Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or Final Fantasy or anything else or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T+
Spoilers: Not much, but possible through series finale, though Marlowe doesn't exist
A/N: This is a stupid stupid STUPID something I do with everything I really really like sooner or later - I take my favorite characters and dump them in Ivalice. If you do not know, and let's face it, if you're a Psych fan, chances are excellent that you do not know, Ivalice is the world in the video game Final Fantasy XII. The reason I'm not calling this a crossover is partly because the characters are too much Psych-oriented for any Final Fantasy fan to get much of anything out of it, but mostly because it's not really a Psych/Final Fantasy XII crossover. I'm also throwing in elements of Dragon Age II, Final Fantasy XIII, Dungeons and Dragons, and maybe even some Harry Potter. Character-wise, though, it will be Psych. And although Shules exists, it will sooner or later get on down to Lassiet, because that's the way I roll, and you can blame Loafer for that. She got me started on it. I didn't see the possibility until I read her stuff. You probably won't read this, because more than likely you won't be able to understand a word of it, but think of it as Psych in fantasy land. I don't even know why I'm posting it, but I guess I'd like to see whether or not it's worth wasting even a little of my time on it. I'm ninety-nine percent sure I am wasting time, but it wouldn't leave my head so I'm tossing it out into the ether to see what may come of it.
Chapter One: Eidolons
Oh God, my head.
It was the first coherent thought Carlton Lassiter had had in quite some time, and brief as it may have been it summed up his situation quite nicely. For the moment it seemed he consisted of nothing but head, throbbing and roughly the size of Montana. Then he felt a gentle hand on his brow, which might have been soothing except for the fact that each individual finger was apparently larger than his face, and harder than granite. That brought back memories he wasn't prepared to deal with right now, and losing consciousness again seemed the wisest course of action.
He stayed under as long as he possibly could, but eventually the wider world outside himself could no longer be refused. He kept his eyes shut awhile longer, though, unready to cope with what lay beyond his closed lids. Then he felt the cool metal rim of a cup pressed against his lips, and cold water poured into his parched mouth. He drank gratefully.
You feel better. The deep, assertive voice in his head was not his own. Cautiously, he opened one eye and closed it again quickly, unable to deal with what he saw. You need food. I will help you to sit up, so that you may feed yourself.
A hand larger than the whole of his torso slipped beneath him with remarkable care, and his limp body was hoisted into a seated position. There seemed no point in flopping about bonelessly, so Lassiter engaged his nearly-forgotten muscles and, to his surprise, found that they still functioned.
Open your eyes, the voice commanded. Perhaps it was his years of police training, but the voice of authority was impossible to disobey.
The first thing he saw was food, a fairly massive pile of it, spilling onto a large silver platter - incredibly, it appeared to be spilling out of an old-style cornucopia, like a Thanksgiving decoration. There was also a golden goblet studded with diamonds and rubies, filled with water.
There is wine, if you prefer, the voice in his head informed him.
"Thank you, water's fine," Lassiter said, very deliberately not looking up. He was aware of the sense of presence - massive, black, overwhelming presence - on the periphery of his vision, and he was simply not prepared to deal with it on a more complex level than he was already. Little as he wanted to, he remembered what had happened to him.
Smaller hands rested upon his shoulders and two soft bodies pressed against his back to prop him up, and he remembered something about that, too, and the memory made the experience less pleasant than it might have been. Whatever it was behind him, he was reasonably certain it wasn't actually a scantily-clad pair of beautiful women.
The sisters make you uncomfortable, the deep voice in his head said.
This entire situation makes me uncomfortable, Lassiter thought.
The world of your origin makes this difficult to accept. We understand. But the luxury of time is one you may not have. It would be best to adapt quickly.
"Great. The dragon-thing can read my mind," Lassiter grumbled.
Eidolon, the "dragon-thing" corrected. I am Bahamut. The sisters are Nyx and Stiria, collectively the Eidolon Shiva. We are creatures of pure magic bound to a dedicated Focus, to serve those who have the strength to defend others - strength you have in good measure. Now we serve you.
A cool, dark hand slid over his shoulder onto his upper chest, and a warm, white hand touched his cheek.
"Uh…what are they doing?" he asked in alarm.
