The Golden Coast: A Locklyle Fanfiction

Part 1

  I open my arms wide, basking in the beams of sunlight that flow through the window like a golden river. Lockwood and Co. have had a very successful ghost-hunting season, and to celebrate we decided on a 5-month holiday over the summer in America. No ghosts, no reason to wake up in the middle of the night because you heard the slightest bump in the night and pure relaxation. 

  Sleepy murmurs come from across the room. Our vacation home is a two-bedroom area. George set up an office for himself in one of the bedrooms and often sleeps there in his sleeping bag. The third bed in the second bedroom for George is unoccupied, the covers fresh and folded. So Lockwood and I shared the room. We split it in two with a curtain. There is only one bathroom, but luckily Lockwood gets up earlier than me and George seldom uses it. 

  I'm unused to the heat. Lockwood still dresses in his fancy suits and can you believe it, a tie! I use the other options in my wardrobe. The thick sweaters and wooly pants are thrown to the back of my closet and I start wearing shorts and skirts without leggings. Today was no different. When I peel back the blankets, they flop limply to the side, my legs burning with heat. 

  I drag myself out of bed. Lockwood's sitting on his bed. His suit is rumpled and he's slumped over, clutching a cup of steaming hot tea. I look at him incredulously. "Hot tea? In this heat?" He nods and takes a sip, almost choking on it. 

  I take the mug from him. "Lockwood, you're going to overheat terribly if you keep on living like we're still in cold, rainy London." He rolls his eyes, then collapses backward, groaning at the heat. George walks strolls into the room, decked out in a remarkably ugly tourist shirt and cargo shorts, a glass of cold sweet tea in his hand, sipping leisurely. He had quickly adapted to the weather and was now addicted to sweet tea apparently. I found glasses of it everywhere, stacked on the kitchen counter, scattered across his study and even a few in the bathroom, god knows how they got there. 

  The Skull is sitting on the air conditioning vents. When we first arrived he got extremely overheated, wailing dramatically about how all of his ectoplasm was about to melt right off his bloody skull. He spent hours afterward sulking, complaining and grumbling until I'd finally had enough and stuffed him into the wardrobe. Well, tried to stuff him into the closet. He wailed even louder at the heat until I put him on the vent to shut him up.

  George sees Lockwood and tosses him a plain shirt and matching cargo shorts. "Here, I packed some in your size."

  He hesitates, only for a moment then speeds into the bathroom faster than I've ever seen him run, even on missions. When he comes out, he looks so un-Lockwood-ish that I snort, disguising it as a coughing fit when he glares at me. He doesn't look "It isn't funny, Luce." George hands him the glass of iced water from my bedside table. He takes it, almost dropping it. He hisses. "It's cold!"

   I choke back a laugh. Lockwood's face begins to take on a devilish quality. He raises the glass of water. "No, noooo, back away slowly. Put it down, Lockwood." He held the glass in both hands and brought it forward, splashing the contents all over me. I stand there, open-mouthed, dripping water everywhere. Then I snatch another glass and lob it at him. He dodges and it splashes right onto George. George closes his eyes, takes off his glasses and rubs them on the driest edge of his shirt.

 I step forward carefully. "You alright George?" George sighs. "At this point, I don't care anymore." I sneakily grab another glass behind my back. "Alright, but I think someone else would care about it." I whip the glass out from behind me and splash it all over Lockwood. Now, all three of us are wet. "I claim the bathroom first!" I holler behind at them, Lockwood still standing there stock-still. "Oh no you don't!" he roars and runs after me.