2.1.H.12 - Tied to a chair - (the_bigshow)
Your character is tied to a chair. Why?
1986
"Henry! What is going on here?!"
"Winnie, would you please calm down..."
Shawn and Gus exchanged a quick look, both very eager to run away. If they had been able to.
"Calm down! I find my son tied to a kitchen chair and you want me to calm down?"
"We were playing escape artists, Mrs. G," Shawn explained helpfully.
"Only that we couldn't escape," Gus added.
"I could have escaped if you hadn't tugged on the wrong end of the rope!"
"I did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"You were playing escape artists."
"Exactly," Henry confirmed with a short nod. "But, as you see, they brought themselves into a very tricky situation."
"I see," Gus' mom said with a dangerously sweet smile. "Well, Henry. Then please tell me one thing. Why aren't you freeing them already?"
"Mr. Spencer wants us to learn how to free ourselves," Gus explained, unable to hide the excited gleam in his eyes.
"Yeah, he said if we're stupid enough to get us into this situation we gotta be able to get ourselves out again. Also, it might be a good thing to learn with that child snatcher on the run," Shawn added, too late spotting his father's frantic Don't!-movements behind Mrs. G's back.
"What child snatcher!"
---
Present day
There was a marching band. Shawn hated marching bands. He hated them even more when they were badly tuned and even more when he caught them in his head, because that was definitely not a place where he wanted a marching band to be. Not that he wanted one at all. He could live happily ever after without a marching band, yes.
It took him another moment to realize that there was something odd about a marching band in his head. First of all, he didn't invite them and second, he didn't know the tune they were playing and that was awfully rude considering he was the only listener.
After another good moment he realized that it wasn't an actual marching band but simple pain. He was relieved, then confused, then relieved, then the pain started to annoy him and he thought that maybe a marching band wouldn't have been so bad after all, because you could tell them to shut up.
He tried to tell the pain to shut up but all that happened was a weird sound that reminded him of blowing against a paper or aluminium foil and old socks. No, the old socks were the taste and he frowned, which resulted in more pain, more annoyance and the realization that it was dark. His eyes were closed.
A small line of dull light entered his vision when he slowly tried to open them, broadening, giving view on a blurry nothing that dazzled him. Again there was paper blowing and socks and he realized that it was him, making a muffled sound, breathing through his nose, heavily, because something was keeping his mouth from doing so and that was strenuous. Something pulled at his lips, rough, uncomfortable and warm. old cloth. gagged.
He tried to remove it and found himself restrained, a jolt and then nothing. His hands were tied behind his back and the pain in his neck told him he was in a sitting position, his head hanging limply to the side before he had woken up.
Shawn took a couple of more deep breaths, trying to use the fresh air like a drunk would use cold water to clear his senses. And his vision did clear, slowly, zooming in and out from time to time before it settled on a room. An old room. Old, dirty, empty. Cold. A floor lamp in a corner, flickering, most definitely there to make everything look overly dramatic. Whoever put it there on purpose was either a spooky bastard or thought putting an old flickering lamp over there would make him one.
Wow, his neck really hurt.
A room. Right. He was on a chair, tied up, gagged and thinking of the marching band he had probably been knocked out. So what had happened before that?
They had been checking out this old building because Shawn was looking for clues that would place their suspect to the scene of crime and then Gus had...
Gus.
Shawn's head jerked around and the white, hot pain nearly pushed him back into darkness. He grimaced, took another couple of breaths and blinked, leaning back, his instincts scoring when his temple found the back of his best friend's head. The way Gus' head hung to the side sent a searing feeling of discomfort through his own, tense neck and he squeezed his eyes shut, focusing his willpower.
The attempt to bump Gus' back with his elbow failed because since his friend was tied to a chair as well there was also a second backrest. Bone connected with wood and Shawn let out a cry of pain. He looked back over his shoulder and aimed again, lower this time, at the arms that were tied together with a thick rope, probably the same one that held him in this place. This time bone connected with arm and Shawn winced in sympathy before he brought his elbow down a second time.