They are healers, and were created in the image of women with strong maternal instincts, Bahamut explained. Eidolons are eternal, and mortal humans are very much as children to us, even the strongest of you. They consider you a particularly pretty child.
Lassiter, who had never been considered a particularly pretty anything, even when he was a child, could think of no response to that, so he chose to ignore it. It did occur to him that their touch didn't feel particularly maternal in any way he'd ever experienced it.
"They…don't talk?"
I am the only Eidolon with the gift of human communication, as I was created to mimic the appearance and abilities of a dragon.
"So dragons exist, then?"
In quantity.
"Great," Lassiter drawled. "And dragons are…telepathic?"
Many are. Some species have the gift of human tongues.
"Telepathic dragons and dinosaurs aren't extinct. Great place I landed in. I don't suppose you know how that happened, by the way?"
Sometimes the veil between worlds grows thin. You and your companions had the misfortune of falling through a hole in that veil.
"Any way of falling back out of here?"
No. The hole to your reality has mended itself.
"Wonderful." He risked a glance around himself. He seemed to be in a cavern of sorts, filled almost past capacity with glittering treasures. Beyond the gigantic form of Bahamut, whom he could not yet bring himself to look upon directly, lay a pile of bleached white bones. The creature they once belonged to must have rivaled the Eidolon in size. By the mass of horns on the sharp-toothed skull and the appearance of batlike wing structures, Lassiter guessed it had been a genuine dragon, which, if his mythology was accurate (he was by no means certain that it was) meant that all the gold and jewels had been the dragon's horde. He wondered what had killed it.
Time is the dragon's only natural foe, the Eidolon informed him, though from time to time a hunter or a hero gets lucky. This particular female died of old age.
"I…can't help but notice that my, er…friends aren't here," Lassiter said.
They were not our priority, Bahamut said telepathically. They ran, leaving you to face the Wild Saurian alone. We do not serve those who abandon others to danger.
"I told them to run," Lassiter said. "O'Hara was out of ammunition, and the others weren't armed, except for a couple of Swiss Army knives."
That is not a distinction we are equipped to make. You held your ground, even though you knew you stood not a chance. And you were not afraid, even though you recognized your own mortality. And so we came to your aid. The fate of your companions was not our immediate concern. Had they stayed with you, we would have protected them as you tried to do. But the Wild Saurian's jaws took your life, and time was of the essence. If we had wasted time tracking down your erstwhile companions, you would have perished and not even my magic could have brought you back.
"Oh. So I was dead, then. I hoped I'd dreamed that part, at the very least." Lassiter took a sip of water, and was embarrassed to see that his hand shook from the weight of the goblet. He set it down with a grimace. "I need to find my friends. Without even a decent knife they don't stand a chance of survival."
You were not far from the edge of the plains - beyond lies the Estersand, through which runs the Nebra river. The city of Rabanastre straddles its banks - provided your friends continued in the direction they were going, they've long since reached it and safety. We will take you there once the sisters have finished with their healing. Your body was very badly broken, and though they will not allow you to suffer further pain, you are not yet well enough to travel. Tomorrow we may be able to leave this place. Eat.
Lassiter obediently bit into a drumstick he hoped was roasted turkey. It tasted like turkey, at any rate. He chose to believe that the Eidolons had somehow managed to get hold of a roasted turkey in this world where Tyrannosaurus rex was a living force and dragons left hordes of gold behind when they died peacefully in their sleep. He very carefully did not think about it, or about the likelihood that he was actually consuming some type of reptile. When he'd eaten all he could the sisters made him lay back, his head pillowed upon the breast of the warm one, Stiria, while cool Nyx stroked his fever-hot brow. He wasn't much on physical contact, but this was kind of nice. He wasn't sure if it was exactly motherly or not, though. He didn't remember his own mother ever being quite so attentive.
With a quick, silent prayer to whatever gods oversaw things in this freaky dimension for the safety of O'Hara and the others, Carlton Lassiter allowed himself to fall asleep.
-…-…-…-
Rabanastre turned out to be quite a long trip, as it happened. Evidently the Eidolons hadn't worried too much about moving him while he was unconscious - or perhaps while he was dead - because the dragon's cave was hundreds of miles from where he'd been attacked by the dinosaur. It didn't take a very long time to traverse the distance, however, because they flew. He sat on the broad back of the Eidolon Bahamut, held securely in the arms of Nyx and Stiria. Being more than eight feet tall and built like lady bodybuilders, they made rather effective safety belts.
