Finding Your Place, pt. 7
It was late Thursday afternoon and the WVBA Infirmary was alive with activity. The final step in orientation and first day registration for this group of Academy hopefuls was their physicals. For the would-be WVBA boxers, it was what made this real, their official stamp of approval to move on. For the medical staff, it was all hands on deck.
The rookies sat in rows of folding chairs brought in from the Omni earlier in the morning. Most were fresh-faced and green. Some sported battle scars from past experiences. But, they all held clipboards full of paperwork in various stages of completion.
Nurses and doctors moved this way and that, calling back the next person in line, and all while handling the normal business of the day.
From one of the examination rooms stepped a massive man, easily six-and-a-half feet tall, but lean for his height, around 240 by visual reckoning. He was bald with a thick mustache and holding his stomach with a pained expression.
“Spasibo, Nurse Bona,” the tall man said with a thick Russian accent. “It will be quite difficult to give up my favorite drink, da? But, I will follow Doctor Wakada’s orders.”
The nurse that followed him out of the room was physically impressive herself. Close to six feet tall with a muscular build not completely hidden by her teal scrubs, her complexion and features were distinctly Mediterranean. She reviewed her clipboard briefly before placing a reassuring hand on the big man’s shoulder.
“Good, Mister Popinski,” Nurse Bona said warmly, a hint of an Italian accent coloring otherwise perfect English. “Perhaps you could switch to clear sodas, like Sprite or 7-Up?”
“Maybe,” Popinski relented, “but, it is not the same.”
“Still,” the nurse replied, “it’s better than gallstones, yes?”
“Da!” the big Russian answered emphatically. “Thank you, Nurse Bona. I will come back if there are any flare ups.”
As Nurse Bona wrapped up with her patient, Rian Rossi and Narcis Prince sat along the wall next to one another, chatting casually, a quick friendship forming since they first met that morning. Rian was checking an email on his phone and nodding while Narcis surveyed the waiting room and its many occupants.
“Looks like our flat is on the fifth floor,” Rian said with his faint Irish lilt. “Ah, floor plan, let’s see… that’s a tiny kitchen. Well, as long as the icebox keeps the beer cold.”
“May I?” Narcis asked, gesturing to Rian’s phone.
Rian handed his phone over and Narcis surveyed the floor plan.
“Small, yes, but not unmanageable,” the posh Brit said.
“You cook?” Rian asked with a slight surprise. “I would’ve thought you had people for that.”
“Mother insisted I be capable,” Narcis smirked. “I’m no Gordon Ramsay, but I daresay I can assemble a fair plate. Saved me from a few years of pot noodles and takeaways.”
“I rather like a good pot noodle,” Rian grinned. “Still, I’ll handle the pasta and pizzas and you can handle whatever fancy green you posh types favor.”
Narcis’s mouth twitched, “Kale has a dreadfully undeserved reputation, I’ll have you know.” He smoothed his tie before changing the subject. “Still, it is a wonder we’ve been paired as flatmates. Do you think they paired us up regionally or simply drew lots?”
Their conversation was briefly interrupted by Nurse Bona calling for the next physical. “Roxanne Delgado?”
“Right here, chica!” A wiry Latina sprang to her feet. She was a couple of rows over, wired earbuds dangling around her neck and throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. The chatter dipped for a heartbeat as she sashayed after the nurse, hips swaying to a beat that only she could hear.
“Energetic one, isn’t she?” Rian chuckled before shaking his head and trying to regain his thoughts. “You asked about how we got put together, right? Don’t really know, but I look at the bright side. You’re not Aran Ryan. You speak in full sentences and seem civilized.”
“High praise indeed,” Narcis leaned back, eyes scanning the room. “First day nearly done. How’s it feel?”
“Tired, but that’s good,” Rian said with a shrug. “I’m just ready to start some proper training once they’ve checked all the boxes for us. You?”
“Same,” Narcis replied, “but curious, mostly. I’ve found most athletics come naturally to me. A gift, I suppose. But, I want to test myself, see how far that natural aptitude can take me when paired with structured discipline.”
Rian nodded his approval, “Aye, no resting on the laurels. Same here, mate. Uncle Gio was a top contender in the early days of the league. I want to honor that, but I’ll not ride his name. The family says it’s stubborn, but I’ll have nobody saying the only reason I’m here is I’m Pete Zapasta’s nephew.”
“Well said, Rossi,” Narcis smiled softly. “Commendable. Legacy can be quite the double-edged sword…”
Before Narcis could finish, a resounding thud followed by a dramatic sigh came from beside him. A young blonde woman had plopped into the chair next to him. She dropped her paperwork and purse into her lap and looked at Narcis and Rian almost expectantly.
“Miss… um,” Rian struggled to recall.
“Lords, wasn’t it?” Narcis chimed in. “Tiffany Lords, I believe.”