Gus growled something into his own cloth (which looked newer and cleaner and maybe the third elbow was a little harder for that) and blinked. "Hmmh...?"
"Mhh!" Shawn hummed impatiently. "Mhh hmm!"
The head of his friend rose slowly, his face a grimace of pain.
He looked around. Blinked.
Looked back over his shoulder and saw Shawn. Blinked again.
Shawn started to count to ten but didn't even get to four when Gus started to panic. He wriggled, flailed, only that he couldn't, eyes wide, yelling muffled nonsense. "Mhhh!! Mh hmmmm!"
Shawn yelped, trying his best to keep the chairs from tipping over and cursed, bringing down his elbow again and again and again until Gus "HHN!!"ed at him and flung his head back to hit Shawn in the face. But eventually he stopped tearing.
Shawn blinked, dazed, slightly shaking his head. "Hnnh! Hm phnn nphh hm nh!" he complained, because seriously, a clout after being knocked out was probably the meanest thing ever.
Gus didn't seem to think so and wriggled the restrained arm into his direction. "Mh-hmmmh hmh! Hmmh! Hmh mhm hhhmnnnhh!"
"Mh hm hmh?"
Gus glared. "Hn nhhh hn. Hnmmmhmh!"
Shawn frowned at that and took a look around. "Hmh... Hm nhhh-hnn nh?"
"... Hhn."
"Mhhnnhh hn nhhphhn nhn nhm mhn? Mhn nhn hmnnnh hn hph hmmhn..."
"Hhn."
"Hn nnh mhn hnnnnh mh nn... Hn? Hmnnh hnh hnn hn-"
"Hhn!"
"Mhnd?"
Gus looked at him and tugged at the rope in demand.
Shawn rolled his eyes. "Mh hmm nh hn."
"H nnd."
"Nnd nh."
"H nnd!"
"Nnd nh."
"Hhn!"
"Hnnd hnnd!" Shawn squinted, carefully making out the ropes that held them in place, trying to determine if there was a way to open them. He frowned. "Mhh!"
"Hm?" Gus tried to move and get a better look at his friend, frowning when Shawn's head made frantic movements towards the lamp. "Nh."
"Hphn ph dh!"
"Nh, Hhn." Gus gave him his best 'We are not going to re-enact Indiana Jones here, besides, this is a lamp, not a halberd and just in case you have forgotten, they ended up in a room that was on fire'.
"Hphhh hnnd nhh hd hnh hn hmmnh phnnh," Shawn corrected him.
"H dnnh hnn."
Shawn thought for a moment. "Mh hnnh?"
Gus looked reluctant for a moment. "... hnnd."
Shawn nodded and they started rocking the chair in the lamp's direction, both yelping breathlessly into the rags. When they finally reached it they were both covered in sweat, panting and scared because slowly it dawned on them that this was a really bad situation.
Shawn kicked after the lamp, trying to bring it down when he felt Gus go unexpectedly stiff. He growled because it restrained him even more and kept him from taking a good aim at the lamp but still Gus didn't move a muscle. Shawn frowned impatiently, turning his head and freezing when he saw what Gus saw - that someone was unlocking the door.
They looked at each other, back at the door and confined themselves to screaming.
"Hmmmmmhhhhhhh!!"
"Hmmmmmhhhhhhh!!"
"Hm hnn hn nhhh!!"
"Mh hnnd mphnn hnn!!"
The door swung open and both of them shut up simultaneously to stare.
In came a mullet toupee.
Well.
It definitely was more than just a mullet toupee, because there was a person attached to it, more precisely a person with a gun but neither Shawn nor Gus were able to pay much attention to that. They looked at each other to confirm they were actually seeing the same thing and then stared back at... it.
"I knew I saw someone snooping around the hall," the mullet toupee started in an arrogant, triumphant voice.
Shawn felt dizzy just looking at this thing. Who chose to wear that? Who made these things?
