SIX DEGREES KARAOKE (Tammy Award Party for wolfwithaguitar)

[head_psychic]

Taking a quick look around Shawn nods in approval. Yeah, this is definitely it. The place where Randy's gonna get his well-deserved celebration big time. Renting the karaoke bar had proved even easier than he had imagined: Just some observations about certain employees and dirty deals, neatly packed into a breathtaking vision and the owner was even more than willing to make the place available. Acknowledgment of gratitude, which, of course, Shawn couldn't decline. That would have been totally rude.

The SIX DEGREES karaoke bar is a big place that somehow managed to stay comfy nevertheless. There are round tables near the bar as well as lounges in the corners. The bar itself is more of the modern kind but without looking too freaky to keep looking at it after five beers. The stage is actually perfect. Shawn checked it out, everybody should be able to see it.

It's all there, everything is ready so he hums a happy little tune as he waits for Randy and the guys to show up for the soundcheck. Not that he particularly cares if someone else decides to drop by early. If nobody shows up at all it doesn't really matter as well. Because it would only take him one call and approximately ten minutes to turn the event into something even more official than it already is and find enough random people on the street.

Yeah. No matter what, this is going to be awesome.

Comments

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

As soon as he walks through the door and finds that the lights are turned up full - far too bright for a bar that is actually in the process of doing business - he knows that he is early. It's embarassing that he couldn't judge how long it would take to arrive, that even though he knew he would be early he had nothing better to do than set out anyway.

He should probably check the divorce papers tomorrow and see where it says that his wife was getting his social life as well. God. First he goes fishing with Spencer's dad, now he's going to a party for Spencer's friend...

There are dirty, growling sounds of feedback in the air, then a bright screech cuts across it, making him wince. A sound check. He glances down at his suit and tie. This is a stupid mistake. Turning on his heel, he reaches for the door. The night will be better spent performing thorough weapon maintenance. Again.

[carolina-blonde.livejournal.com]

Which is the exact moment that Tara is walking in the door, from getting some of her stuff out of the back of Brendan's SUV. She almost walks right into him.

"Oh, gosh. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" she asks, looking adorable as ever.

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

Instantly, his hands reach out to steady himself or to catch the person he almost walked in to. He's centimeters away from them when he stops himself, realising that there's no need for the instinctual reaction as neither of them have fallen. One hand awkwardly travels up to scratch the back of his head, while he forces the other to his hip.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry. I was just..." he pauses and actually looks at the woman he nearly crashed into. He knows its not Juliet, but...

[carolina-blonde.livejournal.com]

"Oh, no. It was completely my fault. I wasn't paying attention, I'm so concerned with trying to get everything out of the car." Tara tucks her hair behind her ear, nervous habit in full force as she flashes him one of her trademark winning smiles. She's genuinely happy for Randy, and she can't wait to get to meet some of her friends. "I'm just a little overexcited. There's this guy I'm absolutely dying to meet and Shawn promised he'd be here."

A pause, realizing she sounds slightly stupid, and stopping herself. "I'm Tara. Nice to meet you."

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

He can't help smiling; she seems to have a sweet personality, and it's nice to have a pretty girl smile at him. The hand on his hip slips casually into his pocket, hopefully making him look a little more laidback, more at ease in his surroundings.

"I'm Carlton." His other hand drops down to offer to Tara to shake. "Nice to meet you too. I believe we spoke briefly a while ago?"

[carolina-blonde.livejournal.com]

She's more than pleased and gives him an honest, firm handshake. Though she's off duty there's no mistaking the behaviors of a detective, even one that's a rookie who may be trying a little too hard.

"We did!" she said. "I was hoping you'd be here. I'm the one who kind of pestered Randy into asking Shawn..." She pauses. Wow, that's an interesting sentence. "If you'd be here. I'd love to sit down and really get a chance to talk to you."

Of course, she realizes where they are at the moment.

"But I totally don't want to keep you from anything if you're busy," she says honestly.

[r-vecchio.livejournal.com]

Ray's highly unimpressed. He's dressed to the T and for what? To come to a party, for a guy he doesn't even know, and probably get voodoo-whammied by that psycho Shawn. Oh, this is so not his kind of evening.

Women, however, now, they can make a night out bareable if the rest of the company isn't up to scratch. And with a fake psychic, some guy in a suit who looks suspiciously like a Fed, and some really bad soundchecking, the company definitely doesn't reach Ray's high standards.

Women it is, then. Or rather...woman. Over there. Talking to Fed guy.

