Nanofic: Already Out of the Bag
Title: Already Out of the Bag
Author: blackmare_9
Characters: House, Wilson
Warnings: Occurs during The Social Contract; mild spoiler if you haven't seen the episode.
Summary: It's way too late for Wilson to get away with this one.
Thanks to: jonne17 , whose comments on Addendum sparked this.
Already Out of the Bag
You were in the third row -- the third row! -- getting pelted by arena dirt and threatened by explosions of automotive shrapnel, a long list of safety violations getting longer all the time. Things were going ROAR and CRASH and CRUNCH and the Monsters were eating the mortals for dinner and there was Jimmy Wilson, Did you see that?! Holy shit! That is amazing!
He let out a little whoop, bounced up out of his seat, spilled a few popcorn pieces into his plastic cup of Budweiser. Spilled some plastic-cup Budweiser on you.
Lit up like a pinball machine.
He later blamed the alcohol, because he's a liar. He always drinks when he goes to these things, not enough to get really smashed (well, except that one time) but enough to alibi his own behavior: It couldn't have been me, Your Honor. I was on Planet Icehouse at the time.
He's lying now with his level gaze, his upraised manicured fist, and his accusation that you'll drive him not to drink but, worse yet, to opera. His skill at prevarication has always been remarkable, and now his savvy is catching up; he has been smart enough not to give you an excuse this time. No invented conference or charity gala or family gathering that would keep him from going with you. Those things, he knows you would investigate, so he lies about something he figures is intangible, unprovable either way.
"Death to monster trucks," he says.
As if he doesn't know you've watched the spilled beer and the joy and the hair standing straight up on his arms, every cell of his body telling you the truth.
If he thinks you haven't noticed -- or that your love of the trucks is the only reason you buy tickets -- then he's more of an idiot than you thought.
Author: blackmare_9
Characters: House, Wilson
Warnings: Occurs during The Social Contract; mild spoiler if you haven't seen the episode.
Summary: It's way too late for Wilson to get away with this one.
Thanks to: jonne17 , whose comments on Addendum sparked this.
Already Out of the Bag
You were in the third row -- the third row! -- getting pelted by arena dirt and threatened by explosions of automotive shrapnel, a long list of safety violations getting longer all the time. Things were going ROAR and CRASH and CRUNCH and the Monsters were eating the mortals for dinner and there was Jimmy Wilson, Did you see that?! Holy shit! That is amazing!
He let out a little whoop, bounced up out of his seat, spilled a few popcorn pieces into his plastic cup of Budweiser. Spilled some plastic-cup Budweiser on you.
Lit up like a pinball machine.
He later blamed the alcohol, because he's a liar. He always drinks when he goes to these things, not enough to get really smashed (well, except that one time) but enough to alibi his own behavior: It couldn't have been me, Your Honor. I was on Planet Icehouse at the time.
He's lying now with his level gaze, his upraised manicured fist, and his accusation that you'll drive him not to drink but, worse yet, to opera. His skill at prevarication has always been remarkable, and now his savvy is catching up; he has been smart enough not to give you an excuse this time. No invented conference or charity gala or family gathering that would keep him from going with you. Those things, he knows you would investigate, so he lies about something he figures is intangible, unprovable either way.
"Death to monster trucks," he says.
As if he doesn't know you've watched the spilled beer and the joy and the hair standing straight up on his arms, every cell of his body telling you the truth.
If he thinks you haven't noticed -- or that your love of the trucks is the only reason you buy tickets -- then he's more of an idiot than you thought.