Author's Note: The second chapter is based on the song Welcome Home (Sanitarium) by Metallica! I hope you like and enjoy the chapter along with the song!
"Everybody be in the lobby!" The suddenness of the austerely raspy, unholy the middle-aged lady's reprimand rowdily announced via the speakers, pitching severely the background, whereas the duo molted dedicatedly, platonically tender in the tight, secure embrace, bracing their figures apt to tandem the motionless choir.
In a long minute of immobility suffocating Frank and Timothy's tense, fleshy muscles in the utmost kindhearted, platonic embrace jointing their arms securing their upper backs, the haphazardness of the withdrawal of their unhealthily pallid, nevertheless, still charming complexions obscured the inebriation of the breathless moments inched the thin elasticity of their appropriate proximity and the both gentlemen unclasping their arms from their shoulders as he managed to crook his masculinely strong, dexterous fingers around the fountain pen to jot down an important note.
"Damn, the High Countess is mastering her screams via those speakers in the lobby!"
Shortly after the both prisoners' childishly inquisitive, roundish gemstones perched on the blank's message, subsequently the British compatriot couldn't suppress a healthily guttural, sheepishly fiendish giggle and meekly muffling it with a satin hand fashioned into balled fist.
Then the younger man snatched his fountain pen to bestow the divinely utmost reply, somehow his mate's message and daubing smoothly, dedicatedly the tiny entity to etch dearly Timothy's position.
"I don't think she is mastering it! She is already a master to teach us thanks to those speakers that almost exploded my eardrums."
"Do not make me repeat the same all over again, dummies! Get yarselves in the lobby before calling it a day off!" The speaker's twitched feminine wail tingled alarming tones and tinging profuse layer of pinkness mischievously tickling Frank and Timothy's well-carved, chubby cheeks.
Thoughtlessly the platonic pairing fled their ward and descended docilely, obediently the massive concrete stairs leading to the lobby and participating in the horde of inmates whose faces looked eerily unfamiliar to the British compatriot. All of them were equipped meekly, mousily with lily-white sheets of papers and fountain pens to express themselves. The lobby's decoration articulated to meager as well.
The gruesomely lifeless, cracked silver walls were gradually, timelessly imbibed by the twains of dully, blanched gems. A monumentally tall, threadbare with pelt lavish lacquer bookshelf with a handful of expansive rows, consisting thick books. A handful of doorless doorframes linked the kitchen, the bathroom, the library and the game room.
The exquisitely painted with acrylic abstract, colourful brushes portrait of the High Countess that was in charge of the godforsaken prison sinisterly casted her hazy caramel brown cabochons to afflictively stark, cold heartedly glassy on the prisoners as if they had the potent feeling of being watched. They were eventually watched by her glamorously abstract, artistic grandiose portrait, battered to the cracked wall. How sarcastically spooky is sharing even a brief maintained eye contact with the life-like, majestic artwork and even maneuvering its glimpse to studiously examine in a scrutiny each discrete, thought-provoking detail that constructed the very landscape.
Bizarrely the High Countess's parchment, elderly youthful complexion blood-curdlingly twitched Timothy's stare to recognize the illustration's majesticness and inclining a dark, masculinely thick eyebrow and seizing his naturally nude pink, chapped lips into a pensive purse.
Olivia Benson was a woman in her late thirties with pleasantly chocolate skin tone, highlighting refined her dainty, outstanding facial attributes such as her delicate button nose, big rotund cinnamon brown bijous, coupled with her naturally plum, plumpish lips and naturally dark, femininely thick eyebrows. A halo ringlet of greasy, achromatic scarlet tresses curtained her chocolate profile as it was partly shaved on her left side. Last but not least, her prisoner outfit for the women were a pair of scruffy palish stone blue jeans guarding her long, leanly drop-dead gorgeous legs, coupled with an old, conveniently hoary tank top securing her attractively skinny torso, impaled with swan curves constructing her anatomy. Her height was approximately 5'6 and with slender body structure, formulating entirely her body frame.
Whereas her closest mate Robin-Mary McKenna was with a handful of years her seniors or rather in her early forties with fair skin tone, neck length short mop of lifelessly greasy auburn strands framing her olive-tanned façade, paired with her delicately dainty, feminine facial features like button nose, huge pools of abysmally poetic, life-like lapis lazuli and thin elegant eyebrows. Furthermore, perky dimples adorned generously her profile along with naturally nude pink, plumpishly chapped lips. Her height gauged her petite-frame in 5'3 solely, while her body structure was doubtlessly average. Last but not least, her platonic bonding with her mate Olivia and Elias fiery amplified through the elapsing days in the purgatory when they weren't having anything special to do except lingering the monotonous rhythm of their daily schedules, refilling their vaguely prim busyness.