Ray strides over, straightening his cuffs as he goes and nods in the vague direction of Fed Guy. Or Waiter Guy as he'd prefer to call him. "Hey," he bellows, "somebody promise me free drinks? I'm still waitin'. And heeeey," his voice deepens a little and he sends the woman a charming sideways glance. "I'm here. Fake psychic dude kept his promise. So," he grins, turning his back on Waiter/Fed Guy and placing himself firmly between him and the only woman in the room. "You've been dying to meet me, huh?"

[carolina-blonde.livejournal.com]

Tara isn't impressed. Though she might still be a little wet behind the ears when it comes to detective work, she can get touchy. And this would definitely be one of those times. The smile on her lips dies almost instantly.

"I wasn't speaking to you, sir," she says, her voice calm and level. "I was talking to him," with a nod of her head in Lassiter's direction. "So if you'll excuse us."

She's starting to wonder just who Shawn invited to this party.

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

A smile spreads slow and slightly smuggly over Lassiter's face, he has to lift his hand as if he were wiping his mouth to cover it. Side steping around the guy in the Armani suit, (which looks old and worn, like he'd been jumping into dumpsters whilst wearing it and it's had to go for dry cleaning several times too often), he turns to him briefly and lets his hand drop away so the rude, overly confident man can see his smile. Then he turns back to Tara.

"Perhaps I can help you if there's anything else to get out of the car?"

He'd been debating whether to go or not before they'd been interupted. This young lady actually wanted to talk with him. It was flattering, he'd been stupid to leave and go home to an empty house now.

[carolina-blonde.livejournal.com]

"I think we got everything out, but I suppose it can't hurt to check," Tara agrees, acting as if everything is fine. She has no desire to be more confrontational than she has to, so the offered exit is the perfect opportunity to get away from the situation.

She still has Brendan's keys to his Forester in her pocket, so she digs them out and holds the door for him. Once they're outside, she shakes her head. She doesn't like fighting and every time she gets involved in one she always feels a little bit weird.

"That was strange," she admits. "Shawn said he was inviting a lot of people to the party...I'm hoping not too many and not too much like that." But she gives him a small smile. She honestly is glad he turned up.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Saying hi to Lassy didn't quite work out yet. Shawn was about to run after him when he noticed how the detective was about to flee the scene but then Tara showed up and took over the job. Shawn could easily read from Carlton's body language that he was more at ease already. So, giving Tara the opportunity to talk him into staying and having a little chat he keeps organizing things around and mostly behind stage, occasionally observing the pair from time to time.

Being too far away to hear a word they're saying and being too far away to be spotted himself Shawn watches the intrusion of their conversation and frowns. First of all because he's dying to hear what Lassy has to say (or to glare-say) to the guy and second because yep, he does know Vecchio, just like he always assumed. He met that guy before.

Right now Tara and Lassy decide to leave together - now wait, just how wrong did that sound? - and avoid a confrontation. Oh well. Time to be a nice host and say hi.

"Vecchio! Dude! You made it! That's awesome!" With a huge grin Shawn appears out of nowhere and pats his shoulder. "It's great you're here. You-..." Then the grin dies and Shawn's hand suddenly seems stuck to the detective's shoulder. "Oh my God! I can... feel... a stone... an anvil, a-anvil? Like in the cartoons?" Shawn quickly releases him and covers his head with his hands. "It's... crashing right down and... ow! Pow! Bang! What? Something... dawned on you? What dawned?"

Reaching out, Shawn touches Ray's shoulder once more and jumps back with a yelp. "PWNED! Something just totally PWNED you! Dude, what happened? Did someone steal your parking space?"

[r-vecchio.livejournal.com]

"I'm far more interesting to talk to," Ray replies unfazed, grin still on his face.

Until they both just leave. Walk the hell away from him, and the smile drops down into a thin line.

Well.

That's just rude.

Guess he'll have to find the free drinks himself then.

But then there's a hand on his shoulder and he's peering around and it's like a flashback to Vegas; poker table all set up, so many guys, so many guns in that room, except for this dude standing right next to him, dealing hands, doing his job, being kind of normal.

He almost groans right there. He can't believe he ever thought of Shawn as normal.

“It’s Ray,” he corrects, just as unfazed, (at least, outwardly - he can’t help the flip-flopping in his stomach at the sight of a guy who reminds him so much of what he used to be) his gaze following the hand with a look of disdain. If Shawn hadn’t have removed it as quickly as he had, Ray would’ve been forced to pry it off his shoulder himself, one finger at a time.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"Tssssray." Shawn replies, his face turning absolutely serious, nodding as if he means every word he's just saying. Which maybe he is. "Yes. Got it."

