St. Francis Hospital, come broken and leave fixed

[Slayer†]

OOC: Continued from TOURNAMENT FINAL: Paul vs. Darnell.

White. That was the first thing people tended to notice about hospitals, how completely sterile and white everything seemed to be. The hospital gowns and the like were greenish, and the doors were a metallic grey colour, but otherwise everything was so blaringly white that one could hardly turn on a light without being blinded. He had been in Saint Francis Medical Hospital for two days now (including today but excluding the night of the tournament when he had been brought in), and yet Darnell was still not used to the overly bright colour all over the place. Opening his eyes from yet another few hours spent resting, he was glad he had asked the nurses to turn the lights off in his room the day before, wincing as eyes used to the dark met the pure white of the walls. Clad only in a sickly green hospital gown and a pair of underwear (at least they had been kind enough to save him some dignity and leave those on when they operated, he figured), the blankets on the hospital bed up to his chest, his recently operated-on leg tied down in a cast and brace that constricted all movement and felt hellishly uncomfortable, an IV stuck in his left arm and another bandage wrapped tightly around his head where he had cracked it against the concrete of Shooters' basement, it was enough that Darnell almost forgot he was the winner of that tournament. His knee didn't hurt anymore now, but his head still throbbed occasionally.

Way I feel, that win's feeling really fucking Pyrrhic right now. This really wasn't how I wanted to spend my Sunday.

Darnell usually liked Sundays. In a busy week full of studying and hard physical training, Sunday was usually the one day he had to just relax and take things at his own pace. He could rest, recuperate, and if he particularly needed spiritual guidance for some reason he might drop by one of the local churches (people often forgot that Darnell was a religious man, though he believed God preferred not to directly intervene in human matters unless He had no choice). Now though, he wasn't even allowed to turn over when trying to sleep due to risk of making his leg worse while it was trying to heal. He had been told yesterday what the problem was; during the tournament several of the tendons in his knee had become severely inflamed (with one actually being torn), and the kneecap was badly chipped, almost broken. This damage was made even worse by that last set of moves Darnell had desperately used to beat Paul. They had had to immediately operate in order to save the leg, but for now it seemed that all of the damage had been repaired. He would have to be in the hospital for a few weeks, and then spend more weeks in rehabilitation, but they expected he would make a full recovery.

A few weeks strapped down to this bed, not even able to move more than maybe an inch in either direction? How the FUCK is this possible?

Closing his eyes again, he rested his head against the pillow as best he could, trying to think. The events immediately following his victory over Paul were still a confusing blur, but he tried to remember. When he had started to walk towards the crowd, calling out to Keith and Kallie, his leg seemed to break under him, and he collapsed to the ground in pain, smashing his head on the ground hard enough that he was nearly knocked out. Many among the crowd panicked, and some rushed forward in an attempt to aid Darnell, but while ordering someone to get the medical personnel, Montezzo and some of the Shooters security staff blocked them off, Montezzo knocking someone out after they tried to push past him. While the crowd was being pacified, some of the medical staff carried Darnell (and maybe Paul, but Darnell still hadn't seen anything of him after defeating him...God, he hoped Paul was okay) out of the building on a stretcher. Then the mask went on...and it all went to black.

Okay, that's good, Darnell. Now, what happened next...?


After that, the next thing he could remember was waking up in the very room he was in now, trying to get his bearings. The anesthetic still having only barely worn off, a nurse soon came into the room, bringing him up to speed on the damage and the like. The surgery was successful in every way, but it would still be some time before the leg was healed completely. The lingering effects of the drug adding even more to his already present fatigue, he soon after fell back to sleep. Soon after he had woke up yesterday, his parents came in, a bizarre mixture of frightened for him and furious at him. They had been worried sick when they heard about what happened, and Hajim had come close to forcing his way up to Darnell's room the night before, but fortunately his wife had talked him down from it. He was a big, tough-looking man, and though his attitude was similar to Darnell's own he knew how to be intimidating when he had to be. They all knew he had gone into the tournament knowing that something like this was a risk though, even signed a waiver about it, and Darnell was able to convince his parents that Paul had damaged his leg by accident. They seemed to accept that and left soon after, promising to drop in from time to time to check on him. After that he spent most of the day chatting with a few visiting well-wishers and desperately looking for something good on the hospital TV (nothing was found). Eventually he called a nurse in and asked for some Benadryl, not because he needed it but because hospital-strength Benadryl never failed to put him to sleep. They administered it through the IV and he was out like a light in a few seconds.

That brought him to the here and now, he surmised as he opened his eyes slowly, hoping that this time the white everywhere would not burn to look at. Fortunately there was no such burning, which made his overall headache more bearable, and with his right hand (he didn't use his left for much of anything because of the IV) he rubbed his eyes a bit before a knock at the door came.

