{ one, two, freddy's comin' for you

[swish]

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STATUS open ATTIRE here ! WORDS four four four
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"Miss Cassidy, I'm going to give you to the count of ten, and then you're going to put down your craft and change your shirt, all right? One."

No, it most certainly wasn't "all right," she thought bitterly as she continued messing hardcore with her bottle of Elmer's. Of all the childish games she'd played while enjoying her stay here, Missy's game of Ten left Switch highly unamused. Seriously, the girl would have rather had the bitch shove more pills she didn't need down her throat rather than listen to this fucking counting-- "Two."

"Missy, I think I can hear David over there seizing," Switch said blandly, not looking up from her arrangement of popsicle sticks. "Wouldn't want anything too terrible to happen to him... like swallowing his tongue or--"

"David is fine. Your shirt, however, is not," stated the nuse, albeit looking over her shoulder to double check. "You understand the rules. Plain t-shirts only."

"And you can suck my cock for all I care," she muttered under her breath, giggling quietly as she added a dab of glue and stuck two popsicle sticks together. This roused nothing else but a guffaw of laughter from the surrounding Unmentionables, and a resounding Three. She chewed at her inner jaw, thoroughly agitated by the rising numbers. Glancing down at her current tank, she didn't seen anything particularly wrong with it... It was plain, mostly, but her bra strap was hanging off to the side. A problem easily fixed. She reset the fluorescent red, snapping the strap against her shoulder with a smirk and a flirty stare to the boy across from her.

Four. Switch returned to working on her popsicle work of art, conjoining two wooden angles together. Five. And adding that combination of right angles to one another. Six. And another... Seven. Before finally assembling all the pieces together.

"All right, look. I've finished my craft. Now stop counting before I go crazy." She giggled at the pure idiocy of her statement, as well as her handiwork. Switch rose it up to present it to Missy, the entire class. The room was once again fulfilled with hoots of laughter and a singular squeal of terror. Because in her hands was a swastika, so carefully crafted in a span of "seven" seconds. Missy was most displeased, Switch on the other hand, simply smiled, waving it around. "I said, I'm done my shitty craft. You were supposed to undress me now." She giggled once more, biting her lip a little. Really, it was just a matter of time until the nurse to went off on her, but the look on the woman's face was worth it.

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NOTES -denies rustiness- >.>;
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[Radcliff Brittany]

"i feel pretty and witty and gay"
668

Radcliff felt artistic. It was natural for him to have these tendencies, being a natural artist, but when he got his urges it was harder and harder for him to express himself besides on his body. However, after a nice period beforehand of pressing his existing bruises and therefore achieving relative sexual pleasure, Radcliff felt he could express himself without much urge. He didn't feel as desperate as he did in the morning, and he went through his daily hospital routine. Usually he was excused from the arts and crafts room due to his earlier episodes of pushing the artistic materials into his arms and legs. He smiled at this memory, remembering how good he felt. It had been a while since that episode however, and he felt he was a relatively good boy through the weeks (at least, from what he permitted the doctors could see).

Physical was getting old though. He had only been doing physical abuse to himself since he hadn't been talking to the other patients recently. All the other patients he seemed to see were also "minors". And they had school in the afternoon. Although at first it was irritable to him to always see younger teenagers, Radcliff had gotten used to it and accepted his fate. He only blamed every unpleasant experience here on his parents, in which he imagined them saying such terrible things about him. "Our son's a bloody loony! He's bloody out of his mind! What kind of a normal person would enjoy pain?!". The thought excited him; it was the only remote verbal abuse he had since he got here. Now that he was more of a good boy, he could finally interact with someone in the artistic room.

After walking into the Arts and Crafts room (what a childish name), Radcliff took a seat only where the doctors permitted him: Fingerpainting. He was upset not to have access to pens and pencils and paintbrushes, but then he remembered what he would do with them. "Dammit, I hate this bloody place!" Radcliff exclaimed in apparent frustration, trying for a reaction to the supervising nurse. However, his exclamation fell on deaf ears apparently, as the nurse seemed to be preoccupied with another girl. Upon looking over, it seemed like a minor (teenage girl, seemingly) was harassing the nurse. Radcliff became jealous at that instance, wanting the harassment to be directed towards himself. But then he remembered: Teenagers are incredibly irritable people. Perhaps he could upset this girl in some way to get his fill on verbal abuse. If he was lucky, maybe she would hit him. Knock him on the floor. Throw the fingerpaint in his eyes. Bite him. All these sensations excited Radcliff sexually, and he inevitably became hard. Luckily his standard white hospital wear could've hid that fact.

