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hailqiqi · 8 months

Text

Don't Let Them In

The BBC wants their money.

Notes: Absolute crack inspired by a short conversation in the Chaos server. Also, because I wanted to write Lucy playing a part like she did at Winkman's in the books.

Tags: Gen, Crack, Brits writing Very British Things, First Person POV (because that's how the books are written and it works for Lucy idk), one or two swear words Words: 2297

Read on AO3 here, or read on tumblr under the cut

'Television licence inspection, open up!'

Lockwood halted and whirled around, blocking the kitchen doorway. 'I told you it was their van, George!' he hissed.

'And I told you, my brother says that's impossible—'

'Don't be ridiculous, everyone knows they send out TV detector vans—'

'And how exactly are they supposed to detect TVs?'

Lockwood huffed. 'How am I supposed to know?! But everyone knows it's a thing, right Luce?'

'Yeah, actually, my mam was always worried when—'

'See?'

'Oh for God's sake.' The banging on the door had continued throughout our whispered conversation, but George ignored it, instead removing his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt with a huff. 'Whatever you two numpties believe, the facts are that we have a TV with no licence. We can't let him in.'

'Do we have to let him in?' I asked, glancing at the door. 'Mary said Andrew's boss says you can just tell them to sod off and they'll leave.'

The banging grew louder, now accompanied by flicks of the letterbox and shouts of 'I know you're in there! I can see you through the glass!'

Lockwood winced. 'He doesn't sound too happy,' he said, eyes darting around before landing on our offending TV set. 'Right, okay, here's what we'll—'

'Open up already!'

'Just a minute! I can't find the key!' he shouted a response at the door, then turned to us. 'Okay, so, we'll put the set in the high-security storage room. He's an adult, he won't want to go in there.'

'He'll probably leg it the second he sees our kit,' George said, snorting.

'Exactly. So, Lucy, you answer the door and stall him, while we carry the TV down the stairs.'

I ignored George's groaning in favour of staring at Lockwood, incredulous. 'Why should I be the one to open the door? You're much better at the whole people thing!'

Lockwood shrugged. 'It's a man, just smile and give him the pretty girl look — don't look at me like that, you do it to me all the time!'

At my shoulder, George made a choking sound; I felt my face flush. 'I'm sorry, what—'

The banging at the door intensified and Lockwood gave me a blinding smile, the same bright, dazzling grin he'd give me when trying to convince me to face off with a Wraith without flares. 'Come on, Lucy, you've got this.'

Warmth fluttered through my chest, and the next thing I knew the boys were fumbling the set out of the sitting room while I (slowly) headed for the door. Dangerous things, Lockwood's smiles; they tended to spark momentary insanity in whoever he turned them on — child, colleague, client, adult. George alone seemed immune, with all his surliness, but I hadn't built any sort of immunity up in my ten or so months at the company and could only hope that would come with time. Though we all know how that turned out, I'm sure.

The banging on the door was echoing in the hall so loudly I was surprised the door hadn't been knocked off its hinges. I watched the crystal skull on the key table vibrate for two more bangs as the boys manhandled our illicit TV into the kitchen, then summoned my most vapid smile and opened the door.

A man stood on the top step, his hand raised mid-knock. He was balding and wore a wrinkled white shirt with visible sweat stains large enough to rival George's rapier training shirt, and the tie loosely-knotted at his collar was over-large — perhaps in an attempt to compensate for his lack of neck, who knows. His sleeves were rolled up over meaty arms against the unseasonable weather, the cuffs tight and reminiscent of bread dough exploding from a loaf tin, and he carried a clipboard and small, black box in the hand that was not currently raised in a fist at my head-height. If a gorilla with mange had been stuffed into a suit, you'd be hard-pressed to convince me that he wasn't currently standing at our door.

He narrowed his small eyes further at me, and I gave him a simpering smile. 'Hello! I'm sorry it took me so long, I couldn't find the key for the door!'

A pause followed, in which his eyes grew so small they should by all rights have imploded. I kept my smile fixed firmly in place and hoped the inspector wouldn't notice the door was a latch lock.

