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Post by brett on Sept 17, 2011 21:33:50 GMT -5
Warm water ran in the sink, providing a constant white noise as Brett washed the blood off of his fists. The coursing water almost drowned out the sounds of Brett's sighs, not to mention his winces, groans, and curses. He was a fighter, and had a decent pain tolerance when there was adrenaline involved, but it was the aftermath that always seemed to get him. He was shaking due to a mixture of pain and the decline of previous exhilaration. Earlier in the day, Brett had decided that it would be fun to get in a fight with a random Earth student. The truth was, it was a lot of fun, and very exciting, but it led to a hell of a lot of injury. Brett always seemed to be destroying himself in one way or another. He was a borderline alcoholic and barely slept anymore. It was more of just hitting the ground hard and lying comatose for a few hours. Oddly enough, he wouldn't want it any other way. He was the life of the party, and he didn't ever want to change that.
Splashing some water on his face, Brett examined himself in the mirror. He injuries were pretty superficial, but he'd take a few days to recover. There wouldn't be any scars this time, and he hadn't lost teeth, so all in all, it seemed like with some good rest he'd be fine in a day or so, not that he'd be able to rest properly. Even if he was bruised and beaten, Brett would still end up going to a party or a club and getting hammered. It was an addiction, but it was a good one. Brett didn't really see the downside in getting liquored up and going to bed with someone new every night. It may have brought him a slower recovery time in situations like this, but he'd manage to have a good time while he waited to get better. A few bruises wouldn't throw his game off too much. At least, that's what he'd hoped. Brett gritted his teeth, now came the hard part. He was so prone to pain and anxiety when he was left to fix his own wounds, and he refused to let other people mess with his body. Had he known how to sew stitches into deeper wounds, and fix broken bones, Brett would never even see a doctor, regardless of Canada's wonderful health care plans.
Turning the water temperature hotter with his elbow, he always hated when he had to prevent his wounds from infection. Squirting soap onto his hand, he began to run it under the water, massaging it into the wound and rinsing it off. "Fuck," he muttered through his teeth. Profanity was therapeutic, he'd heard that once, but he couldn't remember where. He remembered someone telling him that cursing relieved pain. He believed that at the time, and still felt it true. Unfortunately, it didn't ever seem to relieve enough pain. His fist was clenched and shaking. No matter how strong Brett believed he was, soap or lemon juice combined with an opened wound would lead him to acting like a defenseless child. The worst of it was over though. Brett turned the water off, and grabbed some paper towels, holding them to his fist. He'd resolved not to leave the room until his hand had stopped bleeding. This might take a while. The thunder student leaned up against a wall, with one hand wrapped up in the paper towel and held in the other. All he could do now was wait, and since he was one of the most impatient people out there, it would probably end up being the worst moments of his life as he stayed idle and bleeding.
Tagged:: Oliver
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 629
Notes:: It'll kind of be an awkward start to their friendship, but it's just more fun that way. <3
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Post by mirandapanda on Sept 18, 2011 13:31:03 GMT -5
The more Oliver looked at the fresh cut on his leg the more it hurt. He had been moving a few things around in his room when he slipped on a sock. When he fell his leg found a bent piece of metal on the frame of his bed, leaving him with a pretty little gash right above his knee and a bruise where the rest of his leg just hit the frame. Now wouldn’t this be a story to tell the girls. “Hey what happened to your leg?” “Well you see my sock and my bed worked together to try to kill me.” Yeah. He was definitely going to have to come up with a better story than that. Picking himself up off the floor where he landed, he walked over to the chair at his desk and sat down. His leg was bleeding like a bitch, and hurting even worse. Making it to the washroom was going to be a blast. To keep the blood from pouring on the floor he tore off the sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it around the cut.
“I should be immune to shit like this by now,” Oliver said as he limped his way over to the door of his room. And he honestly believed that. He had had multiple injuries from playing baseball or just doing stupid stuff with his friends back home. This hurt his pride. At least all of his other injuries had a good story behind them, but this? Hah, his ass got tripped up by a sock. Leave it to him to get messed up by the smallest thing in the room. All the way to the washroom, Oliver cursed with every step he took. “Shit, damn, hell, stupid ass lickin’ sock,” he mumbled through gritted teeth as he walked into the washroom. He stumbled over to the sink and pulled himself up onto the counter so that he could get his knee closer to the water. Oliver never even realized someone else was in the bathroom with him and he didn’t even really care. He just wanted to get his leg cleaned up and think on a story to tell for it.