"You two probably think you're a bunch of clever guys, huh? Well, I got news for you, boys. This factory is closed for a reason. Tomorrow morning..." He broke off when he realized his prisoners weren't even looking at him and frowned, which caused the toupee to wriggle.
Gus snorted.
"Hn hmm mh phnn nhh," Shawn muttered in fascination and shock.
Mullet toupee stared at him. "What?"
"Hh phhd: Hn hmm mh phnn nhh," Gus repeated.
"Hn nhhh phn?"
"Hnn phn."
"Nhh, hn phnn n nmh hmm nh."
"You two stop humming in morse right now!"
Shawn and Gus blinked. "Wh?" They looked at each other. "Mphh?"
"Shaddup!" Mullet toupee walked over to them. "I know you're supposed to be some kinda psychic guy... and maybe you are. But it's not gonna do you any good. You wanna know why?" He squinted dangerously and leaned forward to face Shawn and Shawn leaned back into Gus as far as he could because the thing looked contagious. "Because this factory is going to be blown up in less than six hours."
---
There was a crash, two pained cries and then darkness.
Oh. Well, that was certainly the hindrance of this plan. Shawn scowled into the thick black of a non-window-having, broken-lamped factory room and tried to rob forward, fingers frantically searching for shards.
After mullet toupee had left there had been a period of screaming and wriggling until this time the chairs did fall. Right against the floor lamp. Which, had there been a point to it, Shawn would have announced as "on purpose" but right now he was too busy recapturing the room in his head, trying to get an idea where the sharp wreckage might have scattered.
When his fingers found pain he knew he was successful. Grunting, he brought the glass up to his wrist and started rubbing it against the rope, doing his best to ignore the random sounds of pain and panic Gus was making nearby.
When it finally came off he groaned in relief, pushing himself up and wincing at the throbbing pain in his hand when he ripped the piece of cloth from his mouth. "Seriously, that thing is disgusting. Why's yours clean?"
"Mhh hn hmn!"
"Oh. Sorry." His fingers found the rope and he untied his friend. "Are you alright?"
"Dammit, Shawn. I'm not gonna be able to move that arm for weeks!"
"You landed on it?"
"Yes. Yes, I did, Shawn. Because apparently it wasn't enough that you carved your initials into it!"
"Dude, I had to wake you up!"
"It is paralyzed, Shawn."
"Well, duh, yeah. Why is that? Oh! It might be because I just saved our lives with less things than MacGyver!"
"Please, using a piece of broken glass is probably the most cliché way to free you from such a situation."
"Excuse me we were a little short on sunlight and a magnifying glass, otherwise I would have totally burned through the rope with the powers of nature combined!"
"Don't you Captain Planet me, Shawn!"
"Dude, I wouldn't even Gaia you," Shawn interrupted impatiently. "Now can we please move on before we're blown up with all the evidence?" He walked over to the door, silently praying that it wasn't locked.
It wasn't.
He felt his way outside into the dark hallway and found a light switch that made both of them squint in pain.
"Evidence?" Gus recaptured once his eyes had adjusted to the new level brightness.
"Yes. Gus, think. We came here because I wanted to see if the gunk on the dead guy's arm checks with this factory. But now we ran into the actual murderer, even though there is no reason why he should return here. He was trying to get rid of something."
"Yeah, us." Gus frowned. "Did he seriously wear a toupee of a mullet?"
"Yes and that was probably one of the scariest things I've ever see. But!" Shawn rose an index finger to get his friend's attention. "It explains the hair I spotted at the crime scene."
"Wait. You mean he wore this when he murdered the guy?"
"Exactly. Which is why his probably bald head wasn't a suspect for the police when he was brought in for questioning!" Shawn thought for a moment. "But I also think he's attached to that thing."
"Wow." Gus frowned. "That's pretty sick."
"Yeah, I know, this guy has some serious issues. Let's call the cops and get the hell outta here. Maybe grab some tacos on the way to the station."
