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czenzo · 1 month ago

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Watch Out for Skull – Chapter 2

[ao3] chapter links: [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

summary: Lucy takes on a cat-sitting job for a stranger, hoping for a quiet week in a nice London flat, with free food, no bills, and enough time to finish an art commission. But the cat is a menace, and the stranger’s friend is ridiculously charming—and a huge distraction.

rating: T words: 2,048

note: I visited home today, which meant I edited this chapter while being pestered by my own two cats, who are the most loveable, attention-seeking little creatures I've ever met. I'm starting to realise I may have taken more inspiration from them for Skull than I thought…

Lucy awoke not to birds chirping, nor an alarm beeping, but a single cat screaming so loud she feared for the window panes.

As Skull paused to catch his breath, Lucy closed her eyes in relief, but the sudden, sharp noise of something clattering to the floor had her shooting out from under the covers. She cautiously peered over the back of the sofa—it was pulled out into a bed, which wasn’t the comfiest, but it was preferable to sleeping in George’s—to inspect the damage.

A picture frame lay face down on the floor. Skull looked down on it from his vantage point on the cabinet.

Lucy’s silently repeated mantra of please don’t be shattered, please don’t be shattered must have been heard by some higher entity, because when she slowly picked the frame up she found it still intact, glass and all. The picture within was of two teenage boys grinning with their arms around each other. They wore matching white polo shirts graffitied with messages and doodles in a rainbow of colours, the school leavers' tradition, and Lucy promptly realised what the thinking cloth reminded her of. One of the boys was clearly George, with a rounder face and wider eyes, but the other boy, dark-haired with a dazzlingly bright smile, Lucy didn’t know.

“He’s bloody lanky,” she murmured as she carefully put the frame back in its place. She shoo-ed Skull off the cabinet and coaxed him towards the sofa bed, hoping to distract him with the plush, kneadable duvet. He fell right into her trap, leaving Lucy feeling rather proud of herself and free to enter the kitchen without the possibility of Skull destroying everything.

Lucy popped the kettle on and peered in every cupboard in search of the tea, then stumbled upon a treasure trove—English breakfast, Earl Grey, Green, oolong, matcha, chai, chamomile, Darjeeling, ginger, stacks upon stacks of colourful boxes, some describing flavours she’d never heard of in her life, in flat bags, pyramid bags, loose leaf, sachets…

The kettle pinged to signify it was ready. Overwhelmed by choice and reminding herself she had a whole week to be adventurous, Lucy plucked a bog-standard English breakfast bag from a box and plonked it into a mug adorned with He-Man’s face, accompanied by the caption ‘A good cup of tea is the colour of He-Man’.

As she reached for the kettle, the unmistakable sound of the front door’s handle rattling echoed through the flat.

The door creaked open.

Skull scuttled into the kitchen, wide-eyed and fur stood on end, and she picked him up to soothe him. She crept across the room, every step increasing her heart rate, then froze when she heard footfall heading her way.

Someone turned the corner and entered the kitchen.

It all happened rather quickly, really—Lucy had no choice but to act on instinct.

Skull screamed. Lucy held him out in front of her. Whatever words were about to come out of the intruder’s mouth were cut remarkably short as a flurry of paws and claws descended upon their face and torso.

The person stumbled backwards, pressing themself against the far wall, and when Lucy realised he looked oddly familiar she lowered the deadly feline in her hands.

“Oh my G—” He heaved, hand braced against his chest as he came down from his panic. “Christ. I think I almost had a heart attack.”

“Who are you?” Lucy demanded, raising Skull back up in the air between them, an unspoken but certain threat.

“Who are you?” the man replied, incredulous. “Where’s George?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. The man straightened and pushed away from the wall. Upon seeing his height and long limbs to their full extent, Lucy realised where she knew him from. “Are you his friend?”

“I like to think so,” he said, with a smile Lucy assumed was supposed to be charming. “Again, apologies if I’m being rude, but who are you? Why are you in George’s flat?”

She gently wobbled Skull in the air, as if to prove her point. “I’m cat-sitting.”

