Title: A Meditation on Masks
Summary: Masks, masques, and masquerades. Internal reflection. A series of moments and hidden thoughts.
Story: Single character POVs
Rating: G
Disclaimer: All things CSI belong to CBS, et al. All other things are of my creation.
Author's Note: This idea has grown on me, so I've decided to expand upon it. Feedback and reviews are welcome as always.
**Masques and Masks**
I feel as though we are in a scene from the Bard. To think she knows me yet not know me is a wonder. I would love to get my hands on the person who provided this inspiration. I find it appropriate that there is a decided Renaissance feel to the night. Where else would you find Titania chatting with Don Quixote except at this party. I don't know why I agreed to come. The clock struck ten and I felt the vibrator from the pager go off in my pocket.
Glancing at the display I find that I've been paged for an appearance at a 419. So much for a social life. There are times when I hate being on call, but tonight I am grateful for it. When she talked me into going tonight, I wanted to make up for having to break several dates. Now I have to leave a dull party and piece together the life of someone else. I hand my now cold hot toddy to a waiter and approach her. This will probably be the last time she'll let this happen.
She doesn't say it, but her eyes tell me that I shouldn't call her again. I've run out of chances. That's been happening a lot lately. One would think that professional women would understand having to balance work with a personal life, but apparently the rules are different for men.
I lay my feathered cap in the passenger seat before driving off. I don't know why I try any more. I feel as though every day I've been wearing a mask. The mask changes shape, but it doesn't change its purpose. I hide a little portion of myself from everyone. At the stop light I look down at my attire and chuckle. I forgot to bring other clothes with me. I can hide the doublet under the wind breaker, but the lower half of my costume, although black, will definitely be the cause of many comments for months on end. At least I keep an extra pair of sneakers in the back so I can change into them.
I pull up at the crime scene and shrug into the jacket and manage to get my shoes on. I open the door and tie my shoes before getting out. As I collect my gear I can hear the murmurs behind me. Steeling myself I put on yet another mask, turn, and face the silly grins of two co-workers.
Summary: Masks, masques, and masquerades. Internal reflection. A series of moments and hidden thoughts.
Story: Single character POVs
Rating: G
Disclaimer: All things CSI belong to CBS, et al. All other things are of my creation.
Author's Note: This idea has grown on me, so I've decided to expand upon it. Feedback and reviews are welcome as always.
**Masques and Masks**
I feel as though we are in a scene from the Bard. To think she knows me yet not know me is a wonder. I would love to get my hands on the person who provided this inspiration. I find it appropriate that there is a decided Renaissance feel to the night. Where else would you find Titania chatting with Don Quixote except at this party. I don't know why I agreed to come. The clock struck ten and I felt the vibrator from the pager go off in my pocket.
Glancing at the display I find that I've been paged for an appearance at a 419. So much for a social life. There are times when I hate being on call, but tonight I am grateful for it. When she talked me into going tonight, I wanted to make up for having to break several dates. Now I have to leave a dull party and piece together the life of someone else. I hand my now cold hot toddy to a waiter and approach her. This will probably be the last time she'll let this happen.
She doesn't say it, but her eyes tell me that I shouldn't call her again. I've run out of chances. That's been happening a lot lately. One would think that professional women would understand having to balance work with a personal life, but apparently the rules are different for men.
I lay my feathered cap in the passenger seat before driving off. I don't know why I try any more. I feel as though every day I've been wearing a mask. The mask changes shape, but it doesn't change its purpose. I hide a little portion of myself from everyone. At the stop light I look down at my attire and chuckle. I forgot to bring other clothes with me. I can hide the doublet under the wind breaker, but the lower half of my costume, although black, will definitely be the cause of many comments for months on end. At least I keep an extra pair of sneakers in the back so I can change into them.
I pull up at the crime scene and shrug into the jacket and manage to get my shoes on. I open the door and tie my shoes before getting out. As I collect my gear I can hear the murmurs behind me. Steeling myself I put on yet another mask, turn, and face the silly grins of two co-workers.
