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All mail for Shawn Spencer, psychic detective, should be left here.

[OOC] The psychic is in

Shawn's claims of being a 'psychic' are, sadly, false. He does, however, have a photographic memory, awesome powers of deduction and razor-sharp observational skills.

And so, because I'm neither psychic nor incredibly observant myself, consider this the post where you help me help Shawn. Comment here with any possible tells your character(s) might have, any tiny details he would be able to spot instantly (physical attribute, nervous habit/tick, what they eat for breakfast every morning without fail, anything. seriously.) that would be informative to who they are as individuals, but might slip by unnoticed by a lesser being observant person.

Thank you kindly.

ETA: This is also probably a good place to tell me what's off limits that you'd rather NOT have him notice. Particularly you thieves/spies/what-have-you.

ETA AGAIN: Any pop culture pup runs the risk of their canon becoming what Shawn uses for his psychic readings. It's not canon puncturing the pup per se, but it's touchy, so it'd be good to let me know if Shawn can use that against your girls and boys or not.
Big G, little g, what begins with G?

Gullible began with a G. Gus began with G. And that right there was no minor coincidence.

The lie had rolled right off of Shawn's tongue with the same ease that two million before it had, and Gus had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. Maybe he was just desperate for a case to finally work on, but whatever the reason, Shawn was just glad he got him to tag along. Who else was going to carry the sandwiches? Not that Gus knew that there were sandwiches in the backpack. He wasn't sure what sort of things those CSI people carried around in their bags -- other than gloves, messy fingerprinting dust and the power to splice one mediocre series into ten or so equally mediocre and completely unnecessary spin-offs -- so he simply settled for insisting it was full of 'supplies'.

They were headed for a boat, but not just any boat. It was a nice boat, the kind of boat that made people (read: Shawn) want to commit grand theft Argo; perfect for the task that Shawn had in mind. The only problem with it was its owner, Scary Vampire Guy, who wasn't to big on sharing. So, really, it was his fault that Shawn had to go out of his and steal the thing. Borrow, really. Without asking.

Luckly for Shawn, Vampire Guy seemed to be drawing a lot of attention of the IPD persuasion lately. Off the record, mostly, but Shawn took notice. It made his story that much more believable if he name-dropped a detective. Like, say, Ray Vecchio.

So it wasn't a complete lie. Not really. Asher was a person of interest for... some reason or another, and Shawn and Gus were going to snoop around in his boat for a while. Shawn just forgot to mention the part about not really knowing or caring why Ray was so interested in him. And the part about taking the boat out in hopes of locating a pod of dolphins and hopefully catching a ride on one.

Shawn had even gone as far as researching to find out that a large group of dolphins was called a pod. That was true dedication, proof that his mind was set on this outing.

"Gus, if you walk any slower the clues are going to get tired of sitting out in plain view and we're actually going to have to try and find them." And the pineapple slices in the backpack with the sandwiches were going to get warm.


[Dinoplot] Everybody walk the dinosaur

On the Island, Shawn had developed a tendency to wander when boredom got the best of him. Being stuck in the middle of the jungle that was nowhere near civilization as he'd gotten to know it over the past two years, didn't seem to curb the habit any. In fact, it might have actually made it all the more tempting, in that strange way that things which were insanely dangerous tended to be.

While the others were tucked in out of the rain, taking shelter at the mouth of a cave that didn't appear to be inhabited by something that could have potentially made a meal out of them, Shawn decided to take that as his opportunity to slip away. It helped that the rain let up just slightly.

Armed with nothing but his wits and his Swiss Army Knife, the tiny flashlight at the end of which cutting through the darkness and lighting his path, Shawn trudged on. His eyes and ears were more attuned to his surrounding than ever, because he wasn't at a diner with his dad playing another annoying round of How Many Hats, Shawn?, he was in the middle of the jungle, where giant prehistoric lizards who could take off his head in one bite, therefore rendering it impossible for him to ever wear a hat again lived.


At some point during his trek, prompted by nothing in particular, Shawn had begun debating which version of Walk the Dinosaur was superior: the original by Was (Was Not) or the George Clinton cover. Maybe it wasn't really a fair fight. None of the members of Was (Was Not) tap danced on the back of a brontosaurus in their video, unlike Clinton's. Plus his version was featured in that fantastically horrible live-action Super Mario flick. That might have been a strike against it for most people, but Shawn wasn't most people.

