"Don't leave me a message. I don't like you."


[House or Mun can be contacted for RP etc. by replying to this post]

7.2: 13 moments of anger

LOCKED

1) My father, no isolated moment
2) My infarction, no isolated moment
3) Being in continuous pain for the rest of my life
4) Stacy leaving me
5) At Chase's father for being a stupid bastard
6) At Cuddy and Wilson - repeatedly - for thinking they can save me by rationing (or stopping) my Vicodin supply
7) When the bastard shot me
8) Stacy showing up with the token husband
9) Realising Stacy wasn't going to love me again
10) Team Idiot meddling and thinking I had cancer
11) At Wilson for meddling, full stop
12) Foreman and Cameron resigning and Chase forcing me to fire him
13) Having to replace the best damn team I ever had

1.4: 13 favorite weapons

1) Gastroscope
2) Elastic bands
3) Eight Ball
4) Wilson's fluffy toys
5) Whiteboard markers
6) Syringes
7) IV poles
8) Laxatives and Ipecac
9) Fries off Wilson's plate
10) My cane (and I'm not afraid to use it)
11) Rectal thermometers
12) Furry handcuffs
13) My evil mind powers

2.11 MUN PROMPT: Scavenger hunt!

First of all, take the list below, and “hunt” for the items as they relate to your muse. Where would you find these things? Describe them, and where/why/how they are there. Think about how your muse thinks and does things.

Next, take your scavenger list, and choose a muse close to your muse. Spouse, partner, lover, enemy, best friend…whatever. Now, where do you think they have these things? Then have the other muse tell you if you are right or wrong! How well do you know them? Are you way off?

( CUT for the lists! )

- justwilson used with permission

Muse | Dr Gregory House
Fandom | House, M.D.

SECTION E: SLOGANS, TAGLINES AND CLICHES

19. Stupid is as stupid does.

( And stupid just keeps on going... and going... )

Muse | Dr Gregory House
Fandom | House, M.D.
Words | 785

Prompt: January .004 "I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day." -- Frank Sinatra.

It starts with a dull throb the night before. A reminder that life isn’t so peachy as a cripple with an infarction. A day on his feet, for whatever period of time, was okay when he was mobile. He could almost – with the aid of an above average dose of Vicodin – pretend the pain wasn’t there.

Some nights he can’t sleep, other nights he sleeps so deeply in one position that the thought of dragging himself into an upright position the morning after is enough to make him want to vomit. Abso-goddamn-lutely he had a pain problem. And it always seemed to be those who lived pain-free that wanted to harass and interrogate him about his drug ‘addiction’. He’d like to grab their muscle and rip it out by the roots and then see who was reaching quickest for the faithful little orange bottle.

Mornings were the worst. That period before he has a chance to get the shot of pain relief into his system. Getting up and moving is the best thing, but the most intolerable thing to face. Walking on a leg with a muscle infarction without the aid of painkillers is something akin to trying to hack one’s bone out with a teaspoon. Sometimes, the latter seems almost appealing to him. Deliberately injuring himself for the rush of adrenaline to stop the pain in his leg is not a foreign pastime.

A hangover would be a blessing. Oddly enough, House rarely suffered the standard hangover, but his leg ensured he spent most mornings not bent over a toilet puking like an idiot, but hunched over trying to massage the thigh muscle into working order. He went to bed with a dull throb and woke with sheer agony. A fumble with the Vicodin bottle and a pill downed dry without water was House’s morning ritual. It came before anything and it was the last thing he did at night. And as long as it got him through the day with some level of tolerance for the idiots of the world, who really cared?

It was 97 seconds. The guy was clinically dead for 97 seconds after being in a mangled car wreck caused by a drunk driver. “The best 97 seconds of my life…” So good, in fact, it caused the idiot to shove the blade of a flick knife in a light socket to try and recreate the supposed near death experience. House’s initial thought had been, yes, the world is brimming with stupidity. But there was something in the guy’s eyes. Something he knew and had experienced that House didn’t. Some piece of a puzzle just out of House’s reach, and it started to drive him crazy.

Was there really an afterlife? He’d never believed it before. He certainly wasn’t willing to just take the word of a thirty-something idiot who should be on a one-way ticket to the locked ward on the third floor. If the common anecdote was to be believed, the afterlife consisted of a bloody big bright light. What was so great about that? Unless House could take his Ray Bans, he didn’t want to know about it.

But then, how was a dirty great light equal to the “best” part of a person’s “life”. Because technically, it wasn’t part of life at all. The guy’s heart had stopped. He was dead. How can that be part of life? Anyway, the reasoning of any idiot never was sound. Look at Chase: a walking example of that.

Still, something… something good, something interesting… could be beyond the beating of the heart, the pumping of life’s blood through one’s system. It was something House didn’t know, and that was enough for him.

The blade made a sharp snapping sound as he flicked it open. Phone in one hand, he keyed in a brief page message, then in the reflex of one hand, slipped the blade into the socket and then blackness…

Muse | Dr. Greg House
Fandom | House, M.D.
Words | 312

House was supposed to be finding a new case and on Clinic Duty simultaneously. Supposed to be. He was, however, sitting in his office with his finger hovering calculatingly over the key pad of his desk phone. He was bored. Who should he page? Chase had gone home diseased, so that was out of the question. Foreman was boring. Cuddy would have his arse. Wilson was hungover and unfun.

That left just one person.

With a smirk, House keyed in a page, cleverly knowing the tactic to make it look like it was coming from Chase's number: House gave me my job back x

He waited for the beep that the page was received and dropped the phone back into the cradle to sit back and wait.

realmof_themuse: Prompt 1.67, 1. “Enormous and miniscule”

Really, you flash the words “enormous and miniscule” in the face of any man to grace this this earth and they are automatically going to 1) think about their penis, 2) think about every other man’s penis within a five mile radius, 3) decide their penis is enormous, 4) decide every other man’s penis is much less enormous than theirs, 5) decide their most despised enemy’s penis is miniscule 6) emphasis that fact with an elaborated example of how enormous their penis is, 7) double check next time they are at the urinal that their penis enormity theory is correct with a quick glance at the bloke next door. Not too long, though, because they could mean you’re gay.

Following on from that, they will inevitable do one of three things (or perhaps, all three things, if they are really insecure). 1) check in the mirror, complete with hand circumference measures to ensure penis hasn’t shrunk in the light of enormity considerations, 2) tell their significant other or any member of the opposite sex (or same sex, if that’s what rocks your socks) how big their penis is how good at shagging it makes them, and/or 4) get their mates to back up how penis enormity is never an issue because they are just that huge.

Me, on the other hand… well, I have a cane. I might just go stroke my enormous metaphor.