Chapter Text
On a cloudy, dark London morning, the bell chimed as the door to the Nabootique swung open and shut again. Howard's contented sigh was only a little exaggerated for communication purposes. “Hah... It's good to be back.” The shop was familiar in a dusty, nostalgic way that made his dusty, nostalgic records seem almost awe inspiring. Yes, sir. The cluttered shelves, the masks hung up on the walls, the abundance of clocks showing all hours of the day, the perpetually just a little bit muddy green and white tiles... It made the memories flood back and he chuckled a little as he thought about the absurdity of everything that had happened here.
“What are you talking about?”
“Hm?”
“What are you talking about?” Vince repeated, lowering his magazine. He gave Howard a puzzled 'you're a weirdo' kind of look. Because he was being a weirdo. He shook his head a little. “You've been gone twenty minutes. Where are the groceries?”
“What? No.” Howard turned and gestured back toward the door and then raised his eyebrows at Vince. “It's been decades. I was just saying how it's good to be back.”
“That's great and everything,” Vince said while he tossed the magazine on the windowsill. He hopped to his feet, the barber's chair creaking in protest, and looked around Howard. Short-sleeved orange and white Hawaiian print. Brown corduroy. Sandals. Same old Howard. No evidence of time-based mischieves. No bags, either. “But you said you were finally going to get those crisps. Part of this whole 'Howard Moon always keeps his word' thing you've got going on?” Vince waved his hands with his eyebrows raised then put them on his hips.
“No. Well, I do. I do keep my word, that's me, but...” Howard squinted his tiny eyes and looked around the shop. “Wasn't it dustier just a moment ago? Slightly sepia?”
“You've gone wrong,” Vince decided and shook his head. He walked back to the counter and trailed a finger along the glass just to be sure. Nothing. He leaned on it and chuckled. “Unbelievable. You still didn't get them.”
“Wh- It's not about the crisps, Vince!” Howard protested, but he came to stand in his place behind the counter anyway, casting suspicious looks about the place like detective lasers. It was what the magnifying glasses were for: to concentrate their eye gazes like the sun at ants. “I swear,” he gestured toward the door again, but the sepia-tinted nostalgia was fading and being replaced by the many glimmering lights reflected off of Vince's mirror-ball suit and the humming green bulbs beneath the counter.
“What's going on?” Naboo's voice preceded him into the shop from the landing and both Howard and Vince recoiled.
“Ah! Naboo! What's the matter with your face?!” Vince pointed an accusing finger at the offending facial hair.
“Oh, yeah.” Naboo pulled the elastics from behind his ears and set the costume piece aside. “Howard, did you get those crisps?”
“Enough with the crisps!” Howard shouted. “This bit is getting old now. Let's move on to something else.”
“Fair enough,” Vince agreed and looked at Naboo expectantly.
“Right. I'll just come in again.” Naboo wrinkled his nose briefly and gestured behind himself with his thumb before making his re-entrance. “What's going on?” He frowned at them both and then around the empty shop. Vince put his hand on his hip and the other on the counter, tongue poking out between his teeth. Naboo's frown eventually settled on Howard again. “I don't pay you to wander off in the middle of the day. I pay you to mind the shop.”
“You don't pay me at all, actually,”Howard corrected. “We get paid in rent.”
“He pays me,” Vince said quietly and looked at Howard.
“Never mind that,” said Naboo. “This is serious news. Bad juju.” he produced a bit of newspaper clipping from the folds of his robe and held it up. There was a massive portrait shot of a man on the front. It was hard to say what colour hair he might have had since the print was in black and white, but Vince was betting that he was a ginger. Those glasses would only be picked by a ginger. The man's expression was hideous and unnatural, and his hands were poised up by his leafy face like claws. He appeared to be some sort of half-bush half-man creature. Naboo tapped the picture with his finger and looked up at Vince and Howard, expecting them to understand. “There's a stalker on the loose.”
Vince squinted at the picture and took a few steps closer to get his face closer and give it a good look. “I've never seen him.”
“Exactly,” said Naboo. He lowered the page and it conveniently disappeared. “That's the way he works. He follows people about unseen-”
“Like a stalker, yeah, I figured,” Vince interrupted and stepped back. “Howard was a stalker once. Ask him.”
“It's not me!” Howard glared.
“How would you know if nobody's ever seen him?” Vince asked.
“There's a portrait right there!” Howard pointed.
“Yeah, but he's in disguise, isn't he? That could be anyone. Didn't you used to have this bush you'd carry around so you could spy on Gideon with your little telescope?”
“It's not me!” Howard repeated.
Naboo joined them at the counter and put down one of his heavy, magic books. “This is no ordinary stalker,” he warned. “This one is magical. It's got no shape of its own. It follows its victims until it has enough information to become them. Then... It kidnaps the original and replaces it while feeding on its energy.”
“That sounds pretty basic,” Howard said. “A bit dark for this show, actually.”
“Says the man who televised his middle-age existential crisis.”
“We're the same age!”
“Guys, listen up. We've got to devise a way to make sure that we are all who we say we are so that we'll know if a stalker has taken someone. Here. Take these.” Naboo lifted up some red ribbons. “They'll mark you as different from the stalker.”