The man’s face was blank for a moment, before lighting up in realisation. “Ahh, I see. I could’ve sworn his trip was next week… Though I’ve never been one for calendars and keeping on top of schedules. That’s George’s thing. I’m Lockwood,” he added, holding out a hand.

“Lucy.” Both of her hands were full of Skull, so she resorted to manoeuvring him to gently tap Lockwood’s hand with a paw.

Lockwood flinched away. “Please don’t. He hates me.”

“Sorry.” She gently lowered Skull to the floor with a frown. He had gone oddly quiet. “Is that why you couldn’t look after him, then?”

“Indeed it is. He’d claw my eyes out in my sleep, or piss in my shoes, or carry out some other dastardly act of torture,” he said, cautiously eyeing the mass circling Lucy’s legs. “This is George’s first trip away since taking him in. Skull can be a bit…” he gestured vaguely. “So he was a little concerned about finding the right person.”

Skull began to nibble on the hem of her sock. “I reckon I’ll be alright.”

“What a strange little creature,” Lockwood mused. He raised his eyebrows. “Well, sorry for disturbing you. And startling you.”

“Sorry for shoving an angry cat in your face,” Lucy added sheepishly.

“Water under the bridge, Lucy.” Lockwood smiled again, and this time, Lucy was unnerved to realise she did find it rather charming. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

He turned to head for the door.

Lucy's mouth opened before she could process her thoughts. “I just popped the kettle on, so you’re welcome to stay,” she called after him. “If you want.” There was also the matter of the Swiss roll, which she really didn’t want to go to waste. Ten in the morning was a reasonable time for cake, right?

Lockwood turned back around, smile widening.

–––

After the sofa had been restored to its original form, and the small coffee table was relocated in front of it to store their tea and cake, Lockwood fished the TV remote from the depths of the cushions (so that’s where it was hiding) in an act of familiarity that told Lucy he spent a lot of time here. He turned the TV on, then paused. It had been left on a documentary channel.

“Do you mind if we keep this on? I’m quite fond of whales.”

Lucy huffed a laugh into her mug. “Go for it.”

Lockwood inhaled the steam from his tea—he’d gone for the Earl Grey—and sank back into the cushions.

Skull jumped up into the space between them. In the blink of an eye, he aggressively batted Lockwood with a paw before hopping over Lucy’s lap and wedging himself in the small space between her thigh and the arm of the sofa.

“I’ve never done anything to hurt him, honest,” Lockwood insisted. “He knows I’m friends with George, and I’m here more often than my own home, yet he still treats me like I’m some…” he sipped his tea while he reached for a word. “Fiend.”

“You know George from school, then?” She took a bite of Swiss roll and almost failed to hold back a mortifying groan of pleasure; it was dangerously delicious.

Lockwood frowned, and Lucy nodded to the picture frame. He smiled in recognition. “Ah. Yes, I do. He got the highest grades in our year group. I managed to beat him in history, though.”

“You like history?”

“My parents did. I listened to enough of their passionate ramblings to give me a partial PhD.”

The past tense didn’t escape her notice; she quickly thought of something to back out of that line of conversation. “Do you know Holly, then? Holly Munro?”

Lockwood nodded as he balanced the plate of cake in his lap. He began to methodically unroll it, transforming the Swiss roll into a long Swiss snake, before ripping bites off bit by bit. “I do. Incredibly lovely woman. How do you know her?”

“She’s my flatmate,” Lucy said as she watched Lockwood rip off a small chunk of his cake snake and daintily pop it in his mouth. She wearily eyed her own slice and the giant bite taken out of it.

“I see. What’s she up to nowadays?”

“She writes for a fashion magazine.” The name escaped her, which came as no surprise. She had never considered spending her hard-earned money on a magazine that would try to tell her she couldn’t wear Converse with every single outfit (Holly did that more than enough). “She’s hoping to break into the design side of the industry, though. I don’t know much about fashion, but she seems to have a good eye for it.”

