Chapter Text
He had no choice. It was all Lance Dior. If Lance Dior hadn't practically stolen Vince's image, and therefore his life, he wouldn't have left Shoreditch. He had to make a NEW life, an original and unique life. Bloody Lance. It's all his fault. It's all his bloody fault!
"Vince, what are you saying?" Howard asked, interrupting Vince's thoughts.
"Oh, just mumbling to myself like a madman," he answered.
"Oh, alright." Howard then turned his attention back to the pavement.
Vince got a job at some company he knew next to nothing about, and he was hoping he could get Howard something to do there too. Surely they had some simple desk job he could figure out, or at least a janitorial thing. Howard can, and will, do anything.
"I guarantee you, I will never get used to you having short hair," Howard brought up as he glared at the offending follicles.
"I think it looks okay." Vince stroked his hair back, quietly mourning the loss of his thick, long locks.
"I hate it. I hate it a lot." Vince rolled his eyes and continued walking.
They didn't have a car, so they had to walk. Sure, they could use some form of public transport, but they have a mutual hatred for buses. And taxis? Come on. Like the driver WOULDN'T be The Hitcher, or some other various freak.
Suddenly Howard went still. Everything went still. The passing cars, the birds in the sky, frozen. Time was paused and everything went dark.
"Oh, great, not again," Vince groaned.
Howard's lips moved, but the voice that came out was Naboo's. "Vince, where are you?!"
"You know, you need to get a phone. The whole time-freezing human puppetry thing is so unnecessary."
"Vince!" Naboo tried to refocus him.
"Oh, right, my bad, forgot to tell you. We quit."
"You what?!"
"Yeah, sorry, Naboolio, but we can't hang around the Nabootique anymore. Not while Lance Dior and Harold Boon are still alive. We're changing our career paths, making something new of ourselves."
"That is so dumb! Vince, you're a punk, an icon, you can't settle down into the banal life of an office worker!"
"Why not?"
"I honestly think you might neck yourself."
"Well, what about Howard?"
"... He'll be fine."
"We're done here," Vince said decisively. On cue, everything brightened back up and resumed their path. Howard looked confused as he came too.
"What just happened there?"
"Oh, just that thing Naboo does sometimes by possessing someone and talking through them. So, he was just inside you for a few seconds."
"Damn it, not again."
Vince gave him a weird look. Howard quickly realised how that sounded.
"I mean about having something possess my body, not about Naboo literally... Um, anyway, what company are we going to, again?"
"Not sure. Got a vague idea though. I think it was... It was definitely something about selling, they sell things. It was either stationery or appliances."
"Come on, stationery!" Howard whispered to himself as he crossed his fingers.
Ha, what a nerd. Anyway, the men continued their walk, passing by... Well, nothing really. I feel like this is where you put in story-building filler, but honestly nothing interesting happened except for a duck crossing the pavement at some point. Eventually they arrived at their destination.
"Here it is," Vince announced.
Stood in front of them was a big, colourless, official looking building with a big sign on the front that held a terrible company name and an unoriginal slogan.
It looked so boring and generic that it made Vince want to gag.
He looked through the shop windows. "Oh, washing machines. Yep, it was appliances."
"Damn it!" Howard cursed.
"I'm sincerely sorry, Howard. I know how much pencils and shit means to you," Vince apologized, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Don't touch me." Howard shrugged the hand off of him.
"Let's go, Darren Cache," Vince instructed, grabbing Howard's sleeve and leading him to the inside of the building.
"Was that a reference to something?
Once Inside, they were instantly greeted by a short, rotund American in a suit.
"Hey, you must be Moon and Black," he said.
"Actually, it's--" Vince began.
"I know it's Noir, but it sounded a little too goth, so I legally changed it."
"Oh, okay." Vince shrugged.
Howard wondered for a second if that man even had the authority to do that, but then he started speaking again.
"Alright, listen you two, I have been working here for 16 to 3 years and I still have no idea what I do. I know I'm the boss, so I have to yell at people, and you are the ground level employees I yell at. But this I know, you sell fridges and shit. Now, if you need me I'll be in my office eating Romain lettuce. Oh, I'm Maury Pantene by the way."
"Alright, Mr. Pantene, I'll see ya around!" Vince waved him off as the little weirdo walked away.
"Isn't Pantene a brand of shampoo?" Howard asked.
"Maybe he was named after it." Vince suggested.
"He was named after a bottle of shampoo." Howard said it aloud so he could hear how ridiculous that sounded. But Vince didn't seem to see the problem.
"Alright, let's start selling fridges and shit!" Vince declared enthusiastically.
Howard half-heartedly waved an arm. "Hooray."