Who: Derek and John Dorny What: Cleaning up after fighting in The Pits Where: The Pits When: Saturday night Rating: for language (L) and probably graphic talk of violence (V)
The rags John Dorny used as hand wrappings were slowly starting to lose not only consistency, but their color as well. What were once white rags from old t-shirts are dissolving into tattered cloth strips, stained blood with the countless number of opponents he's faced in the pit. At one point, each of the blood splatters had a story behind them. Now, much like his life, they are a mess of faded red.
Even though he tried to massage his wrists, it was impossible to ignore the pain from over 50 years of fighting. Although he grew a little more exhausted every time he came out of The Pits, he knew it was the only way to have any quality of life in this new world. Eventually he'd be forced to talk to the healer about his condition - but they would drag him kicking and screaming first.
After unwrapping his hands and taking note of his own wounds, Dorny lit a cigarette and slowly let it burn. "Feckin' hell," he uttered rather loudly to himself, not realizing anyone was in earshot. "A feckin' brutal night of bashing, all for a few quid."