“Good for her,” Lockwood said fondly. It surprised her to hear how sincerely he said it; she hid her expression by taking another bite of cake. “What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Lucy hesitated. As nice as he seemed, Lockwood was still from Holly’s hoity-toity southern school. The chances of him not taking her career seriously was worryingly high—but damn it, for all intents and purposes, this was technically her flat for the week. She could chase him out with Skull if he turned out to be an arse.

She ran a reassuring hand through Skull’s fur as she responded. “I work part-time in a cafe to pay the bills, but I do art on the side. Hoping to eventually make that my full-time gig.”

“Really?” Lockwood’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and Lucy steeled herself for the incoming ridicule. “What kind of art do you make?”

Lucy’s hand stilled on Skull’s head. Here, she could feel the gentle rumbling of his quiet purrs. “I mostly work with acrylic paint. On canvas, usually. That’s what all my commissions are in, anyway. I sketch all the time, though. Helps clear my head.”

Lockwood’s eating slowed. “You take commissions?”

She nodded, feeling the beginnings of heat in her face. “I’m working on one now, actually, for a friend of Holly’s. I booked the week off to work on it while I’m here. George is letting me use his room as a makeshift studio.”

Lockwood’s gaze darted to the bedroom door.

“No,” Lucy said immediately. Startled by her own sudden brashness, she sank further into the sofa. “I don’t like people seeing my works-in-progress, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Lockwood said with a smile. “Though I am curious, what’s the subject?”

“A really flashy portrait. I get the impression he’s a bit of a snob, so—”

“Wait.” Lockwood paused. “Don’t tell me his name is Kipps.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes and ate the last of her slice. “How the hell did you figure that out?”

“He also went to the same school as us. A couple of year groups above, in the same one as Holly. We both went to fencing club, and my God, did he hold a grudge against me. You jokingly prod a man in the backside once…”

Lucy snorted, startling Skull and sending him racing into the kitchen.

“Shit,” she hissed, chasing after him. “Sorry, he just— he can’t go in— oh my God, stop squirming away!”

“It’s alright,” Lockwood called as she wrestled to keep Skull in her grasp. “I ought to get going now, anyway.”

When she finally succeeded in ushering Skull out of the kitchen, Lockwood was by the door, tugging on his long coat. “It was lovely meeting you, Lucy. Sorry again for the intrusion.”

“No worries, honestly.”

His slim fingers toyed with the hem of his coat. “Are you up to much this week?”

“Not really. Working on the commission, keeping this little menace in check…" She shrugged nonchalantly. "You’re welcome to swing by and watch whale documentaries any time.”

Skull watched the swaying coat with sharp slit pupils. Lockwood eyed him cautiously. “Something tells me he wouldn’t be very happy about that.”

In a movement that was becoming all too familiar now, Lucy stooped to bundle Skull into her arms. He dug his claws into her skin as a silent warning, or perhaps to convey his displeasure at being taken away from his prey. “He’ll have to suck it up.”

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co fic #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #locklyle #the skull #czenzo.fic #watch out for skull

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czenzo · 1 month ago

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Watch Out for Skull – Chapter 1

[ao3] chapter links: [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

rating: T words: 1,669

note: heyy it's me again back with ANOTHER au with Skull as a cat, because it's so damn fun to write. a huge shoutout to my friend @vryfmi for being the sweetest guy ever—his responses to the WIP snippets I shared and his amazing drawings of cat!Skull are things I keep going back to every time writer's block rears its ugly head again, so thank you vry! <3

“How do you feel about cats?”

Lucy looked up. “Cats?”

“Cats,” Holly repeated. She reached out one manicured hand to roll the die and move her piece across the board (Lucy was losing miserably, but it came as no surprise. Holly was a beast at board games). “My friend’s going on a trip this weekend and is looking for someone to cat-sit for a week. He asked me first, but I’m terribly allergic.”

“Which friend?”

“Someone I know from school—George?”

Lucy shook her head. Holly had many connections from her school years (‘posh southern school’, as Lucy once called it, much to Holly’s chagrin) and Lucy was quite content with keeping her distance from them. “Never heard of him.”

