High above an improbable city the full moon hung lazily in the night sky. It was a full moon because it’s always a full moon in this world. It was the main moon, the errr, the genuine article, the one and only... moon, and he had been enjoying the evening, sitting up among the twinkling little stars and watching a very strange and raucous party unfold in the centre of the city that had ended, against all probability, with a massive gayist Magnum P.I. cosplayer getting bummed in to a bouncy castle by a peacock-human hybrid. All things considered it had been a good night until the stillness of the sky was interrupted by two voices arguing.
The moon rolled its eyes; it knew those voices. They were always up there, flying around in the moon’s air space, cluttering up the peaceful clouds with their bickering, and they never took the moon’s advice or followed it’s directions, or even said thank you when it told them they were going the wrong way. They were a pair of ballbags as far as the moon was concerned. The pink one even looked a bit like a ballbag, and the moon chuckled to itself mellowly as it turned itself away. It had better ways to end the evening than listening to those two. It was was going off to have a wank.
“And that, my friend, or not as the case may be since it’s you, proves it!”
The whiny voice pierced through the night like a hot spoon through soft rice.
“Listen you plum, if you proved anything tonight it’s that you know absolutely nothing about music. I am never trusting you near my decks again! This is a travesty of justice!”
The flying carpet drifted in to view from behind a cloud, revealing Tony Harrison and Saboo, and a large assortment of speakers, suitcases, and cumbersome looking turntables. Saboo, it must be said, was looking rather disheveled, with his arms crossed and brow deeply furrowed and wide brimmed hat askew atop his deflated afro. Tony Harrison looked his usual self save for a slightly put out expression. He’d played a banging set - much better than Saboo’s - and didn’t appreciate Saboo saying that it had been anything but mind blowing. He’d won their bet fair and square.
“Listen,” he insisted again, his nasal voice masking just how patient he was being. “It’s not my fault that your head is so far up your own overdeveloped backside that you can’t tell good music from Justin Bieber! My music choices were entirely appropriate and every man, woman, non-binary being, and extraterrestrial at that party agreed!”
“Appropriate?!” Saboo snapped, trying to look haughty and intimidating, which was a nigh on impossible thing to do when you were sat cross legged on a carpet with your arms crossed like a pouty toddler. “Your song choice when those two idiots finally admitted their feelings and started snogging on that pathetic excuse for an air filled medieval stronghold was about as appropriate as confetti at a funeral, you, you, you... Charlie’s scrotum!”
“Hey now!” Tony said with a touch of genuine hurt, maneuvering himself around on his stunted tentacles. “That was uncalled for! Charlie’s a friend!”
Saboo just rolled his eyes. “A friend to who? He’s a pink hoovering nightmare who can only be neutralised through the use of excessive peanut butter!”
“Fair point,” Tony ceded, shuddering dramatically as only a pink head on a plate of pasta looking limbs could. “That was a bit of a nightmare. And Dennis never reimbursed me for all the peanut butter. Twenty-seven jars it took. And I kept the receipt.”
Saboo gave the slightest grunt of agreement. “What a dick.”
“Agreed! And he can’t handle his poisons. Do you know how many people that dimlow beheaded tonight?”
Tony was settling in for a good old bitch now. He and Saboo didn’t agree on much but they shared a disrespect for their leader and a belief that he needed to be deposed and quietly thrown into a deep ocean from a carpet flying at forty-thousand feet.
“Know?” Saboo scoffed, ignoring the fact that Tony had settled down next to him and was now leaning his head against Saboo’s knee. “I nearly was one of them! The man’s a menace! He can’t hold his alcohol, can’t formulate a complicated plan, can’t assign shamen appropriately,” he said pointedly, but Tony let it slide. “And he never should have been given that magical, ever-sharp, sword either. His uncle Pedro is head of the intergalactic weaponry licensing committee. It’s blatant nepotism.”
“Agreed,” Tony said around a mouthful of Haribo bears, pulling the bag from nowhere in particular and offering them to Saboo. “Some of us worked our tentacles off to make it on to that Council. Dennis just waltzed in with family letters of recommendation and a sword that could cleave us all in twain. You know what it is? It’ an-“
“Don’t you dare say, ‘Outrage’ you candy floss bull’s bladder, or I will throw you from this carpet,” Saboo threatened around a mouthful of gummy sweets, glaring hard when Tony had the gall to look affronted.
