(no subject)
James Wilson had learned many years ago that being a complete workaholic helped not only in keeping certain demons at bay but also in recovering from a hangover.
Like the one he was suffering from this morning.
Wondering just how the hell it was that House was able to function on Vicodin, Wilson was moving with deliberate quiet around the clinic. He had a very large bottle of water and some dry crackers nearby but other then looking a bit paler then usual, even for him and if you ignored the dark circles under his eyes he was his habitually neat and tidy self.
The signs that something wasn't entirely right in the world were subtle. The water and the crackers, the quiet look on his face, where normally he was always beaming and chipper and perhaps most telling was the silent pressence of House, ghosting about the clinic. Oh, the older man was doing his utmost to stay out of sight, least someone think he was actually there to...you know... work but he was sticking close enough to keep an eye on the oncologist as Wilson settled in behind the counter with yet more charts.
The Clinic was open for another morning, if anyone had need of it...Hopefully ABBA was no longer being played and No Angelus, you can not have a blood packet to go, the Clinic is not a fast food joint.
[ooc-The placing of House in and around is at the request of House's player for plot purposes.]
Like the one he was suffering from this morning.
Wondering just how the hell it was that House was able to function on Vicodin, Wilson was moving with deliberate quiet around the clinic. He had a very large bottle of water and some dry crackers nearby but other then looking a bit paler then usual, even for him and if you ignored the dark circles under his eyes he was his habitually neat and tidy self.
The signs that something wasn't entirely right in the world were subtle. The water and the crackers, the quiet look on his face, where normally he was always beaming and chipper and perhaps most telling was the silent pressence of House, ghosting about the clinic. Oh, the older man was doing his utmost to stay out of sight, least someone think he was actually there to...you know... work but he was sticking close enough to keep an eye on the oncologist as Wilson settled in behind the counter with yet more charts.
The Clinic was open for another morning, if anyone had need of it...Hopefully ABBA was no longer being played and No Angelus, you can not have a blood packet to go, the Clinic is not a fast food joint.
[ooc-The placing of House in and around is at the request of House's player for plot purposes.]