“He’s an incredibly smart man. I think he’s going on some sort of research trip.”

As she mulled it over, Lucy rolled the die (a measly 1). “Will he pay?”

“Oh, yes. And he’s promised to stock his kitchen up with nice meals and baked goods.”

This caught her attention. “How long is he away for?”

“A week.”

“What’s the cat like?”

Holly cocked her head. “He’s… interesting.”

Lucy considered this. “And how’s George’s cooking?”

“To die for.”

“I’m sold.”

–––

Lucy checked her phone for the hundredth time.

She stood in front of the door to a flat, overcome with the feeling she was at the wrong place. There was no way an academic who ventures out on research trips would decorate his front door with a sign that said FUCK OFF, I’M WORKING, with a sticker beneath that said COME BACK WITH A WARRANT, right?

Someone loudly cleared their throat behind her. “You gonna knock, or what?”

Lucy whirled around to find a woman—or at least, she assumed it was a woman, but it was somewhat hard to tell beneath the obnoxiously bright puffer coat and wide-brimmed hat. She wasn’t dressed for the weather at all—or, perhaps, she was trying to dress for every single kind at once, if the wellington boots were anything to go by. One of them was tap tap tapping against the floor.

“Er—sorry,” Lucy said, heat flooding her face. “I wasn’t sure if I had the right address. Do you know if a guy named George lives here?”

From beneath the giant hat came a vaguely amused look. One wellington boot took a great big step over to the door, and out of a coat pocket came a fingerless-gloved hand which rapped against the door in a quick, much-too-loud tune. “Let’s find out.”

After a long moment of silent tension (in which Lucy considered whether the cat-sitting gig was worth suffering through the potential social humiliation of it being the wrong door), the door creaked open, revealing a bespectacled man with rather unkempt hair. He squinted at Lucy, but let out a smile upon spotting the puffer coat behind her.

“Flo,” he said in a simple greeting, before turning back to Lucy. “And you are…?”

“Lucy,” she said hurriedly, “Carlyle. I’m here for cat-sitting. We spoke over the phone?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. You’re Holly’s friend. I’m George, and”—an ear-splitting, impertinent meow came from behind him, making him wince—“and that’s Skull. Come in, both of you, but be careful. He’s not meant to go outside.”

“That’s understandable,” Lucy said as she squeezed through the gap he left with the ajar door. “The city can be quite dangerous for cats.”

“Oh, it’s not that I’m worried about. He’s just so fucking annoying, I’d get endless complaints from the neighbours.” George paused. "And, yeah. He'd probably get squashed by a car in the first five minutes.

“He’s a little shit,” the woman—presumably Flo—said as she entered after Lucy.

“Holly did say he was… interesting.”

“That’s one word for him,” George grimaced. “But it’s why I offer food and money for it. Can’t complain about an attention-seeking cat when your mouth’s full of a good curry.”

A small, dark mass circled George’s legs. Skull was a rather lithe cat, and remarkably swift, but what most caught Lucy’s attention was the peculiar markings on his face. Amidst the short, black fur was a cluster of white patches, making his face look like—

“Ah,” Lucy said. “I understand the name now.”

George scooped the black hole into his arms—his sleeves rucked up, revealing an array of undeniably claw-shaped scratches etched across his skin—and gave him a blank stare. Skull stared back, then looked at Lucy, and let out another long yowl.

Both George and Flo frowned.

“He’s usually dead quiet,” Flo said, reaching a hand into her hat to scratch.

Skull continued to stare at Lucy and let out a series of little chirps before wiggling out of George’s grip. Lucy rested her art case—a large, terribly inconvenient thing to carry on the tube, but it was the only thing that would carry all the supplies she needed to work on her current commission—against the wall to free her hands, which she held out to Skull to show him her scent. He gingerly sniffed them before letting out another strange noise.

“He’s usually completely silent,” George agreed. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“Does that mean he likes her or hates her?”

George mulled this over. “Maybe both. But before you have a chance to scamper, Lucy, let me show you the kitchen and the freezer stuffed with Tupperware.”

