Psych: Molasses in January (Gus/Shawn, G, ~1,000 words.)
Gus/Shawn, G, ~1,000 words. The one where they're, um, snails.
The only excuse I have for this is that I fell in love with my own metaphor a little too much and that I wrote a great deal of this at 3AM. Yep.
Molasses in January
Burton Guster crawled slowly and steadily towards work, his samples case balanced at the top of his shell. (How he got it up there? Anyone's guess, really.) His tie, a very nice dandelion leaf specimen, dragged along in the dirt beside him.
*
Elsewhere, Shawn Spencer was scaling a mountain. Currently, the mountain was winning, but he'd heard that there was a fungus formation up here that looked just like Eric Estrada circa 1979 and his life would not be complete without seeing this firsthand.
About ten minutes into his progress, a little girl picked him up off the rock. "Hey, mom, look! Look what I found!"
"Oh, great," Shawn said, rolling his eyestalks. "Now I'm going to have to climb that all over again. I mean, really. Do you have any idea how long ten minutes is in the life span of a snail? Do you?"
*
"Gus, c'mon. You know one of those ants is lying. You can see it in their eyes."
"Do ants even have eyes?"
"I... honestly don't know."
"And we're supposed to figure out which one did it how?"
"That's a very good question. I think our first hurdle is going to be telling them apart. After that: telling them apart. Did I mention telling them apart? Because, seriously, they're pretty much all exactly alike and they all talk at once."
"You mean they all interrupt each other?"
"No, I mean like they do this Children of the Corn thing where they all say the exact same thing at the exact same time and bleeeeaugh," Shawn shook his eyestalks like they'd just been covered in something horrible. "I'm getting mucus chills just thinking about it."
Gus shivered all along his cilia. "That's just freaky."
*
"Dude, if you crawl any slower you'll actually be moving backwards."
"I could go a whole lot faster," Gus panted, milimetering along at a pace that was excruciating even by the standards of their species, "if I didn't have to carry your stupid fat-ass shell, too."
"Well we couldn't really call the game horsey, then, could we?"
*
"Gus."
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"I'm sniffing out our culprit."
"Gus."
"What, Shawn?"
"Gus, I don't know how to break this to you gently..." Shawn said, looking at him like Gus had just accidentally tried a bite from the special mushroom patch. "But I'm pretty sure we don't have noses."
Gus laughed, which was a hissy, gooey sort of sound. "Please. Of course I don't have a nose." He looked smug. "I have a supersmeller."
Shawn blinked. "Right, right. Totally different. Forget I said anything."
He watched in fascination as Gus continued to sniff along the trail up the tree.
*
"It's your smooth chocolate shell, Gus, it just drives me crazy." Shawn fluttered his side along Gus' shell, leaving behind a thin, rainbow-colored sheen. "Not even one little taste?"
Gus scooted away which, due to his physiological restrictions, took about three minutes.
"First of all, you sorry excuse for an invertebrate, my shell is not made of real chocolate. Second of all, if you actually did try to eat it -- yes, even just a little bite -- that'd be cannibalism, Shawn."
"Just a teensy-weensy --"
"Cannibalism. And you know my policy about not being friends with a cannibal."
"Yes, yes I do. So I'm guessing a lick is out of the question, then?"
*
"It has been a pleasure doing business with you, sir." Gus said, doffing his hat.
His client Barnabus Whileworth, a wasp in a snappy suit, inclined his head and fluttered his wings.
"Here's my card." Gus wiggled around a little, and a tiny piece of white paper fell out of his shell. "Please don't hesitate to call if you have any questions, any questions at all."
Barnabus picked it up. It read: Burton Guster, Snail, Esq.
*
"I refuse."
"Dude, it's a lawn."
"A lawn of death."
"Gus, do you hear yourself right now? Do you know what you sound like?"
Gus didn't dignify that with a response.
"You sound like a shell-less little slug, that's what you sound like. Now man up. We're going in, we're going slimy, and if we hurry, we might get there before tomorrow."
*
Early the next morning, the little girl found them crawling happily all over the piece of pineapple upside down cake she'd forgotten in the backyard.
*
"You're sure this is our guy?" Lassiter asked, crossing his lower two feelers skeptically. "He looks just like all the other ants."
The ant stared back at them with what may or may not have been eyes.
"Huh," Juliet said, leaning her eyestalks in with fascination. "I thought he was a termite."
*
"Good work, boys," Vick said from her perch on the bulbous red and white mushroom. "You solved that one in record time." Juliet and Lassiter escorted the ant-termite-criminal into the underground detention burrow.
"That's what I'm talkin' about," Gus said.
He and Shawn shell-bumped.
*
Shawn spent two minutes sidling up to Gus. "Nap time?" He asked hopefully.
Gus nodded, which was really more of a very slow wave-like motion on his face. "I think we've earned it."
Shawn oozed closer, tangling up their eyestalks and feelers.
A few drowsy minutes later, he mumbled sleepily, "Gus, am I really a boy if I have girlparts and guyparts?"
"Well." Gus seriously considered the matter. "You've got a guy name. I think most girls spell it 'S-e-a-n.'"
"And I've never met a girl named Magic Shell."
"I told you to stop calling me that."
"Just one bite of the magic, that's all I'm asking --"
"Just shut up and go to sleep."
