Guest Divefire Report post Posted September 30, 2002 Well, despite Wilson walking and talking in Tom's superior promo after our little war, I'm in hospital and selling some injuries... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A haze shifts over his mind as he looks up to the pristine walls of his current residence, eyes blinking slowly as he tries to shift over the events that brought him to be lying here in this bed. Flashes of a fight filter through the drugs and the pain, of a battle won only to be lost at the last second. On instinct a hand moves slowly to the back of his head, feeling for the whole that must be there but only to find bandages. Frustration now pushes the pain and drugs to one side, as his hand travels back along his other hand, now noticing the IV that runs into his veins. Ignoring what most people would call better judgement he takes a hold of the drip with a grip that for now is a shade of what it was and with one wrench, tugs the device from his arm. Flinching and letting out a slight gasp as the hot white pain of the action hits his mind his head falls back against the pillow as he clutches his hand against the fresh wound for a moment, letting his blood heal the fresh puncture wound. “Oh dear.” A female voice quips, forcing him to alter his view from the ceiling to the foot of his bed, catching sight of a nurse of light build and a cretin sensual femininity. “I was told you would probably try something like that. You really should leave the IV in, let the drugs take away the pain. You must me be in so much pain from the injuries you sustained in that fight.” Normally he’d tell her to go away, get lost and push himself out of the bed and disappear into the ether. Normally he only defied death on a weekly basis, not a minute to minute one and right at this second his body was reminding him that despite his occasional better judgement, he was mortal. “I don’t use drugs.” He finally manages to grate out from a voice made dry by lack of liquid passing down his throat. The nurse steps up to the bed side of her patient, pouring a glass of water from the tumbler on the high cabinet and then placing it to his lips. “Drink.” She instructs in a tone that only those trained in the looking after of difficult patients can muster. He begrudgingly does so, sipping on the water slowly and fighting back the nausea from tilting his head. “You are a very stubborn man, Mr…” “Don’t.” He instructs in his own hard tone, eyes flashing up to meet those of the nurse. “Call me by my Sir name.” Her eyes roll with some indigence, pulling the cup away and placing it back on the table top, shaking her head lightly. “What do I call you then? I’m hardly going to call you by that silly wrestler name that you have. I don’t even know how to pronounce it, Diveflare? Diveman?” What would normally be a growl but sounds more like a bleat emanates from the back of his throat. “It’s DiveFIRE.” He replies, biting back a little of the unfocused anger. “And it’s my name. Use it.” “No.” The nurse replies sweetly, going to the end of the bed and picking up his chart. “If I can’t call you by your sir name and since I’m not going to call you that other silly name I’ll just call you Mat.” She finishes her point with a sweet smile of no argument, then leafs through the chart. “Now, I’m sure you’ll like to know what injuries you have, Mat.” She says his given name as a child might play with a new toy, overemphasising the word just to aggravate him that little bit more. “Bruising on your upper and lower back, a swollen right knee, multiple lacerations of your face, shoulders, chest and back, and a fractured skull.” She pauses and looks up at him, tapping the chart with a finger. “It’s a wonder nothing more is broken, frankly.” A flicker of a smirk cross Divefire’s features, proof still of the defiance to his injuries and his metabolism shifting away the drugs present in his body at such a high rate. “I’m a tough bastard.” He intones to his nurse before his hand reaches up for his head again, fingers touching to the bandages there. “How long?” “Before you heal fully?” The nurse asks him, placing the chart back after writing a quick note. “A month, at least.” Her words cause a slight laugh to leave him, to which she perks a neatly plucked brow in annoyance. “What?” “Two weeks.” He responds with another smirk. “I never take a month to heal from anything.” “Well maybe I should brake one of your limbs and we can test that theory.” The nurse replies caustically, stepping back over to his bedside and taking a hold of his wrist to check his pulse. “Oh, you’re funny. Ha ha.” Divefire replies, resting back against the bed. “Maybe I’ll discharge myself now and just remove myself from your company. That would have to make me heal faster.” This does not amuse the nurse, who shoots a hard look across to her patient. “Try it and I’ll have you committed.” And for once, something takes Divefire aback, a man not normally known for being surprised. “Oh and these came for you.” The nurse continues, pointing her head in the direction of a very ornate collection of roses. Three red, three black, one white. “They came with a card, I think you have an admirer.” The nurse hands Divefire the card, who makes a sound as he tries to focus on the card. “I don’t have admirers.” He replies in a voice, which is neither regretful or appreciative of the fact. “Can you read this to me, can’t get my eyes to focus on it.” The nurse takes the card with the flickering of superiority. “So much for discharging yourself.” She adds with a touch of smugness, before looking at the card. “It says: Heal quickly. It was Mac Francis… Love. That’s it.” The nurse places the card back on the tabletop before looking over to her patient and knowing a look of confusion on his face. “I take it you weren’t expecting that. Lady friend maybe?” “Hrm? Oh, no. At least I don’t think so… Odd. Least I know who’s going to pay for this now…” Divefire replies, his mind curious for a second on the card but then instantly focusing on what he knows about his latest advisory. The nurse spins on her heals and starts to walk out, quickly. “You’re all the same.” She snaps off quickly. “I’ll check on you later. Buzz if you start dying.” She looks to him with a smile not quite reaching her eyes before she steps out of his cubical and closes the door behind her, leaving the ninja to his own thoughts. “And people say I have an attitude problem…” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ More to come in this little series I expect... Oh and I'm not wrestling for a couple of weeks, so no me running in on any one with crutches and the hobbling and the bleeding... Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Rabbi_wilson13 Report post Posted September 30, 2002 It's not my fault I'm just tougher than you are. Plus I'm retired, I automatically get all wounds healed for going away promos and my Alaskan cruise. Divefire/Mak would be sooo sweet. See, even in a match of old-timers we managed to get one of those young'ns over. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Angel_Grace_Blue Report post Posted September 30, 2002 Damn, where's that Wild Cards cloning vat? That should speed things along. What? We pawned it? Damn... Good promo, Mr. Diving Man of Flames. And remember, your Mexican stand-in is available for wrestling duty...sorta... GONZALES SHALL LEND HIS POWERS TO HELP HEAL DIVEFIRE!!!! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest chirs3 Report post Posted October 3, 2002 Ouch - Divefire gets burned by the feisty nurse. Good one. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