"Fine. But don't forget it's your turn to buy."
Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 2,264
1986
"Henry! What is going on here?!"
"Winnie, would you please calm down..."
Shawn and Gus exchanged a quick look, both very eager to run away. If they had been able to.
"Calm down! I find my son tied to a kitchen chair and you want me to calm down?"
"We were playing escape artists, Mrs. G," Shawn explained helpfully.
"Only that we couldn't escape," Gus added.
"I could have escaped if you hadn't tugged on the wrong end of the rope!"
"I did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"You were playing escape artists."
"Exactly," Henry confirmed with a short nod. "But, as you see, they brought themselves into a very tricky situation."
"I see," Gus' mom said with a dangerously sweet smile. "Well, Henry. Then please tell me one thing. Why aren't you freeing them already?"
"Mr. Spencer wants us to learn how to free ourselves," Gus explained, unable to hide the excited gleam in his eyes.
"Yeah, he said if we're stupid enough to get us into this situation we gotta be able to get ourselves out again. Also, it might be a good thing to learn with that child snatcher on the run," Shawn added, too late spotting his father's frantic Don't!-movements behind Mrs. G's back.
"What child snatcher!"
---
Present day
There was a marching band. Shawn hated marching bands. He hated them even more when they were badly tuned and even more when he caught them in his head, because that was definitely not a place where he wanted a marching band to be. Not that he wanted one at all. He could live happily ever after without a marching band, yes.
It took him another moment to realize that there was something odd about a marching band in his head. First of all, he didn't invite them and second, he didn't know the tune they were playing and that was awfully rude considering he was the only listener.
After another good moment he realized that it wasn't an actual marching band but simple pain. He was relieved, then confused, then relieved, then the pain started to annoy him and he thought that maybe a marching band wouldn't have been so bad after all, because you could tell them to shut up.
He tried to tell the pain to shut up but all that happened was a weird sound that reminded him of blowing against a paper or aluminium foil and old socks. No, the old socks were the taste and he frowned, which resulted in more pain, more annoyance and the realization that it was dark. His eyes were closed.
A small line of dull light entered his vision when he slowly tried to open them, broadening, giving view on a blurry nothing that dazzled him. Again there was paper blowing and socks and he realized that it was him, making a muffled sound, breathing through his nose, heavily, because something was keeping his mouth from doing so and that was strenuous. Something pulled at his lips, rough, uncomfortable and warm. old cloth. gagged.
He tried to remove it and found himself restrained, a jolt and then nothing. His hands were tied behind his back and the pain in his neck told him he was in a sitting position, his head hanging limply to the side before he had woken up.
Shawn took a couple of more deep breaths, trying to use the fresh air like a drunk would use cold water to clear his senses. And his vision did clear, slowly, zooming in and out from time to time before it settled on a room. An old room. Old, dirty, empty. Cold. A floor lamp in a corner, flickering, most definitely there to make everything look overly dramatic. Whoever put it there on purpose was either a spooky bastard or thought putting an old flickering lamp over there would make him one.
Wow, his neck really hurt.
A room. Right. He was on a chair, tied up, gagged and thinking of the marching band he had probably been knocked out. So what had happened before that?
They had been checking out this old building because Shawn was looking for clues that would place their suspect to the scene of crime and then Gus had...
Gus.
Shawn's head jerked around and the white, hot pain nearly pushed him back into darkness. He grimaced, took another couple of breaths and blinked, leaning back, his instincts scoring when his temple found the back of his best friend's head. The way Gus' head hung to the side sent a searing feeling of discomfort through his own, tense neck and he squeezed his eyes shut, focusing his willpower.
The attempt to bump Gus' back with his elbow failed because since his friend was tied to a chair as well there was also a second backrest. Bone connected with wood and Shawn let out a cry of pain. He looked back over his shoulder and aimed again, lower this time, at the arms that were tied together with a thick rope, probably the same one that held him in this place. This time bone connected with arm and Shawn winced in sympathy before he brought his elbow down a second time.