He wasn’t kidding; the freezer truly was jam-packed with servings of various home-cooked meals, ready to be reheated and scoffed. In the fridge was a Swiss roll, freshly baked this morning with the cream still setting, and on the counter was a cooling loaf of bread.

Flo scoffed. “Bloody hell, have you even had time to pack or have you lived in the kitchen for the past week?”

“I’m a master at time management, thank you very much. Use anything you want in this kitchen, Lucy. Also, feel free to use my room for your art stuff. I tidied best I could, but frankly I don’t really care if you get paint anywhere." He eyed her over the rim of his glasses. "As long as it doesn’t get on my comics.”

Lucy blinked in disbelief. A whole week in a nice flat, with a fully-stocked kitchen, no bills or rent, just for looking after one little cat? She couldn’t help feeling like she was swindling this poor man.

George talked her through Skull’s feeding times—a pouch of wet food in the morning, a bowl of biscuits in the evening, be sparing with treats or he’ll just start begging for them 24/7—and pointed out his favourite spots to cause mischief.

“If he gets on the bookshelf, try and get him down, or he’ll gnaw on my books. Also, try and keep him away from the kitchen in general, if you can. He once somehow turned on the hob and almost burnt the place down. And never leave food unattended for long, because he will gobble it all up in a second flat—shit, I need to put that loaf away, actually. Oh, and he can be very trigger-happy with his claws. Try not to startle him.”

Lucy nodded along, wondering if she should be making a note of all this, until George pointed to the small table in the kitchen. “It’s all written on there, in case you forget.”

“…On the table?”

“The cloth,” George clarified. “That reminds me…” He rummaged around in a cupboard and produced a pen, which he handed to Flo. She took it from him with glee and made a beeline to the table. “She likes to leave something on it every time she visits. It’s practically tradition, now. Don’t draw another dick, Flo, be more creative.”

“Fuck off. I’m drawing another dick.”

Lucy felt a weight against her shin and looked down to find Skull head-butting her. When he caught her eye, he let out another yowl.

“That really is weird,” George mused. “You’ve got my number, just in case. The numbers for the vet and their emergency line are on the fridge, too.”

Lucy sucked her teeth. “Hopefully I won’t need those.”

“Nah. You’ll be alright.” He pointed to Skull. “Don’t be a knob. I’ll only be gone for a week.”

Skull head-butted Lucy’s leg again.

Flo rucked up one puffy sleeve to reveal a watch. “We need to get a move-on. Train’s leaving soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute.”

“Oh, are you going with him?” Lucy said, glancing between the two of them. Holly had mentioned George had a research partner. She was certain they were shagging—though she’d phrased it in a politer, more Holly way (something along the lines of “more than platonic”, or “having intimate relations”, or a similarly silly roundabout way of saying it). It only just dawned on Lucy that this may be the shagging research partner in question.

“Yeah. He’d be lost without me.”

“I heard that!” George called from the bedroom. He emerged soon after, sporting a large bag on his back not dissimilar to the one currently weighing Flo down. Stood together, they were an interesting, but definitely odd pair.

Lucy narrowed her eyes. Yeah, she could see it.

She followed them as they waddled to the door, eyes bright and ready to make new contributions to the academic world.

Flo reached for the handle, but George held up a hand in warning. “Watch out for Skull.”

Right on cue, the creature sped for the door. He attempted to whizz through Lucy’s legs, but in one swift motion, she plucked him off the floor and into her arms. In response, he looked her dead in the eyes and screamed.

“Oh, that was smooth,” George said, with a hint of admiration. “Yeah, you’ll be just fine.”

She waved them off down the hallway as George reminded her to call if anything went wrong.

Then suddenly, she was alone.

Skull cried out again and butted her arm.

Well, not quite.

end note: don't worry, Lockwood fans—he may not be present now, but trust me when I say those lanky legs appear in literally every chapter after this one thanks for reading! comments/reblogs are always appreciated, and my ask box is always open! :)

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co fic #lucy carlyle #the skull #locklyle #czenzo.fic #watch out for skull

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