Then the grin is neatly back in place. "So! Had a good trip? How about a drink?"

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

"People like Spencer attract all kinds of friends. Most of them would have to be a little tapped in the head to believe all that psychic hocus-pocus." Lassiter shrugs one shoulder, trying to keep up the relaxed, cool appearance as he walks to the car.

Despite his words, he's not so sure that Spencer actually has that many real friends, aside from Gus. Lots of associates and contact, very few people he’d actually trust. It's something Lassiter would grudgingly admit to having in common with Spencer. He'd have to be drunk first, though.

Suddenly, he realises the implication of what he's just said. "I'm sure that you and your friends are perfectly sane, though." He half cringes, half smiles at Tara as he feels himself digging a deeper hole.

[carolina-blonde.livejournal.com]

"Well..." She chuckles. "Brendan has his insane moments. But he's more Randy's friend than mine. He's really very sweet, though," she says, in an attempt to backtrack, because for all the strange things the British architect has done, he's always been supportive of the both of them and she doesn't want to be speaking ill of anyone.

She fumbles with the keys to the Forester -- he's only had it for a few months, so it's still flawless and she'd like to keep it that way -- before she checks the trunk. Randy got all the band gear, and they're leaving the luggage in the car, but there's one more box he doesn't know about and she just smirks to herself. Her best friend is in for a surprise.

"Besides, I wouldn't blame you if you called us a little crazy, we do work in Los Angeles after all." A small, impish smile as she hefts the box and then closes the trunk. "Not really your kind of social scene, is it?" she comments. She's kind of observant like that.

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

Glancing around to make sure no one is in earshot, he ducks his head and smiles self-consciously.

"No, not really. Is it that obvious?"

His wife - ex-wife - whatever - started to get this thing about them needing to spend less time in each other's pockets, and more time doing their own thing. He never really got the hang of it, he thought that was what being married was about; not needing anything more than each other's company. Of course, he understood why she wanted more time going out without him now.

"I'm not very good at being off duty," he says as if that explained it. Gesturing to the box Tara's carrying, he attempts to change the subject. "Can I help you with that?"

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Shawn knows he's too drunk and he doesn't like it.

It's probably one of the few things his father doesn't know about him. Maybe he thinks Shawn turns down the cans of beer because they are cans of beer or because he doesn't want to drink with his dad but that's not the point. The point is, he doesn’t want to give his father the slightest hint about how drinking doesn’t work well with Shawn Spencer. At all. Of course he can drink, he does drink, he's a party animal, he can down a lot but just like someone who hates his job but goes to the same office every day... a little too much, a little too extra, a little to 'one more' and things get out of hand.

Drunk people lose control. Inhibition threshold gone. They start saying things they shouldn’t say and they'd never say in any other given situation. They think about past stuff and suddenly start to cry, because they get needlessly emotional. They can't talk properly anymore. They lose control.

Shawn doesn't. But alcohol messes with his head and senses. Big time. Which is bad enough. And if alcohol can make him go completely whacko he really can't imagine what real hard drugs would do to him. And he really doesn't WANT to know.

Shawn knows exactly how much he can drink, how much he should drink and what the difference between these two things is. But somehow, tonight, for the first time in ages, he accidentally crossed that line. Maybe it had something to do with all the nice chats, maybe with the awesome music of Randy's band, maybe with the Vecchio-karaoke-duo he pulled on stage. But, whatever caused it, there is one thing that stands clearly in front of him. The knowledge that there is one person in this big, big room he hasn't talked to yet. And that is so wrong. And so not going to happen.

"Lassy! The spirits told me you talked to Tara earlier this evening so it is perfectly alright for me to finally welcome you now even though the party's almost over and you're not seriously wearing that tie, are you!"

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

Automatically, Lassiter's hand flies up to pet his tie before he can stop himself. At least he manages to resist glancing down at the damn thing. He put it on, he tied it in the mirror; he knows what he looks like and a stupid reflex gesture like that would be even more stupid in the eyes of Spencer.

"What's wrong with it?" It's blue. It's a perfectly respectable tie. What is wrong with it?

Signalling for the bartender, Lassiter glances around for Tara. Perhaps Shawn will go away again if he gets back into deep conversation with her, or perhaps she'll take Spencer off his hands for him. When the barman arrives, Lassiter orders another whiskey for himself, making a point of not offering the psychic a drink as well.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Shawn hums for no apparent reason whatsoever when the detective's hand reaches out and briefly touches the tie. "It's..." He points straight at it. Pauses. Looks at his outstretched finger instead, regarding it with interest.

