a higher chance of success than that by stoned shaman and gorilla. It was all relative.

 

So there you were – perfectly understandable reasoning. He needed Vince in action. He needed to see him walking and talking - complete shit, of course, like always - but ah god, how he needed to see it….

 

The best plan that Howard Moon could come up with in the circumstances shattered at the next cackle of laughter.

 

“Antidote? Ain’t got no antidote, binman!”

Howard’s heart stopped. He craned his neck to see the fox’s expression.

“Don’ need no antidote for what ah gave Vincey Princey, binman! Was just ma funny funny joke!”

 

Howard almost moaned with relief.

“You mean…a joke?”

You little shit…

“You mean you didn’t…? He wasn’t…?” Hope started to glow within him, out of all proportion to the situation. Vince was still in action, Vince was okay!

“Thank god…”

 

If the fox was even listening, he didn’t show it.

“Vincey Princey don’t need no antidote.

Dead things don’t need no antidote….”

 

Howard’s fake grin froze.

“What?” The word was a gasp for breath.

“Ah said…” the fox loomed over him again, pausing as if for emphasis.

“Ah said…. dead things don’t need no antidote…

“They just dead.”

 

The rollercoaster that was Howard’s life dropped away again, plunging him once more towards a gorge of oblivion. He was made of ice.

 

“No!” It was a plea.

 

“No!” It was a denial.

 

“No! NO!” It was a refusal.

 

Now he struggled inside the cocoon. Now his heart almost burst with the mad effort to get free; his breaking heart….

 

“Tha’s what I do, binman. I make things dead…

“Then ah take them to the woods and bum them and bury them and dig ‘em up and bum them again…

 

“Not this time though…

“Cos he’s too dead…”

 

The fox shuffled off into the darkness, still muttering his litany of horror, the random bags on the floor trailing after him like an entourage.

 

The cavern was silent, but Howard was overwhelmed by the blood thundering in his ears, echoing his heart that hammered away, trying to get out of his chest.

 

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!”

 

It was a howl, in the darkness.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

A/N: You may notice that Crack Fox here owes a lot to the Live Show…. ;)