#thanks for tagging me!! i rlly love this au but i have neglected it for the last month or however long

[carrotsofthepirabbean]

WIP Tag Game

Rules: Share a snippet from whatever you’re currently working on, and then tag 5 people.

tagged by @philtstone

Genuinely don't know 5 people I can tag so here's one and if anyone else wants to, go for it! @treacherous-vigilante A very unserious snippet from the Psych Star Trek AU, in which Shawn attends an interrogation pretending to be half-Vulcan. He's kind of terrible at it.

Captain Silva is a skinny, tall woman of about his dad’s age, with the sickest scar Shawn’s ever seen in his life stretching across the bridge of her nose and up through her right eye. Her limbs, all apparently as skinny and tall and she already is, are folded up in her seat at the table. There’s not really any way that a bundle of pipe-cleaners should rightly be able to look quite so impressive and hard-core, but she manages it.

It's unreasonable that a (suspected) tribble smuggler should seem this cool. Especially not when the (suspected) tribble smuggler's (suspected) smuggling ship in question has a lame-ass loser name like the Ostrich.

The air of uncooperativeness billowing off Captain Silva is a lesser matter. Shawn, after all, is an expert at intimidation.

“Is he gonna stop starin’ at me?”

Silva turns back to Lassiter, and Shawn takes the opportunity to blink as many times as physically possible in the microsecond period before her eyes are back on him.

“Unlikely,” Lassie says, refusing to look in Shawn’s direction.

“And does he have to be here?”

“No.”

“Yes,” drones Shawn. “I am employed by SB805’s security team as a consultant, and I must be present at this interrogation in order to effectively perform my duties.”

“Can ya at least blink? It’s freakin’ me out.”

“Vulcans have an additional internal eyelid,” Gus interjects, “and so my colleague’s eyeballs are always moist. He would consider it illogical to expend the extra energy to unnecessarily blink.”

Shawn widens his eyes, whose accompanying eyeballs are definitely no longer fucking moist.

“You’re Vulcan?” Silva’s left eyebrow shoots upwards.

Shawn ignores Lassiter’s audible scoff. “That is incorrect. I am half-Vulcan, half-Human.”

Silva gives him the once over. When her gaze returns to his face, she looks even more skeptical than before. “Ya don’t look Vulcan.”

Shawn flicks his eyes over to the window, frosted and opaque, and behind which he knows, he just knows Jules is watching. She always stands in the same place: about a metre to the right of centre, ostensibly because it’s closest to the door so she can rush in and help if so required.

(He may be privy to the information that it is actually because she can climb up onto the fixed desk so she’s at a height where the cell lights don’t reflect directly into her eyes.)

“And you do not look like a judgmental, dribbling primate and yet—”

“Spencer.”

To her credit, Silva doesn’t react to the devastating insult. Instead she settles back into her seat, arms crossed. After another moment, she kicks her feet up on the corner of the table. Her exuded coolness increases by at least a factor of three.

“Never seen a Vulcan eatin’ Cheetos. Especially not—” she squints at the packet, “—‘Mountain Dew flavour’.”

“Vulcans also have nutritional needs.”

“There’s nothin’ nutritious in that bag. It’s empty calories.”

“Actually,” Shawn argues, “it is full of calories, which therefore give me energy, which I need to stay alive. This particular variety, due to the additional caffeine, possesses six point four times the average energy in a standard Cheeto, per Cheeto.”

(He really, really hopes that Starfish the tribble(s) hasn't found the loose Cheeto he dropped outside the interrogation room and didn't have time to pick up and eat, or the Chief should, must, and will kill him.)

"Spencer,” Lassiter says feelingly, "you disgust me."