(no subject)
Who: House and YOU
What: Guess who just discovered the Wii in the process of revamping the clinic?
When: Takes place the day after this.
Where: The clinic. What? There can't be a Wii in the clinic? There is one now.
Notes: Actionspam welcome if you prefer. Tag yourselves in.
The Game Room was an interesting room. All those games, after all.
House was not in the game room, however. He was in the midst of a desperate race to the death and-did that steroid-fueled deformed turtle just cut him off? Eat red shell, you son of a bitch!
He sat on the hammock he'd wished for in the corner of the new room he'd wished for in the entirely new wing of the clinic he had-guess-wished for. He was under suicide watch of all things, which roughly translated into mind-numbing boredom. He had wished for a pool table, a television, a motorcycle and a naked cheerleading squad. For some reason the castle refused to grant him the motorcycle and cheerleaders, but it had no problem attaching an entire new wing to the clinic after he simply voiced aloud his incredulity at the lack of both radiography area and OR. Once he figured out he could wish for rooms, it did not take him long to wish up the office he now found himself in. It looked similar to his office, actually. The video game system and hammock were his newest acquisitions.
He paused his game to practically inhale half the remaining Vicodin in the bottle. His leg hurt, if anything, more than before. Remembering what that Walker kid had said, he picked up his journal to filter a brief message to the Peace Patrol. That done he picked up the remote again and resumed his game.
What: Guess who just discovered the Wii in the process of revamping the clinic?
When: Takes place the day after this.
Where: The clinic. What? There can't be a Wii in the clinic? There is one now.
Notes: Actionspam welcome if you prefer. Tag yourselves in.
The Game Room was an interesting room. All those games, after all.
House was not in the game room, however. He was in the midst of a desperate race to the death and-did that steroid-fueled deformed turtle just cut him off? Eat red shell, you son of a bitch!
He sat on the hammock he'd wished for in the corner of the new room he'd wished for in the entirely new wing of the clinic he had-guess-wished for. He was under suicide watch of all things, which roughly translated into mind-numbing boredom. He had wished for a pool table, a television, a motorcycle and a naked cheerleading squad. For some reason the castle refused to grant him the motorcycle and cheerleaders, but it had no problem attaching an entire new wing to the clinic after he simply voiced aloud his incredulity at the lack of both radiography area and OR. Once he figured out he could wish for rooms, it did not take him long to wish up the office he now found himself in. It looked similar to his office, actually. The video game system and hammock were his newest acquisitions.
He paused his game to practically inhale half the remaining Vicodin in the bottle. His leg hurt, if anything, more than before. Remembering what that Walker kid had said, he picked up his journal to filter a brief message to the Peace Patrol. That done he picked up the remote again and resumed his game.