They were eventually chaotically busy and it wasn't even deemed ironically, factly, Judy as director of the purgatory's godforsaken, dilapidating prison didn't have any sheer tolerance for anybody demonstrating blatantly hints of leisure slothness articulating each motion of their muscles. The High Countess could always refill Olivia, Frank, Elias and Robin's daily schedules with something productively refreshing to fulfill such as sorting the heinously chaotic piled the rich collection of books in the library by their ideal shelves, prominently conoting their genre, cooking scrumptiously unimaginable, blowminding meals from breakfasts to dinners though the prisoners solely relied on their bare creativity and unconditional deftness.
Elias was a middle-aged gentleman in his mid-forties with exquisitely, pleasantly olive-tanned skin tone contouring the pure, crystallinely luminous glimmer of his appallingly symmetric facial attributes such as his dark, kinkily thick stubble impaling his sharp jaw line, bonded with his expressively dark, thick eyebrows, cleanly-shaved head and huge, rotund jet-black bijous. His height's estimation was 6'4 and possessing averagely muscle anatomy building every muscle battered to his bone anatomy. Last but not least, unlike his other mates, Elias has limped for a handful of days due to the High Countess's harshly inhumane, cold-hearted retribution for not properly sorting the genres of the piled books in the library. No wonder the retribution not only mentally, but also physically mirrored its manipulated reflection of the absolute reality of the irony of the fate!
"That boss lady better have tolerance for people that she brought disabilities for days instead of yelling at the top of her lungs for the love of God." Crooking his handy, meaty fingers around the tiny entity to drabble his current humor even low-spirited frustration every time the speakers remarkably, humdrum almost exploded his eardrums, consequently crafting with effortless nimbleness to daub the pen's tip to ink the text on top of his oyster-white blank.
"Good morning to everybody! We're also a having a fresher that is part of our community and will be a remarkable part of the daily business awaiting him." At the moment, a heavy, jadedly rusty sigh coursed its oxygen through the Bostonian's tiny, flexible nostrils shortly before commencing her authoritative, hoarsely rusty caution pitching the dully resilient silence settling in the chilly, eerily dilapidating site. "Timothy Howard is going to visit my office, in order to have a short interview with him before experiencing the real pain as prisoner if he hasn't already beheld his own mates uniformed sufficiently adequate for their status. Or probably the realization of what it feels like serving somebody much higher in its tiers, regardless their flaws." The sardonic hoarseness, rustiness of the former holy woman's terrifyingly spine-chilling giggle didn't vanish even outwear its glossy vocal tissues, whereas Frank and Timothy exchanged mutually piercing, brutally honest gazes spearing each other's profiles promptly. "Take yar daily medicine and most of all follow the rules if ya don't want to get yarselves in humongous trouble for something that may cost your body part's immobility!"
"You will be fine, Tim!" The former policeman's masculinely strong, dexterous fingers danced around his pen to bedaub with its glittering tip the reassuringly emboldening caution to the former aspiring Monsignor, while snaking his solely free potent, muscly arm to secure his shoulders for a platonically innocent, unblemishedly warm embrace. Licking greedy her pair of cherub lips, Robin ushered her lapis lazuli cabochons to afflictively sore dart to the unfamiliar presence of the former aspiring Monsignor, whilst taking her time to examine in a scrutiny his yet dazzling physique though the unbearable, gruesome scruff mapping his muscles and bones and mirroring his despondency.
"What medicine we have to take?" In the interval, the British compatriot jotted down his inquiry, speaking volumes about his dim knowledge why the former licentious jazz nightclub singer obligated each inmate to take their medicine even if they're perfectly healthy and they didn't struggle either physically or mentally.
"You don't have to worry about this one. The High Countess have completely lost her mind over us struggling mentally and that's why she treats us like garbage." Robin-Mary's emphatic position was depicted purely, peculiarly on her individual paper while swapping amiable stares with the former cop and his inmate.
"Then did you dare to skip any of the prescribed medicine she obligates us to swallow twice daily?" Then Timothy erased his initial notes and replaced them with the recent demonstration of childlike inquisitiveness to discover more about the outrageously, furiously grim side of the purgatory.
"I did though I lied to her twice and I got away somehow to not mop the floor with my body, you know!" The brunette jotted down another brief, cheesily buoyant message even if the context was far cry from beatific and gracing with positive, profoundly vibrant vibes.
