First Boosh fic!

Got the idea for this when I read a story somewhere else with an actor/character meet-up. It was really fun to read so I figured I'd try something the same, but different.

It's impossible to get real people in character, but I tried my hardest. I decided to make Noel like Vince, but a little more masculine and sarky. Don't worry, he'll lighten up later!

Please R&R and enjoy!

(oh, and I don't own the boosh, incase you didn't know)

Chapter 1

Noel tucked his head down a little into the collar of his jacket. He was becoming increasingly late to one of those nice fancy meetings that made him actually feel important for a couple of hours. He didn't usually end up contributing much, he would just doodle on the free notepad they provided. Anyway, the meeting was at 3, it was already ten past, and he wasn't even nearly there.

Another reason for the collar-tucking was to keep himself to himself just a tiny bit. He usually didn't mind socialising with people on the street, and receiving endless compliments about his hair and attire, but he was so late, he couldn't really afford even a minute-long chat with a passing stranger.

An ominous rumble came from the dark clouds lingering over London. Noel gave them a panicky glance and made to look at his watch. But unfortunately, he had bypassed the completely over-rated wrist watch in favour of a beaded bracelet he had forgotten he owned. But he still knew he was late. Pretty much the entire Boosh team relied on his being unreliable, but when he wasn't at those meetings, it usually meant that all the important decisions were made without him. Decisions like deciding the next meeting would be at 8am and at some big office he had never heard of. He cringed inwardly at the mere thought.

As had been suggested by the previous weather description, it wasn't long before the Autumn air turned icy cold and it started raining thick sheets of sleet, which quickly set about soaking through every available surface. Including Noel's hair.

"Shiiiiiitt..." He moaned through the collar of his jacket, wishing for once that he had gone for the disgusting but evidentially more protective anorak, rather than the studded leather jacket he had chosen before leaving the house.

"Right. There is no way I'm walking there now," He said defiantly to no-one in particular. He took shelter in a graffiti covered BT phone box that smelt suspiciously of dead rats and beer and began quickly combing his fingers through his hair whilst trying to formulate a plan. He'd left his phone at home, it needed a new battery or charger or something, so it wasn't working anyway. Noel decided the best plan of action was probably just to call a cab. There was a poster slapped on the side of the phone box, with a list of cab companies in the local area. One was circled in black marker, like someone had used it before and wanted to remember the number so they could receive such excellent chauffeuring once more. Well, Noel hoped that was the case.

He dialled the number nonchalantly, pulling his leather jacket a little tighter around him, the phone box was hardly resistant to the storm outside. Man, it's colder than I thought, he thought to himself, resting on the glass side of the box. It was a really horrible bitter cold, and his jacket wasn't doing anything to stop it. He shivered from head to toe and his teeth chattered harshly against each other. His thick black fringe was cementing itself to his forehead with a cold sweat. He could feel a horrible metallic taste in his mouth. He tried to swallow it down, but his mouth was dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth.

The voice on the phone was asking questions that Noel couldn't understand. It just sounded like a pneumatic drill coming from the receiver, which he dropped quickly, like it was a burning hot plate.

Why had he even left the house if he felt so ill? He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the phone box, watching raindrops come in and out of focus in front of his eyes. The drizzle became softer and softer in front of his loose vision, before disappearing completely.

- - -

Noel woke up what felt like hours after he had passed out. At first he felt a lot better, and his fever seemed to have passed, although the metallic taste was still there, and he felt very thoroughly unsettled. So much for getting a taxi...he laughed to himself, shifting into a sitting position and coming to grips with the horrible realisation that he had been sat on the wet ground in his favourite pair of black skinnies.

He pushed open the door of the phone box and poked his head out to get a breath of fresh air and judge how hair-ruining the weather was. Amazingly, it seemed to have taken a dramatic turn. The air was warm and still, although the dark clouds were still present. They shifted across the sky slowly. The clouds were the most amazing shade of deep purple. Noel could have sworn they were exactly the same shade as a tin of paint he had in a cupboard at home, which had never used but bought because he liked it. It had been called Plush Velvet. He had picked it off the Dulux colour chart with care.

He admired the Plush Velvet sky for another minute, transfixed by the way the clouds swirled slowly across the sky. Noel finally remembered that he had places to go and stuff, and so pulled himself to his feel with a swiftness that is not recommended to people who had just passed out temporarily. Sure enough, his stomach gave a worrying lurch and he could taste acid at the back of his throat. He clapped a hand to his mouth and doubled over, his other hand hanging on to the door of the phone box for support.

"Whoa mate, are you alright?" Said a voice from somewhere on Noel's left. He took a moment to breathe slowly and settle his stomach before straightening up and looking the stranger in the face.

"Yeah...I just felt a bit-"

He couldn't continue his sentence. The words turned around and jumped back down his throat, leaving a small gasp in their place.

Noel was thoroughly used to people dressing the same as him and doing their hair like him, it was the price to pay if he was going to look good, other people would want to look as well. But this was just weird.

They guy peering into Noel's face was the same height, save a couple of inches added by some seriously cool Chelsea boots. He had the same kind of clothes, although maybe this guy was a little more outlandish and attention-seeking (if that was possible). Noel was actually admiring his clothes, he managed to make his clothes clash slightly, so they created a noisy statement, whilst still managing too look sophisticated and not garish. Noel was about to ask what had inspired him to mix prints like that when he took a look at the stranger's face. He was practically identical. The only difference was the this guy was all airbrush and polish where Noel was all five 'o clock shadow and last night's eyeliner. Plus his hair was slightly differently styled, he had a softer fringe and it was a big shorter. Other than that, it was doppelganger central.

"Your hair's wicked," smirked the stranger, showing teeth that matched Noel's (but whiter), "I was actually thinking of going for the bolder fringe statement just the other day...what's your name?"

"Noel," he answered quickly, still stunned about the similarities between him and this randomer. He had once heard someone say that everyone had someone in the world that looked like them. But fashion-sense was going a bit far.

"Cool...I'm Vince," he said, offering his hand, "Vince Noir."