“But they're so obvious,” Vince said, taking his ribbon anyway. A hair accessory? A collar? Maybe stitched into a jacket? He looked at it and evaluated its potential. “No way that a stalker wouldn't notice these.”
Naboo nodded. “Exactly. You need to put them somewhere really obvious. Meanwhile...” He held up another set of 'ribbons', one in tweed and one with sequins. “You'll have these as well. Hidden.”
Vince frowned and reached for the sparkles, but Naboo pulled that one back and gave him the tweed instead. Vince recoiled. “Augh!”
“Take it,” Naboo insisted. When they both had their ribbons, he continued. “They're your exact opposites. If the stalker does as good of a job as they say it does, then there's no way that one would expect you to have them.”
“What if they steal our clothes?” Vince asked, dread creeping into his voice for the first time. “Then they'd find the ribbon.”
“Even a stalker wouldn't steal your pants,” Naboo said with certainty.
“You mean...” Howard frowned.
“Make sure you tie it tight,” Naboo concluded.
“Kinky,” Vince nodded with a smile.
“What about you? What sort of ribbon do you have?” Howard asked.
“I don't need one. I have other methods. My mind is a fortress.” Naboo assured them both while he put his fake beard and moustache back on. “Now, one more precaution. Each of you whisper to each other right now something that you've never told anyone. Something a stalker wouldn't be able to find out. You'll be able to use that information to prove your identity.”
Vince leaned over to Howard immediately and held his hand up to whisper behind.
Howard frowned and looked down at him. “Really?” Met with only an expectant look, Howard bent down to whisper his as well. Vince's face lit up with amusement and he started to laugh. Howard leaned back with a frown and his arms crossed.
“Excuse me, sir! I don't see what you think is so funny!”
“It's just so you...”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, Howard, you make me laugh...”
“It isn't funny, that was actually a very serious-”
Vince kept laughing.
“Good,” Naboo interrupted. “Now, I have work to do. We're trying to figure out how many of these we're dealing with.”
“Who's we?” Howard questioned.
“The Shaman Council,” Naboo answered. “Come on, Bollo.” Naboo continued back through to the side door and Bollo came down the stairs, also wearing a false moustache and beard.
“Bye,” Vince waved. “Oh, wait, hey Bollo! If you had to become somebody else for a day, who would you want to be?”
“Hm.” Bollo grunted and shuffled around to face them through the doorway. “At first... Bollo think 'Lilly Allen'... But then, Bollo decide: Elvis.”
“Oh yeah? Why's that?”
“Elvis Presley... He gets mad bitches.”
“Isn't he dead?”
“That what he want you to think.” Bollo grunted again and continued to follow Naboo out the door.
“Well!” Howard said and tugged on the bottom of his shirt. “That's that, then, aye? A bit of excitement on a Monday morning.”
“Yeah, where did you go this morning then, if not to do the shop?”
“I don't know, alright?”
Vince threw himself into his barber's chair again and grinned while he looked at Howard's shifty face. “You sounded well defensive. I bet I know where you've been.”
“Oh, do you.” Howard scowled.
“You went round Gideon's again,” Vince's grin grew. “Were you weeping into her Koi pond?”
“I went for a walk. I just happened to pass by.” Howard laid down the facts like bricks. “I thought about knocking and then I didn't. That's all there was to it.”
“You did!” Vince clapped once and cackled. “Howard, she's over it. I thought you were over it. Move on!”
“I have moved on!” Howard insisted. “I suppose I've just been feeling a bit nostalgic lately. The Zoo feels like it was so long ago.”
“Yeah...” Vince agreed in a moment of solemnity. “I miss The Zoo.”
“Me too, little man.”
Vince grinned. “You haven't called me that in ages.”
“Well, maybe it's time to do a little less future sailing. Maybe we were on the right track thinking retro. I've been nostalgic, your clothes are... I don't know what they are, but I think they're supposed to be retro, everything in this shop is old. We're made for history. We're made to make history!” Howard held up one arm for emphasis. “Yes, sir, Howard Moon doesn't sit idly by while history writes itself. Howard Moon holds the pen.”
The dramatic music faded and Vince tapped a biro against one of his teeth. “Boring.”
“What?”
“Boring. I wouldn't want to write stuff that's already been done! That'd be rubbish.” Vince grinned. “Future sailing is forever. I'd want to write what ain't happened yet, so I can be on trend when it does.”
“That's impossible.”
“Oh really? Watch this.” Vince did a cheeky smile then wrote with big lines on a piece of paper. He hid it away when Howard tried to take a peek and then tucked it in his pocket. “Just you wait.”
“You can't just write things and make them happen. That isn't how life works.”
“I dunno, Howard...” Vince gave a meaningful look to the door who obligingly opened a moment before a customer appeared. While she was browsing, Vince changed the subject.
“What's your thing about old stuff, anyway, Howard?
“What do you mean, my thing?”