"Come in, not like that door's ever locked anyway." he grunted tiredly, focusing his attention on the now opening door and the nurse that entered through it. Nurse Hedderman (her first name was "Alicia" or something like that, if Darnell remembered correctly) was a kind and very elderly nurse that had been part of the hospital staff for longer than Darnell had been alive, short and with wrinkled skin, but it was obvious from the way she carried herself that in the days of her youth she had been a very beautiful and proud woman (she had bragged to some people in the past that back in her high school days she had been the apple of almost every male student's eye).

"Good morning, Darnell. Is your leg feeling any better?" she asked in the same sweet tone of voice as always, smiling at him a bit.

"It's going to be a while before it's better at all, but the pain's stopped," Darnell replied with a small shrug, "what's up?"

"Oh, you have some visitors again, but you look tired. I just don't have the heart to tell any of the dears that they can't see you, as worried as some of them look, but if you want to get some rest I can tell them to come back later..."

"No, that's alright ma'am. I'll see them."

The old nurse nodded at his reply and walked back out of the room, where he could hear her telling someone outside that they could come in, just not all at once so that Darnell wasn't overwhelmed, which made Darnell grin a bit. In reality, he'd love nothing more than to just sleep the next few weeks away at the moment, but he thought he'd see what these people wanted. Besides, it was something to do. His thoughts were silenced though, when the first person walked in, sticking out like a sore thumb in his fancy black Armani suit and dress shoes, looking just as professional and confident as always as he entered the room and faced Darnell after looking around a bit. Montezzo Valtieri was not a tall man, only standing at about 5'10 and possessing a muscular but still rather wiry build, his appearance typically Sicilian with dark hair, skin, and eyes, his sharp but attractive facial features (at least, Darnell figured women found him attractive, he was straight and therefore didn't harbour such thoughts about him) well suiting his eyes which had such a piercing gaze. He was a very clean cut individual who never had any doubts about anything he did, and his features suggested as much. That, coupled with the fact that he had been the best fighter in Southridge back when he was a student there (Darnell was confident he was also the best at the University at the moment) made it hard to imagine Montezzo as anything short of a giant, and even harder to believe him when he said there was no truth to the rumour that he had been raised by a Mafia boss (even though he was telling the truth when he said that, he was as wealthy as he was now literally because his father won the lottery).

"Well," Montezzo said after a quick nod, "I never expected to see you in one of those. Especially not because of little Paul."

"Since when is Paul little?" Darnell asked, though choosing not to address how odd it sounded that Montezzo's reference to Paul almost sounded somewhat affectionate.

"He was not always as big as he is now, I just call him that as a term of endearment. Anyway, I just wanted to see how the champion is doing."

"Let's just say I'm not looking forward to spending the next few weeks here."

"Agreed. Anyway, word has spread pretty quickly about your victory the other night, I must say you and Paul put on one hell of a show. As promised, I found Lance after the tournament and personally gave him the two hundred dollar prize. He seemed pleased, though I do not know if he will come here himself to express his gratitude. You surprised me, Darnell, I did not think you would do something like that."

"Well what was I supposed to do? It was a choice between letting him win or damning his child, can you FUCKING blame me for picking a third option?"

"Watch your tone," Montezzo cut in, raising his hand for a second to cut him off before continuing, "I will let that slide for now, but I hope you can keep a hold on your temper despite your fatigue and injury. I did not say I blamed you, just that it was not expected. I am not used to you being so altruistic. Well, with you scheduled to be in this hospital so long, your grades will be an issue, yes?"

"Actually, yeah. I don't think I'd be able to keep up."

"I did not think so, I would not be able to make up all the work myself while also staying on top of current assignments. I still have contacts in that school, you know, I will see to it that someone brings your work here, alright?"

"Sounds good...thanks, man."

"It is not any real problem. Only fair that I compensate you in some manner. Well, the other visitors are probably getting impatient, and I have a lot of work to do myself, so I will take my leave. My wishes go to you, Butler."

Montezzo Valtieri, as he always did when he decided a conversation was over, did not give Darnell any chance to reply. Instead he immediately turned around and headed out the door, where he could be heard telling someone else outside to head on in. Trying to hold in a yawn, he could only wonder just who it was this time.

Let's hope it isn't someone too pissed off at me, then.

[Buko]

((Paul Smith Continued From Tournament Final...))

If only the count had lasted for two days instead of one minute, if that had been the case Paul Smith would've been named the winner. A few hours after being escorted off the grounds of Shooters Paul was already placed in a sling and conscious, his concussion had left his eyes with dark circles below them (only one of those circles was visible due to his eye patch) and his body ached in ways that where almost comical, but still Paul Smith was the last one standing. Of course it didn't do him much good now as he stood waiting in line to see his first (and hopefully last) loss. It wasn't to say that Paul thought so highly of himself to think he would never be beaten again, quite the contrary the injuries both fighters sustained made his pacifist view of NOT fighting solid.

