head_psychic | The early days (for det

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The early days (for det_lassiter)

He's in a good mood.

No, not only is he in a good mood, he's having a blast.

With the McCallum case solved and the certainty of being hired again warming his heart this whole con had paid off pretty well. Currently unemployed? Na-ah, sir, not anymore. Now Shawn Spencer is a psychic, no, even more, a psychic detective and moreso, a psychic detective that feels really good.

He walks into the police station, more at ease than he's been at a police station ever before, shoves his hands in his pocket and starts strolling around aimlessly, trying to peek into reports or gather some information from the boards covered in crime scene photos.

If he's going to hang out here - and he has the feeling he's gonna do that a lot in the near future - he should make himself familiar with the building.

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Carlton is not in a good mood.

Lucinda started talking about putting in for a transfer; she keeps brushing his hands to the side, getting twitchy even when no one else is around. She has a career to think about, a reputation, damnit. He can understand that, but this wouldn't be an issue if it wasn't for that hack that calls himself a psychic.

He tries to bury his nose in a file, but his attention keeps drifting back to the Chief's office. Waiting to find out where he stands.

If he ever sees him again...

Shawn decides he likes hanging out in the department. He remembers a lot from when he was a kid and of course from his random tips but that rarely included the whole building and a lot has changed over the years.

He sees Detective Lassiter at his desk and that is cool because now he knows where the man's desk is and that might come in quite handy. Dude seems to have a lot to say around here. Besides, they're practically colleagues now.

"Yo! Detective!" Shawn grins and walks up to the man. His last encounter with the detective had been the math of his forehead and a car frame after all but, no hard feelings! Shawn Spencer doesn't hold grudges unless it comes to his dad, so. "How's it going? You still on that paperwork? Feel free to ask me when you got questions about the spelling of my name, alright? Oh! And! I have a very important question I gotta ask you."

He puts his lower arms on the detective's tabletop and looks at him with a very, very serious face. "Where did they move the vending machine for the chocolate bars to?"

Slowly, Carlton lifts his head. Already, he knows that this voice will haunt his bad dreams for the end of time, but he still has to match the face to the voice.

He only just resists the groan of frustration as he sees it is indeed Spencer. Seriously? Maybe the gods want this idiot blotted out of existance. He pushes his chair back with an scrape, getting to his feet, so that he towers over the faker, taking back some kind of authority.

"Why don't you tell me, psychic."

Psychic. Shawn didn't expect to like it so much when people call him that.

"Dude, don't blame me for trying to make conversation." He grins good-humoredly, tilting his head to the side. "I was reaching out for you."

The finger comes out, pointing in Spencer's face as Lassiter steps forward.

"Do not even attempt to reach out to me. We are not friends, or colleagues, or even passing acquaintances. I do not want to see you in this station, I would rather not see you in the street." He pauses and shakes his head. "I'm on to you."

Shawn smirks, eyeing the finger curiously. "You're on to me? But you just said you don't even want to see me. That's a little bipolar, Lassy."

He thinks for a moment. "Or were you trying to make a point, like, you're the one reaching out for me? If it's so important for you we can totally do it the other way around, yeah."

Screwing up his eyes, Carlton winces internally. That needs nipping in the bud, before it sticks, before other people start to pick it up and the whole station goes to hell in a disrespecting hand basket.

"It's Lassiter." He wags his finger once before dropping his hand. "Detective Lassiter. And I'm onto your game. I know you have a source, and I'm going to find it, and then you're going where you belong."

Shawn's grin hardens a little at the last part but it's not enough to wipe it off his face.

"Oh please. You serious? I mean, you're still on to that? Not even a new theory in town?" Shawn laughs, crossing his arms behind his head. "Listen, detective, I can tell you're more a man of science or that other matter of fact stuff than a man of faith but there is no such thing as a source. Come on, I just solved a case. Brought justice. Liberated the spirits of two young men. You should be thankful. I'm the good guy here."

Lassiter flashes a tight, vicious smile.

"There's no such thing as Santa. Or psychics. But there is a source, and I'll be the one to find it. You haven't suckered me in, like you have everybody else. I'm going to get under your skin Spencer and-"

The door to the Chief's office clicked open, Carlton couldn't stop himself from looking around sharply and watching as Lucinda leaves the office. She avoids his gaze, and it hurts so much that his anger melts away. Suddenly uninterested in his argument, he turns his back on Spencer completely and returns to his seat.

Shawn tilts his head, watching Lassiter retreat. The whole scene in front of him is far from unnoticed and he purses his lips to a soundless whistle. "Lassy, if you wanna be the one suckering all you had to do was say so. I do have to inform you that I have very sensitive skin, though."

Shoving his hands in his pockets he follows behind. Maybe the fact that the detective is currently thrown off by the situation will give him enough time to get a closer look to whatever is scattered over his desk.

"Also, I sense some unsolved tension around here. Why do I get a 'lack of sweat'? It is not about antiperspirant..."

(ooc: Wow, I had totally forgotten how much of a bastard Shawn is in the first part of Season 1...)

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The early days (for det_lassiter)

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