'You were a bloke a second ago.'

Shit. 'No, I wasn't!' I pitched my voice higher than usual and feigned offence. 'I certainly am not a boy!'

'Yeah, you was. You weren't a Manc, either.'

I didn't have to feign it now. 'Excuse you, I'm from Northumbria.'

'What's it matter? You lot are all the same, anyhow.' I glared at him and considered the benefits of shoving him down the steps and slamming the door, but then I’d probably have to deal with DEPRAC and the police instead of just the BBC. The man cleared his throat, unperturbed, and started what was obviously a practised spiel. 'Right, I'm here to check for TVs. We don't have a licence on file for the property, so I'll need to take a look around to make sure you're not doing anything illegal.'

I fluttered my eyelashes in an attempt to recover. 'Of course we're not doing anything illegal! We don't even own a TV!'

We were, in fact, doing multiple things DEPRAC would take issue with, but that wasn't the point.

'Then you won't mind me taking a look around.'

'Normally, yes, but I'm home alone and that would be terribly improper…'

He peered around me and down the hall. 'You lose ten stone between that door and this one, then?'

'What?'

'Your shadow was a lot larger a minute ago. It's just a quick look love, then I'll be on my way.'

The inspector moved to walk around me and I draped myself against the doorframe to block his way, desperately wishing I knew what 'pretty girl' nonsense Lockwood had been on about. Maybe Floating Joe had got him in the head earlier, because the inspector simply rolled his eyes.

'If you'd just—' a yell from the kitchen interrupted him, and he raised an eyebrow at me. 'Home alone, are you, love?'

'Yes,' I said, nodding enthusiastically. 'That was my cat.'

'Odd-sounding cat.'

'No, it isn't.' More yells came from behind me and a smug smirk slowly settled on the man's face which, if you remember his gorilla-esque looks, made me want to vomit more than it made me want to let him in. I gritted my teeth; the boys obviously needed more time, and my dignity was shot anyway. With what I hoped was a dainty gasp, I widened my eyes theatrically and summoned my most injured cry: 'Are those my keys?'

He paused. 'Sorry?'

'There!' I pointed to the keychain hooked at his waistband, which was quite clearly his own. 'You've got my keys!'

'What?! No, these are my—'

'I can't believe you!' I wailed. 'I looked everywhere for them! No wonder I couldn't find them!'

'Look, love, these—'

'You rotten thief! I bet you're not even a TV man after all! You're nothing but a—'

Alas, neither of us got to find out what nonsense I was about to spout next as at that moment a gigantic crash sounded from the kitchen, the noise reverberating in the hall and cutting me off quite effectively. Raised voices followed — though who was shouting at who, I couldn't tell — and, without thinking, I abandoned the door and dashed towards the commotion.

Lockwood and George both stood half-way down the basement stairs, locked in a shouting match and completely oblivious to my arrival. The source of the crash I’d heard was not immediately obvious, but when I chanced a vertigo-inducing glance over the bannister there on the floor was our TV set, face down and surrounded by shattered glass, looking somewhat like a large-bottomed lady after an over-indulgent afternoon at the pub. It was no wonder they were both so upset about it — while our set was ancient, there was no way we could afford a new TV if we couldn’t afford the licence fee in the first place, and both boys liked to watch the football when they could.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind me. ‘Home alone, were you, love?’

I turned meekly to face the inspector, who stood at the top of the stairs looking thoroughly unimpressed, clipboard at the ready. The boys were still wrapped up in their blame game, and the inspector had clearly noticed the broken TV on the floor, and there I was trapped on the stairs between an argument and authority — but I did my best to muster up a winning smile and tried my luck anyway, because that’s what we did at Lockwood and Co.

‘See? I was telling the truth when I said we don’t have a TV!’

— — —

A year later saw us huddled in the corridor outside the kitchen door, older, wiser, and more competent, yet reliving a hushed argument from the past (albeit with one extra player).

