happy birthday to me

[misanthrope_md]

House could remember his twenty-fifth birthday very well. Or at least, the earlier part of the evening - it started to get a little fuzzy past the part where he'd done a line of coke off of an exotic dancer's stomach. He'd had some good friends in med school, the kinds of friends that take you to strip clubs on your birthday and slip a couple of

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[extra_psychic]

This place was huge. When the snow had let up she'd gotten some help getting to this compound thing. Having a length of bamboo to use for a cane helps a lot, but she's still trying to find her way around.

The taps against the floor precede her entry into the kitchen. She can tell where she's at by the scent, and the room sounds big. Food and people...it's not quite that bar of Neil's, but it'll do. She stands still, tapping her cane on the tile as she gets her bearings, then turns her face toward the human being she can get a fix on.

"There's a coffee pot in here, right?" she asks.

[misanthrope_md]

House looked up at the voice. Even without the telltale glasses and cane, he could tell a blind chick just from the way she moved.

"There is," he said. "Four paces north and try not to burn the shit out of your hand."

[extra_psychic]

Pam nods briefly and turns that way, walking until she feels the counter against her waist. A sweep of her hand reveals where the heat is and she moves to stand in front of it, then reaches up and lays her hand on a cupboard door. She's definitely not helpless, although a little direction never hurt anyone.

She opens it slowly and pulls out a cup. Everything is slow, methodical, and calculated, and before long she has herself a half a cup. As she works through the steps, she can feel his eyes on her. She's gotten used to the sensation of being watched and now it's just part of the day. She can't see, but someone's always watching.

"And if you think that was entertaining, you should see what I can do with a ping pong ball," she says dryly, facing him almost directly. His voice gave his position away, so it's no trick to turn toward him.

[misanthrope_md]

"Oh yeah? I'm pretty sure I've got some if you want to demonstrate," House said. His eyes flicked down to her cane. It wasn't as badass as his, of course.

"Though I'd be careful what you put in your mouth around here. Can't really tell the difference between moonshine and battery acid too easily."

[extra_psychic]

"Don't be stupid. Battery acid tastes a lot better than moonshine," she snorts. "I'll stick with coffee for today. I've drank more since I got here than I have in years. Funny thing is, I sober up and I'm still here, so I might as well get used to it. I'm Pamela, by the way. Who are you?"

[misanthrope_md]

"Trust me, here is the very worst place that you can sober up," House said. "I'm Greg House. And are you sure you weren't serious about the ping pong balls, because it's my birthday."

[extra_psychic]

"Oh, well if it's your birthday, then..." she replies, obviously not believing him. "No, I wasn't serious. What do I look like, a seventeen year old from Bangkok?"

She waits a beat, then ads, "No, really. I haven't looked in a mirror lately. If this is the twilight zone, maybe I do look like that." Then she takes a sip and waits. Some people just really don't get her humor.

[misanthrope_md]

"Nope," said House, "you look like a forty-year old blind woman. Your ass isn't bad, though." Then he paused a beat, and added, "And you obviously weren't born blind. What, just a few years? Oh, and it really is my birthday."

[extra_psychic]

"Six months, and you're a little low on the age, so I guess I should say thanks," she replies, smiling at him. The ass comment is a given as far as she's concerned.

"It's really your birthday, huh? Happy birthday, then. I don't smell cake. What the hell is wrong with this place?"

[misanthrope_md]

"Oh, it's kind of an island-wide policy, no cake for mean old bastards," House said. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to make me one."

[extra_psychic]

"Good, because I wouldn't. Like any decent American, I buy my cakes...and since that doesn't seem likely to happen here? My friend, you are shit outta luck," Pam tells him, on the verge of laughter. It's the very definition of the twilight zone, she thinks...asking the blind chick to bake a birthday cake. The day after a blizzard. On a tropical island.

This place is fucked up.

[misanthrope_md]

"Yeah, this place is pretty fucked up, right?" House snorted. "Not a bakery or pharmacy or decent cup of coffee as far as the eye can see, and yet we do have a strip club."

[extra_psychic]

"The joy of that's lost on me unless they are cool with touching," she smirks. Not a club she knew let you touch, and then a thought occurs to her.

"Wait a second. A strip club? Neil said money's only good for rolling joints or lighting fires. How the hell do you pay?"

[misanthrope_md]

"Well you might find a lap dance enjoyable from someone who really knows how to give one," House said.

Then he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, get this. Currency in the form of community service hours. Of course, I've been working here for free for damn near four years so I figure I've got enough lap dances stored up to last me the rest of my life."

[extra_psychic]

"Four years?" she asks as her jaw drops a little. "What the hell have you been doing here for four years? To earn your strippers, I mean."

[misanthrope_md]

"I'm a doctor," House said. "An incredibly bored doctor."