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Darnell Butler
OOC: You know what? FUCK that shit! I'm still not sure if I'm going to participate in v3, but I'm keeping Darnell as my character. This topic is null and void.

Mod Applications
Handler Name: TBH
Contact Methods: AIM, MSN, my email account, phone (none of you have my number. :P).
How often do you check the site?: Constantly, especially since I've made repeated attempts to post.
Why do you want to be a moderator?: I feel like doing something useful for once.
What do you feel like you could contribute to the forum that others couldn't?: Like Waffle, I'm constantly checking the forum, and will be able to spot mistakes easily. I tend to give harsh but honest criticisms, so I'll be useful in the approving process. I'm also an experienced staffer from other forums and past staff positions on SOTF.
How good are you with deadlines?: I'm decent. Usually I manage to make them.
Do you consider yourself a prompt person?: Usually, yes. I try, at least.
Do you consider yourself a fair, unbiased person?: Yes, unless I'm pissed off at someone, in which case I'll try not to get involved if I think I can't stay neutral.
Are you able to handle sometimes stressful situations?: Yes.

It's... Over?

It's... Over?
Heh, Adam's a Little Sister?

(Play Bioshock if you don't get it)

It's... Over?
I'm in the same boat as them. If you want me to lend a hand, just ask. You know how to reach me.

It's... Over?

What the fuck, Heath? What the fuck?
Atomic Waffle
Jan 23 2008, 05:51 AM
Why would he? Where are you basing this off of?

Just my tendency to always think the worst, and overdosing is a pretty common suicide method if I recall. Easy to disguise as an accident, too. Meh, not too sure that's the case, just a possibility that comes to mind.

What the fuck, Heath? What the fuck?
Am I the only one who thinks there was nothing accidental about this overdose? Aka, that our friend Heath here intentionally committed suicide?

What the fuck, Heath? What the fuck?
Meh. Heath was a hack anyway, good riddance to bad rubbish.

Robert Gates

Robert Gates
And you people wonder why I hate the country I live in.

He always does.

It wasn't as much correcting as stating something I found interesting.

Fact: Kaput is German for "broken". Therefore it is grammatically incorrect to say "has gone kaput". The correct term would be "is kaput" (or "are kaput" in this case because the subject is a plural).

St. Francis Hospital, come broken and leave fixed
OOC: Continued from TOURNAMENT FINAL: Paul vs. Darnell.

White. That was the first thing people tended to notice about hospitals, how completely sterile and white everything seemed to be. The hospital gowns and the like were greenish, and the doors were a metallic grey colour, but otherwise everything was so blaringly white that one could hardly turn on a light without being blinded. He had been in Saint Francis Medical Hospital for two days now (including today but excluding the night of the tournament when he had been brought in), and yet Darnell was still not used to the overly bright colour all over the place. Opening his eyes from yet another few hours spent resting, he was glad he had asked the nurses to turn the lights off in his room the day before, wincing as eyes used to the dark met the pure white of the walls. Clad only in a sickly green hospital gown and a pair of underwear (at least they had been kind enough to save him some dignity and leave those on when they operated, he figured), the blankets on the hospital bed up to his chest, his recently operated-on leg tied down in a cast and brace that constricted all movement and felt hellishly uncomfortable, an IV stuck in his left arm and another bandage wrapped tightly around his head where he had cracked it against the concrete of Shooters' basement, it was enough that Darnell almost forgot he was the winner of that tournament. His knee didn't hurt anymore now, but his head still throbbed occasionally.

Way I feel, that win's feeling really fucking Pyrrhic right now. This really wasn't how I wanted to spend my Sunday.

