Honey, I'm home (for bigkitty75)
(OOC: This is the pickup to a longer storyline we are looking forward to like hell. I can't even squeal in caps because I am too stunned by excitement. Oh. My. God. Nobody can probably imagine how much we are looking forward to this. Which, in fact, might play on for a while.)
It is the rule of every book. Of every movie, of every video game, of every TV series, be they good or bad. But it is the rule. The rule that the Ordinary Days, so ordinary the have to start with capital letters, are always turning out to be most eventful ones.
So, knowing a lot of movies, video games, TV series and even a bunch of books, the rule of Ordinary Days is very well known to Shawn Spencer. Therefore he could, or should have known that something was going to happen.
Instead, he is hanging around the psych office, waiting for Gus who is still at work but promised to grab something to eat on the way here. He sits on the couch, flicks through a bad program, is blinded by the horrendous sight of something bare-chested that definitely wasn't human anymore and decides that talk shows aren't really the best way to kill boredom.
When it knocks at the doorframe he is actually relieved. Maybe they're getting a case after all?
"Mr. Shawn Spencer?"
Shawn blinks, irritated, because the guy makes some weird effort to underline how both parts of his name start with the same letter. Which doesn't work out because SH and SP are still phonetic universes apart. He wears a suit, an expensive one but that doesn't make it prettier. Also, a black tie and black sunglasses. He can't be older than twenty-four which makes him look like some weird Matrix whacko who still thinks it's cool to dress up like Keanu Reaves when it's almost 85 degrees outside.
Shawn gapes. "Good God, who died?"
The guy looks at him accusingly. Well, Shawn actually can't see much of his eyes but he can sense how he is slapped into the face with the wet 'I don't even know how to spell humor' towel. "Jones, IRS. May I come in?"
IRS? Whoa.
Shawn blinks, shrugs, steps aside. He doesn't feel too good doing it but when the Republican's version of Neo comes knocking to your door you always remember how you should have reacted afterwards. "Right. What can I do for you?"
"You've been flagged for a tax audit."
Well, at least he's straight to the point. Shawn gapes. He gets the feeling that he might look a little stupid but he's still too fascinated by the clothes. He tries to spot pit stains.
Jones doesn't notice or doesn't care for he simply carries on. "We're going to review all your financial circumstances for the past ten years. Specifically those directly involved with one Mr. Burton Guster whom you failed to claim as your spouse for the last ten years."
Shawn gapes. Only this time it is not because of the clothes. "Whom I failed to what?"
"Well yes we understand that under Californian laws same sex marriage is an illegal act, however due to the circumstances and the failure to file jointley we've decided to place you and Mr. Guster under review."
"What?" Shawn can't think of anything else to say. "Dude, is this Punk'd? Where's Kutcher?"
The silent towel hits him again. "Basically what's gonna happen is if we find you to be misconstruing your situation..."
"Our situation."
"Your marriage."
"Our marriage." Shawn snorts because this is so damn funny, actually, this is the funniest thing someone has ever said to him.
"Your marriage. If we find you misconstruing your marriage, you are liable for a full tax review for the past ten years. All your financial access will be shut down until we can determine the proper amount you will owe."
"And that proper amount would be?" he asks, grinning.
"Two million dollars and sixty-seven cent."
Well. Maybe not the funniest thing ever. Shawn's eyes buldge over. "Two million!" he gasps in a voice that's probably three octaves higher than it should be.
Jones' eyebrow creeps up in a very freaky way. "Well, Mr. Spencer, this might seem like a big deal but since I am absolutely certain that your engagement with Mr. Guster in the..." He pulls out a piece of paper and takes a bored look at it. "... Swinging Sweethearts Chapel in Vegas, which is where you were residing at the time being, is completely straight up - no pun intended - there shouldn't be any problems."
Shawn gapes. Ten years ago? Vegas? All he remembers is Gus visiting. Them getting into this big fight about Vegas being dangerous. Then, there was going out to get some making-up-alcohol. Lots of making-up-alcohol. And then there was waking up the next morning.
