stunt_muppet

I'm back at school. I'd forgotten how lonely this place could be. I've said hello again to all the people I know (except for one guy I've been unable to track down) and, as usual, I spent most of the day locked up in my dorm, on the computer.

Yeah. Freakin' great start to my new semester. I was supposed to be fixing my social life this year. Great to know that'll be working out. But I spent some time in the Union, and I stopped in the lounge to watch a movie with people I didn't know. That has to be worth something. *flails*

I think, honestly, one of the things I missed the most about college was the Union Cafe grilled chicken sandwiches. I'm not entirely sure how I made it through my day without those sandwiches, seeing as for the majority of first semester I lived off them.

Classes start tomorrow. I've only got one, because my bio class isn't having a lab period this week. My Humanities class is the only regular Tuesday-Thursday class I've got, and I'm really looking forward to that - it was my favorite class last semester.

L'oreal Bare Essentials Powder Foundation works miracles. Thank you, Mommy, for introducing it to me. It takes maybe a minute to put on, which means maybe I'll be able to start making an effort to wear makeup and stop looking like crap in the morning. I think the fact that I don't have any classes before 10:00 a.m. this semester certainly helps.

On to the dorkdom.

I wrote up a few more scenes of that Miami fluff I posted last time. Now, unlike that last bit, which I kinda tossed out there to see what people thought, this bit is in need of some heavy beta-ing, so any critiques or comments you might be able to offer would be much appreciated.

See, as per viralmancer's advice, I decided to try writing the fic from both Marisol's and Horatio's point of view. I found that, while I'm reasonably good at mimicking Horatio's speech on paper, I'm not so great at mimicking his thought processes. Thing is, we really don't get to see H much during his off-hours, so I don't have a lot to base my portrayal on. As such, it's harder for me to tell if I'm being true to character. This fic is already nauseatingly fluffy; I'd rather it not be nauseatingly OOC too.

Sorry to keep pestering you with this. Maybe I'll write something else later, something that I can just show to you without begging for your advice or bitching about my own inabilities.

Oh wait. I do that for everything. Even my L&O drabbles, I have my parents look over before I post them. (My *parents* beta-read my fanfiction. How sad is that.)



Horatio Caine adjusted his suit for the twentieth time and looked in the mirror.

He looked just like he had the nineteenth time he’d adjusted it.

Maybe he shouldn’t be wearing a tie. He never wore them anyway. Maybe that was the problem.

Of course. His nerves were completely shot and it was the tie’s fault.

He sighed, collapsed back onto his couch and started to loosen the knot, staring up at his ceiling as he did. He hadn’t been able to think of a good reason for his nervousness. He’d been on plenty of dates before (fine, maybe “plenty” was being a bit generous), but up until Marisol Delko asked him to dinner he’d never felt flustered or uneasy about it. He wasn’t used to feeling flustered or uneasy. He decided he didn’t like it.

Wasn’t this the sort of thing you were supposed to leave behind in adolescence?

The puzzling thing was, Marisol herself wasn’t the cause of this. He felt comfortable around her; he could talk to her; he could make extended eye contact with her without feeling like he was staring. Her energy and liveliness was infectious. She had a beautiful smile and an easy laugh, and she made him laugh along with her.

So what was the problem?

His cell phone rang, noisily derailing his train of thought. He pulled the tie all the way off and flipped the phone open.

It was Marisol.

“Hey.” He could tell that she was smiling, just from her voice.

“Hey. You ready?”

“When you are.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Don’t be late.” She teased before hanging up.

He clicked the phone shut, slipped it into his pocket, and stood up, fixing his suit one last time.

As he walked out to his car something occurred to him.

Maybe it wasn’t nerves.

Maybe it was anticipation.