(no subject)
"Are you done torturing Krycek?"
Harth sighed; for all House would have his uses, he talked so much. And he was purposefully aggravating. The vampire had to wonder if th drugs had rotted away the good sense that god gave men to fear things like him -- but whatever it was, House didn't have it.
"I didn't torture him," he says finally. "I tortured Zuko. Krycek just got slapped around a little."
House was silent; he was smoking his pot and he was chatty when he did -- so this meant there was long soliloquy coming up. Harth wondered what he could do to head it off at the pass.
"I think--"
"I think I don't care about whatever toy is giong to come out of your mouth, House."
House pursed his lip, before he took a drag. Harth tilted his head, and then extended his hand for the reefer. House blinked at him mutely, as if he didn't comprehend, before he said, "Are you... asking for a toke?"
"Asking is not the word I'd use."
The doctor looked at him a long time, and Harth loved it. House thought. He never did much on instinct. He weighed the numbers, always. The intergers of pain versus the equations of sharing one's dope with the vampire that could make your stay distinctly unhappy. Thus, the reefer came to Harth's hands, and he took an experimental drag before he passed it back. He held it in his lungs like House did, but--
--there was nothing.
He exhaled, and then said, "Guess it's something for the living."
"Oh, I'm sure you've got something that gets your borrowed blood pumping. You came in here with enough wood yesterday to make a beaver drool-- oh, look, double entendre!"
"You noticed?"
"I noticed. The dogs noticed. Hell, Cameron probably noticed but is too polite to say. So, you catch your sister slaying her inner demon, or what?"
Harth choked; House seemed pleased with that, and he allowed it. Slaying her inner demon, indeed. "No," he replied. "There's another girl."
"The pretty little one with the brown skin that you attempted to barber. Bad hair cut, that."
"Yeah."
"You didn't," House said.
"Nope. No rutting. Alleys are Mel's thing, not mine."
"... you're a shitty liar," House pronounced. "Especially when you want to be caught. So this whole Leader deal sucks balls when you want to see if the waterbender will let you logride, huh?"
"Oh, she was willing."
"I know."
Blue eyes met blue eyes; Harth's behind his glasses, House's behind the glaze of intoxication.
"Why haven't you rutted Cameron? She turns you on."
"As one man to another? Just about anything turns us on."
Harth laughed, but conceded the point. "You never answered."
"A lot of reasons. Work. Another woman. Power. Damage." Harth gave the reefer back for his honesty, and House twirled it between his fingers. "And the Waterbender?"
"I chose not to."
"Why?"
"A gift."
"For which one of you?"
"... Her."
"You want to be caught, you little shit. Look at you. The story crap you've been dolling out is getting old. It's time to end the play-- you've failed so you're looking for the way out. Grand dramatic villain exit-- the girl's heart broken, your sister at peace-- god, you really are just an emo teenager with fangs, aren't you?"
"No," Harth said, and then tilted his head. "You know, though, you're right. This story needs it's next chapter."
"I was thinking more denouement. Maybe with compassionate releasing of prisoners before you fall on your own stake."
Harth laughed lightly. "No," he says. "It needs the feverish clmax -- we haven't even gotten there yet, House. You don't know the Slayer cycle, the pattern of prophecy."
"We need an apocalypse."
Harth sighed; for all House would have his uses, he talked so much. And he was purposefully aggravating. The vampire had to wonder if th drugs had rotted away the good sense that god gave men to fear things like him -- but whatever it was, House didn't have it.
"I didn't torture him," he says finally. "I tortured Zuko. Krycek just got slapped around a little."
House was silent; he was smoking his pot and he was chatty when he did -- so this meant there was long soliloquy coming up. Harth wondered what he could do to head it off at the pass.
"I think--"
"I think I don't care about whatever toy is giong to come out of your mouth, House."
House pursed his lip, before he took a drag. Harth tilted his head, and then extended his hand for the reefer. House blinked at him mutely, as if he didn't comprehend, before he said, "Are you... asking for a toke?"
"Asking is not the word I'd use."
The doctor looked at him a long time, and Harth loved it. House thought. He never did much on instinct. He weighed the numbers, always. The intergers of pain versus the equations of sharing one's dope with the vampire that could make your stay distinctly unhappy. Thus, the reefer came to Harth's hands, and he took an experimental drag before he passed it back. He held it in his lungs like House did, but--
--there was nothing.
He exhaled, and then said, "Guess it's something for the living."
"Oh, I'm sure you've got something that gets your borrowed blood pumping. You came in here with enough wood yesterday to make a beaver drool-- oh, look, double entendre!"
"You noticed?"
"I noticed. The dogs noticed. Hell, Cameron probably noticed but is too polite to say. So, you catch your sister slaying her inner demon, or what?"
Harth choked; House seemed pleased with that, and he allowed it. Slaying her inner demon, indeed. "No," he replied. "There's another girl."
"The pretty little one with the brown skin that you attempted to barber. Bad hair cut, that."
"Yeah."
"You didn't," House said.
"Nope. No rutting. Alleys are Mel's thing, not mine."
"... you're a shitty liar," House pronounced. "Especially when you want to be caught. So this whole Leader deal sucks balls when you want to see if the waterbender will let you logride, huh?"
"Oh, she was willing."
"I know."
Blue eyes met blue eyes; Harth's behind his glasses, House's behind the glaze of intoxication.
"Why haven't you rutted Cameron? She turns you on."
"As one man to another? Just about anything turns us on."
Harth laughed, but conceded the point. "You never answered."
"A lot of reasons. Work. Another woman. Power. Damage." Harth gave the reefer back for his honesty, and House twirled it between his fingers. "And the Waterbender?"
"I chose not to."
"Why?"
"A gift."
"For which one of you?"
"... Her."
"You want to be caught, you little shit. Look at you. The story crap you've been dolling out is getting old. It's time to end the play-- you've failed so you're looking for the way out. Grand dramatic villain exit-- the girl's heart broken, your sister at peace-- god, you really are just an emo teenager with fangs, aren't you?"
"No," Harth said, and then tilted his head. "You know, though, you're right. This story needs it's next chapter."
"I was thinking more denouement. Maybe with compassionate releasing of prisoners before you fall on your own stake."
Harth laughed lightly. "No," he says. "It needs the feverish clmax -- we haven't even gotten there yet, House. You don't know the Slayer cycle, the pattern of prophecy."
"We need an apocalypse."