[Third time lucky~][feedback please]

[Angstbucket Edgelord]

Two glasses. Three. He knocks them back unthinkingly.
He waves - a clumsy motion. One word. Garbled. Slurred.
"Hit."
The girl and the dealer smirk. Simultaneously. Knowingly.
Three. Two. One.
It never ceased to amuse Tahra. It seemed that every patron - or rather, victim of a casino could effortlessly spout the most profane and colourful language on a whim. Or maybe it was the alcohol talking. Tahra could never decipher the drunk, rambling motives of the gamblers. Drinking while gambling. It was beyond stupid.
Then again, if anything in the world made sense, then she wouldn't be able to rake in the profits the way she did.

The server gave a brief, near-gleeful warning. Tahra studied her nails. The ranting halted, leaving a thick, tangy tension in the air. The drunkard paused - a breath, and then the cussing and stumbling resumed.
"Security."
The word was clipped, stacatto and bored.
Flailing, the meaty figure was hauled off by even bulkier figures. The beginnings of a shriek began to build into forced muffledness. Tahra's eyes charted the progress of the struggling trio that cut a swathe through the crowd.

Flung out the double doors, into the ugly air of a beautiful night.
He looked...sad. And a little thoughtful.
The drunk would be back, sooner or later.
They always came back.

 

[nekokristiaan]

Overall, I like it, but it wouldn't be constructive to end there, so:

It would appear that your subject matter is drifting, like there isn't a focus. Even with a short amount of text like this there still needs to be some kind of climax to it. The story could also be just a smidge more dynamic and descriptive of the characters.

I don't mean to be vulgar or insult you, but here is what I would do with it:


There were two empty glasses sitting there already and suddenly they became three. The man knocked them back with a glazed look and a clumsy wave accompanied the single sloppy command that struggled to escape his lips: "Hit me."
As one, the girl and the dealer smirked knowingly. The card flipped and it was made apparent that the house won. Again.
It never ceased to amuse Tahra the fount of profane and colourful language that would spew forth from almost every victim of the casino. The alcohol certainly had something to do with the loosening of drunk tongues but it did well to open drunk wallets too and that was the point. Drinking while gambling was beyond stupid, but if all the imbibing idiots disappeared, she wouldn't be able to rake in the profits like she did.


So on and so forth. I hope that was helpful and didn't just piss you off. Sorry in advance.  

[Angstbucket Edgelord]

nekokristiaan

Thanks for the feedback! And no, I'm not pissed ;D
This was written as a sort of "test" for a character that I might or might not roleplay as, and I was a little vague with everything so as to account for anything that might have happened before I posted.
I do agree, though, that it seems to drift. I'm also working on making my posts less vague - a change of style, if you like.
Thanks again!
xPoppi.  

[nekokristiaan]

biggrin  

[Angstbucket Edgelord]

▣▣▣ V ɪ ᴠ ɪ ᴇ ɴ ɴ ᴇ . N ᴏ ᴀ ʜ

Green. Pale shoots, leftover and pristine from the long-gone springtime. Rusty grass.
And a sound, like rusting glass.
V-victor. A winner, like always. And the humans? Losers?
Maybe, just from the sound of tarnished screams. Nails on glass. It was there again. Fading. A run through the spectrum.
Suddenly, desert. Suddenly, ice. Cold fire on her fingertips. Freezing by the second. And there was always a steaming abundance of life. She would survive this one. Vivienne's hand fluttered uselessly. Brokenly.
There would always be one, watching her watching him watching herself in her paranoia. No doubt that Victor had sent them, but she couldn't muster a single bit of patience. Not a dredge of thankfulness. Weight grew on her tireless shoulders. Atlas had it easy, compared to her. A frail frame, doubtful of success. A sporadic lead burden she had inflicted on her brother. A heavier disappointment. Mother. Father. Uncle.
Sinking.
The vampire beside her was a solid support. Vivienne caved, willingly. Her hand grasped muscled shoulder as her vision alternated between flashes and blurring. Arms, around her collapsing form. A deep rumble. The earth was vibrating.
The grip was one hand less. Vivienne tasted first blood.
Her sight swam for one last colourful moment, and the world stilled.

The girl was left with a disembodied finger clutched in her hand, the cries of her vampire soldier, and a scorching afterimage of her father.