When his flashlight began flickering, Shawn stopped in his tracks, thwacking it against the palm of his hand a few times before shining it on and directly into his eyes, unfortunately. Some hand flapping, a disgruntled noise and a few blinks later and he turned the beam out in front of him again. The noise that came out of him next was the sound of a scream that was more fitting of a twelve-year-old girl than a thirty-year-old man, or maybe it was fitting of anyone who ever happened to find themselves within spitting distance of a living, breathing T-Rex.

Or a non-living, non-breathing, built-to-scale representation of the head of a T-Rex.
In his defense, though, it was dark, raining and Gus' attention to detail on that damn thing was still mind boggling.

"Danny!" Shawn chirped as if greeting an old friend, scurrying forward to heft the giant dino head up and over his own as protection from the rain. He wasn't sure how or why the thing was out there, but then he wasn't really sure about those same things in regards to himself, either. Trying to make any sort of sense out of it was a job for someone with an attention span much longer than his. But he did know a sign when he shrieked like a little girl at one; the next T-Rex head he stumbled across might have actually had the rest of the animal attached to it.

Of course, now all he had to do was managed to navigate himself all the way back to where the others had set up camp for the night while wearing a giant dinosaur head. Easy peasy.
One minute Shawn is sitting behind his desk at the Psych office, lining up a shot at the wastebasket with a freshly crumpled ball of paper, and the next he's on his ass, thoroughly soaked within seconds and holding a soggy ball of mush.

Flinging the glob of paper aside, he quickly scrambles to his feet, staggering backwards a few paces until he hits something, back flush up against the trunk of a tree, huffing and puffing and trying to get his bearings. Sure, he always thought having the power to teleport would be awesome -- if given the choice, he would have gone for the power to fly or x-ray vision first, though -- but it was only cool when the teleporting was voluntary. And when rain wasn't involved!

"Okay!" Shawn yelled, squinting his eyes against the rain as it continued to pelt him relentlessly. "I don't want to play anymore!"

And that was probably a first.
Quiet and reflective were probably the last two words anyone would ever used to describe Shawn Spencer. Inventing new words just to avoid using those two in particular was likely a more logical way to go about things. It took something pretty earthshaking to ebb his special brand of controlled chaos and get him to stand still - to just stop. Maybe even collaborate and listen.

It was nightfall, and Shawn was still in more or less the same spot he'd been in since late that afternoon, one of the more secluded stretches of beach that had taken entirely too long to go to. He wasn't really looking forward to schlepping his way back to the Compound, and not only because that would involve waking the kids.

Dermot and Lassie had both tired themselves out about an hour ago, after God only knew how many rounds of chasing each other up and down the beach. He wasn't sure who won in the end, but they were both out cold. Not dead, though. Shawn checked. Whenever he finally decided to go and rejoined what passed for the rest of civilization around these parts, he'd need to remember to check on Gus. He probably wasn't going to appreciate having his pulse randomly monitored, especially if he was already asleep, but what were best friend for if not to make sure the other was still amongst the living? Or still there at all.

Juliet was gone - vanished, the way people tended to do. Not in the real world, but here. Here, it was 'normal'. Whatever that meant.

He'd been brought in on plenty of the SBPD's missing persons cases back home, knew the procedure inside and out, not that he was ever one for procedure or rules or anything that even remotely resembled by-the-book detective work. Not that it mattered either way now. Missing wasn't the same as vanished.

Vanished sounded a whole lot more permanent.

Some days, this tropical paradise island stuff wasn't all it was cracked up to be. In fact, Shawn would be willing to go as far as saying it sucked.

[ooc] Meme - Between The Lines

What this meme is all about is expanding on that, to better create a personal history that you can then use to better build personal development. To paraphrase Lindsay, "it's not intended to be a way of avoiding/handwaving actual threads but rather a way of kickstarting them and getting a better idea of where our characters stand with each other. It's a small island, and it's likely that a lot of our pups have interacted, maybe in little ways." The details can be silly or trivial (They see each other at breakfast everyday), or a shared anecdote (Remember that time when they got attacked by the angry parrot?), or the seeds of a bigger plot to be played out later.

Because it sort of goes hand in hand with this, if you want anything involving Shawn's 'psychic' ability to play a part and you've not done so already, please to be commenting to his primer. He's the fake psychic, I'm not.

The psychic is in!