Thinking about the fight made him more upset than needed be and he kept on replaying it in his mind over and over again. The spinning backhand is what sealed his fate and if he had had the sense to not do that and go for something quicker, more efficient than he probably would've been visiting Darnell two hundred dollars richer. The money brought more mixed feelings, as far as he was concerned Heather wouldn't take care of the baby and no matter how much money they threw at Lance it wouldn't change that. The baby was going to be fucked up and if he knew Heather, well Lance would probably have another mouth to feed almost as quickly as she gave birth to this one.

This was one area in which he thought higher of himself than almost anybody, while his relationship with Melanie was over she had taught him a valuable thing about working hard. Nobody was going to give Paul any free rides and he had been seriously misinformed to think that just charming his way through Highschool would accomplish anything. He would've used that money to fund his way through college, but his father's financial situation paired up with his miserable 2.3 GPA made going to college a possible, but expensive ideal. So, in some twisted way he was a bit resentful of Lance's child, but glad at least that Darnell hadn't wasted his money on a new pair of Nikes.

"Hello Mr. Smith,"

The voice was refreshing, decadent, and oddly polite as Paul looked upon the shorter gaze of Montezzo Valteri smirking lightly as he exited the room where Darnell was being contained. While this was a cue for Paul to enter, Montezzo stood in his way almost as if he wanted to have a conversation. The truth of the matter was that Paul and Montezzo had been good friends throughout Highschool, Montezzo had provided the finances to some of Paul's most well known pranks (which included broadcasting a teachers affection towards the now late Miss Wood at a Yankee's game, said teacher not even knowing he himself harbored such feelings). Of course Paul staying behind to finish school again had put a wrench in their friendship, but they still where friends.

"Yo," Paul managed to speak, but it sounded forced and graciously informal compared to Montezzo's voice which went down like a nice Italian wine, "How's Darnell?"

The last sentence voiced all that altruism and niceness Paul had tried so hard to repress, it didn't do good for him to be widely known as a hero or a pushover. It was much easier to be known as some odd prankster, but as Montezzo spoke he smiled a bit.

"Let's skip the formalities Smith, answer me honestly, why did you join this tournament? I've known you for five odd years and I've never seen that grin leave your face much less see you raise a fist at someone. So why did you do it?"

Paul had to shake his head a bit and found the grin that had been absent since his knockout find it's way back to his face. Leave it to Montezzo, but still Paul found himself smirking and couldn't help but think how many people had that exact same question on their minds, the answer itself was complex. On the surface Paul had joined to test his own limits, here he was training his body for pure unadulterated destruction every day but never having been in a fight he could hardly make use of that. Another thing (which he even acknowledged) was the "What the fuck?" part of his personality that made him inclined to joining the tournament, but above all there was the one shining reason...

"I need the money Montezzo," Paul smiled bitterly, "The music scene in Highland is dying rather quickly, my band? To many kids are into pop-rock to deal with Death Metal anymore and y'know I refuse to have pop-rock Fallout Boy rip-offs on my label," he sighed as if he was only mentioning the first of several grievances, "And then like I told you last year on the trip: school sucks, it seems that no matter how hard I work there is always something inhibiting me from being successful. First it was grades and now it's cash..."

Montezzo paused and brought his hand up to his lips before smiling a bit.

"So you're telling me that my little Paul just needed money for school?"

Paul smiled at the term of endearment and noted that he hadn't had one for Montezzo, Montezzo's aura of professionalism had been in existence since before the kid had his first semblance to a mustache and thusly those terms of endearment where out of the realm of possibilities. Paul however looked the man in the eyes and continued to smile a bit, before answering "Yeah..." rather half-heartedly. Montezzo simply shook his head and let out one of his rare smiles.

"Before the fight began I asked you to promise me to make it interesting, you did that and more. As a reward for doing so I'm going to talk to the owner of Shooters into paying for your school -at HBU- and ask him to give you a job as a Bouncer when your arm heals, I trust you'll try and not mess up this opportunity," Montezzo said with a small wink before placing his hand on Paul's shoulder, "Now continue with your visit,"

As he shook Montezzo's hand and entered the white hospital room inhabited by Darnel Butler, Paul couldn't help but be in awe as he stared at the boy in the bed, gone was the aura of pure power and instead it was replaced by a soft and subtle kindness. Darnell Butler looked almost ethereal as Paul got close to the boy and smiled a bit.

"Well, I suppose asking for another match same time next week would be a bit too much, all things considered, eh?"