Category: The Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Length: 1-5k words
The Little Nymph by Colour_Me_Troll
The Little Nymph sat gloomily in the centre of the forest clearing, the heat of the sun beating his back, but his heart remaining cold. The flat little mushroom he sat on was spongy and comfortable, but still he was unhappy. With a sigh, the Little Nymph rested his chin in his tiny hand with fingers that were no thicker than the twigs surrounding him on the ground.
“Bother,” He said to the blades of grass on the clearing floor, “If only I was big.”
The grass waved in the wind, and answered the Little Nymph, “Vince, we have told you this many a time. It is good to be small, you have the whole world many times as exciting as the big people in the towns, who are brutes and savages, fuelled by ugly desires,” And the wind quite agreed.
The Little Nymph however, shot them a glare and flicked his lustrous hair. “Yeah,” he said, “So you keep saying. But you don’t know how much of a shocker this is for me. My cock is barely a centimetre long, you know.”
The grass, disgusted by the Little Nymph’s concerns, which they considered too human for a forest dweller, stuck their shoots up in the air and said, “Well, if that is all you are worried about, maybe you should go and see the Oak.”
The Little Nymph snorted and fluttered his wings. “Yeah,” he chuckled, “Why would I do that? Have you seen his leaves? I’m not going to associate with some old fogey who can’t even be bothered with a little foliage maintenence.”
“Very well, you vain little twat,” the grass responded, rusting unpleasantly, “But he knows many things, and many spells. Maybe he could help you out. Don’t know why we bother though, you never listen to us.”
Then the grass started to sniffle and the Little Nymph felt very guilty for the way he had spoken to them. “Oh c’mere,” he said, fluttering down off the mushroom which suddenly felt very lonely, but didn’t speak up because he was shy. “I’m sorry ’bout that, I’m just in a bit of a mood. Look. I’m going to go visit the ol’ Oak, see if he can help me out a bit. And when I’m a human I’ll come back and visit heaps.” Then he kissed the grass on a few of its many heads, and told them how much he appreciated their friendship even when he was being a cunt, and fluttered his wings, flying out of the clearing and towards where the old Oak lived.
The old Oak was a very, very tall tree, one of the tallest in the forest. His branches were stiff with arthritis, and this sometimes made him grumpy, but the sap that ran through his veins was warm, and he had a kind heart.
“Why hello there Vince,” He said rather cheerfully as the Little Nymph flew towards him, coming to perch on one of his branches.
“Hey mate,” the Little Nymph replied chirpily, trying to ignore the thin leaves around him and how all they needed was a bit of a spruce. “Was wondering if you could give me a hand?”
The old Oak winced slightly as the Little Nymph bony arse dug into a particularly tender spot on his branch, and he asked the Little Nymph to please relocate himself in a pained voice. When he was perched instead on a thicker branch closer to the old Oak’s forehead, the Oak asked what exactly was bothering the Little Nymph.
“Well,” said he, “Pretty much this whole nymph thing s’not really working out for me, yeah? Just wondering if you knew of any spells or something that could make me a human.”
The old Oak thought about the Little Nymph’s question, and then thought about a possible answer. The process took a few minutes because he was so old his memory wasn’t particularly great these days, even on subjects he knew everything about.
“There’s only really one thing I can think of,” he said after a while, pausing between each word. “Its an old spell, but a reliable one. On the south side of this forest, there is a river. Do you know it, Vince?”
The Little Nymph thought for a moment, and replied, “The one with the horses that are the waves, like in Lord of the Rings?” He asked, unsure, and the old Oak heaved a great rattling sigh.
“Yes, thats the one,” he said, despairing for the youth of today, even though the Little Nymph was actually about thirty-five, despite dressing younger. “Well, on the other side of the river there is a town. It is a small town, inhabited by mostly working men. Farmers and the like. But if you can get one of those men to fall in love with you, and seal his love with a kiss, then you shall become a human.”