Lassiter didn't relish the idea of dropping into a strange city on dragonback, but thankfully Bahamut landed in the middle of a deserted arroyo and the sisters allowed him to slide off.
We will be with you, contained within our Eidoliths, Bahamut explained, but even though there may be others within this city who command such as we - even those who have command of our same Eidoliths - it is best you not allow too many to know you hold such power, particularly before you are familiar with this world and its customs. If you have need of us, we will aid you.
The Eidoliths. Two small chunks of stone marked with strange petroglyphs. The Eidolons had presented them to him that morning. If they had been something he could put in his pocket, he might have been happy to receive them. Instead, they were now inside his body - Bahamut had stuck his black onyx stone into the palm of Lassiter's left hand, while the sisters put their brilliant chunk of tourmaline into his left bicep. It was not painful but it was certainly an odd sensation, and left him with what appeared to be two tattoos in onyx black and tourmaline blue, identical to the petroglyphs on each stone. He'd managed to live forty-six years without putting any deliberate marks on his body, and now he had two tattoos and an earring. Stiria, silent but implacable, had insisted upon it. Bahamut explained that the dragon's tooth contained a magic that would strengthen him. Lassiter was morally certain that all it did was make him look gay. But once the fang dangled from the lobe of his left ear he did feel strangely powerful.
Bahamut disappeared in a flash of black lightning. The sisters took a moment to hug him, each of them pressing his face momentarily against their ample bosoms before also disappearing in identical blue flashes. Lassiter stood rooted to the spot for a moment longer, stunned by the contact, before at last shouldering the pack Bahamut had given him to carry and setting off for the visible spires of the walled city.
Something of a Customs office operated at the gates, with a bored guardsman manning a booth asking disinterested questions. When Lassiter came to the front of the line the guard's first inquiry was, "Business or personal?"
"Personal," Lassiter answered.
"Visiting or staying?"
Little as he wanted to think about the possibility that he would be stuck here the rest of his life, Lassiter realized that he had few options - he needed a roof and a bed not made of Eidolon, and even if he didn't stay in Rabanastre forever, he needed to stay at least long enough to find his fellow accidental immigrants.
"Staying."
"Ever been to Rabanastre before?" the guard asked.
"No."
"You'll need a map, then." The guard pulled a roll of parchment from a pigeonhole of same on the wall behind him. At the same time he grabbed a registry log and opened it to a page already half-filled with names. "You'll also need to sign in your full name, date and place of birth."
The guard handed over the map and a quill pen at the same time. Lassiter took the quill in his right hand and, unthinkingly, reached for the map with his left. The guard caught sight of the mark on his palm and his gaze and interest sharpened.
"Bahamut, eh? Patron Eidolon of guardsman. You ever turned your hand to that line of work?"
Lassiter supposed, correctly, that this place had never heard the term "policeman" before. "I worked for more than twenty years in the city guard back home," he said, "seventeen as…Captain of the Watch." He didn't know another way to translate "Head Detective" to someone who might well have never before encountered the concept of a detective at all, and his rank had been Captain.
"What made you leave it, Captain?"
Lassiter shrugged. "Wasn't given a choice," he said with perfect honesty.
"Well, Bahamut stands as all the reference you'd ever need if you thought to apply for position here in Rabanastre. We need the bodies, that's for certain - always shorthanded now with the population boom."
"Speaking of, I originally traveled with a party of others but we were separated. Could you check your registry for me, please? I need to know that they arrived safely."
"What are their names?" the guard asked.
"Juliet O'Hara, Burton Guster, and Henry and Shawn Spencer. They probably got here at least three days ago. I was held up."
The guard paged back a bit. "Ah. Well, I have a party that sounds almost right. Juliet O'Hara, Henry and Shawn Spencer, but the last name is wrong. It says here 'Tadzuay Ahuh-Ahuh Ahlahkit.'"
Spencer, you idiot, Lassiter thought. "That's Guster. Shawn signed him in, he thinks its funny to give him a different name every five minutes, for reasons beyond my comprehension."
The guard momentarily looked as though he were considering mentioning penalties for falsifying information on official documents, but ultimately the bond of professional courtesy won out and he merely asked Lassiter to provide the proper details.
