Dante had spent the last fight doubled over a steel chair, away from the ring, away from the crowd. He wasn’t entirely sure if he had a broken rib or not, he’d had one before, and the current pain, shooting from his abdomen wasn’t as bas as that time. What he was more concerned about was the nearly three inch gash on his right hip from the constant bombardment of his opponent’s fists that night. Dante wasn’t proud of it, but he threw that fight. It might have been a good thing, however, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d have won, anyway. Unlike some of the fighters, he wasn’t professionally trained for it, he relied on his natural strength and instinct rather than finesse.
After the last fight was over, he slowly walked over to the infirmary. It was his first time having to resort to using it, aside from the usually bloody knuckles, and bruises, there wasn’t anything major he’d needed remedied. Dante felt more defeated walking to the medic, than he had while he was in the ring. He had on a grey, stringer tank top, red liquid pooled on his right hip where his wound was. “Hey,” he said in a grunt as he made his way into the open door. “You uh… you got a minute?” he asked. Dante’s voice was deep and gravelly, but he was always rather quiet.
When Shaw originally got dragged into the mess that is the underground fight ring two years ago, she desperately needed the extra cash. To be honest, she still needed the cash, but that wasn’t reason that kept her coming back down here anymore. The fighters were tearing themselves apart, and lots of them wouldn’t go to the hospital to treat their injuries before hopping into the ring again the next few days. She didn’t understand why, but she didn’t need to understand. What she did and needed to do was patch up the ones that came to her, and sometimes, if they were bad enough, she would push her way to them.
The was one fighter in particular that she always found herself rooting for..he didn’t fight like the others. He wasn’t full of anger that he couldn’t express..but he also didn’t fight to win. She had seen enough of his fights to know that. Just like she had seen enough fights to know when someone was going to lose, especially him. Not standing the thought of watching him be beat to a pulp, Shaw quietly sat off in a secluded room, all of her supplies scattered around. The red head had her elbows propped up on her knees when she looked over in the door way, “Shit,” she whispered as she hurried to get up and over to him, “Y-Yeah, I got a minute. Here sit down.” She pulled the chair over for him to sit, “Or let me see it? I might need you to lie on that table over there.”
