It's as much poetry as it is exercise, the sound of his blade swift through the air pleasant and nearly musical (to his ears, anyway). As much a dance as a fighting form, he moves through forms from different eras, different countries and cultures and styles but always with the immediate force and brutality of one holding a much heavier sword. He ( Read more... )

Parsifal is not practicing with a sword. Instead he's looking at an area of the courtyard and doing some mental measuring, aided by his feet and a bit of walking-in-a-straight-line (which is a real accomplishment, considering). Feel free to ask what in hell he's doing. Or who the random new guy is in general.

House is not in.

He's not anywhere near the infirmary.

He's enjoying a bench outside, pondering what in the hell he's supposed to do NOW.

Fucking world-changes.

Only the lesbians can save him now. Just when you thought it was safe to go to the mess hall, someone throws an orgy!

He's...feeling better.

It's good to be able to say that, to say that he doesn't feel like shit as he has for over a year. His body feels... feels fresh, feels like it's his own, and there's no better feeling in the world as far as he's concerned ( Read more... )

So ( Read more... )

If you happen to be on the first floor, you might see a young blind girl walking the hallway, feeling her way along the walls ( Read more... )

Irene has found a pair of pants to go with her shirt and jacket, and a belt to keep the pants on. No more naked ( Read more... )

"Whu?"This was supposed to be the liquor store. It wasn't. It wasn't even a store. It was a ruin, a dilapidated old wreck of a building with the remains of the ceiling hanging down into the room itself in a manner that told, not suggested, that no one had been here for some time. It should, by all rights, have been the liquor store; he'd been ( Read more... )