‘What do you mean you haven’t paid the licence fee? I saw you in the papers all winter, I know you can afford it!’

‘Look, there was so much going on that I completely forgot once we brought it home—’

‘Shouldn’t Hol have done it?’

A delicate snort. ‘Normally, George, yes — but I distinctly remember Lockwood saying he would take care of it himself.’

‘Did I? It was all a bit of a blur, really, what with—’

More bangs reverberated down the hall, accompanied by shouted threats that made me wince.

‘Look, I don’t know what happened while I was gone but I’ve been telling you all week that that van on the corner looked dodgy and you need to check the licence has been paid—’

‘Lucy, how many times do I have to tell you that TV detector vans aren’t real.’

‘They are real! They’re in the papers and everything!’

‘Not everything in the papers is true, we all—’

‘No, no, I recall my aunt forgetting to pay her licence fee and a van was parked on her street the next week.’

‘Holly!’ George let out an exasperated huff. ‘Not you, too? Anyway, that van’s been there because the Johnsons are having some work done, it’s not a mythical bloody—’

‘Is nobody going to answer the door?’ Kipps wandered out of the kitchen and leant against the doorframe, arms crossed and frowning. ‘It’s a bit hard to enjoy my tea with all this racket.’

‘I can see you in there!’

‘We really should stop having these kinds of discussions in the hallway,’ Lockwood mused, running a hand through his hair before turning to me with one of those smiles. You know, the ones that light up the whole room, make his eyes twinkle, and somehow leave me both weak-kneed and furious at the same time. ‘Lucy, do you think you can…?’

I backed away towards the stairs, my hands up to ward him and his blasted smiles off. ‘Oh, no. No way. Don’t you remember what happened last time?’

Kipps sighed. ‘I’ll get the door.’

‘Stall him for a moment, me and Lockwood will have to move the telly—’

‘Absolutely not, not after what happened to the last one! Holly, how much is the fine?’

Holly looked offended at the mere notion she’d ever had to pay it. ‘I have no idea.’

Suddenly the banging stopped and sunlight flooded the hall — as one, we turned to where Kipps had opened the door, his reedy figure silhouetted in the glare. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

It was the same gorilla-esque man from last time, again caught with one meaty fist raised mid-knock. However, he quickly lowered his hand, smoothed his shirt out and pronounced, ‘I'm here to check for TVs. We don't have a licence on file for the property, so I'll need to take a look around to make sure you're not doing anything illegal.’

We held our breath. There was no way we’d move the TV in time now — especially not the gigantic monstrosity that had been purchased during my time away — so our only hope was that the fine was in the hundreds rather than thousands. Or, less likely, that Kipps had some modicum of charm hidden somewhere at the very bottom of his pointy shoes, and that the inspector would be more susceptible to it than he had been to my own.

‘Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think you’ll be doing that.’

The inspector towered over him, moving closer so that his figure almost completely blocked the doorway. Kipps appeared unperturbed, a thin, willowy figure facing off against a giant.

‘It’s the law that you must have a TV licence if you have a TV, and it’s my job to check for TVs if you don’t have a licence.’

If anything, Kipps’ posture looked bored. ‘I think you’ll find it’s the law that we don’t have to grant you access, and considering that this is an active psychical investigation agency we could even argue that it’s for your own safety. Have a good day.’

And with that, he shut the door in the gorilla’s face.

Things remained tense for a moment — the man certainly hadn’t seemed the type to back down from a fight when we’d met him the year prior — but much to my surprise, the giant shadow lurking on the other side slowly diminished, until the inspector was completely gone. We gazed at Kipps in shock.

‘What? You don’t have to let them in, you know.’

#lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george cubbins #quill kipps #my writing #fanfiction #a bit late but finally adding this here #yes tv licence inspectors are real #as are tv licences #the idea is that the public service is then not beholden to the government for funding so can be impartial #but of course the tory bastards have stacked the board #but anyway the licencing system is why the bbc keeps putting out quality content #i'm not against it...even though I'm not paying it either XD

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