House quickly retracted his hand when he felt Stacy's brush over his. He found it disconcerting enough that Stacy was here, let alone Stacy touching him. When Stacy settled for fidgeting with the napkin, House took his glass and started to tap it on the bar, needing something to occupy his hands to give him something to focus on.
"I know about as much about this place as I know about why the hell you're here." He gave Stacy a sharp glance, then looked back down to his drink.
Actually, the glass wasn't enough of a distraction. He sipped his drink and placed the glass back down before snatching up a drink coaster and began to fiddle with that, instead. Turning it around in his hand, studying the logo printed on the front - a logo he didn't recognise as anything from home - with a frown on his face.
"You realise you can't ever leave this place, don't you?" he asked. He glanced across at her again to scope her reaction, then turned his attention back down to the coaster. "Figured I might as well throw you that A-bomb, if you haven't been thrown it already. This place is like hell with expensive furniture."
"Yeah, right," he replied with a humourless snort. "Happy. That'll be the day."
The initial shock of seeing Stacy was starting to wear off. He was quickly retreating behind defensiveness because now the shock was subsiding, House was left with the uneasy realisation that Stacy wasn't just here, she was here for good. Which meant his efforts to try and push Stacy out of his life had been completely thwarted. He didn't want to face the issues that came with being around Stacy. Her presence in Princeton the last time proved that.
"Give it five minutes and see if you're still happy to see me. This place has a way of bringing out the worst in people."
House propped his elbows on the bar and peered down at his drink bitterly. Nice to see someone she knew? After what had happened back in Princeton, she thought it was nice to see him? He picked his drink up and swilled the contents of the glass as Stacy then went on to say she should leave. He downed his scotch in one swift gulp and placed the glass back onto the counter, and shoved it away for the bartender to take.
He then reached for his cane. "Believe me," he replied, his voice a little tight from the fumes of the alcohol, "drinking scotch is the least of your worries." He began to slide off his stool. "If 'nice' is what you want to talk about, then I suggest you find someone who'll make nice with you. Because I'm certainly not going to sit here and tell you how 'nice' it is to see you."
House started to walk off, though once he was about halfway to the door, he reluctantly slowed to a stop. The part of him that cared about Stacy was tugging at him; regardless as to whether he was glad to see her or not, she was bound to be frightened about being here. Scared and alone.
He gave a dismissive shake of his head, not wanting to care about those things because they weren't his problem. Yet he couldn't bring himself to walk out of the bar. He felt a stab of resentment towards Stacy because, god damn her, how the hell do you stop caring about someone you want to hate?
He half turned and looked back at Stacy. Then he looked away with a sigh and leaned heavily with his cane, silently waiting for her to catch up with him.
"Don't know," he replied. He shoved the door open and walked through, and let the door go so it swung back on Stacy again. He might have been conceding enough to not walk off, but he wasn't willing to go as far as be polite. Might've been childish of him, but he didn't care right now.
He actually didn't know where to go. He stopped in the middle of the lobby. His room was out of the question. He glanced at the doors to the banquet hall; he certainly wasn't hungry. Outside, perhaps. He glanced at the doors that led outside and absently groped at his thigh as he felt a sharp twinge of pain fire up in it. Or they could go back to Stacy's room - that way, he could leave whenever he wanted and he could check out where her room was.
Hell, he had no idea where he wanted to go. Anywhere that was far away from Stacy - which wasn't very far, seeing they were both stuck here. He sighed in annoyance and looked towards the exit again before he started towards it. As he walked, he dug his hand into his pocket to fish around for the pill he'd swiped from Cuddy's Percocet bottle. He'd been trying to hold onto the pill for as long as possible, to use it only when he really needed it. Now seemed like a good time.
"Outside," he finally said. "Mightn't seem so suffocating that way."
House squinted at the sun, realising that this was the first time he'd been outside since... he couldn't remember the last time he'd been outside. With how harsh the sun's rays were, he could almost feel the melanin in his skin scrabbling for cover.
After limping down the steps and wandering a little distance from the entrance of the hotel, he stopped and thumped his cane into the sandy ground. The impact kicked up a small plume of dust, and he looked down to watch the end of his cane as he dug it into a dry clump of brown grass.
He looked up at Stacy sharply, at her question. "Last I checked, we're not expected to do anything. But I can pretty much guarantee that any and all attempts to get out of here will be about as likely to succeed as the chances of the Borg becoming the alliance to the Enterprise. Resistance is futile."
"Way to kill my really cool metaphor," House replied wryly.
He sighed and looked back down, stabbing his cane into the same clump of grass as Stacy took a seat. God, it was hot out here. He glanced up at the sky, screwing one eye shut to shield out the sun, and noticed how clear and blue the sky was. Not a cloud anywhere. He wondered briefly to himself if it ever rained here. The ground looked like it hadn't received rain in ages. He then wondered to himself if there was anything in that - lack of weather patterns.
He frowned, trying to make that thought expand into something that might make sense, provide a clue into how to get out of here, but he had nothing. He snapped out of his thoughts at Stacy's question and looked down at her.
He raised his brows. She was on the first floor, too? Oh... great. Just great. He begrudgingly shifted on the spot until he was facing her fully, and replied, "Room one-oh-nine."
Well, he hadn't been outside all that much. But it had been as dry and hot as this every time he had been.