Radcliff quickly grabbed the paper in front of him and dipped his fingers in finger paint. He started to draw the girl's design on her shirt, the smiling face with the hearts and the tongue. After he got a basic design, he smothered the paper with red paint and colored the hearts blue. He finished the painting, and decided to show it to the girl, regardless of the nurse. Radcliff didn't much care about the paint on his fingertips; he just wanted verbal abuse and wanted it now.

Walking up to the girl after listening to her sexy abusive words, Radcliff leaned against the table with the painting in hand. The nurse seemed surprised at Radcliff's unwanted presence, but he didn't care. He presented the girl with the painting at that instance, taking it off his hands. Radcliff then waited in anticipation for the teenager to call his painting shit, and call him a bloody pervert or an artist of garbage. Anything, as long as it was degrading.

[swish]

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STATUS open/cliffy ATTIRE here ! WORDS five six one
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Switchy laughed along with the other Unmentionables in the room, waving her popsicle swastika in case any of the other patients had missed it. "I'm still waiting for you to come over and take off my clothes, Missy. Since they're so revealing." A hand pulled at the front of her tank, more flesh of her chest visible to the nurse and... everyone in the room. It didn't bother her. In fact, she took little notice to some of the sexless patients' gawks, preoccupied with the woman at hand. She winked an eye, wiggled her hips, and licked her lips at her, laughing long and low at the poor chica's disgusted expression. She opened her mouth to taunt the fellow female about her 'fear of the puss' before the resounding laughter in the room cut off suddenly.

Instantly, Switch frowned, lowering the wooden frame to the table. She looked over her previously amused audience, confusion written on her brow. They were all staring, not at her, but behind(?) her-- nevermind, the attention in the room had changed from her to something else, and that in itself was enough to make her snarl. The aforementioned swastika met the Arts & Crafts table in a harsh reunion as she threw it against the surface in aggravation.. Then, as if none of that had happened, she smiled pleasantly and turned her attention to whatever the fuck had stolen away her glory.

Now Switch prided herself in the ability to keep a smile through any situation, good or bad, right or wrong.. but at that moment, the curvature of her lips faltered as she saw the man before her. Even worse, the idiot had produced a painting.. for her it seemed. She took it with little hesitance, seeing as she was getting over the relative shock of someone that just screamed nervous, insecure wreck popping up out of nowhere. Accepting she was, appreciative she was not.

Switchy pulled a face at the gaudy, otherwise-fail, painting. She rolled the crude painting over in her hands, flipping it upside-down and again, this way and that, as the distaste in her expression grew. "The fuck is this?" she asked finally, flicking the paper back at him, her lips taking up a sneer. Her eyes flicked to the dumbfounded Unmentionables now watching the scene, and that and the quiet atmosphere propelled her to say something, funny or nasty or otherwise. Anything to gain more admiration from the others. So she flicked her hair off her shoulder, tilted her head a little to the side. She even managed a lukewarm smile as she said the first thing that came to mind.

"I appreciate the, uh... sentiment of drawing my tit design, but are you fucking color blind?" Once again, her hands yanked at the linen of her tank top, pulling the said "tit design" out for the man to see. "It's red, not blue. Or are you one of those lucky fucks that got in here for being 'mentally retarded?'" She air quoted the words with her fingers, releasing her shirt to look back at Missy, who was now predisposed. Perfect. Switch wiggled her hips again, eyes wide and innocent, as she waited for the male to answer, if there were to be any answer at all. Really he just looked like a crackhead, but did they let those in here?

