Scrub-a-dub-dub three men in a... [Closed, In progress]
Who: House (causticguy), Allen Walker (antiakuma), and Daisya Barry (sh_hereisgone).
What: A practical joke gone wrong, an impromptu maid service call, and the collision course thereof.
Where: House and Daisya's house.
When: Shortly after this (backlogged a bit).
There were eight boxes of soap flakes dissolved in the barrel of water which House had set (not without some considerable effort) in the middle of Daisya's room. He'd found it while he was rummaging around down in the basement and it had actually spawned this scheme all on its own. If anyone asked later, he figured he could always just blame the barrel. Or maybe the house's old owners whose packrat streak had supplied him with the soap flakes too.
The only thing that House had had to procure on his own was the dry ice. It had taken some doing, but he was convinced the results would be worth it.
He'd suspended the blocks of dry ice above the open barrel, taking into consideration exactly how long Daisya tended to be out when he went to train, the temperature of the room, the amount of time it would take the ice to vaporize. The net that held the blocks was affixed to a pulley that went to the door, and when Daisya opened it, the dry ice would drop down into the barrel and there would be suds enough to fill the room.
At least that had been the plan.
He hadn't counted on the chunks of ice beginning to fall through the net resulting in a much larger amount of ice than intended actually reaching the water, and thus a vastly increased quantity of suds.
The first sign that something was wrong had been the layer of white foam seeping out from the crack under the door. It had only gotten worse from there, a long white snake of suds creeping out into the hall and down the stairs, spilling into a puddle on the floor of the landing that seemed more intent on spreading up than spreading out.
"Ooops" indeed.
On the other hand, it wasn't every day that a man got to see a mound of bubbles as tall as he was taking a casual stroll through his foyer. House rescued his journal from the encroaching maw of suds, pulled up a chair, and sat down to watch and wait for reinforcements to arrive.
What: A practical joke gone wrong, an impromptu maid service call, and the collision course thereof.
Where: House and Daisya's house.
When: Shortly after this (backlogged a bit).
There were eight boxes of soap flakes dissolved in the barrel of water which House had set (not without some considerable effort) in the middle of Daisya's room. He'd found it while he was rummaging around down in the basement and it had actually spawned this scheme all on its own. If anyone asked later, he figured he could always just blame the barrel. Or maybe the house's old owners whose packrat streak had supplied him with the soap flakes too.
The only thing that House had had to procure on his own was the dry ice. It had taken some doing, but he was convinced the results would be worth it.
He'd suspended the blocks of dry ice above the open barrel, taking into consideration exactly how long Daisya tended to be out when he went to train, the temperature of the room, the amount of time it would take the ice to vaporize. The net that held the blocks was affixed to a pulley that went to the door, and when Daisya opened it, the dry ice would drop down into the barrel and there would be suds enough to fill the room.
At least that had been the plan.
He hadn't counted on the chunks of ice beginning to fall through the net resulting in a much larger amount of ice than intended actually reaching the water, and thus a vastly increased quantity of suds.
The first sign that something was wrong had been the layer of white foam seeping out from the crack under the door. It had only gotten worse from there, a long white snake of suds creeping out into the hall and down the stairs, spilling into a puddle on the floor of the landing that seemed more intent on spreading up than spreading out.
"Ooops" indeed.
On the other hand, it wasn't every day that a man got to see a mound of bubbles as tall as he was taking a casual stroll through his foyer. House rescued his journal from the encroaching maw of suds, pulled up a chair, and sat down to watch and wait for reinforcements to arrive.