The Little Nymph looked confused. “I didn’t know these ancient spells were about benders,” he remarked.
“Generally they’re not,” the Oak replied, “Since nymphs like yourself are supposed to be female. But your androgynous good looks defy the ancient truths of the forest magic, so the rules have changed.”
“Right, cool,” The Little Nymph said, and slicked on some lip gloss before taking to the air again. “Thanks.”
“Good luck!” Replied the old Oak, as the Little Nymph flew on the gentle winds towards the village.
The Woodcutter was standing at the south bank of the river, his axe on his shoulder, as he did every morning, considering his predicament. Unfortunately, nowhere along the bank of the river was there a bridge, and the Woodcutter needed to get into the forest to be able to do his job. However, this side of the river was a grassy farmland, not a tree in sight, and there was no wood or stone to build a bridge out of.
So every day the Woodcutter came out to the river, looked across, trying to think of a way over without swimming, because as a child he had had a rather nasty incident involving a herd of tuna, before turning on his heel and going back to his home. (Which, if you were wondering, was more of a tent, crafted out of bone and suede from the regions plentiful supply of livestock, just as the whole village was constructed. Which was why they really needed the Woodcutter to go and chop down a few trees.) Once home, he would slam down a few jazz records, and lose himself to the snazzy beats, knowing that the township was growing steadily more annoyed with him, and planning to elect a new woodcutter.
This particular morning, however, just as the Woodcutter was about to leave the riverbank and head back to the village, he noticed something a little strange. Hovering in the air a few meters away there seemed to be a tiny man, no taller than the Woodcutter’s hand.
“Hello,” He said to the Little Nymph, who fluttered closer, coming to sit on his shoulder.
“Hey, sorry to set myself down like this,” The Little Nymph said, “Just flew quite a way. My wings are aching.”
“Oh,” said the Woodcutter uncertainly, “Thats fine.”
The Little Nymph smirked up at him, and ruffled his black hair with a tiny hand. “You alright, mate?” He asked, “You’ve been staring at the forest for a little while.”
“Yeah,” replied the Woodcutter, feeling as though he could talk to the Little Nymph, despite usually having issues with opening up to people, “I need to go cut down some trees to make houses for my village, because we live in suede tents, which get pretty drafty and smell when it rains. But there isn’t a bridge, and I need to cut down some trees to make one. But to cut down the trees I need to get over to the forest, which I can’t do without… Well, you see my problem.”
“Right,” Said the Little Nymph, “Thats not very PC, is it? Some of my best mates are trees.”
“You what?” Replied the Woodcutter, before coming to terms with the idea that he was indeed talking to a little man with wings, and the idea that trees could talk and develop long term relationships wasn’t that farfetched, and he must in fact be dreaming. “Nevermind.”
The Little Nymph sat there for a moment, thinking about his friends in the forest and whether this man’s lips were too big to kiss his own, before looking up at the Woodcutter brightly. “I got an idea,” he said. “See, I know this family of rocks down on the other side of the forest. They’re well nice, but quite poor, because they’ve so many kids. How ’bout we go over there, and you can offer them a job building up your town?”
The Woodcutter thought to himself for a moment, and decided this was an excellent idea. “Thats an excellent idea,” he said, and the Little Nymph grinned.
“Genius,” he said, holding out a little hand to be shook. “Vince.”
The Woodcutter took the tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger and shook it. “Howard,” He replied, and together they began to walk (and fly) along the side of the riverbank.
It was approaching evening when the Little Nymph and the Woodcutter stopped to rest, having only paused their journey once at about lunchtime to nibble on some berries they had found. The Little Nymph, being quite lazy sometimes, had spent most of the day perched on the Woodcutters shoulder, but they had gotten along rather well and the whole walk had been quite pleasant, if a little warm.
“I’m tired,” The Little Nymph said as the sun started to go down, and they both sat on the lush grass, the Little Nymph asking the roots if everyone was quite comfortable, to which they confirmed that yes, they were, and added that the Woodcutter smelt quite nice, to which the Little Nymph agreed.
