Lockwood and co shorts

Kippens

LUCY

Little ticks. Thats all there was. Little ticks in Georges schedule that hadn't changed since probably long before I knew him, but now, there was change. Change, along with many other things, were something George truly hated.

My good friend George was never as, oh whats the word? He was never as giddy as he was that winter morning. Freshly showered and ready to go, he pranced into the kitchen. It was only I in the kitchen located in Portland Row. Lockwood hadn't yet to come down.

"Well your awfully happy now aren't you." I had said.
"Yes as it is I am. Now don't ruin the moment with your voice." He had said whist throwing water in the kettle and setting the stove to the proper heat. He whistled as he walked to the shelf that held our collection of pots and pans. I had watched him pick out the proper sized pan and set it down by the stove; next came the normal selection of eggs, bacon, and bread.

"Need any help?" I offered. His whistles stopped momentarily to in which he filled the space with his voice.
"Im alright, thank you Luce." And he was back on track. Why was he being so polite? And to me of all people! In the morning!

The best I ever got from George was a "morning". Nothing that nice had ever been shot at me from him. But, because it was only the start of this change, I over looked it. I passed it on. The morning went on as the usual. Lockwood came down shorty after and we sat and ate. We spoke of the usual, new cases and what to expect, who would do what job. Like that ever changed. George, being the best in the books, was left to himself. He would find out everything he could for the case and truth be told he never took that job lightly.

I would as usual be in charge of bagging our equipment in the old tattered duffle bags. I would fill our belts with canisters of greek fire and salt bombs galore! Candles and matches, torches and batteries. With everything in place I would polish the chains and renew the oil in our lamps.

Lockwood being the leader, would- well come to think of it what did he do? That was always a mystery. He would disappear at times and other times he would help me. We didn't bother George and with a mind like his, he didn't need help.

That night the case was normal and quite boring and again I allowed something to slip. Georges attitude that night was at the least, strange. Quill accompanied us as always. He being an adult had never been able to see ghosts after he hit 20. Now, with the spectacles by his side, he took every chance he had to snag a ghost.

All was the same, I had thought when I was listening for the Wisp. Except for one thing.
It was quiet. No crunch crunch crunch came from George and his endless supply of salted crisps. I could clearly hear and subdue the source. I let this slide along with that mornings incident, oh how I wished I hadn't.

Weeks passed and more change occurred, this time around I paid much closer attention. Lockwood had caught on as well about our little friend and his ever changing habit. Breaking wind, almost never. Burping at the table, never. Showering every day, always.
It was like he wasn't even there anymore. I hated it.

"George." Quill said one night as we were all seated at the dinner table. Thinking cloth beneath us and lights dimmed above us.
"Yes?" George spoke up, but not enough. There was a break in his voice at which he winced at. He coughed awkwardly.
"I must say, those notes you took for the screaming lady, were astonishing. How did you find that much on one ghost?" He looked across the table at George.
What George responded with was nothing but stutters and red cheeks. Me and Lockwood glanced at each other. Holly looked at me indicating that she knew too.

Quill didn't pry for more. He simply complimented George, which was rare, and was on his way. Plates were moved away and crumbs were brushed off. We made room for one of me and Georges favorite games. Yahtzee!