this is not a date [jem]
Oct 3, 2011 18:20:14 GMT -5
Post by Nico Dahl on Oct 3, 2011 18:20:14 GMT -5
Well, yes, actually, it was. The requirements were there: there was a boy, and there was a person that the boy liked, and there wasn't anyone else with them and he didn’t want anyone else with him, and Jem had dressed up a bit and he had felt bad for not dressing up. Nin wasn’t by nature capable of dressing up in the first place anyway – he just wasn’t good at it. The classiest thing in his closet was one of those ironic tuxedo tees, and he’d actually put that on underneath an unbuttoned, red plaid number because it was the goddamn CLOSEST THING HE HAD OKAY. He’d been whipped into a frothy panic twenty minutes before they’d agreed to meet up near the co-ed dorms over the whole thing before realizing that Jem had likely seen him looking like a hobo before, and anything that he put an ounce of thought into was bound to be better than what he flopped around in all day anyway. Besides, she hadn’t screamed and run away yet, so that was kind of a good sign.
Nin refused to tell her where exactly they were going. He’d handed over his helmet and had been extra, extra careful on the road – the destination was a couple or ten miles out of Pilot Ridge and not on a terribly unsafe route; it was just that smearing themselves all over the asphalt was a definite breach of etiquette. As Canadians, manners were important.
Eventually turning onto a large parking lot, Nin cut the engine and pulled his hair from the low ponytail at the back of his neck, leaning past the gas tank and squinting at the crowds that seemed to move at a leisurely speed towards the site entrance. He glanced back at Jem and beamed proudly, pointing at the telltale circle of a ferris wheel a couple hundred yards away. Somewhat closer to that were several banners decreeing the event as an ‘Autumn Festival’ in Comic Sans, decorated with a small profusion of pumpkins and vaguely phallic squash. There was a faint smell of Eau de Petting Zoo mixed in with the deep-fried delectability of funnel cakes and $6 hot dogs, and Nin absently brushed at his nose at the olfactory overload that these little town fairs did best. Blergh.
“I figure this is the last fair in the state for a while,” he explained sheepishly, suddenly nervous that he’d made a wrong move and that Jem was going to judge him irredeemably TERRIBLE at first dates and otherwise. “If you don’t like rides we can try to win you a goldfish or somethin’ at least? Ooooooooooooooor I can take you somewhere else.” Oh god, WHERE? He hadn’t come up with a backup plan. I mean, seriously, this is Nin we’re talking about. A backup plan to him is having an extra pouch of Pop Rocks in his pocket. “But you know, I bet they totally have deep fried Twinkies here! An' who doesn't want a deep fried Twinkie? ... other than diabetics."
Nin is so classy I swear.
Nin refused to tell her where exactly they were going. He’d handed over his helmet and had been extra, extra careful on the road – the destination was a couple or ten miles out of Pilot Ridge and not on a terribly unsafe route; it was just that smearing themselves all over the asphalt was a definite breach of etiquette. As Canadians, manners were important.
Eventually turning onto a large parking lot, Nin cut the engine and pulled his hair from the low ponytail at the back of his neck, leaning past the gas tank and squinting at the crowds that seemed to move at a leisurely speed towards the site entrance. He glanced back at Jem and beamed proudly, pointing at the telltale circle of a ferris wheel a couple hundred yards away. Somewhat closer to that were several banners decreeing the event as an ‘Autumn Festival’ in Comic Sans, decorated with a small profusion of pumpkins and vaguely phallic squash. There was a faint smell of Eau de Petting Zoo mixed in with the deep-fried delectability of funnel cakes and $6 hot dogs, and Nin absently brushed at his nose at the olfactory overload that these little town fairs did best. Blergh.
“I figure this is the last fair in the state for a while,” he explained sheepishly, suddenly nervous that he’d made a wrong move and that Jem was going to judge him irredeemably TERRIBLE at first dates and otherwise. “If you don’t like rides we can try to win you a goldfish or somethin’ at least? Ooooooooooooooor I can take you somewhere else.” Oh god, WHERE? He hadn’t come up with a backup plan. I mean, seriously, this is Nin we’re talking about. A backup plan to him is having an extra pouch of Pop Rocks in his pocket. “But you know, I bet they totally have deep fried Twinkies here! An' who doesn't want a deep fried Twinkie? ... other than diabetics."
Nin is so classy I swear.