“I wasn’t going to say that!”
Saboo gave him a droll look. It was a look that got a lot of exercise when he had to spend time with Tony. “You were. You know you were. I know you were. The white wanker in the sky knows you were. It’s all you ever say. It’s your-“ he paused for dramatic effect, his lip curling haughtily, “-catchphrase...”
Tony looked away, staring toward the non-existent camera like he was in The Office, blushing blue at the horrid truth. “Well at least I don’t spin Spice Girls tracks,” he muttered eventually.
Saboo was silent for a long moment and Tony began to twitch his tentacles worriedly. When Saboo stopped talking (bitching and snarking and whining, Tony’s brain translated) it was always a bad sign, and when he glanced up he saw that Saboo’s shoulders were hunched and his lips were pulled in like he’d just sucked on a lemon. Tony had hit a nerve and would likely regret it; Saboo was such a sensitive soul beneath his drama queen exterior and sometimes Tony forgot that.
“That record was an aberration,” Saboo muttered eventually, glaring straight ahead. “I don’t know how that record got in to my collection. I can only assume it was a base and cowardly act of sabotage. An attempt to destroy my reputation as a sophisticated master of cool, DJ of the first order, and Shaman of the most enigmatic degree!”
“Well it weren’t me, sunshine,” Tony reminded quickly. “I was otherwise occupied at the time. Remember?”
He waggled his eyebrows saucily to remind Saboo exactly what they had been distracted by when Saboo’s turn at the tables had been sabotaged by the outdated pop ballad. If it had been ‘Wannabe’ it might have been alright but ‘Viva Forever’ had killed the vibe, not just for the crowd but between Tony and Saboo’s Little Shaman (if you know what I mean) and they both knew Saboo wouldn’t live it down, not any time soon. It was a cheap shot, bringing it up again, but Tony was aware that he rarely had the advantage against Saboo and remembering his face as he was caught with his robes around his waist and his DJ set ruined was just too good to let go of.
“I remember,” Saboo admitted unwillingly. “That’ll teach me to fall for your wiles, Tony. Well, just know it’ll never happen again. It was a moment of weakness. We shall have another face off and next time I will win, fair and square.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Hendrix,” Tony gloated. “I won that DJ battle fair and square. And the fact that those two hapless fools that Naboo lives with finally got it on is proof. My talents brought tears to the eyes of those partiers, and a boner to the corduroy slacks of that Ben Turpin look-a-like, you saw it as well as I did.”
Saboo snorted and looked out across the forests below them. They had left the city far behind and were on their way to Tony Harrison’s country residence. Saboo didn’t want to admit it but he knew there was no way to deny the fact that he had made a magically binding bet and that Tony had won that bet, squarely if not exactly fairly. He was the personal property of Tony Harrison, to do whatever he wanted with for the next twenty-four hours, and there was nothing he could do about it.
At least there was a chance he would actually enjoy some part of what Tony had in mind. The squat pink beanbag had given him a preview already, which admittedly had led to his downfall, but which at least meant he could safely say that Tony knew his way around bipedal mammalian male genitalia, which Saboo had doubted until only that night.
“Look, Tony,” Saboo tried to broach the subject carefully, wondering how far Tony really intended to go with the bet, “about the bet-“ but Tony just turned to look at him with a wicked glint in his unnaturally blue eyes.
“Gonna rail you so good, Saboo the so-called Enigmatic Mystery,” Tony said suddenly, crowing at the night sky. “I’m gonna make you sing, my son! And we’re going to do it all night long, to an uninterrupted ‘Tusk’ soundtrack! The music of love! Oh yes! The H Man is going to play you like a set of bagpipes!”
Saboo sighed. There was no getting out of it and his only consolation was that at least no one else knew about their bet, or what they were about to do. No one but the moon, that is, and Saboo avoided the cream faced simpleton as they flew off in to the night. A saucy smile from Tony Harrison was one thing but the same expression on the moon’s flat face was just too much and he hid his face in his hands. Who knew that music could force his life in such an unexpected direction.