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laleiaThese are known as the five feeble attempts at crossing over Psych and Veronica Mars, which I never ended up finishing.
i.
“Where are we again?”
“We’re in Neptune again, for the fifth time, Shawn.”
“And why are we here?”
“Because somebody forgot to bring the fake IDs, and failed to mention this until five minutes ago.”
“Come on, Gus, I’m sure we’ll be able to pull something off at the border.”
“You mean like the last time we went to Mexico?”
“That was a fluke. How was I to know-”
“Or the time before that?”
“Gus, we don’t even need fake IDs, - we have real ones.”
“Do you think I want the crimes we are going to commit documented under my real identity? Shawn? Shawn? Are you listening to me?”
“That girl. Is hot.”
ii.
“What’s all the commotion?” Shawn asked, observing the flurry and influx of new faces and federal badges.
“You’re psychic, shouldn’t you know?” Lassiter grunted.
“But Lassie, even I don’t know why your face ended up that way, whether it was God’s cruel joke or-”
“I don’t have time for this,” Lassiter said, leaving with his files.
“Don’t mind him, he’s just miffed,” Juliet sighed. “We found a body – serial killer. Which means the Feds get jurisdiction, and he had wanted to work the case. Plus, he got in a slight tiff with the federal agent in charge.”
“Serial killer, cool,” Shawn said. “Any chance she needs the help of a resident psychic?”
“No, Mr. Spencer, not cool,” a cool voice corrected. Shawn turned around to see a blonde with an updo in a no-nonsense business suit, and with a scowl on her face. Pity. Without the scowl, she would’ve been pretty hot. “A serial killer means multiple people were murdered, Mr. Spencer. Died very unpleasantly. That is not cool.”
“I believe you have the better of me, Miss …” Shawn looked for some kind of clue.
“Agent Mars. Do I need to remind yet another member of the SBPD that cases are not something ‘cool’ to pore over, nor are they a gold star if solved. They are real people dying, who would appreciate their killer being caught.” She looked Shawn up and down. “And no, I think we can survive without the aid of a happy-go-lucky psychic who trivializes murder.”
Then she left.
“I think she’s still pissed Carlton threw a hissy fit about the FBI taking over ‘his’ case,” Juliet observed.
iii.
“So, Jules, about this weekend-”
“Yeah, about that, Shawn.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that.”
“My really good friend is coming into town this weekend and-”
“Your really good friend, Jules? Really? Is that the best excuse you could come up with?”
“It’s true! Her name’s Veronica, and we interned together with the FBI-”
“You interned with the FBI?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t end up going the FBI route, though she did-”
“She’s an FBI agent? Is she hot?”
“I don’t- … What- … She- … What does that have to do with anything?”
iv.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t kill him – I found the body!”
“Keep talking, lady.”
“This is ridiculous, Officer … Lassiter, is it? I’ve told you three times why I was there and what I was doing – at this point, you either get me a lawyer or let me go. It’s that simple.”
“Yeah … Miss Mars,” the Officer said skeptically, “our sources indicate that you were after the man because you suspected he killed your mother. You will forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical that you just happened to find the body.”
“If you’re interrogating me,” she enunciated carefully, “I want a lawyer.”
There was silence.
“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re going to do the staring thing. Staring me into confessing? I would … if I had anything to confess.”
“Well, she definitely called you on that, Lassie,” a new, cheery voice interjected. “I guess the staredown doesn’t work if the stare-ee watches too much CSI, huh.”
“And who would you be?”
“Your guardian angel. The name’s Spencer. Shawn Spencer. Resident psychic at your service, ready to rescue you from the evil Lord Voldemort. Sorry, I meant Lassiter.”
“Forgive me if I refrain from swooning at your feet in relief until I’m out of this dinky room.”
v.
“Agent Mars, I’d like you to meet our new in-house psychic, Agent Spencer.”
Postscript:
[Shawn’s son and Veronica’s daughter beat each other up because each claims their parent is the most bestest private investigator.]
“Elizabeth, what have I told you about fighting?”
“But Mommy, he said that his daddy was the best private investigator, and that was a lie,
because you are and when I told him that he got mad at me and said he would hit me if I weren’t a girl and I said that even if I were a girl I could beat him up with my hands tied behind my back and then-”
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to apologize for my son’s actions,” a charming voice cut in. “I must have done something wrong in his upbringing, for him to a hit a girl.”
“Oh,” Veronica laughed, “I’m sure my daughter did her fair share to provoke him.”
“I’m Shawn Spencer, psychic detective at your service,” Shawn introduced.