He pulled the leg of his basketball shorts up just enough so that he could get to the makeshift bandage that was now completely red. Oliver winced as he pulled the cloth off and saw the mess on his leg. He washed the blood off of the piece of shirt and used it to wipe the blood off of his leg. Once he washed it pretty good he hopped off the counter and grabbed a paper towel and folded it to cover the wound. He the other sleeve off of the shirt he had on and used it to hold the paper towel to his leg. When he went back to his room he’d be able to actually put a real bandage on it. He was just about to leave the room when he finally realized someone else was in the room. The guy looked familiar but what was his name? Brad? Brent? No, Brett. Oliver had seen him around but never really talked to him. He saw the blood coming through the paper towel on the thunder student’s hand and the other various bruises and such he had. Oliver walked over to lean against the wall a few feet from him. “Man I hope your battle story is better than mine.” He was pretty sure it was. Unless he had tripped on a sock and fell down stairs, there was no way his story was as sad as Oli’s.
taggy taggy:: Brett.
outfit:: too lazy to make a polyvore thingy. Basketball shorts and a now sleeveless shirt.
count::607
notes:: the awkwardness makes things fun♥ |
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Post by brett on Sept 18, 2011 14:55:59 GMT -5
Brett wasn't particularly fond of waiting for anything. He was prone to quitting anything that required patience. It was a virtue, but he was a sinner. Nothing ever satisfied him unless it was immediate, and/or entertaining. Waiting in a school bathroom wit a hand in a paper towel was pretty much the opposite of entertaining. It actually redefined boring. He felt like he was sitting there for hours, but it had probably only been four or five minutes in reality. The whole thing with relative time was that it never worked out to anyone's favor. Why couldn't time fly when you were bored? Why couldn't amazing and unforgettable moments last forever? The world would surely be a better place were that one the case. Brett slid down the wall until he'd reached a sitting position with his wounded hand still held tightly in the other. If he actually cared about the well being of others enough to lose sleep, Brett probably would have made a halfway decent doctor, or at least a military field surgeon of some sort.
Brett knew better than to speak when another guy walked into the bathroom. There was a whole layer of etiquette to follow in situations like this, unspoken rules and such, and as much as Brett could have used conversation, he didn't really want the conflict at the moment. Once the boy started climbing onto the counter, however, the story changed. He had to weigh in on this one. "Just a head's up, that'll probably start bleeding again the minute you stand up straight," Brett explained. Very scarcely were his legs ever injured, because in a fight the face and torso were the subject of most blows, but he still knew that cuts bled depending on blood flow, and that gravity pulled blood down. With that in mind, just because the bleeding was done when the boy sat wouldn't mean that it would when he stood. "I'd use a paper towel with soap and water and just clean it out that way. Then tie whatever that thing that you wore in here was back to it." Brett spoke as if he couldn't care less, which in all seriousness, he could not. This was one of the few times that he was offering help without ulterior motive. The kid could do as he pleased, Brett wasn't going to force him to fix himself up the way Brett would have.
The thunder offered a small smile to the boy when he was asked if he had a better story behind his wound. Chances were, yes. Brett always had the best stories, but he'd only really tell them honestly and fully when he was drunk and there was nothing else worse doing. "Depends, what's yours?" he asked, looking the kid over. The boy's eyes showed recognition that Brett's did not. Then again, that wasn't surprising. When Brett stalked the halls, he always seemed to have blinders on. He wasn't concerned with others while the sun was up unless there was a chance that it could lead somewhere more exciting. School didn't usually provide that without a fight, and fights were harder to get away with in the school halls. Most people knew Brett by now. He was quickly building a bad reputation this year. He was the kid who got drunk and drag raced against Altair Bennett's ducati and tied. He was the kid who fought people like Joshua Dale for fun, even if he lost. He was the kid that rumors followed so very easily. At least, that was how he viewed it. Obviously, he could have been wrong. He was just confident about how people viewed him recently. He didn't show many redeemable qualities or acts, that was for sure. "I cut up my hand on a kid's face," Brett said after a short pause with a small laugh and a shake of his head. That was as much of the story as the boy would get without offering to buy Brett a drink, and he doubted that the kid with the cut up leg really would have wanted to go party at the moment.