Darnell usually liked Sundays. In a busy week full of studying and hard physical training, Sunday was usually the one day he had to just relax and take things at his own pace. He could rest, recuperate, and if he particularly needed spiritual guidance for some reason he might drop by one of the local churches (people often forgot that Darnell was a religious man, though he believed God preferred not to directly intervene in human matters unless He had no choice). Now though, he wasn't even allowed to turn over when trying to sleep due to risk of making his leg worse while it was trying to heal. He had been told yesterday what the problem was; during the tournament several of the tendons in his knee had become severely inflamed (with one actually being torn), and the kneecap was badly chipped, almost broken. This damage was made even worse by that last set of moves Darnell had desperately used to beat Paul. They had had to immediately operate in order to save the leg, but for now it seemed that all of the damage had been repaired. He would have to be in the hospital for a few weeks, and then spend more weeks in rehabilitation, but they expected he would make a full recovery.

A few weeks strapped down to this bed, not even able to move more than maybe an inch in either direction? How the FUCK is this possible?

Closing his eyes again, he rested his head against the pillow as best he could, trying to think. The events immediately following his victory over Paul were still a confusing blur, but he tried to remember. When he had started to walk towards the crowd, calling out to Keith and Kallie, his leg seemed to break under him, and he collapsed to the ground in pain, smashing his head on the ground hard enough that he was nearly knocked out. Many among the crowd panicked, and some rushed forward in an attempt to aid Darnell, but while ordering someone to get the medical personnel, Montezzo and some of the Shooters security staff blocked them off, Montezzo knocking someone out after they tried to push past him. While the crowd was being pacified, some of the medical staff carried Darnell (and maybe Paul, but Darnell still hadn't seen anything of him after defeating him...God, he hoped Paul was okay) out of the building on a stretcher. Then the mask went on...and it all went to black.

Okay, that's good, Darnell. Now, what happened next...?

After that, the next thing he could remember was waking up in the very room he was in now, trying to get his bearings. The anesthetic still having only barely worn off, a nurse soon came into the room, bringing him up to speed on the damage and the like. The surgery was successful in every way, but it would still be some time before the leg was healed completely. The lingering effects of the drug adding even more to his already present fatigue, he soon after fell back to sleep. Soon after he had woke up yesterday, his parents came in, a bizarre mixture of frightened for him and furious at him. They had been worried sick when they heard about what happened, and Hajim had come close to forcing his way up to Darnell's room the night before, but fortunately his wife had talked him down from it. He was a big, tough-looking man, and though his attitude was similar to Darnell's own he knew how to be intimidating when he had to be. They all knew he had gone into the tournament knowing that something like this was a risk though, even signed a waiver about it, and Darnell was able to convince his parents that Paul had damaged his leg by accident. They seemed to accept that and left soon after, promising to drop in from time to time to check on him. After that he spent most of the day chatting with a few visiting well-wishers and desperately looking for something good on the hospital TV (nothing was found). Eventually he called a nurse in and asked for some Benadryl, not because he needed it but because hospital-strength Benadryl never failed to put him to sleep. They administered it through the IV and he was out like a light in a few seconds.

That brought him to the here and now, he surmised as he opened his eyes slowly, hoping that this time the white everywhere would not burn to look at. Fortunately there was no such burning, which made his overall headache more bearable, and with his right hand (he didn't use his left for much of anything because of the IV) he rubbed his eyes a bit before a knock at the door came.

"Come in, not like that door's ever locked anyway." he grunted tiredly, focusing his attention on the now opening door and the nurse that entered through it. Nurse Hedderman (her first name was "Alicia" or something like that, if Darnell remembered correctly) was a kind and very elderly nurse that had been part of the hospital staff for longer than Darnell had been alive, short and with wrinkled skin, but it was obvious from the way she carried herself that in the days of her youth she had been a very beautiful and proud woman (she had bragged to some people in the past that back in her high school days she had been the apple of almost every male student's eye).

"Good morning, Darnell. Is your leg feeling any better?" she asked in the same sweet tone of voice as always, smiling at him a bit.

"It's going to be a while before it's better at all, but the pain's stopped," Darnell replied with a small shrug, "what's up?"

"Oh, you have some visitors again, but you look tired. I just don't have the heart to tell any of the dears that they can't see you, as worried as some of them look, but if you want to get some rest I can tell them to come back later..."

"No, that's alright ma'am. I'll see them."

