The good thing about self-righteous patients was that they usual didn't stick around in House's office for long. Same went for the rest of the people at this damn place, all of them boring and all of them unworthy of House's time. The diagnostician wanted to head back to their crappy temporary living quarters in town, but Wilson was his ride and
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The fact that Envy had been given a short sleeved uniform to wear that clearly showed the bandaged gashes on his wrist severely limited his potential characters to play. Denying and saying that he wasn't some snivelling self pitying kid who did it to himself would do little good. He was crazy after all.
He wasn't particularly annoyed, but he supposed he should stir up a little to match the patient character he was inevitably going to be percieved as.
"So, do you have an injection to cure my crazy, or do we have to talk about feelings?" He asked as he slumped into a chair.
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Envy spoke this in an easy nonchalant manner, but one that was carefully worded, in that he hoped to squeeze a little something out of his doctor about what his story extended to beyond the walls of the institute. Even the lie might betray something about the truth of the matter. False pretenses were typically grounded in some form of reality.
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