“Veronica Mars, private investigator.”
i.
“Where are we again?”
“We’re in Neptune again, for the fifth time, Shawn.”
“And why are we here?”
“Because somebody forgot to bring the fake IDs, and failed to mention this until five minutes ago.”
“Come on, Gus, I’m sure we’ll be able to pull something off at the border.”
“You mean like the last time we went to Mexico?”
“That was a fluke. How was I to know-”
“Or the time before that?”
“Gus, we don’t even need fake IDs, - we have real ones.”
“Do you think I want the crimes we are going to commit documented under my real identity? Shawn? Shawn? Are you listening to me?”
“That girl. Is hot.”
ii.
“What’s all the commotion?” Shawn asked, observing the flurry and influx of new faces and federal badges.
“You’re psychic, shouldn’t you know?” Lassiter grunted.
“But Lassie, even I don’t know why your face ended up that way, whether it was God’s cruel joke or-”
“I don’t have time for this,” Lassiter said, leaving with his files.
“Don’t mind him, he’s just miffed,” Juliet sighed. “We found a body – serial killer. Which means the Feds get jurisdiction, and he had wanted to work the case. Plus, he got in a slight tiff with the federal agent in charge.”
“Serial killer, cool,” Shawn said. “Any chance she needs the help of a resident psychic?”
“No, Mr. Spencer, not cool,” a cool voice corrected. Shawn turned around to see a blonde with an updo in a no-nonsense business suit, and with a scowl on her face. Pity. Without the scowl, she would’ve been pretty hot. “A serial killer means multiple people were murdered, Mr. Spencer. Died very unpleasantly. That is not cool.”
“I believe you have the better of me, Miss …” Shawn looked for some kind of clue.
“Agent Mars. Do I need to remind yet another member of the SBPD that cases are not something ‘cool’ to pore over, nor are they a gold star if solved. They are real people dying, who would appreciate their killer being caught.” She looked Shawn up and down. “And no, I think we can survive without the aid of a happy-go-lucky psychic who trivializes murder.”
Then she left.
“I think she’s still pissed Carlton threw a hissy fit about the FBI taking over ‘his’ case,” Juliet observed.
iii.
“So, Jules, about this weekend-”
“Yeah, about that, Shawn.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that.”
“My really good friend is coming into town this weekend and-”
“Your really good friend, Jules? Really? Is that the best excuse you could come up with?”
“It’s true! Her name’s Veronica, and we interned together with the FBI-”
“You interned with the FBI?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t end up going the FBI route, though she did-”
“She’s an FBI agent? Is she hot?”
“I don’t- … What- … She- … What does that have to do with anything?”
iv.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t kill him – I found the body!”
“Keep talking, lady.”
“This is ridiculous, Officer … Lassiter, is it? I’ve told you three times why I was there and what I was doing – at this point, you either get me a lawyer or let me go. It’s that simple.”
“Yeah … Miss Mars,” the Officer said skeptically, “our sources indicate that you were after the man because you suspected he killed your mother. You will forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical that you just happened to find the body.”
“If you’re interrogating me,” she enunciated carefully, “I want a lawyer.”
There was silence.
“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re going to do the staring thing. Staring me into confessing? I would … if I had anything to confess.”
“Well, she definitely called you on that, Lassie,” a new, cheery voice interjected. “I guess the staredown doesn’t work if the stare-ee watches too much CSI, huh.”
“And who would you be?”
“Your guardian angel. The name’s Spencer. Shawn Spencer. Resident psychic at your service, ready to rescue you from the evil Lord Voldemort. Sorry, I meant Lassiter.”
“Forgive me if I refrain from swooning at your feet in relief until I’m out of this dinky room.”
v.
“Agent Mars, I’d like you to meet our new in-house psychic, Agent Spencer.”
Postscript:
[Shawn’s son and Veronica’s daughter beat each other up because each claims their parent is the most bestest private investigator.]
“Elizabeth, what have I told you about fighting?”
“But Mommy, he said that his daddy was the best private investigator, and that was a lie,
because you are and when I told him that he got mad at me and said he would hit me if I weren’t a girl and I said that even if I were a girl I could beat him up with my hands tied behind my back and then-”
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to apologize for my son’s actions,” a charming voice cut in. “I must have done something wrong in his upbringing, for him to a hit a girl.”
“Oh,” Veronica laughed, “I’m sure my daughter did her fair share to provoke him.”
“I’m Shawn Spencer, psychic detective at your service,” Shawn introduced.
“Veronica Mars, private investigator.”