The old nurse nodded at his reply and walked back out of the room, where he could hear her telling someone outside that they could come in, just not all at once so that Darnell wasn't overwhelmed, which made Darnell grin a bit. In reality, he'd love nothing more than to just sleep the next few weeks away at the moment, but he thought he'd see what these people wanted. Besides, it was something to do. His thoughts were silenced though, when the first person walked in, sticking out like a sore thumb in his fancy black Armani suit and dress shoes, looking just as professional and confident as always as he entered the room and faced Darnell after looking around a bit. Montezzo Valtieri was not a tall man, only standing at about 5'10 and possessing a muscular but still rather wiry build, his appearance typically Sicilian with dark hair, skin, and eyes, his sharp but attractive facial features (at least, Darnell figured women found him attractive, he was straight and therefore didn't harbour such thoughts about him) well suiting his eyes which had such a piercing gaze. He was a very clean cut individual who never had any doubts about anything he did, and his features suggested as much. That, coupled with the fact that he had been the best fighter in Southridge back when he was a student there (Darnell was confident he was also the best at the University at the moment) made it hard to imagine Montezzo as anything short of a giant, and even harder to believe him when he said there was no truth to the rumour that he had been raised by a Mafia boss (even though he was telling the truth when he said that, he was as wealthy as he was now literally because his father won the lottery).

"Well," Montezzo said after a quick nod, "I never expected to see you in one of those. Especially not because of little Paul."

"Since when is Paul little?" Darnell asked, though choosing not to address how odd it sounded that Montezzo's reference to Paul almost sounded somewhat affectionate.

"He was not always as big as he is now, I just call him that as a term of endearment. Anyway, I just wanted to see how the champion is doing."

"Let's just say I'm not looking forward to spending the next few weeks here."

"Agreed. Anyway, word has spread pretty quickly about your victory the other night, I must say you and Paul put on one hell of a show. As promised, I found Lance after the tournament and personally gave him the two hundred dollar prize. He seemed pleased, though I do not know if he will come here himself to express his gratitude. You surprised me, Darnell, I did not think you would do something like that."

"Well what was I supposed to do? It was a choice between letting him win or damning his child, can you FUCKING blame me for picking a third option?"

"Watch your tone," Montezzo cut in, raising his hand for a second to cut him off before continuing, "I will let that slide for now, but I hope you can keep a hold on your temper despite your fatigue and injury. I did not say I blamed you, just that it was not expected. I am not used to you being so altruistic. Well, with you scheduled to be in this hospital so long, your grades will be an issue, yes?"

"Actually, yeah. I don't think I'd be able to keep up."

"I did not think so, I would not be able to make up all the work myself while also staying on top of current assignments. I still have contacts in that school, you know, I will see to it that someone brings your work here, alright?"

"Sounds good...thanks, man."

"It is not any real problem. Only fair that I compensate you in some manner. Well, the other visitors are probably getting impatient, and I have a lot of work to do myself, so I will take my leave. My wishes go to you, Butler."

Montezzo Valtieri, as he always did when he decided a conversation was over, did not give Darnell any chance to reply. Instead he immediately turned around and headed out the door, where he could be heard telling someone else outside to head on in. Trying to hold in a yawn, he could only wonder just who it was this time.

Let's hope it isn't someone too pissed off at me, then.

I use both, and neither of them are all that bad. They both work well enough, and not everybody has one or the other so having both allows one to talk to more people. Also, AIM users usually aren't dicks about it, from what I've seen.

TOURNAMENT FINAL: Paul vs. Darnell
"Ladies and gentlemen, give a round of hearty applause to these extraordinary fighters, they have earned it!"

Montezzo's request was first answered by a few isolated claps in the massive crowd, still awed by the battle they had witnessed. Over a few seconds the claps started to grow louder and more numerous, until eventually it seemed like the basement had exploded in cheers, applause, and chanting of Darnell's name. The roar of the crowd, the shouts of "great fight!", "I knew you could do it, Butler!" and the like, for all the good it did to Darnell it might as well not have been there. All he could hear was the thunderous beating of his own heart. It was truly a wonder to him that they who bore witness to the tournament could not hear the percussive organ themselves, as to him it drowned out all of their noise, all the merriment they made at the fight that was only now truly over. It had been a difficult fight, but Darnell knew one thing: no matter what his own condition, he had won. Lance would get the money he so desperately needed for his child. Darnell had his pride, too, but that wasn't as important.