"Didn't she catch you in a lie once at least? Like for sugarcoating smoothly how you're like the good inmates that they're taking their regular medicaments and don't complain?"
"Not at all! I don't know about you, dude, but she can be outsmarted fairly if you're just being the two goody shoes at first or rather giving her that impression until her essence observing you ebbs off!" The perpetual exchange of notes between the brunette and the British compatriot hasn't petered out at all.
"As a mortal, there were times when I have outsmarted her. It wasn't a brilliant idea, not gonna lie!" A guiltlessly doe, diabolically vague, radiant smile etched upon the younger gentleman's naturally baby-pinkish, lusciously plump lips while having an enjoyable colloquy even though opulence of blanks with one of the prisoners.
"We all do mistakes, you know! I bet there are reasons behind not the best outsmarting motives towards her."
"It's true..." The sheer irony of the epilogue of the message the former devotional clergyman stung searing flabbergast peculiarly contouring her facial attributes, speaking volumes about the message's complex depth of the context, obscured in each etched letter and word even the triple, eye-catching dots overflowing its cataract of celestial haziness, arousing the ginormous interest of the middle-aged lady to discover the sequel of Timothy's thoughts poured in a non-verbal communication.
"So the others take your medicine and go to work in a New York minute!" The haphazardness of the inability of Timothy's brim lips to conjugate a thoughtful, grimacing purse and trading glimpses with the other yardbirds just shortly before accosting presentably, graciously the former licentious nightclub singer.
There was no actual time the other prisoners even to trade altruistically a handful of minutes to get to know the fresher, factly, Jude wasn't a keen fan of the delays and the infantile, ominous irresponsibility and bloodthirsty, villainous idleness smothering their muscles from functioning and twitching. She rather preferred her slaves to be either in the kitchen preparing creatively scrumptious meals or on the contrary sorting neatly the luxurious cluster of masterpieces of the Literature in the library.
In a long minute of retirement of Frank to repair the marbled bathroom's furniture like sink and bath, Elias manifested to retreat to the library unlike the women populating almost every inch of the kitchen and Timothy finding the genuine way to interact with the High Countess's office.
A nauseous lifeless rock rolled in a frigid, boyishly childish discomfort and throughout refined, elegantly enchasing the texture into rigid gauze allaying every boldly gearing allay of self-esteem, courage and calmness even if Timothy has incessantly donned up in an invisible armor of nonchalance to envelop his very frame and mind from the ferociously fatal, apocalyptic flames of impulse and unconditionally abhorring ire in unthinkable scenarios whose majority of the protagonists could bash the sinfully unbeatable demons of their ire and the nemesis was inevitably unavoidable nonetheless. When his profound imminent destination to the former pious sister of the church's office located upstairs with additional stairs linking the cusp of the wall-less corridor matching with the grandiose, nevertheless brightly contrasting with its grizzly, morose vista of the actual prison that interpreted the trap of the wretched souls that haven't even found peace with themselves yet. He felt like a new co-worker whose impending visit was situated in his recent manager's office for a brief interview like discussing opulence of remarkable discussions associated with work, qualities and so forth.
The casual stride of series of humdrum, meekly masculine footsteps pealing joyously, quietly and daubing the shabby, cadaverously dirty white slippers the cemented surface beneath his feet and toes, thus the suddenness of his hitched breathing and rusting its unvarying heaviness, uneven rhythm synced its new pairing of severe, unknowledgeable heart pulsations hammering into the British compatriot's vulnerable ears and flimsy, pallid chest.
"Come on, Timothy! You can do it!" Even if Timothy's inability to elaborate any vowels and syllables and pour them in his outspoken cataract of rationality and honesty, mild layer of perspiration beaded thickly, uncomfortably his forehead and an inner voice, indistinctive whispering its encouraging sweet nothing to embolden his fierce courage to outsmart his fears and prejudices. The old, rusty door in the middle of second floor troubled his obligatory destination before hopping up in the vicious circle of bare, balefully frigid mortification. "That's just your rare bird or rather the woman you genuinely loved in your former life as a mortal. Now you've the chance to redeem yourself and explain yourself that wasn't your fault at all. It was Demogorgon and his handy hands' vicious circle that was his fascinating work, crafted exquisitely to inevitably capture his vulnerable preys and pour the entire cataract of pangs of the conscience and mental weakness on them." Meantime, the former possessed doctor ducked timidly his head while clawing his amusingly feeble complexion and his coffee brown huge, round optics balefully barren, puffy swilled glassily the cementum ground thoughtlessly and opting to sort his mind, elaborating a husky, low grunt under his breath. "There's ain't any fault in your case! Jude isn't actually easily forgiving person, howsoever, she will grant you the deserved second chance. Just believe yourself!"
