(Untitled)

[yourtieisugly]

Who: House and [OPEN]
What: They're sharing a drink they call 'loneliness', but it's better than drinking alone Mike's Hard Lemonade
When/Where: Late evening, the "bar" on base

Comments

[thedistantrose]

Being walled up inside a military base with no apparent way in or out had its benefits, Rose was sure, but she wasn't having much luck in seeing them. Already she'd memorized just about every detail of the place, and run dry on the possibility of finding a way out. There wasn't one. The whole setup was too much like Satellite Five for her own liking, and if there was so much as one gaudy, over the top sofa or demented game show anywhere, she was getting out of here.

The bar was empty otherwise, and what would it hurt? She didn't drink often, but when she did Rose preferred Guinness. Pint of it, and that was all she'd need.

[yourtieisugly]

Choose A Chest was an interesting concept for a magazine article: ten celebrities, all shot from the neck down, with the correct heads thrown onto the facing page. The challenge? Match the bust to the brain usually parked above it. So far, House had nailed seven out of ten. He was waffling on Salma.

He dragged a glass of scotch to his lips and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat, tonguing the inside of his cheek while he compared soft anatomy.

[thedistantrose]

No one else was in the bar, really, except for the man she hadn't seen much of other than in passing. And what was he reading? Reading wasn't involved, it was something more likened to staring or ogling. Rose lifted her eyebrows into her hair immediately, not bothering to hide the skeptical look on her face.

"That all the entertainment this place has to offer?

[yourtieisugly]

Bingo: Salma in the gold lamé with the chintz handbag. House smiled and flipped the page.

"There's karaoke on Tuesdays."

[thedistantrose]

"You don't strike me as the singing type." Rose gave him a critical look over the rim of her glass.

[yourtieisugly]

What kind of accent was that, Cockney? A little 'west of the tracks, gub'nah' with the big empire teeth getting in the way of the consonant sounds. House guessed London, though definitely not Hyde Park London.

He screwed around with a subscription card in the middle of the magazine and gave her a sour look. "You don't know me."

[thedistantrose]

"No, I don't," she said, "but we haven't met." It took a lot to rattle her, and he hadn't done that yet. "M'name's Rose. What's yours?"

[yourtieisugly]

Bits of blonde in his peripherals. He had a sense that he should know who she was, but part of him couldn't be assed to remember. "Do I look like someone who wants company?"

[thedistantrose]

That got a flash of a bright grin. "Oh, absolutely," she said. "Look like someone in search of nothing but company."

[yourtieisugly]

He flipped the magazine closed and scooted off the stool. "Boy, are you ever a bad judge of character."

[thedistantrose]

"And you're a terrible judge of sarcasm," she said. "It isn't hard for someone to notice you're bored. Why else would you be sitting 'round in a bar, head in a magazine, only on your first drink? Can't say I blame you, either."

[yourtieisugly]

"Please," he said, trying to spare her with an expression that looked like he'd just eaten something sour, "if I had a nickel for every time a lonely box blonde hit on me in a crappy bar, I'd have enough nickels to help Sally Struthers feed half of the Third World. Besides --" he held up the magazine "-- these people are much more interesting."

[thedistantrose]

"Who's hitting?" Now she looked genuinely surprised, then craned her neck around to get a glimpse at the magazine. Best Chest contest, something like that? She couldn't quite make it out. "Those aren't hard to guess. Angelina Jolie's easy."

[yourtieisugly]

"Oh yeah?" he fingered the magazine to an easy competitive space, "what about these?"

[thedistantrose]

"Jennifer Aniston," she volleyed back. "Next?"

[yourtieisugly]

"Easy," he puffed, unimpressed "she's practically concave anyway." He rolled the magazine and pushed it into his back pocket. "And you don't get points for trying to impress someone. I give it a 'C' for effort --" he paused, giving her a short up-down "-- make that a 'B' for effort."