A/N: After having a Noel/Russell love day today, I decided to write this – it's not technically Boosh and I felt a bit naughty posting it here, but I didn't know where else to put it and well, it's kind of Boosh in a way.
Disclaimers: Bob Skellington and Macabre De Coiffure belong to Noel Fielding, Russell Brand and I guess Jonathan Ross too.
Mrs. Gideon belongs to The Mighty Boosh, which in turn belongs to Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding.
The Goff Detectives; 'ere to 'elp.
The moon shone in the night sky, illuminating the oil-lamp lit streets, the roads where cobbled and the last horse drawn carriages where making their way down the dark streets of Camden Lock. In a building; Detective HQ, two – rather dark looking- men sat at desks, one was littered with papers and manuals whilst the other housed various quills and ink pots.
"That Jack got away again." Macabre stated, brushing the feather of his quill up and down his slightly bearded face.
"What?" The other man mumbled, not once looking up from a piece of paper he was scrutinizing with a magnifying glass.
"Jack. Jack the Ripper? 'e got away again."
"Oh."
"Bob! Seriously, this is no time for reading up on Penny farthing maintenance mate, a serial murderer has gotten away- again!"
"You sure it wasn't just a rapist?" Bob asked, looking back at the sheet in front of him, beholding many confusing and rather unhelpful drawing and diagrams of a large wheel.
"Bob! I know we're not the most reliable detectives around, but we're all that Camden's got and we bloody well need to sort this mess out!"
"But that jacks from White 'all, that's where all the killings are, not here – and besides don't you want that bike fixing?"
"I guess you're right Bob, there was just some self-righteousness in me to try and do the right thing, I'm fed up with going to sweet shop thefts, there's so much more to the 'Goth Detectives'." Macabre sighed, putting his quill down and getting up, walking over to his colleague, gazing over his shoulder and looking at what he was studying so closely.
"Well that's it isn't it! Who's gonna want a detective agency called 'Goth Detectives'? Don't answer that, I'm too busy." Bob replied, not once looking up.
"What is it that you are occupying yourself with?" Macabre asked, leaning right down and studying the drawings, none of the annotations or comments going in, he wasn't the brightest Detective around but he new how to boss people around, and he had a strong voice and was very confident speech, he'd managed to master the English language by the age of 8 and now knew every word known to man, whereas Bob was the brains of the duo, he knew how to keep the two running, he managed to work out problems quicker than Macabre could and more importantly he knew maintenance – which was crucial as the penny farthing, their key method of transport was always being mended.
"You know what I am doing." Bob replied, placing his magnifying glass down, sitting up and spinning around on his chair. "I'm working out how to mend the wheel without paying for a new one."
"Well, why don't you stop being a square and get a new one?"
"Cause Macabre! I don't have the money – we're brassic."
"And I wonder why?" Macabre replied, looking around the room before resting his eyes back on Bob sternly.
"Look! If you didn't keep ramming the bloody bike into walls then I wouldn't have to keep forking out to get new parts for it! You can't get them tandem now, so we've gotta preserve it. Now bugger off and leave me to fix this!" Bob snapped, going back to the diagrams. Macabre just slouched off, grabbing a packet of lemon bon-bons as he went.
"They should make the wheels the same size; then we wouldn't have this problem." He mumbled his cheeks full of sweets Bob just sighed and pulled the drawings up to the light before throwing them on the floor.
"I'll do that later, some idiots written them too small and now my eyes hurt." He moaned, rubbing his eyes smudging eyeliner down his face.
"What if we acquire a job in the process of your procrastination?"
"We'll walk."
"Don't you mean meander?"
"Yeah, 'ere pass us one of them sweets." Bob asked, thrusting his arm out through his cape. Macabre plunged his hand in the small white bag and threw one at him, the yellow dust catching on the black material of his clothes; Bob cursed and shoved the sweet in his mouth scowling at Macabre. Bob pulled his pocket watch out and looked at the time, it was dark but not late – certainly not the right time for the Goths to emerge, if anything they did their work at night..
"Is that the phone ringing?" Macabre asked, looking at his desk as the 'coffin' phone rang.
"Yes, are you gonna get it?" Bob replied reluctant to get up and answer it when it was practically 5centimetres from him.
"Nope, I can't be seen answering that thing, it's too 1870's we need it updating."
"But it's right – I'll get it then shall I?" Bob asked sarcastically, getting up from his seat and grabbing the ear piece from the hanger. "Hello, Goth Detective agency – we're prepared to solve any crime for you, if we're not too bloody miserable. Bob Skellington, what's the problem?" He spoke, bored of his usually routine – he often wondered about shouting obscenities down the receiver on occasions and just hanging up.
"I've been burgled!" A wailed cry came from the other end, a distressed woman.
"Ok, what's your name and what happened?" Bob asked, looking toward Macabre who had taken to listening to the conversation, bob sighed and lifted the cone from his ear slightly allowing him a better listen in to the conversation.