"Huh," he says, then he looks over to the bartender. "Yes, me too."

Noticing the finger Shawn looks back at it, puzzled. "What. Oh. Right. It's way too tight. It looks like you're strangling yourself, I'm getting scared. You're scaring me, Lasy-face," he says, face all earnest and sincere. "Loo... loosen it up, 'kay?"

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

Lassiter narrows his eyes. If he was going to compliment Spencer at all, which he isn't, he would say that Spencer is sharp. Incoherent, yes, and frequently fuzzy around the edges... In fact, most of the time, he's just as disjointed and strange as he's behaving now.

Only, it's different. It takes the detective a few moments to realise that there's no cryptic psychic "moment" attached to this. Spencer is drunk. Lassiter can't help smirking a little at that.

"You feeling alright there?" He loosen his tie with his left hand as he takes his drink to sip with his right.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"Me?" Shawn beams at him. "Look, I made a great party!" He waves around, proudly. "Right, Chris, we're having a greeeat time!"

Chris, the bartender, chuckles, hands Shawn his drink and gives him the thumbs-up. "Whatever you say, Mr. Psychic," he comments, already on his way to the next guests.

Shawn doesn't mind, in fact he has already forgotten about him, his attention back on Lassiter. "I'm feeling, there, that's better, actually you could unbutton the first button as well, I'm feeling great. Did you hear me sing? Do you wanna sing with me?"

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

His eyebrow raised of his own accord. Spencer's telling him how to wear his clothes, directing him to unbutton his collar? Lassiter snorts. That's really too much from someone who would never understand the importance of dressing smartly and projecting a professional image.

"You and the rude guy in the scruffy designer label? It was," he tilts his head from side to side, making a show of finding the correct phrase, even though he already has it, "different. I think I'll pass on making a fool of myself on stage. Thanks."

His fingers creep up to the collar of his shirt, it is a little stuffy in here, one button won't make him look like a hobo. He flicks it through the hole with a flick of his fingers, and then removes his tie properly. He can do casual, and not just because Spencer told him to.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Shawn gives a silly, drunk chuckle. "Different! 's good. 's true. Because. We're Indy. Not the movie with the whip, sadly, but pendent. Whoa, she's sooo gonna crash into that waiter." Shawn chuckles again, grinning widely when he spots Lassiter taking off the tie.

He takes a long sip of his drink and bangs it back on the counter, spilling a little. "Why don't you wanna sing with me? Dude, that dress was expensive. You can cho-hose the song, righty? I'ma gonna let you cho-hose. 'cause you're not scaared, are you, Lassy-face!"

In a short distance behind them there is a crash and some cursing when another guest, a woman in high heels, somehow managed to bang into a waiter and having drinks spilled all over her dress. "You moron! You got any idea how expensive that dress was!"

Shawn doesn't bother, his overly bright eyes fixed on the detective. "Did I ever tell you how I got lost on a raft in Costa Rica?"

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

Lassiter shakes his head to himself and takes another sip. Only Spencer would take it as a compliment, or at least act like he was taking it as a compliment. Sometimes he wondered just how thick Spencer's skin really was.

"I'm not scared." He keeps his voice level, careful not to let it sound like he's protesting. "I don't have to be scared, I'm not singing."

It's not actually much of a surprise when the commotion behind them starts off. He doesn't even bother to turn around to look at the woman and the waiter. When, exactly, did he start paying attention to the babble that the so-called psychic lets spill from his mouth? He's starting to take it for granted, and that can't be good.

He narrows his eyes at Spencer, already regretting that he's going to ask. "Costa Rica?"

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"Why are you not singing. I bet. You have a. Stunning voice," Shawn says, leaning forward while regarding the detective with a very serious look. The only thing that ruins the sentence is the way Shawn seems to be unable to stress it at the right times.

Then he remembers Lassiter saying Costa Rice and once again he giggles, serious expression crumpling. "I was a raft guide. Aquablanca Expeditions. I was theee best raft guide around. Seriously, I was that good! Like you in interrogation room B last week. When you interviewed that bad robbery person."

Shawn climbs onto the bar stool until he squats on it. "And I was out therrre..." He dramatically drops his voice and starts rowing the air. "... rescuing my li- risking my life to show the amazing wildlife jungle flower green beauties of San José to my customers or do you say passengers? Guests? Passengers. It's still a boat, right. A raft. And then... then we got lost!"