(FIC) (Psych) "The Consulting Lady" (Shawn Gen) (Genderswap) (PG) (1/1)
Title: The Consulting Lady
Author: rise_your_dead/Missy
Fandom: Psych
Pairing/characters: None; Shawn, Gus, Lassie and Henry make named appearances.
Rating: PG
Prompt: Genderswap
Word Count: 823
Spoiler: General thematic spoilers.
Warnings: (if any or choose not to warn) : adult content , minor character death.
Summary: A rewriting of the pilot with a genderswapped Shawn
Shawna Spencer was raised in the hope she’d achieve greatness. Instead, she was spending her post-high school years slinging friend fish at a stand in Oswego Wisconsin while entertaining the rest of the kitchen staff with her Rodney Dangerfield impression.
Naturally, Shawna wasn’t terribly popular with her fellow dishwashers. Her flightiness was a big factor but the fact that she tended to use up all of the Palmolive staging epic suds wars with her totally awesome rubber duckie- shaped plate scraper. They tolerate her until the entire kitchen ‘accidentally’ floods with soap suds during a holiday party. Then she was canned.
Then there was the job as a belly dancer in Akron, and the pizza delivery one in New York, and the forest guide gig up in Canada. By the time she ran out of money she had to hitch-hike her way home on the back of a well-stocked burro.
She was so broke that she had no choice but to return to Santa Barbara and the safety of her father’s cozy house.
Henry was less than happy to see her, but he didn’t kick her out even after she ground Cheeto crumbs into the upholstery. She took up residence among the Transformers of her youth, the My Pretty Pony bedsheets and the collection of Gameboy Games. Her father gave her a two month grace period before he suggested she ‘get up off her lazy ass’ and look for a job.
Shawna knew that opportunity wasn’t just going to knock on her door - she was going to have to pound the pavement for it. That opportunity arrived in the ultimate form of a crime scene that jammed the 105 while she was on her way home from a ‘job hunt’ - AKA, a debate with her local comic book provider over whether or not The Hulk could take Superman in a fight.
Her father had trained her well; his obsessive fear that someone might someday kidnap Shawna and murder her had finally paid off a dividend that wasn’t not a really cool can of mace or a barbed wire-laden chastity belt. She blandished her way into the crime scene, squinted, studied the body, and managed to figure out that the victim was shot from a .45 degree angle.
“How in the hell did you notice that?” There was a head detective, and she was saying things, but the words went right over Shawna’s head. She was too busy flirting with the cute little blonde junior detective and making accusations about what bullets can do in a wild attempt at impress her, telling them to be on the lookout for a shooter…one with dark hair, she judges, secretly zeroing in on a strand of dark lying atop the woman’s limp white hand. In four hours, her APB panned out, an that night she found herself standing in front of the chief of police accepting a position as a junior crime scene consultant.
****
Two days later, she called up her best friend-from-the-womb Gus and told him to meet her down by the pier. Gus made a very big deal about how Shawna had never called or written him from the road, but Shawna smoothed it all over with promises of candy and long talks.
When Gus showed up for their meeting, he didn’t expect to be faced with an empty storefront and Shawna’s grinning face.
“Whatever you’re trying to do, I want no part of it.”
Shawna rested her Doc Martins on the rim of the curb. “Gus, don’t you remember our dream?”
“Shawn, we’ve talked about this before.” Gus counted his points upon his fingers. “You can’t rule the world in a Voltron. The amount of money it would cost just to make one…”
She cut him off. “You’ve made a very smart point, and I’m choosing to ignore it.” She punched his shoulder. “I’m talking about the other dream! The detective agency dream!”
“No!” Gus tried to squirm away. “No, Shawna! I have a job and a house and a car! I don’t need to spend my spare time getting shot at.”
She stared at him blankly. “Your eyes are telling me no…”
“….Do NOT go R Kelly on me…”
“BUT YOUR BANK ACCOUNT! YOUR BANK ACCOUNT IS TELLING ME YESSS!” Shawna warbled.
“And now everybody’s looking.” Gus’ teeth met in a clash.
She threw an arm around Gus’ neck, her plaid skirt swaying like a matador’s cape as she said, “Just relax for a second and think about it! It’s a brand new start, Gus. It’s going to be pure. GENIUS.”
“You’re squeezing my carotid!” whined Gus.
She let go. “I can’t wait to show you the inside she said.”
With easy charm, she coaxed Gus into their rented office. Gus told himself that there was no way on God’s green earth he was going to co-sign the lease.