I pulled it off. Heh, I actually did it! Keith, Kallie, Lance, did you see me? I won! I beat Paul Smith!

His head throbbed, his heart pulsed, his entire body was numb from the adrenaline and excitement that had yet to leave his body, and the only thing Darnell could really feel at the moment was his own red hot blood racing in his veins. None of it had been shed tonight, but if it had it would appear to be boiling on the hard basement floor. The sweat rolling down his ebony skin caused his shirt to stick tightly to his otherwise bare and well-muscled chest, but he paid it no mind as he did not notice the discomfort. Those looking on from the outside such as Montezzo and the cheering audience would see a man who was tired and hurt, breathing a bit heavily while struggling to stay standing, his right leg shaking badly as if it were about to snap under Darnell's weight. Inside, though, he could not feel any more different if he tried. It could only be described as a sort of high, an all encompassing euphoria that surrounded him and made it seem like nothing could effect him. He felt invincible, like if he were to try right now he would conquer the Universe itself. He was the King, and if he asked all would bow before him. This overwhelming sense of power encompassing his entire being, it could not be rivaled by any other sensation. Wrestling, Football, nothing compared to the rush he felt right now as the people chanted his name and Montezzo, seeming as coolly confident and professional as always, checked on Paul and removed the cigarette with a small joke ("cigarettes are bad for you, friend."). It reminded Darnell just why he used to love fighting so much, the feeling of power and control. Overcome with emotion, he could not help but raise his hands up into the air and look upwards to the ceiling, letting out a triumphant roar that nearly matched that of the crowd.

The bull's horns are still sharp!

His shout only went on for a few seconds, but it seemed to last for easily an hour at least, his lungs being emptied in a quick burst of the power that now seemed to inhabit him in the wake of his grueling match with Paul. He loved this, and he knew part of his immense satisfaction at his own victory was due to the fact that, unlike Paul, he was not fighting for himself. It was his hope that Paul would understand Darnell's motivations and forgive Darnell for defeating him in time. Still, shortly after he started his victorious cry he closed his mouth, lowering his head and arms to face the crowd silently once more. This time though he was not in a dazed looking trance, focusing only on his mind. No, his eyes searched through the faces in the crowd almost frantically, his head moving from side to side to look for two specific people in the crowd. Those two people had been in his mind just as much as Lance was when he struggled against Paul, hoping to not only win Lance the money but to impress them. He did not see them at first, but still started to step forward, opening his mouth to call out to Keith Jackson and Kallie Majors while hoping they had not left.

"Hey, Keith, Ka-"


Everyone heard the noise that came from Darnell's right leg as it touched the ground, a sickening crunch that caused a loud gasp to come from some of the people in attendance. In a second flat, the mighty Darnell Butler had collapsed to the ground, the adrenaline wearing off and making way for intense white-hot pain the likes of which he had almost never experienced before in an instant. It seemed to take the breath from his lungs as soon as it appeared, destroying his balance and clouding his mind as all he could do was fall forward to the ground like a freshly cut tree. Crashing to the ground with his hands cradling his damaged knee, which caused his head to smash against the floor and disorient him even further (especially when added to the headbutt he had taken earlier), he felt his mouth fill with blood as he bit down hard on his own tongue and the insides of his cheeks in order to keep from degrading himself by crying out from the incredible agony.

The next few minutes seemed to be a confusing blur from Darnell's point of view. The pain was too much, he couldn't think clearly, couldn't comprehend everything that was happening. He couldn't even muster the strength to get up, though he was sure that at the moment his leg was useless anyway. He heard Montezzo ordering medics to come down and get Paul and Darnell, could hear shouts and the sounds of people in the crowd moving forward, only to be blocked by Montezzo and security. Someone cried out and fell to the floor, Darnell would later learn this was someone who tried to push Montezzo out of the way and ended up laid out by a lightning fast counterattack. The crowd went silent, and Darnell offered no response to the sensation of being lifted up by two large men and placed onto a stretcher, grunting loudly as they stretched his leg forward in order to strap him down and start carrying him out of the basement.

