thinlysliced (thinlysliced) wrote,

Puppeteer in a Volvo

Ever heard the joke about how many elephants you can fit in a car? While the answer to that may remain one of life's enduring mysteries, read on, and you will discover just how many adjectives you can jam into one short bad!fic.

Plus, you'll gain such valuable insights as why Wilson can only cut the strings that control him if he hangs around while House mopes on the beach!

PG for the MST, I guess, and G for the fic.

A/N: Happy Birthday, elizabethswan! I’d dedicate this MST to you, but I’m afraid it doesn’t actually have any House/Cam in it (sorry! I promise to write some asap ;-). Hope you’re better soon, and have a great birthday all the same.

Cameron: *entering Exam Room Three* It’s Nurse Brenda, she’s– I, uh…
House: Piss off, we’re busy.
Wilson: We were just, just consulting.
Cameron: Um, yeah, the image of that consultation is currently searing my retina.
House: Tell her to–
Cameron: Look, it’s serious; you better come with me.
House: *glowers*
Wilson: Come on, let’s go see what she needs.

Brenda: *cowering in a corner of House’s office and whimpering* I was just trying to find your clinic notes.
House: This better be good. I was close to a diagnostic breakthrough.
Cameron: *shudders*
Wilson: *blushes*
Brenda: It’s, it’s so hideous. Make it stop!
House: *looking alarmed* Brenda, what the hell’s got into you? *moves behind his desk* Oh, sweet Jesus!
Cameron: What is it?
House: *pales*
Wilson: House, you’re scaring me!
House: Page the troops.
Cameron: *pages Foreman and Chase* We’re going into the breach!
House:*sighs* Over the top. For the last time: It’s over the top. Do you know nothing about the First World War? Never seen the last season of Blackadder?What do they teach the youth nowadays…
Cameron: *muttering* I hate war metaphors.
Foreman: *rushes in* What’s happening?
House: You’re going to need to sit down.

This sorta came to my mind whilst watching the 1st season of house for the upteenth time, just revie and tell me what you think...

Cameron: *making for the door* House, I think I sorta gotta go do some extro dutie in the clinac.
House: Sit right back down and suffer with the rest of us.

Disclaimer: i honestly do not own anything

Wilson: My sister lent me her teeth and these clothes are stolen.
House: That’s the spirit.

He was on the beach, not a place he is particularly fond of but soothing nonetheless. Solemn, delicate, an abandoned, crestfallen beach; covered in snow.

Wilson: Yay, verily, it was a beach of moroseness such as had never before accosted the eyes of man.

He was never very eloquent and romanticism was not his strong point, but an oddly poetic selflessness

House: Malapropisms already. I assume purple!author means ‘an entirely unsurprising poetic self-absorption’.

entranced him as he watched the surely lethal torrents of rushing water crashing upon the snowy sand.

Foreman: Adjectives are remarkably affordable if you buy in bulk.

The painted surrealist drawing on a pale grey backdrop, enhanced by the blindingly violent

Foreman: *heading for the conference room* I need a nice calming cup of milky white tea.

blasts of wind; holding the call of the devil, the signing of the witches’ book. Some kind of prophesy that only the zephyr understood, silently foretelling the future that mortal kind was inattentive to.

Greek chorus: Oh, Gregory, cursed amongst mortals – look to the zephyr that you might hear the silent prophesy.
House: What the hell?! Cuuuudddy!
Foreman: *returning with tea* Don’t think she can hear you in her office. *to Cameron* Made some for you, too. *gives tea to Cameron*
House: Cameron, page her.
Brenda: I’ll get her. *runs out*
Chase: *returning with test results* Turns out it was just indigestion. Who are these people in masks?
Cameron: Greek chorus.
Chase: What are they doing here?
Cameron: Trying to warn House of impending doom.
Foreman: *reads next line* Uh, I think you mean the impending future.

Only few he had allowed in his life were ever conscientious of the impending future.

House: That would explain why Stacy was always so surprised when the sun came up.
Wilson: Well, you know her, constantly losing conscientiousness and not paying her bills on time.
House: She kept passing out from the drinking, too.

