not so lucky.— [adrian/lucky]

Father has his arms wrapped against his shaking son as pain from the finishing blow in the tournament surged across the side of his face. Eden Le Roux clipped Lucky across his eye, forcing him down and motionless for a moment. After they declared his opponent the winner, the medical team stood him upright. Their hands, although warm in the heated environment, burned with frost against his open skin. Lucky made an attempt to open his eye, but all he could make out was a veil of crimson blurred images. He heard their careless whispers, calling it a nasty shot to his eye with a shot at some serious damage. The Career Academies of District Four trained him on what to do in this moment: remain calm and allow the medical staff to do their job. However, the 'how to get through it' portion remained a mystery, as either, they don't live to share their mechanisms of coping or they simply threw guidance to the wayside.

The fogginess of dark and gloomy colors roam in his closed eyes as rays of light come in and out of his vision. The doctors are working on him with haste so that they can patch him up and go to their next patient. Anesthesia is a luxury in Career Academies. Voluntary training doesn't take priority compared to injured fishermen when it comes to health care. His father's grip as they stitch and analyze his wounds is the only tranquil presence permitted at the moment.

Hours of painful prodding drain him of any energy. The rubber gloves pulling against his face subside. Lucky can hear his father discussing future steps of care with them. He could be out for days or weeks depending on how the wounds heal, and as for his sight, well, it'll rely on luck. Further surgery might be necessary for the wounds he's sustained. Lucky listens to his father pour out in comments about their financial security, and how he's lucky to have a duet of wealthy parents who can care for him like they can while allowing him to maintain his passion.

One of the nurses pastes a rough dressing over the damaged eye. It sends a headache spinning through his temple upon impact. Then, a dark patch is wrapped around his head and the light over his injured eye dims toward darkness. They lean him up now from the cold metal table and into a chair. His father kisses the top of his head and rubs at Lucky's shoulders as he groans in discomfort. His father cares for him like it is his duty. The night did not bring him a child of circumstance for no reason. The child that they could not produce on their own must be protected, or else all they've worked for will be for nothing.

His father leaves to go grab some coffee down the street, promising Lucky that he'll grab a pastry or two for him to enjoy after a stressful day. Are you mad at me? Lucky wonders, but he's too scared to open his intact eye to gain any insight. He failed the tournament, only making it to the Round of 16. Of course, he's disappointed, he should have done much better.

Lucky's caught in blindness when a voice startles him. His head turns a few times as the voice persists, trying to figure out where it's coming from. Each of his senses takes a shot when one of them is missing.

"Hey Lucky, right? Is your eye okay? Us Fours need to stick together. I'm Adrian."

He slouches in his seat, frustrated by his struggles. "Don't know. I really don't know if it'll be okay, Adrian." Sarcasm burns across his lips. Lucky peaks open with his good eye, but the other wince it shut, reacting unpleasantly against the pain. "Not a good sign when it hurts when you try to do so much as look at something." Lucky sends his hand forward, unsure where exactly to aim, to greet the boy a hello.