"That's enough!" he could hear Montezzo say, almost as if he were out of focus but it was still obvious that he had raised his voice for once, "The tournament is over, everybody. Please pick up any winnings you have earned at the designated gambling areas and leave in an orderly fashion once the medical staff has left with Paul and Darnell. Shooters is closing soon, so it would be preferable if you left now."

His words faded further and further as Darnell soon found himself out of the complex and into the surprisingly cold California night, quickly being loaded onto an ambulance almost like he was cargo. Still not clear on what was going on, and fading in and out of consciousness, he saw the mask for the air based anesthetic coming down onto his face, and everything faded to black as the gas did its work.

OOC: Darnell Butler, tournament champion, continued in St. Francis Hospital, come broken and leave fixed.

Bowling Alley Trouble
I didn't mean to imply that I was better than anyone here (except Chad, and I said that jokingly. :P), the only way I meant that "I'm experienced at this" stuff was to tell RePeate that I know what I'm talking about. I'm sorry if that is the vibe you got. I will second Chad's statement though, if anyone comes up to me and asks for pointers, I'd be glad to help out.

TOURNAMENT FINAL: Paul vs. Darnell
Paul was right about one thing, the fight would be over soon. Darnell moved to dodge the dash forward and sudden kick, but it was too fast. There was a resounding crack and a gasp from the audience as Paul's foot hit the injured kneecap of Darnell Butler. A strangled sounding shout emanated from Darnell as he tried to stop himself from howling in pain, dropping onto the ground on the afflicted knee. Even through the adrenaline clouding his mind the pain was intense, and he could barely move his leg through it all. Montezzo started to step forward from his spot in the crowd while Paul spun around for his backfist, and the thought of him giving Paul the win filled Darnell with something that was almost alien to Darnell now: rage. The burning agony in his knee started to turn into a volcanic fury in his mind, the thought that he could be undone by one lousy kick making him once more feel like he wanted to tear someone apart with his bare hands.


With all the force he could muster Darnell shot upwards at Paul, grabbing his arm as he turned around so his back was facing Paul. Pulling the arm forwards and then in a sharp up-down motion, he would bring the elbow joint down on the bone of Darnell's shoulder, snapping it in the same movement as he bent forwards and pushed up, in essence lifting Paul onto his back before lowering his head to around his knee in order to throw Paul off, letting go of the arm to complete the slam to the ground. It was almost identical to the hip throw Paul had tried earlier, but Darnell was not yet finished.

Grabbing Paul by the hair to pull him upwards into a sitting position, he also took his right arm and lifted it up in order to place his head below it, leaving Paul's arm above his head. Wrapping his left around Paul's waist, he stood up slightly in order to lift Paul up, bringing his right up between Paul's legs to grab his left by the forearm as he stood all the way up and bent back sharply in order to slam Paul's head and neck into the ground, using his legs to bridge. He then rolled sharply to his left so that he was again behind Paul, who would be on the ground, and moved his arms to around his gut. Again bending backwards, with his head placed behind Paul's shoulder, he would slam Paul's head and neck against the ground again in what was an almost identical throw. Though he had again bridged his legs to hold himself up, he then took his arms away from their position and lowered his legs, pushing forwards to basically slide out from under Paul.

After that was done Darnell would push Paul's legs so that they were essentially moving over his head, as he would be on the ground if the combo reached this point, and again grabbed him around the gut, trying to use his strength to pull Paul up with him. When Paul's rear reached the level of Darnell's neck, Darnell would pitch forward and down, hoping that the powerbomb combined with the other throws would knock him out. He was trying his best to block out the pain, and putting everything he had into these last moves. If this didn't work, he didn't know what would.

Bowling Alley Trouble
Actually, there are counters for that move. If RePeate tries one that works he could use it to break the hold. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if you know a Kimura counter yourself. :P