Few he knew understood how powerful the future was,

Chase: *contemplatively* Funny thing is, I kicked the future’s ass once.
Cameron: Oh, yeah?
Chase: Put myself through college working as a professional wrestler.
Foreman: *inhales tea*
Greek chorus: Oh, Gregory, cursed amongst mortals – look to the future and beware its terrible power!
House: Cuuudd–
Cuddy: *just arriving* What now?
House: Nothing, really; I was only shot twice. Now, if it had been three times…
Cuddy: *looks at her watch* Spit it out – I’ve got a hospital to run.
House: Nothing to worry about; just me over-reacting. I couldn’t expect you to employ a security firm so effective as to be able to spot a dozen cloaked and masked figures and prevent them from colonizing my office!
Cuddy: House, you– *starts as she finally notices Greek chorus standing in the shadows* Oh my god! I’ll... just… *exits at speed*

nor how quickly life could change, after all it took a mere three days for the infarction to destroy his leg and thus his past athleticism.

Wilson: Fie! No more the finely chiselled torso of his halcyon school days.
All: *look askance at Wilson*
Wilson: *blushes*

A past to present shift, holding the knowledge of the world; only to be forgotten moments later as reality takes roots in the brain. Emotions destroy the core understanding between people.

Greek chorus: Oh, Gregory, cursed amongst mortals – we have precious little idea what this means, but it cannot be good.
House: *flings paperweight at them*
Chorus: *duck*

Stacy loved him too much; or perhaps too little,

Wilson: Or possibly just an average amount.
House: *smirking* Not like you.
Wilson: The torso doesn’t really matter to me.
House: Luckily, I’m rather partial to a spongy middle myself.
Greek chorus: Oh, Gregory, cursed amongst mortals – mark our words and eschew the dangers of the sponge. Look to the–
Security: *arrive and drag members of the chorus out*

to just let him alone in his pain because the minute his back was turned…


…she’d betrayed him, or at least his wishes.

Foreman: She betrayed him like an outhouse door banging in a gale.
Cameron: … like a deafening gunshot in the night.
Chase: … like a child’s party balloon over-filled with air.

They’d been engaged, she should have walked in knowing that arrogance and stubbornness came along for the ride. That his personality was an enigma and she shouldn’t thrust her traits with his lest they explode with the intensity of an atomic bomb tenfold.

Cameron: *clutches head and whimpers*
Foreman: *pats Cameron* Oh, hey, don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.
Wilson: Want to, um, thrust your traits with me later?
House: There’s no time like the present.
House/Wilson: *disappear behind House’s desk*

But he wasn’t being fair to her, she had cared; but he was unsociable and cruel and everything that would poison a relationship from the start because of the toxicity.

Cameron: My high-school boyfriend said I poisoned our relationship because of the flowers and plush toys.
Foreman: Thrust your traits with mine and together we will unleash the power of the atom!
Cameron: Here, have this furry rabbit holding a heart.
Foreman: Ooh, adorable! Have a copy of my acceptance letter from the New England Journal of Medicine.
Cameron: Ooh, cutting! Have a syringe of plague to the leg.

Enough to kill, after all if something was toxic to the organs, it would surely kill the owner, same for a engine, or anything that is in existence.

Cameron: Whatever semblance of logic remained was swiftly poisoned by the toxicity that is the fallacy of equivocation.
Foreman: *meekly* Cam, read the letter.
Cameron: Enough! I get it, already. I’m not hard-nosed enough to be successful; I don’t have the tough-minded realism that sets you and House apart.
Foreman: *thrusts letter in Cameron’s hand* Seriously, just read it.
Cameron: *starts reading letter*

Then again, here he goes into his usual medical spiel; something that irritated most everyone he knew, save for a select few who, God forbid, enjoyed it.