"It's a bit surprising they didn't leave a message for you, but there's no notation of it here," the guard said.
"I don't think they expected me to be able to follow, to be honest with you."
"Well, they shouldn't be too hard to find; unless they had enough gold with them to purchase warrants of citizenship outright, or were lucky enough to find employment, then they'll be holed up in the refugee camp outside the inner city wall."
"How much gold for a warrant of citizenship?" Lassiter asked.
"They're pretty pricey, Captain. Fifteen hundred gold apiece. They didn't used to be so dear, but with the war and all the refugees flooding the streets the Consulate General decided palms needed a little more grease before they could give out official sanction to immigration."
Lassiter thought of the bagful of dragon's gold he carried, and the tons of treasure and jewels that Bahamut claimed to have brought along from the cave. "Good thing I brought a lot of grease, then."
"Well then if you're set on buying citizenship, you'll need to pay a visit to the Consulate General's office, in the North End. Here, pass me your map a mo' and I'll mark it for you."
The guard drew a circle around a building on the north end of the map. "That's the Consulate right there. They'll kit you out with your citizenship and your licensing board, which prospective employers like not having to risk fines over you not having. And here? This is where you'll find the guard barracks and the Captain of the Guard - if you're interested in work. Watch yourself, though - er…Captain Jevin is a bit of a wanker, not that you heard that from me, and might feel a bit threatened by the fact that you were of a high rank."
Lassiter thanked the guard and passed through the open gates to the outer city. As the guard had said, there was a sprawling, makeshift shanty town huddled against the wall to the city proper, inhabited by shabbily clad, hopeless-looking people. There were quite a lot of them, and Lassiter thought it might be difficult to find his friends among their number, but as it happened he needn't have worried. They found him.
"LASSY!"
The excited squeal came from a goodly distance, but he was tackled before he had time to turn around. Shawn hugged him enthusiastically, nearly dry-humping him in his excitement. "I knew you weren't dead! I knew it! Gus, didn't I tell you Lassy wasn't dead? Gus? Gus! What are you doing way over there? Get over here, man, it's Lassy!"
Gus trotted over, considerably less horny-Great-Dane-excited than Spencer but still smiling broadly. "Lassiter - are we ever glad to see you. We were afraid that T-Rex had eaten you. Juliet and Henry will be happy, too. They've both been feeling pretty guilty about running."
Lassiter bit back comment about how quickly Shawn and Gus had run, requiring no push to make them abandon him. But the reason he'd faced off against the creature was to give his friends time to get away, so he couldn't really fault them for it.
"Dude. Rocking an earring now. I'm digging it," Shawn said, with a flick to the dragon fang. "Made it from the tooth of your defeated foe after you finished eating it, right?"
"No," Lassiter said, and refused to say more. "Where is O'Hara, anyway? And Henry."
"Back at the camp. We'll take you there," Shawn said. "Oo, hey! Can we, like, hide you behind our backs and then whip you out at the last minute? Like a surprise!"
Lassiter looked down at the men, neither of whom was closer than three inches to him in height. "I'm not a puppy, Spencer. I suspect one or both of them might notice me lingering in the background."
"You'd be a very cute puppy, Lassy, probably a border collie or maybe an Australian shepherd. Something with blue eyes, at any rate. And big, floppy ears. Come on, let's go."
Spencer led him through the maze of makeshift hovels to a small collection of tents, two of which had the flaps closed, indicating occupancy. "Hey guys, come on out - we have a visitor," Shawn cried.
A thick arm covered in blond hair threw back the flap of one tent, and Henry Spencer crawled out from under. Before he'd even looked up, he said, "Carlton, glad to see you. I guess I ought to have had a little more faith in your survivability." He climbed to his feet, looking older and more haggard than Lassiter could remember having seen him before. He held out his hand and Lassiter shook it. "Listen, I'm sorry. If anybody should have thrown themselves at that thing to save the others, it should have been me."
"I'm the one who had the weapon, Henry," Lassiter said.
"And I can't imagine a Glock 17 had a whole hell of a lot more effect than absolutely nothing on that monster. If a sacrifice was necessary, it was my job to make it."
"There's no use in gnawing over whose job it was to protect the group, Henry. Besides, I'm here, right? No harm done. How's O'Hara?"