She moaned as she rolled her eyes toward them. “Ugh! I can’t believe this. Can you believe this?”
“Believe what exactly,” Narcis asked, Rian shooting him a piercing look as he did.
“So first, they deny my request for a single room,” Tiffany said indignantly. “But then, they stick me with her for roommate.”
“Who, pray tell?” Narcis again asked, smirking with some satisfaction at Rian’s annoyance.
“Her!” Tiffany jerked her thumb toward the examination room Roxanne had entered. “They stuck Rox-anne. She’s been trying to cozy up to me ever since they told us, too. I mean, she hums off-key, she never stops moving, and she walks with this silly wiggle like she’s always on stage.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll…” Rian said, trying to end the conversation.
“Oooooh, and then,” Tiffany ignored him. “Then, when I told her I boxed in high school, she said it was ‘cute.’ I was the boxing and cheer captain at Pacific. I’ve been knockin’ chicks out since I was 14 and now I’ve got to deal with this step-class spice girl that thinks she can box.”
Narcis, sensing his new friend’s dwindling patience, tried to interrupt, “Well, Miss Lords, might I recommend…”
“I can already feel the vibe, y’know?” Tiffany continued obviously. “Like, she probably thinks dance choreography is footwork. As if. I swear, the first time she interrupts my beauty sleep with her dancing or whatever… POW! Groovy Knuckle, on the spot, no questions asked.”
Tiffany slouched in her chair, crossed her arms in a huff, and thrust her lower lip out in a pout.
Narcis and Rian shared a look of half-amusement, half not-quite sympathy. Rian shrugged and started to reply when the infirmary door banged open.
All eyes darted toward the door as in walked the tall, lean frame of The Sandman. He was wearing simple training sweats, but his swagger was that of a king waiting for his crown.
“Yo! Where’s Doc Wakada?” The Sandman boomed as he looked around the crowded room dismissively. “Gotta pre-fight to knock out ‘fore I do the same to Donnie Flamenco this weekend.”
A young nurse at the reception desk, Kara according to her name tag, looked up at The Sandman, her voice soft and a little meek. “Um, Mister Sands, your appointment is tomorrow morn…”
The Sandman’s gaze fell like a guillotine on the shy nurse, “Do I look like I need an appointment? Let me holla at the Doc an’ get this over with.”
As the reception nurse and The Sandman continued, Rian and Narcis exchanged glances.
“Quite the piece of work,” Narcis whispered with a cocked eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d say ‘rude piece of shite’,” Rian responded, “but, aye, we’re on the same page.”
Narcis smirked, “Very well, then. Would you like the honors or shall I?”
Tiffany leaned over, having heard the exchange, “Wait a minute. Are you two serious? You know that’s Andre Sands, right? Son of Mister Sandman. Number two in the Major Circuit. Undefeated in the WVBA.”
“That doesn’t excuse such crass behavior,” Narcis replied with a glance to Rian.
“Aye,” Rian agreed. “I’ll take this one. Would be a shame to wrinkle your suit.”
“Much obliged, mate.” Narcis said, settling back in his seat as Rian stood and removed his denim jacket.
Tiffany’s eyes darted between Rian, Narcis, and The Sandman in disbelief. “Like, is he really… are you really gonna… what the f…”
“Language, Miss Lords,” Narcis chided with a smirk. “Truthfully, I doubt it will come to blows. But if it does, smart money always bets Irish.”
Rian approached the reception desk amidst murmurs and whispers while The Sandman continued his demands with increasing frustration.
“Look, sweetheart,” The Sandman smiled, resting his hands on the desk and leaning forward to tower over the young woman, “I’m The Sandman. I don’t need no appointments. When I show up and ask to see somebody, then that’s when I gots an appointment.”
He stood up straight and gestured widely to the room, “Now you bump all these future tomato cans to the back of the line and let the doc know I’m here before I lose patience and start makin’ you some.”
Kara shrank back in her chair, stammering. “I-I-I’m s-sorry, b-but I-I-I…”
The Sandman’s hand slammed into the desk, hard. “I don’t care if you…”
“Ahem.”
The quiet sound of a throat clearing made The Sandman stop, piquing his interest.
“Fair play, big man,” Rian said with an almost friendly tone. “You’re a contender. You got a big fight this week. You’re busy. So’s the lady. How’s about you be a gent an’ let the lady do her job, yeah?”
The Sandman spun on his heels, now face-to-face with the scruffy Italian-Irishman. Rian was just a hair shorter, but he made up for it in mass, maybe a good ten pounds. That didn’t stop The Sandman from looking down on Rian, trying to overshadow and intimidate.
Rian, for his part, stood firm. There was no hint of fear or retreat in those green eyes. There was only a steadiness of a man that had seen his fair share of bar fights across at least two countries and was looking to add a third.
“He’s gonna die,” Tiffany’s manicured hand went to her mouth. “Cause of death, terminal stupidity.”
