DISCLAIMER: I do not own Psych, the characters, set, or props. A/N: Krewe names have been changed to preserve the integrity of actual Krewes and members.
Chapter 1 – Beignets and Bodies
The streets were eerily quiet this early in the morning, their only occupants the litter from the night before – bead-filled trees hung silent watch over the doubloons, cups, and trinkets that lay scattered among the trash on the asphalt, a testimony to the festivities that had ended just hours earlier. A homeless man, pushing a shopping cart, stopped every few feet to investigate the unwanted debris, mumbling to himself as he slowly made his way down Canal Street.
The smell of chicory coffee began to waft down the street, as café owners opened their shops, hoping to catch the last few party revelers and tourists on their way out of town. A horse whinnied in front of St. Louis Cathedral, where parishioners would soon begin arriving for Ash Wednesday Mass, atoning for their sins from Fat Tuesday.
Clarence Robichaux, the 3rd shift front desk clerk at the Bienville Hotel, smiled as a small group of visitors stepped off the elevator and into the hotel lobby, heading out for an early breakfast and a quick stroll along the riverbank, before heading to the airport for their flight back to California. He was polishing the mahogany counter, eagerly awaiting his relief and sleep, when one of the men, looking like he had just tumbled out of bed - or perhaps had never quite made it, the man thought to himself, recalling the amount of beads and "hand grenade" cups the gentleman had come back with earlier that morning – staggered up to the counter, clearly not quite awake or sober.
"May I help - ," Clarence cheerfully began, when the tousled-hair man, mashed his hand into the clerk's face, shushing him. "Please, not so loud.." groaned Shawn Spencer, clearly the worse for wear after an evening of partying and one too many visits to Bourbon St, putting his finger against the other man's lips, and letting his head fall onto the desk.
"Shawn..," Juliet O'Hara said, making a move to remove her fiancé off the clerk, when she was interrupted by a patronizing voice from behind. "Tch..I told you not to drink so much, Shawn. I told you we had to catch an early flight back to San Francisco," Shawn's best friend, Burton "Gus" Guster quipped, pushing Juliet out of the way as he made his way to the counter, lecture finger ready. "But no…you had to keep us out all night, when we should have been packing and resting."
"C'mon son, we're in New Orleans…it's Mardi Gras…I had to cross it off my bucket list," Shawn mumbled, slowly lifting his head off the counter, "besides, I couldn't leave without catching a glimpse of Quentin Tarantino.."
"You know that's right!" Gus chimed in, fist bumping the man he had just berated, a wide smile threatening in the corners of his mouth.
"Just point me to the coffee and aspirin, and I'll be good to go," Shawn whispered to Clarence, grabbing the clerk's hand and pointing it towards his chest.
Juliet quickly pulled Shawn away, shooting an apologetic look to the bemused employee. "I'm so sorry. I would normally make up an excuse for Shawn's behavior, but you've probably heard them all. If you could please recommend a quick place to grab something to eat, we will be out of your hair."
Five minutes and one very grumpy Shawn later, the three found themselves walking down Decatur Street, headed towards the French Market and Café du Monde, ready to devour beignets and café au lait.
"Remind me again why we are up so early?" Shawn whined, zipping up his hoodie against the wind gusts. For being so far South, he was taken aback – albeit pleasantly – at the cool temperature, although the humidity threatened to stifle his breathing.
"We have to catch an early flight back to San Francisco, Shawn, remember? We discussed this when we booked our tickets two months ago," Gus replied, shooting daggers at his friend. "Oh that's right, you were busy betting on a Japanese Pickle Maker Tsukemono on ebay…on MY account!"
"Gus, buddy, not so loud. Besides, I paid you back," Shawn countered, stepping over a puddle that looked and smelled a little too much like urine.
"With nasty-tasting cucumber slices, Shawn!" Gus exclaimed, stepping into the afore-mentioned puddle, and letting out a choice word under his breath.
"How was I supposed to know it took time to make pickles?"
"You read the directions!"
"Boys!" Juliet exclaimed, turning around to face the other two, who had stopped walking moments earlier, "as much as I love listening to your banter, can we please just enjoy a few minutes in silence? You're giving me a headache."
Shawn and Gus stared sheepishly at Juliet, and resumed their trek towards breakfast, smacking each other when Juliet wasn't looking. They made it all of 30 seconds, and were getting ready to cross the street, before Shawn, who believed that time, like beauty, was in the eye of the beholder, made one final plea.
"Just one more day, Jules? We didn't get to go to the Insectarium – Gus wants to see the butterfly exhibit!"
Before Juliet could respond, a strangled cry from the balcony above them pierced the morning calm, and with a sickening thud, a body landed just inches away from where Gus was staring, open-mouthed. As blood pooled around the lifeless woman's face, and Gus ran screaming in the direction they had just come from, Shawn said the first thing that came to mind.
"Guess we're staying another day."