Henry turned to regard the still-closed tent. "She's been…kind of remote."
Shawn squatted down next to the tent flap. "Jules? Jules! Come on out, Jules, please? Lassy's here, Jules - he's okay. Did you hear me?"
He poked his head into the tent and pulled it back out immediately. "She's not in there."
"I know that, Shawn, she went for a walk almost an hour ago," Henry said. "Said she needed air and room to think."
"What? And you just let her wander off alone in this stinking cesspool of the dregs of humanity?" Shawn cried in alarm.
"She's a grown woman and a trained officer of the law, Shawn, she can take care of herself just fine. Now, did you manage to barter for some coffee and beans like we sent you to do or did the two of you just fart around for three hours?"
Shawn flopped down at the side of the pitiful fire and put his face on his fists to sulk. "Nobody wanted to trade food for paper, Dad. American money is worthless here. They don't even want quarters, they said they're basically just chunks of tin."
"I told them that quarters are actually made out of a zinc alloy, but apparently they don't consider that a valuable metal here," Gus added glumly.
Lassiter thought about all the gold in his bag, but decided not to say anything about it. "Have you eaten anything at all in the past few days?" he asked.
"Just what we were able to beg or scrounge for," Henry said. "This place is recovering from some kind of war, so the pickings are slim."
"Well, I'm not sure I can manage coffee," Lassiter said, "but I should be able to do you better than beans."
He picked a place at the back of the fire, reached into his pack and pulled out what looked like half a side of broiled beef. "Here, dig into this," he said, and tossed it across the fire to Shawn and Gus. The Horn of Plenty Bahamut had put in the pack for him yielded up a whole roasted chicken - or something similar - that he gave to Henry. He pulled out an orange for himself and peeled it slowly, his eyes watching the rudimentary path for O'Hara.
"Dude, where did you get food?" Shawn moaned in ecstasy after swallowing his first huge mouthful of beef. "Wait - this isn't T-Rex, is it?"
"I honestly don't know what it is, Spencer, but it tastes good so just enjoy it, okay? And kind of keep a lid on it, or this whole place will come down on top of us. I wouldn't mind sharing around with these people - none of them look like they've eaten in weeks - but a starving mob is hard to contain, and I'm out of bullets."
"Geez, you must feel like you've lost a major appendage," Shawn said. "We might be able to get you some more ammo, Lassy, 'cause I've seen guards on the walls with rifles, but it's not easy to get into the city proper where the gun stores would be. You've either got to get hired by the labor scouts or pay a bribe."
"I'll get us in. As soon as O'Hara gets back and has something to eat."
Henry was watching him peel his orange, his dark blue eyes as sharp as they always were. Lassiter knew he'd seen the black mark on his palm - figuring out Spencer's psychic trick had actually been pretty elementary after he got to know Henry well enough - but he also knew the man could keep his silence, unlike his son. He was at least marginally better at minding his own business, too. He waited until Shawn and Gus engaged in a noisy argument over who had better hair, Billy Zane or Patrick Swayze, before muttering a low aside to Lassiter.
"I saw a mark like that on one of the ranking guardsmen," he whispered. "Somehow I get the impression that it isn't a tattoo, since I can't imagine you letting someone stick a needleful of ink into your hand even if you'd had the time and opportunity for personal body art. There a story behind that?"
"A long one," Lassiter whispered back. "I'll tell you some other time."
"A long story relating in some way to how you got away from that dinosaur?"
"Yes."
Henry nodded and let the matter lie. A good man, even if he could be pushy and irritating and had sired the world's most annoying demon spawn. Lassiter ate his orange slowly - it took him longer to finish than it took Shawn and Guster to finish off their beef haunch - and watched the path. The only time he took his eyes off it was for a brief moment when Shawn and Gus's argument became mildly violent, and Shawn jostled Lassiter in his hurry to hide behind him.
"Watch it, nimrod," Lassiter growled.
"Ohmigosh…"
Lassiter looked up into the wide-eyed face of Juliet O'Hara. She had both hands clasped to her mouth. Shawn bounced to his feet like a boy on a trampoline and began gesturing wildly.
"Look, Jules, I found him - see?"