But a week later his name rested beside Shawna’s on the dotted line.
Author: rise_your_dead/Missy
Fandom: Psych
Pairing/characters: None; Shawn, Gus, Lassie and Henry make named appearances.
Rating: PG
Prompt: Genderswap
Word Count: 823
Spoiler: General thematic spoilers.
Warnings: (if any or choose not to warn) : adult content , minor character death.
Summary: A rewriting of the pilot with a genderswapped Shawn
Shawna Spencer was raised in the hope she’d achieve greatness. Instead, she was spending her post-high school years slinging friend fish at a stand in Oswego Wisconsin while entertaining the rest of the kitchen staff with her Rodney Dangerfield impression.
Naturally, Shawna wasn’t terribly popular with her fellow dishwashers. Her flightiness was a big factor but the fact that she tended to use up all of the Palmolive staging epic suds wars with her totally awesome rubber duckie- shaped plate scraper. They tolerate her until the entire kitchen ‘accidentally’ floods with soap suds during a holiday party. Then she was canned.
Then there was the job as a belly dancer in Akron, and the pizza delivery one in New York, and the forest guide gig up in Canada. By the time she ran out of money she had to hitch-hike her way home on the back of a well-stocked burro.
She was so broke that she had no choice but to return to Santa Barbara and the safety of her father’s cozy house.
Henry was less than happy to see her, but he didn’t kick her out even after she ground Cheeto crumbs into the upholstery. She took up residence among the Transformers of her youth, the My Pretty Pony bedsheets and the collection of Gameboy Games. Her father gave her a two month grace period before he suggested she ‘get up off her lazy ass’ and look for a job.
Shawna knew that opportunity wasn’t just going to knock on her door - she was going to have to pound the pavement for it. That opportunity arrived in the ultimate form of a crime scene that jammed the 105 while she was on her way home from a ‘job hunt’ - AKA, a debate with her local comic book provider over whether or not The Hulk could take Superman in a fight.
Her father had trained her well; his obsessive fear that someone might someday kidnap Shawna and murder her had finally paid off a dividend that wasn’t not a really cool can of mace or a barbed wire-laden chastity belt. She blandished her way into the crime scene, squinted, studied the body, and managed to figure out that the victim was shot from a .45 degree angle.
“How in the hell did you notice that?” There was a head detective, and she was saying things, but the words went right over Shawna’s head. She was too busy flirting with the cute little blonde junior detective and making accusations about what bullets can do in a wild attempt at impress her, telling them to be on the lookout for a shooter…one with dark hair, she judges, secretly zeroing in on a strand of dark lying atop the woman’s limp white hand. In four hours, her APB panned out, an that night she found herself standing in front of the chief of police accepting a position as a junior crime scene consultant.
****
Two days later, she called up her best friend-from-the-womb Gus and told him to meet her down by the pier. Gus made a very big deal about how Shawna had never called or written him from the road, but Shawna smoothed it all over with promises of candy and long talks.
When Gus showed up for their meeting, he didn’t expect to be faced with an empty storefront and Shawna’s grinning face.
“Whatever you’re trying to do, I want no part of it.”
Shawna rested her Doc Martins on the rim of the curb. “Gus, don’t you remember our dream?”
“Shawn, we’ve talked about this before.” Gus counted his points upon his fingers. “You can’t rule the world in a Voltron. The amount of money it would cost just to make one…”
She cut him off. “You’ve made a very smart point, and I’m choosing to ignore it.” She punched his shoulder. “I’m talking about the other dream! The detective agency dream!”
“No!” Gus tried to squirm away. “No, Shawna! I have a job and a house and a car! I don’t need to spend my spare time getting shot at.”
She stared at him blankly. “Your eyes are telling me no…”
“….Do NOT go R Kelly on me…”
“BUT YOUR BANK ACCOUNT! YOUR BANK ACCOUNT IS TELLING ME YESSS!” Shawna warbled.
“And now everybody’s looking.” Gus’ teeth met in a clash.
She threw an arm around Gus’ neck, her plaid skirt swaying like a matador’s cape as she said, “Just relax for a second and think about it! It’s a brand new start, Gus. It’s going to be pure. GENIUS.”
“You’re squeezing my carotid!” whined Gus.
She let go. “I can’t wait to show you the inside she said.”
With easy charm, she coaxed Gus into their rented office. Gus told himself that there was no way on God’s green earth he was going to co-sign the lease.
But a week later his name rested beside Shawna’s on the dotted line.