Fragment: House and Wilson stormy night fic
I started this in 2007 as a surprise for elynittria (er, surprise?) based on a conversation she and purridot and I had, and I thought it would be an easy one-shot. No such luck. Here's what was going to happen: House and Wilson are caught in a terrible thunderstorm in the English countryside; they find a lit inn and take shelter; little do they realize that something ~magical~ happened during the brightest lightning strike and they were transported back in time, just for the night -- as they discover when they meet Lord Byron and Percy Shelley. The four of them while the night away with drink and conversation.
It was going to be grand and witty, and Byron was going to speak in the style of his written journals, and all the ways House is and isn't a Byronic hero were going to come under discussion. Probably House would have inspired a character trait or two. It would've been awesome.
Honest.
* * *
Write a little bit each day and don't worry about polishing or finishing, right? Here is a snippet I wrote today in a fit of pique against my slave drivers employers. Be forewarned: I don't know when I'll come back to add more to it. It's the very beginning of a story I've been meaning to write for someone for almost a year.
House and Wilson (and soon two more), currently ~400 words.
It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed across the rain-streaked sky as our intrepid hero and his faithful companion struggled on through the wild hinterlands of England. Shivering, barely able to see a few feet down the road before them, they bravely pressed on into the unknown, venturing ever-further from the warm, dry safety of the broken-down car they had abandoned at the insistence of our hero's idiotic sidekick--
"House," Wilson shouted over the howling wind.
"What?" House shouted back. "I was just getting to the good part."
Wilson pulled his overcoat tighter around him, even though the driving rain had long since plastered his hair to his head and trickled down the back of his neck to soak his collar. Another strobe of lightning, purple-tinged, revealed in quick, washed-out glimpses the tiny rivulets streaming from the hair on his forehead down his cheeks, dripping off his nose and chin and making stars of his eyelashes. "I think I--"
The rest was lost in a peal of thunder that cracked the sky open and made them both wince. Even when it degraded into a low rumble, it was powerful enough to shake the ground beneath them, vibrating from their feet up into their chests like the bass at a bad bar mitzvah.
"What?" House yelled as the echoes faded. He cupped a hand to his ear. "I couldn't hear you over the apocalypse we're standing in because you thought it was a better idea to go for a stroll than sit in the car."
"Yes, please forgive me for wanting to find some sign of civilization when the battery died on a deserted road and there's no network signal to call for help." Wilson blinked rapidly as the wind shifted and blew the rain straight into their faces. "Also, the storm hadn't broken yet."
"Some tourist or sheep-herder or something would have come by before we starved to death." House wiped the stinging water out of his eyes, a futile move considering his hand was as wet as his face. "Well, before I starved to death. I would have eaten you if it came down to it."
A sudden gust knocked him off-balance. Blessedly ignoring the misstep, Wilson asked, "How do you know I wouldn't have eaten you first?"
"You couldn't do it. Your noble soul is more naturally suited to sacrificing itself for the needy."
"Hm," Wilson said, making a thoughtful face. "You'd probably taste like crap anyway. Too tough and stringy and bitter."
[more banter/bickering, and then--]
"I think I see light up ahead."
It was going to be grand and witty, and Byron was going to speak in the style of his written journals, and all the ways House is and isn't a Byronic hero were going to come under discussion. Probably House would have inspired a character trait or two. It would've been awesome.
Honest.
* * *
Write a little bit each day and don't worry about polishing or finishing, right? Here is a snippet I wrote today in a fit of pique against my slave drivers employers. Be forewarned: I don't know when I'll come back to add more to it. It's the very beginning of a story I've been meaning to write for someone for almost a year.
House and Wilson (and soon two more), currently ~400 words.
It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed across the rain-streaked sky as our intrepid hero and his faithful companion struggled on through the wild hinterlands of England. Shivering, barely able to see a few feet down the road before them, they bravely pressed on into the unknown, venturing ever-further from the warm, dry safety of the broken-down car they had abandoned at the insistence of our hero's idiotic sidekick--
"House," Wilson shouted over the howling wind.
"What?" House shouted back. "I was just getting to the good part."
Wilson pulled his overcoat tighter around him, even though the driving rain had long since plastered his hair to his head and trickled down the back of his neck to soak his collar. Another strobe of lightning, purple-tinged, revealed in quick, washed-out glimpses the tiny rivulets streaming from the hair on his forehead down his cheeks, dripping off his nose and chin and making stars of his eyelashes. "I think I--"
The rest was lost in a peal of thunder that cracked the sky open and made them both wince. Even when it degraded into a low rumble, it was powerful enough to shake the ground beneath them, vibrating from their feet up into their chests like the bass at a bad bar mitzvah.
"What?" House yelled as the echoes faded. He cupped a hand to his ear. "I couldn't hear you over the apocalypse we're standing in because you thought it was a better idea to go for a stroll than sit in the car."
"Yes, please forgive me for wanting to find some sign of civilization when the battery died on a deserted road and there's no network signal to call for help." Wilson blinked rapidly as the wind shifted and blew the rain straight into their faces. "Also, the storm hadn't broken yet."
"Some tourist or sheep-herder or something would have come by before we starved to death." House wiped the stinging water out of his eyes, a futile move considering his hand was as wet as his face. "Well, before I starved to death. I would have eaten you if it came down to it."
A sudden gust knocked him off-balance. Blessedly ignoring the misstep, Wilson asked, "How do you know I wouldn't have eaten you first?"
"You couldn't do it. Your noble soul is more naturally suited to sacrificing itself for the needy."
"Hm," Wilson said, making a thoughtful face. "You'd probably taste like crap anyway. Too tough and stringy and bitter."
[more banter/bickering, and then--]
"I think I see light up ahead."