Rooms. Labs. Dorms. Or something.
what their labs are like :) (some thoughts after the cut!)
!! no proofread :((( this was just a quick snippet I decided to make for them at night !!
RESEARCH CHARLOTTE
If you pass by Researcher Charlotte's laboratory, the first thing you'll notice is sleek white walls kindly asking you to immediately pass by. It's a narrow hallway, one entrance and one exit, so it's not easy to get lost. Start to finish. Beginning to end. The lights guide and hold your hand. Cold, sterile, a guide nonetheless. But if you slow down right where the entrance to her laboratory is located, a smell tends to leak out through the cracks and corners similar to that of rotting flesh. It seeps out, crawls its way out into the corridor, and onto the sleek floors on the other side of the door. The smell doesn't greet all those who pass by. It's escaping. Escaping from her.
The door is always open. It's only ever locked when Research Charlotte is actively working. And if you choose to grab the handle, push it down, and slide the door open, you'll see it. A sterile, cold, unfeeling room. The smell will seep out, running from the source. Research Charlotte will be sitting at her desk, staring at the results on a computer, whilst a chamber is in front of her, a glass facing directly against her, and a door tucked away to the very ends. It hides away from everyone. Everyone chooses to ignore it.
She won't force you into a conversation you're not ready for. But she does love to talk. So she'll turn around, face you with a wide-open, ecstatic grin that contrasts with the dark, gasping room, and talk to you. Her voice is loud. Appealing. Honeyed. Her body language is open. Sometimes, that scares people.
Everyone's like family. Well, at least the personnel are. The other men, women, and people in lab coats. The ones risking their life to research, understand, and see the horrifying, otherworldly creatures in front of them. She respects that. That yearning for knowledge. It's what she yearned for, too. What she still yearns for. And anyone who wants to see that same, bright future is family in her eyes.
RESEARCH AURELIO
Papers are often stacked to the brim in Aurelio's office. Dark shades of monotone colors are often present, shaping the area and the four walls around him. The once wide space grew a little more cramped and tighter as the paperwork he finds himself working on seeps into his everyday life, his lab, and the desks he used to sip coffee on.
Aurelio isn't always open to chatter. He'll leave the door locked when he's not in any mood to be distracted, but a simple knock can help fix that problem right up. Though there's no guarantee he'll be in the best of moods when he answers.
On the rarer occasions, when he's on duty and isn't overloaded with work, he finds himself much more willing to speak and chat with his co-workers. It isn't particularly comfortable to chat in his laboratory, so most conversations are taken outside in the hallways. The lights are softer, not as harsh on the working mind. The air is fresher, not cramped with the smell of day-old paperwork. The space is bigger, not forced to huddle amongst unfinished work.
On those days, it's much easier to see him crack a smile.
DOCTOR RIVERSTONE
Jazz curls up in his room like a sleeping kitten. It's homey. Cozy. Easily mistaken for his personal dorm if it weren't for the paperwork that chose to peek out of the old, antique books. The room is decorated in soft oranges and reds, cluttered around like a messy, warm sunset. There's a creeping smell that often lingers, even when he's already had his food. The smell of jasmine tea. Or if not that, a faint hint of fresh herbs.
The door and he are always open. He's very often laid back in a simple, wooden chair, attending to paperwork on traditional paper on one side, whilst the other is covered in electronics unfitting for such an environment. His mind only ever begins to scurry and sway with some sort of intense feeling, almost close to a discomfort in his gut once he notices the screen's gone blue, and there's nothing he can do to fix it.
His chatter is mild, always speaking in a polite yet casual tone. Talking is rather difficult when you've got so much time in the world to simply listen. Listen to what others have to say, listen to what others like to think, and listen to how they express themselves. Some are so vibrant, some so distant, and some so cold. No matter the character, he's seen it before. And in his mind, he may mistake you for an older friend.
SCP-8353 (ISAAC EDWARDS)
The four walls surrounding his chamber are solid, grey, and fireproof. The quality of it may be great, but the visual design wasn't taken into the heart of the architects as they created a prison for a being always on fire. But it's light work to change your environment. With a request for fire-proof crayons, 8353 sought to change it.
Colors are splashed onto the walls. A mockery of what it calls an environment. Badly drawn people twice his size, imitations of children only half, and child-like houses with sharp, picket fences decorating their edges. A mockery of safety. A mockery of humanity. A mockery of an environment he was never able to thrive in. But it feels like home. And it is his home.
No comment. Any questions regarding the environment are fruitless. They are nameless people, the ones drawn onto the concrete walls. Strange figureheads that may adapt different names depending on the day you ask 8353 who they are, what they are, and where they are.
But conversations are encouraged. 8353 thrives off of them. The voices of others. The conversations he has. Useless or not, he likes to listen to the staff. It stirs up a whirlpool of emotions inside him.