Tagged:: Oliver
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 692
Notes:: Agreed! ^-^
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Post by mirandapanda on Sept 18, 2011 22:26:45 GMT -5
Injuries really weren’t that fun. Not at all. Especially the ones like this that hurt every time you moved. It would take awhile for the cut to heal. If Oliver could get over his stupid pride and go to the doctor to have stitches put in it then it probably wouldn’t take quite as long. He just couldn’t see himself explaining what happened to a doctor though. He’d rather say that his little sister kicked his ass then tell someone he slipped on a sock. Now he finally realized why his mom always stayed on him about keeping stuff up off the floor. That shit was hazardous to his well-being. His mom would kill him if she knew what had happened and the fact that he wasn’t getting stitches would make it worse. He pictured her flying up on a place with a switch and bending him over her knee like she did when he was little. She was only five foot two but he had the utmost respect for her. She could put the fear of God into Satan himself. Oliver decided it was best not to tell her about this when he talked to her.
As he sat on the counter another kid in the room spoke up, offering advice on how to fix up the wound on his leg. He merely nodded to the other guy and followed his directions. Oliver could be a hardass at times but he knew better than to ignore advice on this type of stuff. Infections were nasty little things and really weren’t Oliver’s choice of fun. He remembered the time he got staph so bad he had to stay in the hospital. After that he was very wary about cleaning even the smallest of cuts. The soap didn’t feel too good on the open wound, but as his dad always says ‘if it feels good, then it ain’t working’ and he usually believed what his dad said. He let out a sigh of relief when he had the thing re-wrapped and was done washing it.
Oliver contemplated on telling Brett a lie about what happened, but sighed and decided to humor the guy with his real story. “To be completely honest with you dude, a sock kicked my ass,” he let himself slide down the wall next to Brett, stretching his wounded leg out and leaning his head back against the wall. “Turns out those things are pretty vicious when you don’t wash them.” Making a joke about it made him feel a little better about what had happened. “And yeah, that sounds much better than what happened to me,” he said laughing with Brett. “You’re a thunder student…Brett I think?” he asked. He was pretty sure that was right but just wanted to make sure. Learning people at a new school was difficult. Especially when you had to remember who it was okay to be friends with and who not to be. Noly and Nell and Josh flashed through his mind at that thought. He figured it would be in his best interest to keep his acquaintances with them on the down low. His crush on Noly for sure.
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Post by brett on Sept 21, 2011 21:18:14 GMT -5
Brett had encountered his share of ridiculous injuries, but it had never been clothing related. Usually the most ridiculous of his injuries were caused by his own hand, because everything he could do to himself was just plain silly. Jumping in front of cars at night wasn't a brilliant idea, but he'd done it. In fact, he was amazed that he hadn't been killed that night. Or the night when he drag raced a fire girl drunk. It was amazing that he hadn't broken more bones, suffered more concussions, torn more ligaments. It was amazing that he was still in one piece. How he hadn't at least lost a finger or something was beyond him. Even though Brett wasn't religious by any stretch of the word, he had to believe that there was some kind of divine intervention. Fate had to favor him when it came to these almost unrealistic circumstances that surrounded his life. Fortune favored him, but he was certain that it wouldn't last forever. Still, he'd abuse it until his luck wore out.
Brett had to laugh when the kid explained his situation. He couldn't even imagine how a sock could do so much damage, but no one could make up a story that ridiculous. That had to be painful. Not just the injury, but damaging to his psyche as well. Brett always hated when things like that happened. If he had a ridiculous injury, or a shattering loss in a fight, he never spoke of it again. It drove him to drink more than usual, in a useless attempt to repress the whole memory. He wasn't very good at forgetting the things that embarrassed him the most, but he did manage to forget fonder memories. It didn't upset him nearly as much as it should have. He only appreciated nostalgia when it came to his insane adventures, and they were forever ingrained into his mind.
Brushing some hair out of his eyes with his good hand, Brett grinned. "I suggest more laundry runs then, otherwise you'll have a whole sock uprising on your hands," he advised. If one sock could do that much damage, he could only imagine what ten could do. Not that he thought that they had minds of their own or anything. That would be silly. Still, if this kid could get cut up by a sock, six or seven would surely tear him to pieces. Interestingly, the kid knew both his name and element already, when Brett wasn't sure that he'd ever seen the boy in his life. That wasn't really uncommon for him though, he was gaining some kind of infamy, and he didn't care enough to learn his allies and enemies until he absolutely needed to. He gave a slight nod in confirmation. "You got me," he admitted nonchalantly. "You're not an earth, are you? I don't need another fight right now." That was his way of asking who the kid was. He always needed a name with people. If he had a tag to use when referring to someone, it was certainly a lot easier to remember them.
Tagged:: Oli
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 519
Notes:: Sorry this took so long. >.<
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