“Well, you know, the way you always like ancient music, the way your clothes are always out of fashion, those old poets you like to talk about, the black and white films you think make you sound clever to talk about... Quothe the raven never more!” Vince waved his hands while he said the quote. “I spoke to a raven just last Thursday and you know what he said?”
“What did he say?”
“He said a quote.”
“Oh, did he?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Well, what did he say then, feather fingers?”
“He said Yippie-kai-yay BEEEEEP then did a shit on an old lady's big hat.”
“What was the point of this conversation again?”
“You would have loved that hat, Howard. Know why? Because it was old. One of those brim ones that comes in a box and is covered in fake fruit.”
“A very elegant choice for a lady.”
“You see? You just can't resist old things. Even Gideon is old.”
“She is not.”
“She is! She's like 70! Haven't you noticed?”
“No, that's wrong.”
“Is not. Take a closer look the next time you're creeping about her place.”
“How much is this, please?” The customer asked. She placed a book on the counter.
Howard straightened his shirt. “Ah, yes, lovely choice for a lovely lady. Let's see here... A song of Ice and Fire. Yes, beautiful book. All very... lovely. Big fan of the romance in this one.”
“That's 4 euros,” Vince answered and accepted the money.
“Thanks,” she answered and left the shop, but not before giving Howard one last weird look.
Vince chuckled. “You're so full of shit. You haven't read that.”
“I just got nervous, alright?” Howard did a defensive little tug on his shirt while Vince got out the paper he'd scribbled on. “Give me that.” Howard snatched it and then shook his head in disbelief. “Lady in a red coat comes in the shop. Howard freeks her out. You've spelled freaks wrong.”
“You see? I told you I could write the future.”
“Rubbish. You just saw her through the window. That doesn't prove anything.”
“I'm magical. Like a super version of a prophet cause I make the stuff happen.”
“You're not. Get over yourself. You only learnt to read and write last weekend when you wanted to know what all the patches said on your jacket.”
“I'm gifted.”
“You're annoying is what you are.”
“Hey, Howard, where's Naboo's book?”
“Hm?”
“The one there,” Vince patted the counter. “That lady must have taken it.”
“Shit. It wasn't an important one was it?”
“It was magical,” Vince said and bit his lip.
“I'll go get it back. Watch the shop,” Howard said, then he jogged out of the store.
Vince watched him go and shifted his weight from right to left while he waited, grinning expectantly.
When the scene changed, Howard was back behind the counter with a bruise on his face and an ice-pack down below. Vince was snickering. Howard just shook his head. “Maybe you should go after the thief next time, hey? What about that?”
“Have you seen the shoes I wear?” Vince asked. “I'm not running in those. Forget it. Besides, you're Howard Moon: Man of Action! Catching a criminal is right up your alley.”
“Well I'm not doing it again,” Howard decided grumpily.
The cloudy London morning gave way to a surprisingly sunny afternoon and as the sun slid on over to the west, the Moon became revealed.
“I was robbed once,” the Moon commiserated. “A man... all dressed up in his space suit. The space ship, it landed on my head and the man said 'Oi Moon, give... uhh give me all your rocks' and I said 'no, get off of my face! Help help I'm being robbed!' So then... the Moon Rover. That's my dog. The Moon Rover, he came over and bit his face off.” The Moon grinned. “I'm the moon.”
Wearing his socks, pants, and vest Howard pulled down the window and secured it in place, then gave it a little wiggle to be sure that it was locked up tight. He slid a curtain over it and nodded in satisfaction. “There. All locked up tight as a bank vault. Why are you so worried all of the sudden?”
Vince peeked out from beneath his pile of blankets. “I remembered about the paparazzi. They're always sneaking around, taking photographs, asking questions... Any one of them could be a stalker. I've talked to loads of them.” Vince held up a page in one of his magazines that had a shot of him posing in an arctic-white coat over his jumpsuit. He turned the page to show himself again, wearing last week's patchy black jacket and some excellent red boots. “I bet they all wish they were me.”
“Well...” Howard settled himself down in his own bed and got comfortable. “That's not really you, is it?”
“What?” Vince sat up, alarmed.
“No, no, not the pictures. I mean that persona you put out there for the cameras, and all the posing and taking on all those styles: one minute your a goth, the next you're a mod or a punk or a glam-rocker...”
“That is me,” Vince frowned. “I'm a fashion chameleon.”
“I thought you were all about standing out,” Howard said with just a hint of exasperation. “Vince Noir: fashion trail-blazer.”
“Blazers are well out of fashion, Howard. I do stand out. I stand out best in the genre. I make genres. That's the point though, isn't it? I attract loads of attention.” Vince gave the window a nervous look.
“Then maybe it's time you laid low for a little while, hm? Take a break from all that superficial nonsense and spend a little time looking inward. Focus on what's real!”
“I told you: I am real,” Vince grumbled, confused. “You're not exactly helping.”
“Just... Get some sleep, alright? Windows and doors are shut, curtains drawn, posters with faces made to look at the walls, plants all safely locked away in Naboo's workshop... Everything's fine, Vince.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm.” Howard rolled over.
“Night, Howard...” Vince sighed and flopped down against his pillows.
“Good night, Vince.”