CC meaning Constructive Criticism. ;3 I just joined a new RP forum, and I typed this up for it. It's almost completely unrelated to the forum, of course, but it's not for the main forum. o3o So, I'd appreciate some constructive criticism. If you post here saying "This is great! I love it!" or "This is bad. Boo. You fail at life. Don't write anymore." I will beat you with a shoe. -3- If you actually critique and are harsh, that's fine; I'd rather have you be completely blunt and possibly rude than you sugar-coating everything. D:
You walk towards the towering iron gates with a frown onyour face. The gates are open, welcoming any p*censored*ersby to set foot on thepremises. Said premises consist of a large, lush lawn of well-trimmed gr*censored*split by a thick sidewalk. The concrete walkway leads to a large,average-looking beige building. Towards the top of the front face of thisbuilding – and on a small sign similar in appearance to the building sittingbefore the stone walls surrounding the lot – in clean white letters read thename of the establishment: Fairfield Asylum.
Youpush open the swinging cream doors without bothering to look through thewindows resting upon them; you already know what to expect from the interior.Indeed you do; the open doors reveal a room of crisp, clean white. The delicatewallpaper, glistening tile, spotless couches, and tidy end tables are all thesame angelic shade of white. It smells like nothing, and is difficult to lookat in its perfection. The room is very unsettling.
Youwalk towards the semi-circular desk in the middle of the room and lean againstit, catching the attention of the lady sitting behind it. No, she’s too youngto be a lady. You realize this as she looks up at you. Her semi-tan face stillhas the roundness of childhood, though it’s elongating on the path toadulthood. Her attentive – fearful, almost, despite the mischief glisteningnear the surface – hazelnut eyes flick up at you, slightly distorted by a pairof thin-rimmed gl*censored*es, the lenses holding a few scratches here and there. Herhair is fluffy and shoulder-length; it’s a dark reddish-brown in color, withorange and burgundy streaks, even on the bangs that almost reach her eyes. Youcatch a whiff of a mix of citrus and pine as her head follows her eyes to lookup at you.
“Hello,”She says, her voice a not-unpleasant high-pitch, “Welcome to Fairfield Asylum,how may I help you?” You notice a slight nervous waver in her voice, remindingyou of the slight fear in her eyes, though it doesn’t distract you from thefact that something in her vocals tells you that she’s hiding something, butwhat?
“I’mhere to visit someone.” You reply, pushing your observations aside. Her headsnaps up from the screen of the pristinely white Mac that she was prepared toenter text into. She throws you a look that says ‘no-duh,’ and shortlyafterwards her eyes narrow, as though you’d just insulted her.
“MayI have a name, sir/madam?” She snaps back, her voice low as though shewere explaining something to a child, despite the vicious note that almost nonewould use when addressing a child.
Youopen your mouth and take a breath in preparation for a response, but stop. Whohad you come to see? As you ponder, you miss the smirk that crosses the girl’sface, and the wicked glint that enters her eyes. The look is gone in a flash,replaced by her friendly façade.
“Sir/Madam,”She says, interrupting your thoughts, “If you’d like, I can walk you around thefacilities.” You look at her like she’s crazy. Surely there was some rule orlaw that prevented her from doing such a thing? Speaking of rules and laws, howcould she legally be working here? She certainly wasn’t old enough to work atan insane asylum!
“Manypeople,” She smoothly continues, “Come here with the knowledge of the patient’sappearance, but haven’t the slightest clue what their name is or what ailsthem. We often give people tours of the facilities in hopes that they’ll findwho they’re looking for.” You’re wary of accepting her offer; her voice was fartoo sweet and lilting for her to simply be doing her job. Deciding that you’resimply being paranoid, you nod in consent and she flashes you a grin, revealingteeth covered in braces.
“Verywell,” She says all-too cheerfully. “Just tell me where you’d like to begin.”She stands up – revealing her oddnurse outfit.
Itis, of course, white in color for the most part, with a pink of the edges ofthe fabric. She wears a short skirt that was split almost completely on thesides, only held together by the black belt that the fabric was sewn onto. Herboots almost go under her skirt, and seem to be in two parts. The bottom iswrinkled – these wrinkles being pink – on the shin, and projects out at theknee. The top has almost-pink bands of a brown color a bit above the knee, andfold down mid-thigh – just below the skirt – revealing the black interior ofthe boot, and ends in slight frills. Two black strips with white zig-zags cliponto her belt, one of either side, with each having a leather pouch the size ofone of her hands attached.
Thebottom of her shirt is round, but narrows to a 45º angle in the middle, whereit slightly overlaps her belt, and a round-bottomed pocket rests an inch or twoabove this angle, its edges pink, of course. The top of her shirt can’t be seen, for it is covered bysome sort of shawl similar to something you’d see at a renaissance faire; ithas notches in it, making large, connected squares. The collar of the shawl isthick and pink in color, with a silver bell a little shorter than half her faceattached. She wears gloves that bump up at the elbows, where they also have asort of lattice. A square covers the back of her hand, but the rest of saidappendage is protected by a reddish-black leather. The rest of her visible armsare protected by silver, either in chunks of the metal or in chain-mail.
*censored*he walks around desk to hand you a paper, you notice that the bottoms of herboots have what look like sharp teeth around their edges. As she nears you withthe sheet, you notice that the fabric looks like some sort of skin, and thepink trim seems to be blood. She hands the paper merrily to you, and you takeit cautiously.
“Don’t mind the extra stuff,” She says, acting as though she’s not wearing a macabre suit of death,“This is the document we faxed to the guys up top last week.”
You look up and catch a maniacal grin on her face… Or do you? The look is gone before you can clearly register it. She spins on her heel and begins marching away with her hands held together behind her back; it vaguely reminds you of old WWII movies with female Nazis in them. She pauses mid-step and looks back at you, her face innocent in your eyes for a moment as she calls, “Are you coming?” You lengthen your stride for a few steps so you can follow her through a white door. You miss the sound of a click as you follow her down the narrow hall.
Sorry if it messes up in some places; my computer hates the Res forums. :/ Now, before you go and critique, I'd like to say that I am aware that the deion of the outfit is horrible, because I tried to base it off a picture. x-x It's like taboo. So, if you'd kindly overlook that, I'd muchly appreciate it. :3
