Post by bard on Aug 7, 2011 15:18:55 GMT -5
The receptionist was a brown-eyed bottle blond with acrylic nails and a paisley skirt slitted up the thigh. Jason had a view of the chair behind a desk and every time she moved her leg the skirt would ride up, revealing skin the color of betelwood. He must of have been staring because the look she threw him could have woke the dead and Jason pale skin flushed with red. He got up and moved to beside the door, facing the desk.
The Gotham district attorney's office was meant to be slick and sleek and modern, while retaining the Neo-Classicalist charm of the Old Gotham. The building's facade was a brick-red cigar box with gothic overhand and serious features. It looked like an turn-of-the-century east coast firehouse. It's wide doors were heavy iron chamfer into rhomb squares. Its' handles were levered knobs, taxed brass with leaf engravings worming down the escutcheon plates. The antechamber was large and dome. The light painted the space the color of sunlight thorough amber. It made everything feel of weight and gold.
Inside the D.A office, however, that charm was replaced with utilitarian sterility of practical commercial design. The doors were glasses. The walls were white. Everything looked like it was designed to fit like puzzle pieces. The cup was the bland cut of colorless gray swatch that had faded red and blue patterns running in tracklines like veins. The chairs in the reception area were the mid-back bending red-pink kind bought for doctor's offices and I.T departments. The air had the tasteless flavor of an air conditioned room. Jason did not like how the florescent lights painted everything a dull gray.
When the door open, he sat up. Someone who was not the receptionist poked her head out from the glass door that lead into the den of cubicles that was the D.A's office.
" Mr. Bard? Ms. Novak will see you now. "
He was deposited outside a room filled with more ikea stuff. A black desk topped with a computer stood across from a black bookshelf filled with legal dictionaries and books older than the building they were in. Various knick-knacks took to the place of a flare, giving the look of someone just barely caring about the state of the room. A corkboard was filled with letters and missives that were meaningless to him. Bard crossed his legs and waited for someone to explain stuff to him.
The Gotham district attorney's office was meant to be slick and sleek and modern, while retaining the Neo-Classicalist charm of the Old Gotham. The building's facade was a brick-red cigar box with gothic overhand and serious features. It looked like an turn-of-the-century east coast firehouse. It's wide doors were heavy iron chamfer into rhomb squares. Its' handles were levered knobs, taxed brass with leaf engravings worming down the escutcheon plates. The antechamber was large and dome. The light painted the space the color of sunlight thorough amber. It made everything feel of weight and gold.
Inside the D.A office, however, that charm was replaced with utilitarian sterility of practical commercial design. The doors were glasses. The walls were white. Everything looked like it was designed to fit like puzzle pieces. The cup was the bland cut of colorless gray swatch that had faded red and blue patterns running in tracklines like veins. The chairs in the reception area were the mid-back bending red-pink kind bought for doctor's offices and I.T departments. The air had the tasteless flavor of an air conditioned room. Jason did not like how the florescent lights painted everything a dull gray.
When the door open, he sat up. Someone who was not the receptionist poked her head out from the glass door that lead into the den of cubicles that was the D.A's office.
" Mr. Bard? Ms. Novak will see you now. "
He was deposited outside a room filled with more ikea stuff. A black desk topped with a computer stood across from a black bookshelf filled with legal dictionaries and books older than the building they were in. Various knick-knacks took to the place of a flare, giving the look of someone just barely caring about the state of the room. A corkboard was filled with letters and missives that were meaningless to him. Bard crossed his legs and waited for someone to explain stuff to him.