Gus growled something into his own cloth (which looked newer and cleaner and maybe the third elbow was a little harder for that) and blinked. "Hmmh...?"
"Mhh!" Shawn hummed impatiently. "Mhh hmm!"
The head of his friend rose slowly, his face a grimace of pain.
He looked around. Blinked.
Looked back over his shoulder and saw Shawn. Blinked again.
Shawn started to count to ten but didn't even get to four when Gus started to panic. He wriggled, flailed, only that he couldn't, eyes wide, yelling muffled nonsense. "Mhhh!! Mh hmmmm!"
Shawn yelped, trying his best to keep the chairs from tipping over and cursed, bringing down his elbow again and again and again until Gus "HHN!!"ed at him and flung his head back to hit Shawn in the face. But eventually he stopped tearing.
Shawn blinked, dazed, slightly shaking his head. "Hnnh! Hm phnn nphh hm nh!" he complained, because seriously, a clout after being knocked out was probably the meanest thing ever.
Gus didn't seem to think so and wriggled the restrained arm into his direction. "Mh-hmmmh hmh! Hmmh! Hmh mhm hhhmnnnhh!"
"Mh hm hmh?"
Gus glared. "Hn nhhh hn. Hnmmmhmh!"
Shawn frowned at that and took a look around. "Hmh... Hm nhhh-hnn nh?"
"... Hhn."
"Mhhnnhh hn nhhphhn nhn nhm mhn? Mhn nhn hmnnnh hn hph hmmhn..."
"Hhn."
"Hn nnh mhn hnnnnh mh nn... Hn? Hmnnh hnh hnn hn-"
"Hhn!"
"Mhnd?"
Gus looked at him and tugged at the rope in demand.
Shawn rolled his eyes. "Mh hmm nh hn."
"H nnd."
"Nnd nh."
"H nnd!"
"Nnd nh."
"Hhn!"
"Hnnd hnnd!" Shawn squinted, carefully making out the ropes that held them in place, trying to determine if there was a way to open them. He frowned. "Mhh!"
"Hm?" Gus tried to move and get a better look at his friend, frowning when Shawn's head made frantic movements towards the lamp. "Nh."
"Hphn ph dh!"
"Nh, Hhn." Gus gave him his best 'We are not going to re-enact Indiana Jones here, besides, this is a lamp, not a halberd and just in case you have forgotten, they ended up in a room that was on fire'.
"Hphhh hnnd nhh hd hnh hn hmmnh phnnh," Shawn corrected him.
"H dnnh hnn."
Shawn thought for a moment. "Mh hnnh?"
Gus looked reluctant for a moment. "... hnnd."
Shawn nodded and they started rocking the chair in the lamp's direction, both yelping breathlessly into the rags. When they finally reached it they were both covered in sweat, panting and scared because slowly it dawned on them that this was a really bad situation.
Shawn kicked after the lamp, trying to bring it down when he felt Gus go unexpectedly stiff. He growled because it restrained him even more and kept him from taking a good aim at the lamp but still Gus didn't move a muscle. Shawn frowned impatiently, turning his head and freezing when he saw what Gus saw - that someone was unlocking the door.
They looked at each other, back at the door and confined themselves to screaming.
"Hmmmmmhhhhhhh!!"
"Hmmmmmhhhhhhh!!"
"Hm hnn hn nhhh!!"
"Mh hnnd mphnn hnn!!"
The door swung open and both of them shut up simultaneously to stare.
In came a mullet toupee.
Well.
It definitely was more than just a mullet toupee, because there was a person attached to it, more precisely a person with a gun but neither Shawn nor Gus were able to pay much attention to that. They looked at each other to confirm they were actually seeing the same thing and then stared back at... it.
"I knew I saw someone snooping around the hall," the mullet toupee started in an arrogant, triumphant voice.
Shawn felt dizzy just looking at this thing. Who chose to wear that? Who made these things?