"I was startled awake this horrendous bang downstairs and I rand down there, almost slipping on my petticoat that had been left on the stairs would you believe! And then when I went downstairs I found the pantry door was open and the cheese board was missing! My potatoes were all over the floor and now my salt block has a huge chunk missing from it!" The woman cried, almost in floods of sobs, Macabre just looked at Bob and smiled, Bob on the other hand tried to keep a suppressed sigh to himself.
"Okay, Mrs?"
"Gideon."
"Gideon, Okay Mrs. Gideon could I have you're address and we'll be along as soon as possible."
"Oh yes, 45 Calderon road." The woman sniffed. "Thank you." Bob hung the ear piece and reviver back up and sighed.
"Surely something just fell over?" He asked his colleague who had already tied his cape around his neck, grabbing a quill and some parchment he looked ready. Bob grabbed his magnifying glass and they both slouched off, out the shop and down the road, moaning about having to walk and breaking out into a bicker over the reason why the bikes wheel was warped in the first place.
The house was small, the thatches on the roof had a large hole in and the pant was peeling off the walls.
"I can sense something array here Bob." Macabre said, noting something down on his parchment.
"Yeah, she needs some work doing to her house." Bob replied, walking up to the door and reaching out to knock, only to be knocked sideways himself by Macabre pushing him aside, in desperation to bang on the door and address the client himself, this didn't bother Bob in the slightest, all that bothered him was the fact that he'd got muddy water on his cape.
The door opened and a startled woman answered smiling.
"Hello, you must be Bob." She whispered, holding her hand out, Macabre crumpled his nose and turned the hand away.
"No, I'm Macabre De Coiffure, Dickensian Dandy if you please, and this;" He pointed to his left "Is Bob Skellington. May we come in?" He asked, already stepping in without even waiting for an answer, Bob followed smiling, already examining every inch of the house with his glass.
"It happened in the Pantry, I've tried to clean the potatoes up but as far as the cheese is concerned and the salt block, then I'm at a loss as to what I should do!" Mrs. Gideon sniffled; Macabre placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and rubbed it soothingly.
"My good friend, and colleague is on the case, he's the best detective I've ever laid my peepers on, I'm so glad I hired him." Macabre spoke, talking about Bob who was on his hands and knee's grumbling as he touched a lone potato, his leather gloves getting covered in brown dust.
"The salt block, any evidence on there?" Bob asked, stepping in and looking at the white cone. Two teeth marks were evident on the white glistening surface.
"What did you say had been stolen?" Macabre asked as he saw the look of annoyance on Bobs face.
"A cheese board."
"Do you have a rodent problem Mrs. Gideon?" Bob asked, placing his equipment back inside his shirt.
"Well ever since I've had that hole in the roof I've had issues with mice and rats, why?"
"Well the teeth marks on the salt block are the same as mice teeth."
"Are you accusing this poor woman of misjudgement Master Skellington?" Macabre asked genuinely shocked.
"Well what I'm saying is, your cheese board may have been taken by mice."
"What, the board as well?" Mrs. Gideon asked, crying again, Macabre glared at Bob and began rubbing her back – adventuring dangerously close to her breast region. Bob opened his mouth in protest but closed it again; he didn't have an explanation for the disappearance of a cheese board – a lump of wood.
"Well, are you sure it was the board that went missing too? Maybe it fell when the cheese was taken?" Macabre reasoned.
"Now that you mention it," Gideon began, smiling slightly. "I used the board as a door wedge yesterday!" She exclaimed, chuckling at her own little joke. The boys looked at each other and glared at the laughing woman.
"One is not amused." Macabre said, mimicking their Queen, and her 'catchphrase' This made Bob smile, the corners of his mouth twitching before he too broke out into laughter.
"Seriously! This isn't a laughing matter, you have wasted out valuable services good lady, and we expect a fee!" Macabre exclaimed, Mrs. Gideon pointed to three shillings on the kitchen work area. Macabre smiled and pulled Bob by his cape, grabbing the money and walking out the door, bidding the overly amused Mrs. Gideon 'farewell'.
--
Bob smiled triumphantly, a spanner clutched in one hand.
"Well, no more walking for us – that is until you crash us into a wall again." Bob smiled; Macabre faked shock and shoved Bob slightly to the left.
"Congratu-welldone! Although you mean, until you jam us in a pile of snow!"
"That only ever happened once, and I think more damage was done to my head than the bike!" Bob chuckled, walking back into the agency and sitting down on his wooden rocking chair.
"Do you think we should go to bed, this solar exposion is doing nothing for our complexions?" Macabre asked, pulling the blinds down on the widows and doors, rendering them closed for the day, until the night.
"Yeah." Bob agreed, walking off into the bedroom – they slipped into their black pyjamas, pulled on their nightcaps and climbed in their coffins, engulfed in darkness and surrounded by sleep.