“I have to say Vince,” said the Woodcutter, lying back in the grass, “I am very grateful for your help. What are you getting out of this?”
“Y’know,” replied the Little Nymph, settling down right next to the Woodcutters wavy brown hair, letting himself sink into it, “Becoming human and stuff, hopefully. There’s this whole spell.”
“Oh,” Said the Woodcutter, feeling quite upset. He rather liked the Little Nymph as he was; he had an air of mystery. “What are you going to do once you’re human?”
“Shag something,” The Little Nymph replied immediately. “Then maybe go to the movies.”
The two of them lay in silence for a while, watching the sky grow darker as the sun went down.
“Hey, Howard,” The Little Nymph said eventually, “When I’m human… reckon you’ll want to go to the movies with me, or something?”
The Woodcutter turned his head to glance at the Little Nymph, nearly crushing him with his ear. “Yeah,” he said, looking into the tiny blue eyes that blinked up sincerely at him, “That’d be good.”
Thats a good start, the Little Nymph thought, and together they drifted off to sleep in the warm night, because in this part of the world there wasn’t any bad weather.
The next day, at about three thirty, when all the little school kids back in the village were hurrying happily out of the school-tent, the Woodcutter and the Little Nymph came to a dip in the flat landscape. In the dip sat hundreds and hundreds of solid rocks, who all blinked up at the man and the miniature man standing against the sun.
“Good afternoon,” Said the largest rock in a deep voice, just as two of the smallest rocks rolled towards the newcomers, before rolling away shyly. They were very young, and their social skills needed honing, but they were sweet, well behaved rocks, and the family loved them.
“Good afternoon,” Said the Woodcutter.
“Afternoon,” Said the Little Nymph, “Hows it going?”
“Not too well, I’m afraid,” replied a very pretty, but tired looking rock, who was the largest rock’s wife. “We’re still unemployed, and having difficulties paying our bills.”
Without bothering to ask what sort of bills the rocks needed to pay for a ditch in the ground, the Woodcutter explained his own town’s predicament, and before he even got to offer the rocks a job, they enthusiastically volunteered to build them some houses, and rolled excitedly up the hill and towards the village, with the Woodcutter and the Little Nymph bringing up the rear.
The Little Nymph boldly flew down till he was level with the Woodcutters hand, and took it in his own as best he could. The Woodcutter looked down, and blushed, but was quite pleased. Together they walked all the way back to the village hand in tiny fingers, except when they had to sleep, when the Little Nymph curled up in the Woodcutters large palm, snoring quietly.
A few days later, the Little Nymph and the Woodcutter, who was now the town’s stonemason, stood (and hovered) by the river and looked up at the village, which was quickly being rebuilt from the ground up. They had already finished the public library and hospital, and the rock’s enthusiasm was getting the town built marvellously quickly.
“Vince,” said the Woodcutter, looking at his friend who was fluttering next to his cheek, “This has turned out far better than I could have expected it to. I slept all night last night without my roof blowing off, and the village respects me again. It’s all down to you.”
“Yeah, its well genius,” said the Little Nymph.
“But weren’t you supposed to become human if you helped me?” The Woodcutter asked, reaching out to the Little Nymph, who moved to stand on his hand.
“Well, sorta,” replied the Little Nymph, looking boldly into the Woodcutter’s dark brown eyes. And then he flew up into the air in front of the Woodcutter’s face, and leant forward, kissing him chastely on the lips. The Woodcutter raised his fingers to his mouth, his eyes widening, and suddenly realised that the warm feeling that had spread through his heart since he met the Little Nymph wasn’t in fact the feeling of manly heterosexual friendship: It was love.
The moment he realised this, a golden light glowed around the Little Nymph, who began to grow and grow, while his wings shrank and shrank, and before either of them knew it, there stood a fully grown (although still quite short) man, who was already undoing his drainpipes and grabbing the Woodcutter’s collar, smashing their lips together.