Lassiter spared a glare for the man - "I found him," as though he'd actually put effort or some risk of personal danger into it - and rose slowly to his feet. Juliet didn't seem to notice Shawn at all, her eyes were fixed unblinking on Lassiter's face. She stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, as slowly as though she weren't quite sure she remembered how to do it. When she came within arms' length she held out her hands to him and, feeling only a trifle awkward about it, Lassiter accepted the offered hug. She clung to his neck like she was afraid of drowning.
"Gus, look - doesn't that just warm the cockles of your heart? Partners reunited. Are you seeing this?" Shawn said.
"I'm seeing it," Gus said. "I'm seeing your supposed girlfriend draped around the neck of another dude."
Shawn made a "pffst" noise. "Gus, come on. She's just happy he's not dead. They're, like, BFFs. You know I'd be all over you if you suddenly arose from the dead."
"I'm not dead, Shawn, and if there were ever suspicion that I was, and I suddenly showed up again, I would not want you on me like that."
"It's fine, Gus, this is an emotional moment. It's beautiful. It's…going on maybe just a titch too long now. Okay, Jules, Lassy's back, it's good, it's wonderful, and guess what - he has food! How about we get you something to eat, eh?"
Shawn pulled her off Lassiter's neck. She still didn't seem to notice him. Lassiter cleared his throat and squatted down by his pack, reached in and pulled out what appeared to be about half a dozen beignets. "Here - sit down and eat, O'Hara."
"That's it?" she said. "You show up out of the clear blue sky when we all thought you were dead, and all you have to say is, 'sit down and eat, O'Hara?'" Her voice dropped into a gruff imitation of his voice. She shook her head wonderingly. "You are a real piece of work, Carlton."
Lassiter shrugged. "What am I supposed to say, O'Hara? I've never come back from the dead before, I'm a little unversed on the protocol."
"You could tell me where you've been for the last three days," she said. "You could tell me that you aren't hurt so I can stop worrying. You can yell at me for leaving you so I can stop berating myself for it."
"You were following orders, O'Hara. Your duty was to see the civilians to safety."
"Excuse me?" Shawn said.
"Excuse me?" Henry echoed.
"You guys? Don't help," Lassiter said. "O'Hara, Spencer and Guster are, despite their illusions, common civilians, and Henry is retired. You and I were the only active police officers present and I was the only one effectively armed. You did what you had to do - what I, your commanding officer, ordered you to do."
"Maybe that's true, but I still feel like a major heel," Juliet said, blue eyes brimming. "You aren't hurt, are you?"
He considered lying, but he'd never been particularly skilled in the art of deception and O'Hara in particular knew him well enough to see the truth. "I was hurt. I've spent the last three days receiving…er…'medical care.' The who and how are maybe a little too complicated to deal with right now."
"Try," she said, and crossed her arms over her chest obstinately.
Lassiter sighed. "Sit down and eat, and I'll tell you what I can," he said. "It's kind of a difficult story to put in words, and I don't even believe all of it myself. Come on, sit down and eat."
She sat and took the fritters. She did not eat, however. She sat, and stared at him, and seemed prepared to do so until he started talking.
He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out slowly through his mouth. "When that dinosaur attacked, something happened. I got…help. These…creatures…saved my life. Eidolons. They're…guardians, I guess you'd say. They help those who defend others."
"Eidolons," Juliet said. She looked disbelieving, and Lassiter couldn't blame her.
"Yeah. Believe me, I know. It's stupid, I know, but apparently, it's true. They're…magic. This is Bahamut," he said, and raised his palm. "He's…a dragon. The other one is Shiva. That's made up of two human-looking sisters, Nyx and Stiria. Their Eidolith is in my arm."
He rolled up his sleeve and showed them the blue petroglyph. Then he rolled his sleeve back down. "I'd…I don't know…'introduce' them to you, I guess, but they told me it was best if too many people didn't know I had control of them, at least for now, even though they said other people in this city probably have control of their Eidoliths, too. They saved my life; found food and, don't go spreading it around but, money, too, and brought me here to find you again. They said they're watching out for me, so…I guess…if I need 'em again, they'll help me out."
"Dude, this is so…so…" Shawn began.
"So what, Shawn?" Gus said.
"Give me a minute, Gus, there's gotta be a movie reference I can make for this."
"Well, you keep thinkin', Shawn. I'll be over here feeling very glad that I don't have some kind of dragon-writing stuck into the palm of my hand."