Two million dollars and sixty-seven cent.
Wait a second.
I'm married to Gus?!
It is the rule of every book. Of every movie, of every video game, of every TV series, be they good or bad. But it is the rule. The rule that the Ordinary Days, so ordinary the have to start with capital letters, are always turning out to be most eventful ones.
So, knowing a lot of movies, video games, TV series and even a bunch of books, the rule of Ordinary Days is very well known to Shawn Spencer. Therefore he could, or should have known that something was going to happen.
Instead, he is hanging around the psych office, waiting for Gus who is still at work but promised to grab something to eat on the way here. He sits on the couch, flicks through a bad program, is blinded by the horrendous sight of something bare-chested that definitely wasn't human anymore and decides that talk shows aren't really the best way to kill boredom.
When it knocks at the doorframe he is actually relieved. Maybe they're getting a case after all?
"Mr. Shawn Spencer?"
Shawn blinks, irritated, because the guy makes some weird effort to underline how both parts of his name start with the same letter. Which doesn't work out because SH and SP are still phonetic universes apart. He wears a suit, an expensive one but that doesn't make it prettier. Also, a black tie and black sunglasses. He can't be older than twenty-four which makes him look like some weird Matrix whacko who still thinks it's cool to dress up like Keanu Reaves when it's almost 85 degrees outside.
Shawn gapes. "Good God, who died?"
The guy looks at him accusingly. Well, Shawn actually can't see much of his eyes but he can sense how he is slapped into the face with the wet 'I don't even know how to spell humor' towel. "Jones, IRS. May I come in?"
IRS? Whoa.
Shawn blinks, shrugs, steps aside. He doesn't feel too good doing it but when the Republican's version of Neo comes knocking to your door you always remember how you should have reacted afterwards. "Right. What can I do for you?"
"You've been flagged for a tax audit."
Well, at least he's straight to the point. Shawn gapes. He gets the feeling that he might look a little stupid but he's still too fascinated by the clothes. He tries to spot pit stains.
Jones doesn't notice or doesn't care for he simply carries on. "We're going to review all your financial circumstances for the past ten years. Specifically those directly involved with one Mr. Burton Guster whom you failed to claim as your spouse for the last ten years."
Shawn gapes. Only this time it is not because of the clothes. "Whom I failed to what?"
"Well yes we understand that under Californian laws same sex marriage is an illegal act, however due to the circumstances and the failure to file jointley we've decided to place you and Mr. Guster under review."
"What?" Shawn can't think of anything else to say. "Dude, is this Punk'd? Where's Kutcher?"
The silent towel hits him again. "Basically what's gonna happen is if we find you to be misconstruing your situation..."
"Our situation."
"Your marriage."
"Our marriage." Shawn snorts because this is so damn funny, actually, this is the funniest thing someone has ever said to him.
"Your marriage. If we find you misconstruing your marriage, you are liable for a full tax review for the past ten years. All your financial access will be shut down until we can determine the proper amount you will owe."
"And that proper amount would be?" he asks, grinning.
"Two million dollars and sixty-seven cent."
Well. Maybe not the funniest thing ever. Shawn's eyes buldge over. "Two million!" he gasps in a voice that's probably three octaves higher than it should be.
Jones' eyebrow creeps up in a very freaky way. "Well, Mr. Spencer, this might seem like a big deal but since I am absolutely certain that your engagement with Mr. Guster in the..." He pulls out a piece of paper and takes a bored look at it. "... Swinging Sweethearts Chapel in Vegas, which is where you were residing at the time being, is completely straight up - no pun intended - there shouldn't be any problems."
Shawn gapes. Ten years ago? Vegas? All he remembers is Gus visiting. Them getting into this big fight about Vegas being dangerous. Then, there was going out to get some making-up-alcohol. Lots of making-up-alcohol. And then there was waking up the next morning.
Two million dollars and sixty-seven cent.
Wait a second.
I'm married to Gus?!