Shawn sighed. "Fine. But after we wake up you're telling me whether it's possible for me to accidentally give birth to my own love child."
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The only excuse I have for this is that I fell in love with my own metaphor a little too much and that I wrote a great deal of this at 3AM. Yep.
Molasses in January
Burton Guster crawled slowly and steadily towards work, his samples case balanced at the top of his shell. (How he got it up there? Anyone's guess, really.) His tie, a very nice dandelion leaf specimen, dragged along in the dirt beside him.
*
Elsewhere, Shawn Spencer was scaling a mountain. Currently, the mountain was winning, but he'd heard that there was a fungus formation up here that looked just like Eric Estrada circa 1979 and his life would not be complete without seeing this firsthand.
About ten minutes into his progress, a little girl picked him up off the rock. "Hey, mom, look! Look what I found!"
"Oh, great," Shawn said, rolling his eyestalks. "Now I'm going to have to climb that all over again. I mean, really. Do you have any idea how long ten minutes is in the life span of a snail? Do you?"
*
"Gus, c'mon. You know one of those ants is lying. You can see it in their eyes."
"Do ants even have eyes?"
"I... honestly don't know."
"And we're supposed to figure out which one did it how?"
"That's a very good question. I think our first hurdle is going to be telling them apart. After that: telling them apart. Did I mention telling them apart? Because, seriously, they're pretty much all exactly alike and they all talk at once."
"You mean they all interrupt each other?"
"No, I mean like they do this Children of the Corn thing where they all say the exact same thing at the exact same time and bleeeeaugh," Shawn shook his eyestalks like they'd just been covered in something horrible. "I'm getting mucus chills just thinking about it."
Gus shivered all along his cilia. "That's just freaky."
*
"Dude, if you crawl any slower you'll actually be moving backwards."
"I could go a whole lot faster," Gus panted, milimetering along at a pace that was excruciating even by the standards of their species, "if I didn't have to carry your stupid fat-ass shell, too."
"Well we couldn't really call the game horsey, then, could we?"
*
"Gus."
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"I'm sniffing out our culprit."
"Gus."
"What, Shawn?"
"Gus, I don't know how to break this to you gently..." Shawn said, looking at him like Gus had just accidentally tried a bite from the special mushroom patch. "But I'm pretty sure we don't have noses."
Gus laughed, which was a hissy, gooey sort of sound. "Please. Of course I don't have a nose." He looked smug. "I have a supersmeller."
Shawn blinked. "Right, right. Totally different. Forget I said anything."
He watched in fascination as Gus continued to sniff along the trail up the tree.
*
"It's your smooth chocolate shell, Gus, it just drives me crazy." Shawn fluttered his side along Gus' shell, leaving behind a thin, rainbow-colored sheen. "Not even one little taste?"
Gus scooted away which, due to his physiological restrictions, took about three minutes.
"First of all, you sorry excuse for an invertebrate, my shell is not made of real chocolate. Second of all, if you actually did try to eat it -- yes, even just a little bite -- that'd be cannibalism, Shawn."
"Just a teensy-weensy --"
"Cannibalism. And you know my policy about not being friends with a cannibal."
"Yes, yes I do. So I'm guessing a lick is out of the question, then?"
*
"It has been a pleasure doing business with you, sir." Gus said, doffing his hat.
His client Barnabus Whileworth, a wasp in a snappy suit, inclined his head and fluttered his wings.
"Here's my card." Gus wiggled around a little, and a tiny piece of white paper fell out of his shell. "Please don't hesitate to call if you have any questions, any questions at all."
Barnabus picked it up. It read: Burton Guster, Snail, Esq.
*
"I refuse."
"Dude, it's a lawn."
"A lawn of death."
"Gus, do you hear yourself right now? Do you know what you sound like?"
Gus didn't dignify that with a response.
"You sound like a shell-less little slug, that's what you sound like. Now man up. We're going in, we're going slimy, and if we hurry, we might get there before tomorrow."
*
Early the next morning, the little girl found them crawling happily all over the piece of pineapple upside down cake she'd forgotten in the backyard.
*
"You're sure this is our guy?" Lassiter asked, crossing his lower two feelers skeptically. "He looks just like all the other ants."
The ant stared back at them with what may or may not have been eyes.
"Huh," Juliet said, leaning her eyestalks in with fascination. "I thought he was a termite."
*
"Good work, boys," Vick said from her perch on the bulbous red and white mushroom. "You solved that one in record time." Juliet and Lassiter escorted the ant-termite-criminal into the underground detention burrow.
"That's what I'm talkin' about," Gus said.
He and Shawn shell-bumped.
*
Shawn spent two minutes sidling up to Gus. "Nap time?" He asked hopefully.
Gus nodded, which was really more of a very slow wave-like motion on his face. "I think we've earned it."
Shawn oozed closer, tangling up their eyestalks and feelers.
A few drowsy minutes later, he mumbled sleepily, "Gus, am I really a boy if I have girlparts and guyparts?"
"Well." Gus seriously considered the matter. "You've got a guy name. I think most girls spell it 'S-e-a-n.'"
"And I've never met a girl named Magic Shell."
"I told you to stop calling me that."
"Just one bite of the magic, that's all I'm asking --"
"Just shut up and go to sleep."
Shawn sighed. "Fine. But after we wake up you're telling me whether it's possible for me to accidentally give birth to my own love child."
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