Narcis, on the other hand, looked completely unconcerned. “Your concern is sweet, but misplaced, Miss Lords. I suspect our new acquaintance is quite capable. And besides, in the realm of donnybrooks, one learns to always bet on green.”
“You lost, little man?” The Sandman asked while giving Rian a mocking appraisal. “Grown-folk are handlin’ business here.”
He glared down at Rian, though the latter was unimpressed. Neither Andre Sands’s bravado nor the two inch height difference bothered Rian at all.
“Maybe.” Rian replied, standing his ground. “But last I checked, grown-folk still waited their turn. Cuttin’ the queue sends a bad message, makes the rest of us look small. Can’t be havin’ that.”
The chuckle that came from The Sandman was a low, threatening sound. “You got guts, Braveheart. Tell you what, why don’t I sign you an autograph and you take a seat?”
“Uh huh,” Rian said, shaking his head. “First off, I’m half Irish. Braveheart is Scottish, but I’ll let that slide. Meantime, how’s about you sit your arse down an’ wait your turn like everybody else?”
A nervous buzz went through the room. Tiffany looked beside herself at Narcis who, for his part, was studying Andre “The Sandman” Sands and his every move.
“You got any idea who I am?” The Sandman’s gaze narrowed as he took a step back, giving himself room.
Rian’s smile turned mischievous. “Any idea if I care?”
The Sandman’s eyes went wide with anger, “Boy, you should. I’m main-event money, a nightmare none of you bunch of punkass rookies wanna meet in the ring!”
His voice rose as many in the room shrank back in their chairs. Many, but not all. Not Rian Rossi.
“If I wanna jump the line,” The Sandman continued, “then I jump. Now, get outta my face and let me get back to my business. Last warning.”
“Or what?” Rian folded his arms. “You’ll swing on me two days before a title eliminator? I’m sure that’ll go over well. Aye, I can see the headlines now: Contender belts rookie in doctor’s office; Forfeits bout due to suspension.”
The Sandman was practically vibrating with anger, but Rian pressed on.
“Still, if you wanna go,” Rian began rolling up his sleeves. The rest didn’t need to be said.
“Let’s see you back up all that shit you talkin’.” The Sandman’s fists flexed as he moved toward Rian. But then, he suddenly stopped.
Narcis stood, the message clear. The Sandman saw him out of the corner of his eye as the young Brit slid off his suit jacket with effortless grace.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, his posh accent now cold and calm. “Should you feel compelled to lash out at my flatmate, I would at least suggest Marquis of Queensbury rules and a proper ring. Hallway scuffles are dreadfully passé.”
The Sandman’s gaze shot from Rian, to Narcis, and back again. But before things could further escalate, a woman’s voice cut through with authority.
“Basta!”
Nurse Bona came out of the examination room, clipboard in hand. Her eyes blazed with the fury of a woman that had seen enough foolishness for one day.
“Signor Sands,” she said to The Sandman, her tone brooking no argument, “you will sit down. Now. You will received your physical when your name is called and not a moment before.”
“Woman,” The Sandman started, “do you…”
“I did not stutter, Signor Sands.” Cura’s stare was unflinching. “The doctor will not be rushed and my nurses will not be harassed. Sit or leave. I don’t care which.”
Tension hung in the air for a moment. Then, The Sandman walked past Rian to an empty chair. As he passed the Irish-Italian, he whispered low, “Your punk ass is mine.”
Rian simply smiled. Nurse Bona shot him a quick nod and went back to work while Rian moved back to his own seat.
“You’re nuts,” Tiffany scolded, “you know that right? You know what he coulda done to you?”
“Sure,” Rian chuckled as he picked up his denim jacket and put it back on. “Luckily, I tend to pick fight near hospitals. Makes the clean-up a sight easier.”
Tiffany shook her head in disbelief, then turned her attention to Narcis, “And you. What was that little speech all about? You think rules matter outside the ring?”
The faintest of smiles played on Narcis’s face, “Not at all, but that wasn’t the point. The brute needed to understand that anything untoward, should they come to blows, would be dealt with.”
“Meaning?” Tiffany asked.
“Meaning,” Rian spoke up, “Saville Row over here had my back.”
“Quite.” Narcis responded.
A nurse called the next patient, “Aaron Rian Rossi?”
“That’s me.” Rian called out as he stood. Then with a quick nod to his acquaintances, “If you’ll pardon me.”
Narcis nodded as Rian made his way to the examination room. Meanwhile, Tiffany finally relaxed and leaned back in her chair.
“Okay, you two might be pretty cool,” she said, shaking her head. “But, you’re definitely both crazy.”
“Nice of you to say so, my dear,” Narcis replied with a smirk. “Though, bear in mind, one that chooses to be punched soundly about the face and torso as a profession can be called entirely sane, now can they?”
Cura Bona is an OC belonging to @m4y4fun and is used with permission.