Wilson: *emerging flushed from behind desk* People like his dying patients, or his fellows, or Cuddy – anyone who might have an interest in him doing his job, really.
House: *handing Wilson his tie* So bad!fic author is suggesting that that rant about toxicity is representative of my usual medical diagnoses?
Chase: Nah, the ranting’s actually representative of any time your mouth is moving.
Wilson: *smacks Chase*
Cameron: What the! My article! They’re publishing– but I didn’t even send it in to…
Foreman: *grins*
House: ‘Hearts and flowers: A preliminary study of their use in the treatment of non-responsive weeping sores.’
Cameron: *to Foreman*Lucky I didn’t actually give you the plague – it was just a shot of B12. Here, have this adorable little plush penguin.
Foreman: *snuggles penguin* Thanks.
Cameron: *makes eyes at Foreman*
Foreman: *smiles coyly*

One who did barely understood the world around her, assaulted by the paranoid voices telling her to do ‘bad things’. Or sometimes, telling her things that meant nothing to anyone but her. He remembered sitting next to her on a chipped green wooden bench, listening to the sounds of nature; he remembered her in so many ways. Sometimes it was when she lay in the hospital bed erupting in powerful laughter that rung through the grave doorways of the psychiatric ward, and sometimes it was holding her hands to her very large belly and whispering to the child that she believed could hear her through the blood, mucus, and skin.

Wilson: So insane was she that she even claimed that the baby had things she termed ‘ears’.

He mustn’t be thinking about her though, he was here to forget her, to leave her behind and move on. So few knew about her, the enticing lass he’d met, married, and watched die at a painfully slow rate.

Cameron: Oh, hey, snap!
House: *moves to strangle Cameron*
Wilson: *grabbing House’s hands* Wow, I’ve never noticed what, uh, powerful hands you have.
House: *calming down* I have my father’s hands… in a jar, at home.
Chase: Ooh, that one just never gets old, does it?
Wilson: *attempts to slap Chase*
Chase: Not fast enough, old man! *puts Wilson in headlock*
House: *leering* My, aren’t you two frisky today.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure he even told Stacy, thinking that perhaps Stacy would think him incapable to have held any strong relationships with anyone but her.

Again his emotions clouded his judgment, Wilson was waiting for him in the car to drive him to rehab, he should leave and abandon the past but he couldn’t. He was here to leave those strings that controlled him, a puppeteer if you will.

Cameron: Will not!
Wilson: Right, so fic!me is a puppeteer, who himself has strings…
Chase: A hive of bees, if you will.
Wilson: …that he is attempting to leave behind by waiting in the car for House while he mopes on the beach.
Foreman: A vivid slash of granular saffron, lapped at by a hundred thousand droplets of moist azure blue – if you will.

Deciding that the end has come, he casts one more look at the sky that begins to show signs of the sun poking through. As if to show that no storm lasts long, but taking another look at the ocean, he witnesses the still brutal waves breaking along the shore. Showing him that the happiness only covers the pain, as it had done his whole life.

Chase: Hey-ey, I think we have a coherent – if awful – metaphor!

Unable to take any more he drops the piece of paper he had been fiddling with in his overly restless hands, and stomps off the beach; determined to not look back

Wilson: To boldly split…

and run to pick up the paper that was currently floating to the ground with the delicacy of a feather and the rare divinity of a mythological phoenix.

Wilson: Gack!
House: There, there.

He made his way to the Corvette where his one friend was loitering for him,

Wilson: I loiter only for you, baby.
House: Skulking?
Wilson: I’d have to think about it.

ready to drive him to the hopefully enlightening sermon in the rehabilitation clinic.

Cameron: House had particularly requested a clinic run by the Jesuits.
House: You know how I like Catholics. *winks at Chase*
Wilson: *frowns*
House: Relax; Jews are fine too – just as long as you’re not a Protestant or anything.

The lone paper on the deserted shoreline, floated along on the wind gusts before falling precisely beneath a crashing wave. And on the paper, were written three women’s names…
Veronica Collete Walker, Stacy Yvonne Warner, Allison Emma Cameron

Foreman: Robert Pritty Hairs Chase.
Chase: Eric That 70s Show Foreman.

…all of which were important to the maverick fleeing from them…

Wilson: *to House* Actually, you remind me of Mad Max sometimes.
House: *snorts* Let’s go finish up that clinic case.
Wilson: I’ll just go get my thermometer.
House: Oh, very droll. Chase, you’re needed for a consult in Exam Room Three.

Good, Bad, Atrocious?? Tell me what you think...

Foreman: Dear Author, it was my profound misfortune to have to read–
Cameron: Oh, Foreman, you do have a way with words!
Tags: house, house/wilson, mst

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