sixwordstories | (no subject)

*is sitting on the floor, between Lassie's legs and still holding to the Head Detective's shirt. He looks up with big sad eyes.* I think I broke my bootie.... *D:*

Sharing it with the world is totally the most probable outcome.

A healthy share of one of the most delicious nacho flavored delight. Seriously, who willingly gives cheetos? People in loooove! That kinda people gives them away!

*forceably on the edge of his seat, bent over Shawn. Don't offer to kiss it better later. Don't offer to kiss it better later. At least pretend to be harder to get, Carlton!* .... I think I've heard you say something like that before...

That's what I suspected.

Cheetos? That's it? That's a complete and utter gip. I thought it'd be something a little more interesting at least.

*Shawn's lower lip begins to do it's trembling act. It's sad. The saddest trembling lip you'll ever see, Carlton Lassiter.* .... I thought we had a procedure when it came to broken booties. I think it's called a 0690.

Or you could come out by yourself... *raises his hands and pretends to measure the options*

Some people give cheetos while other people gives birds. I'd take the cheetos. Or cheetoes shaped as birds, if you wanna be extra original.

*His head craned up to check the area within earshot. The last thing he needed was McNab asking about procedural codes that didn't exist. It hurt his neck though, and his back wasn't massively happy, either* That's an off duty only procedure.

*reaches out and pushes down one of his hands* Not going to happen.

I'll remember what I need to give you if you ever threaten me with divorce then. Though, there's a good chance I'll remember and then chose not to give you the Cheetos anyway.

Feeling like off-duttying tonight, officer? *smirks, not lowering his voice at all. And still hanging from Lassie's shirt, like an oversized clip on Shawn toy*

Fine... *sighs* I guess we'll have to do this the hard way.

Oh, Carly.... *puts a hand on his chest, then wipes an imaginary tear away* That's gotta be the most unromantic proposal since Jeff Miranda proposed to Snookie on the cover of that magazine!

*his face doesn't even react, he was expecting Shawn to be indiscrete about any leway Carlton gave him. That didn't mean his stomach didn't lurch a bit, but that could have been the position he was in* I'm busy tonight.

It's the only way to do it.

*snorts and shakes his head* You'll get a penguin before you get that.

Is it bridge night? Because that would be a total reasonable reason to call off a night of wild 0690's.

There's always the Shawn way to do it.

*pouts, cocking his head to the side, 'till his cheek brushes his shoulder* But I'm alergic to penguins, Carly! Trust me, I learnt the nasty way.

No, I have other plans that don't involve bending myself to your wants. *he says, still bent over*

What does the Shawn way of doing it look like?

Really? What do they do to you then?

That's funny... *rubs the fabric of his shirt with his thumbs, his face blank in disappointment* Because I thought I was doing the bending over. *shrugs* If you're willing to change that I'm game!

It often looks like a 80s sitcom, with extra falling on a couch while laughing and solving our problems with a hug.

Telling you would ruin 13 years of therapy.

*finally moves one hand to disentangle it from his shirt* Why don't you just remember that postition for another night? I'm sure it'll keep.

Do we have to do that in public in a coffee shop at all?

Tell me. I want to know. I'm sure your mom will fix you again just fine.

Oh, c'mon, Carly! Doing your laundry late at night can't possibly be worth turning this down! *his right hand resists, though. It hangs to his shirt like a kitty on a motivational poster*

If you wanna do it in private then you'll to get a twin and a couple of blonde wigs. *shrugs* Don't ask, it's a rule.

I bet that's what your therapits say all the time....

Are you under the mistaken impression that I live in an apartment black and need to do my laundry at night? *tries to wriggle his fingers beneath Shawn's to prise them open*

... Are you not so subtly telling me about a fantasy you might have?

What would you know about what my therapists say?

That sounds kinda like apartment-ism. Gus would so bitchslap you if he could hear you right now. *his fingers won't let go. His legs support this motion by wrapping themselves around his ankle* Dude, seriously, what could be possibly more interesting than hanging with me?

Not at all. I'm just subtly implanting an idea in your head.

It's a psychic's hobby. It was either reading yoru therapist's mind or collecting cuppons.