Less than a minute of overthinking and assimilating the imaginative scenarios of his forthcoming interaction with the older lady, thereafter he ventured inside the abysmal, thin hallway and ascending the stairway and stepping before the door that was presumably leading to his rara avis's site.
"Meat-eating orchids forgive no one just yet! Cut myself on angel hair and baby's breath! Broken hymen of your Highness, I'm left back!" Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana recently hummed in the blonde's site as the vocalist's honey-mouthed, mellifluous voice accented the chant's lyrics abruptly, smoothly. What it strangely struck at first the former ambitious Monsignor was that he couldn't picture his own rare bird listening to or relaxing to classy rock music and most of all, chant the lyrics fluently or girlishly demure along with the vocalist. It was unbelievable how his vortex of thoughts whirled and twirled, in order to gear the assimilated song.
Fashioning into a balled fist, thus the younger gentleman rapped a couple of times on the door to keep the former nun's wits about her forthcoming visitor to populate her office and share a brief interview and the music's drone petered out in the background bizarrely particular, hair-rising.
"Come in!" Stern, authoritative reprimand ushering the younger man to venture inside the former pious woman of the cloth's office emboldened him. "Ah! It's good to see ya a fresher. Welcome in my office!"
Bobbing docilely presentable, graceful his head shortly after slamming gingerly the notoriously squeaky door behind him, subsequently the older woman ushered him to take a seat against her.
The former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's site was richly, pearly furnished with a handful of tall, monumental bookshelves, coupled with her cherry wood bureau inching a couple of inches the scarlet glossy, gaudy walls glittering its brightness past the formerly possessed doctor and priest's gape when surveying in a studious, attentive scrutiny his surroundings for awhile. Golden ornate gracefully belted the walls. In addition to the decoration, a couple of doors linking the Bostonian's bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, library and balcony massed different segments of the site. Oddly a few guillotines maintained an adequate proximity with Timothy's seat gauged a few feet solely. Last but not least, a couple of large, exquisitely painted portraits of the High Countess battered the walls, besides there weren't any windows to shower bountifully the room in natural daylight light, pale enough to stream its photogenic waterfall elegantly.
"You wanted to see me!" After scribbling his initial note and demonstrating it to the older woman to dart her honey brown jewels whose outfit was obviously contrasting his disheveled, outrageous prison uniform.
"It's true, Timothy! Since yar pretty new to this place, that doesn't mean the rules that are labeled to be followed by others have to be broken by you." Strangely the High Countess's elaboration of her profoundly photogenic, radiant smirk categorically etching her Ravish Me Red painted cherub lips during her initial colloquy with the former devotional holy man. "This place is austere, raw or whatever ya may call it as a hellhole, but that's what the fate cooked for us! Don't you see it?" In the meantime, another docilely sheepish, solemn nod reaffirmed the recent visitor's position. A coyly gracious, benevolent smile adorned the younger gentleman's façade. "Excellent! I'm glad we're having somehow agreements on points that shouldn't be underestimated."
"Is that our home, Jude?"
"How dare ya to call me as if I'm yar friend, ya miserable-" A scorching pause savagely stung the fat of her wet, strawberry-coloured tongue and narrowing her caramel brown cabochons glaringly after perusing swiftly the another sheet of paper's enquiry overflowing the stormy tempest of lividness to boil her blood and adrenaline pulsating into her veins, almost on the verge to drip the inappropriate, harsh cuss for her excessive usage of strong language in front of the fresher. "I'm the High Countess! Show some respect for somebody that could be the American president or somebody higher in the hierarchy." The rapidly rabid vanish of the middle-aged lady's smirk and transmuting into an unholy, menacing pout, plucking boldly her cherub, bloody red lips. "Forget about calling me Jude or something that makes you looking like a complete retard!" The pungent, pleasant fragrance of feminine natural honey perfume and rich lotion permeated abruptly past the inmate's tiny nostrils, inhaling inwardly, blatantly and lowly humming in response to the authoritative reprimand of the High Countess. "Better keep your wits about ya if ya don't want trouble or something to suffocate yar very being even trembling up a single muscle when it's necessary!"
Author's Note: I know the first chapters of this story won't be that intriguing or eye-catching at all, however, I try my best to write everything realistic and perfect as possible, regardless the flaws in my writing! Anyway I hope you like and enjoy this chapter! Don't forget to leave your feedbacks! They're always appreciated! :))