"It's always dry, it's always hot, every day seems exactly the same as the day before," he replied without looking up, now digging his cane around the clump of grass. Small clouds of dust kicked up every time his cane made impact with the ground.
"Might as well get used to it. Pretending it's going to change and trying to find an answer for why you're here will only make it worse."
"He also had a knack for getting people to thank him for for the fact that they're dying," he replied dryly.
He dug his cane into the clump and started to try prying it up from the ground by the roots. Fidgeting, focusing on something else was way easier that giving his full attention to Stacy right now.
He did, however, glance up at her, at her remark. He peered at her for a moment, then snorted humourlessly and returned his attention to the ground.
"Before you attempt to beat the odds, be sure you could survive the odds beating you."
"I know about as much about this place as I know about why the hell you're here." He gave Stacy a sharp glance, then looked back down to his drink.
Actually, the glass wasn't enough of a distraction. He sipped his drink and placed the glass back down before snatching up a drink coaster and began to fiddle with that, instead. Turning it around in his hand, studying the logo printed on the front - a logo he didn't recognise as anything from home - with a frown on his face.
"You realise you can't ever leave this place, don't you?" he asked. He glanced across at her again to scope her reaction, then turned his attention back down to the coaster. "Figured I might as well throw you that A-bomb, if you haven't been thrown it already. This place is like hell with expensive furniture."
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The initial shock of seeing Stacy was starting to wear off. He was quickly retreating behind defensiveness because now the shock was subsiding, House was left with the uneasy realisation that Stacy wasn't just here, she was here for good. Which meant his efforts to try and push Stacy out of his life had been completely thwarted. He didn't want to face the issues that came with being around Stacy. Her presence in Princeton the last time proved that.
"Give it five minutes and see if you're still happy to see me. This place has a way of bringing out the worst in people."
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(The comment has been removed)
He then reached for his cane. "Believe me," he replied, his voice a little tight from the fumes of the alcohol, "drinking scotch is the least of your worries." He began to slide off his stool. "If 'nice' is what you want to talk about, then I suggest you find someone who'll make nice with you. Because I'm certainly not going to sit here and tell you how 'nice' it is to see you."
House started to walk off, though once he was about halfway to the door, he reluctantly slowed to a stop. The part of him that cared about Stacy was tugging at him; regardless as to whether he was glad to see her or not, she was bound to be frightened about being here. Scared and alone.
He gave a dismissive shake of his head, not wanting to care about those things because they weren't his problem. Yet he couldn't bring himself to walk out of the bar. He felt a stab of resentment towards Stacy because, god damn her, how the hell do you stop caring about someone you want to hate?
He half turned and looked back at Stacy. Then he looked away with a sigh and leaned heavily with his cane, silently waiting for her to catch up with him.
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He actually didn't know where to go. He stopped in the middle of the lobby. His room was out of the question. He glanced at the doors to the banquet hall; he certainly wasn't hungry. Outside, perhaps. He glanced at the doors that led outside and absently groped at his thigh as he felt a sharp twinge of pain fire up in it. Or they could go back to Stacy's room - that way, he could leave whenever he wanted and he could check out where her room was.
Hell, he had no idea where he wanted to go. Anywhere that was far away from Stacy - which wasn't very far, seeing they were both stuck here. He sighed in annoyance and looked towards the exit again before he started towards it. As he walked, he dug his hand into his pocket to fish around for the pill he'd swiped from Cuddy's Percocet bottle. He'd been trying to hold onto the pill for as long as possible, to use it only when he really needed it. Now seemed like a good time.
"Outside," he finally said. "Mightn't seem so suffocating that way."
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(The comment has been removed)
After limping down the steps and wandering a little distance from the entrance of the hotel, he stopped and thumped his cane into the sandy ground. The impact kicked up a small plume of dust, and he looked down to watch the end of his cane as he dug it into a dry clump of brown grass.
He looked up at Stacy sharply, at her question. "Last I checked, we're not expected to do anything. But I can pretty much guarantee that any and all attempts to get out of here will be about as likely to succeed as the chances of the Borg becoming the alliance to the Enterprise. Resistance is futile."
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
He sighed and looked back down, stabbing his cane into the same clump of grass as Stacy took a seat. God, it was hot out here. He glanced up at the sky, screwing one eye shut to shield out the sun, and noticed how clear and blue the sky was. Not a cloud anywhere. He wondered briefly to himself if it ever rained here. The ground looked like it hadn't received rain in ages. He then wondered to himself if there was anything in that - lack of weather patterns.
He frowned, trying to make that thought expand into something that might make sense, provide a clue into how to get out of here, but he had nothing. He snapped out of his thoughts at Stacy's question and looked down at her.
He raised his brows. She was on the first floor, too? Oh... great. Just great. He begrudgingly shifted on the spot until he was facing her fully, and replied, "Room one-oh-nine."
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"It's always dry, it's always hot, every day seems exactly the same as the day before," he replied without looking up, now digging his cane around the clump of grass. Small clouds of dust kicked up every time his cane made impact with the ground.
"Might as well get used to it. Pretending it's going to change and trying to find an answer for why you're here will only make it worse."
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(The comment has been removed)
He dug his cane into the clump and started to try prying it up from the ground by the roots. Fidgeting, focusing on something else was way easier that giving his full attention to Stacy right now.
He did, however, glance up at her, at her remark. He peered at her for a moment, then snorted humourlessly and returned his attention to the ground.
"Before you attempt to beat the odds, be sure you could survive the odds beating you."
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