"You two probably think you're a bunch of clever guys, huh? Well, I got news for you, boys. This factory is closed for a reason. Tomorrow morning..." He broke off when he realized his prisoners weren't even looking at him and frowned, which caused the toupee to wriggle.
Gus snorted.
"Hn hmm mh phnn nhh," Shawn muttered in fascination and shock.
Mullet toupee stared at him. "What?"
"Hh phhd: Hn hmm mh phnn nhh," Gus repeated.
"Hn nhhh phn?"
"Hnn phn."
"Nhh, hn phnn n nmh hmm nh."
"You two stop humming in morse right now!"
Shawn and Gus blinked. "Wh?" They looked at each other. "Mphh?"
"Shaddup!" Mullet toupee walked over to them. "I know you're supposed to be some kinda psychic guy... and maybe you are. But it's not gonna do you any good. You wanna know why?" He squinted dangerously and leaned forward to face Shawn and Shawn leaned back into Gus as far as he could because the thing looked contagious. "Because this factory is going to be blown up in less than six hours."
---
There was a crash, two pained cries and then darkness.
Oh. Well, that was certainly the hindrance of this plan. Shawn scowled into the thick black of a non-window-having, broken-lamped factory room and tried to rob forward, fingers frantically searching for shards.
After mullet toupee had left there had been a period of screaming and wriggling until this time the chairs did fall. Right against the floor lamp. Which, had there been a point to it, Shawn would have announced as "on purpose" but right now he was too busy recapturing the room in his head, trying to get an idea where the sharp wreckage might have scattered.
When his fingers found pain he knew he was successful. Grunting, he brought the glass up to his wrist and started rubbing it against the rope, doing his best to ignore the random sounds of pain and panic Gus was making nearby.
When it finally came off he groaned in relief, pushing himself up and wincing at the throbbing pain in his hand when he ripped the piece of cloth from his mouth. "Seriously, that thing is disgusting. Why's yours clean?"
"Mhh hn hmn!"
"Oh. Sorry." His fingers found the rope and he untied his friend. "Are you alright?"
"Dammit, Shawn. I'm not gonna be able to move that arm for weeks!"
"You landed on it?"
"Yes. Yes, I did, Shawn. Because apparently it wasn't enough that you carved your initials into it!"
"Dude, I had to wake you up!"
"It is paralyzed, Shawn."
"Well, duh, yeah. Why is that? Oh! It might be because I just saved our lives with less things than MacGyver!"
"Please, using a piece of broken glass is probably the most cliché way to free you from such a situation."
"Excuse me we were a little short on sunlight and a magnifying glass, otherwise I would have totally burned through the rope with the powers of nature combined!"
"Don't you Captain Planet me, Shawn!"
"Dude, I wouldn't even Gaia you," Shawn interrupted impatiently. "Now can we please move on before we're blown up with all the evidence?" He walked over to the door, silently praying that it wasn't locked.
It wasn't.
He felt his way outside into the dark hallway and found a light switch that made both of them squint in pain.
"Evidence?" Gus recaptured once his eyes had adjusted to the new level brightness.
"Yes. Gus, think. We came here because I wanted to see if the gunk on the dead guy's arm checks with this factory. But now we ran into the actual murderer, even though there is no reason why he should return here. He was trying to get rid of something."
"Yeah, us." Gus frowned. "Did he seriously wear a toupee of a mullet?"
"Yes and that was probably one of the scariest things I've ever see. But!" Shawn rose an index finger to get his friend's attention. "It explains the hair I spotted at the crime scene."
"Wait. You mean he wore this when he murdered the guy?"
"Exactly. Which is why his probably bald head wasn't a suspect for the police when he was brought in for questioning!" Shawn thought for a moment. "But I also think he's attached to that thing."
"Wow." Gus frowned. "That's pretty sick."
"Yeah, I know, this guy has some serious issues. Let's call the cops and get the hell outta here. Maybe grab some tacos on the way to the station."
"Fine. But don't forget it's your turn to buy."
Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 2,264