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NOTES -snorts- lookit mah tit desiiiign
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[Radcliff Brittany]

"i feel pretty and witty and gay"
946

Well, this looked promising. The first feedback of it was "the fuck is this?" or something of the like. Radcliff smirked, rather than smiled, and decided to let the girl talk some more. Really, anything logical to say would be to defend his art, but...Why would he do that? If Radcliff was aiming for abuse, defending his art would be preposterous. Sure, it would stir up an argument, but he wasn't trying to go for one. Arguments and all out insults are two very different things. In an argument, it would be mutual insulting, and he doesn't do that if the other person is willing to insult him in the first place. Fortunately, Radcliff wouldn't have to deal with an argument with this girl today. Not if she already hated his painting.

He drew his eyes to the supervising nurse, who luckily didn't tell him to go back to his designated drawing area at that instant. It was just getting good; to leave would be horrible, especially for someone like Radcliff. Since he'd been here he hadn't had any verbal abuse until this girl. She seemed perfect for it too, though he still couldn't figure out what the bloody hell was wrong with her. Exactly why was she in this "mental hospital"? She just seemed like an everyday average moody teenage girl to him. Rebelling for the sake of rebelling. Radcliff was moody as a teenager, definitely, but his life revolved around Melissa back then. At that moment, he started to miss her. He missed her abuse, he missed her sex, he missed her whip. Hell, Radcliff even missed her forms of torture. But he still didn't blame her for being in this place. He would if she was here; then she'd probably strike him and dare him to say it again. Melissa and him were a perfect match; he just wished to find someone like her. Be it man or woman, just someone to hit him. Someone to love him with lashes. Lashes from the whip, that is.

The second thing she said displeased Radcliff, at least the first part. She...appreciated it? But then he realized that she was a teenager; she was probably being sarcastic. He really should start getting used to remember how to talk to a teenager again. Radcliff was more used to talking to adults, and this made him realize why. No adult he talked to used sarcasm...at least not in England. The girl's question of whether Radcliff was colorblind made him taken aback, at least at first. His first impulse was actually to explain that she should see in different perspectives. Drawing his painting red would've been a carbon copy of her design. What use was a copy if she already had one? But then Radcliff remembered two things: He was in an asylum, and she was a teenager. Either whatever was wrong with her caused her to be close-minded, or she was a stubborn teenager. Maybe there were so many adolescents in this place because the public wasn't yet used to rebelling and moody teenagers. Radcliff couldn't imagine why. The United States was much too conservative for him if the adults here couldn't handle teenagers. He was only sent here because he couldn't get away with being a moody teenager. Masochism wasn't normal in England. In England. It must've been ten times more abnormal in the United States.

Tit design? Radcliff couldn't help but laugh at that. And her emphasis at how red the shirt was also made him smirk. He couldn't take this teenage girl seriously. He hadn't even spoken to her and already she was calling out her tits and giving him a color lesson. He couldn't get aroused if what she meant wasn't genuine or sexy. If it was downright immature and just for the hell of it, it seemed like a child calling him a bully. It was unfortunate, but this girl reminded him precisely of that. Sure, Radcliff was bloody insane, but he wasn't desperate today. Maybe he was just more picky when it came to verbal insults. Or maybe the girl had a tough act to follow: Melissa. Or maybe Radcliff himself just...grew up. Or maybe: She was simply too young for him. Yes. That must have been it. He would've preferred something that genuinely hurt him. The girl's words didn't; she just wasn't...maybe smart enough to converse with Radcliff. Mentally retarded? What was next? Was she gonna call him the biggest turd that ever lived? That wasn't degrading; that was laughable. He started to hate this bloody place even more.

Maybe he could play with her a bit. She seemed to be impressing the other primitive patients with her comments, but it was an easy audience. They were--to put bluntly--fucking insane. Maybe if he insulted her a bit the girl's insults would be more genuine. Yes, perhaps he'll try it. "Aw. Is the little baby upset?". Radcliff smirked before continuing and directed his eyes to her tits, "Your tits probably aren't even fully developed yet. You're just a little girl."

[/b] His British accent was quite noticeable in his words. Radcliff wanted to uncover the girl's hidden beast. He wanted pain. and he hoped talking to her like this would fulfill his desire. "Would the baby like a lollipop for being able to understand her colors? Or do you prefer little princess?". Radcliff waited for her words, and prayed for them to actually hurt this time and not make him start laughing. He wondered whether he would even go to this girl if he was desperate. Probably not. Contrary to common belief, he wasn't going to risk being a bloody pervert for words that didn't even hurt.
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