(Untitled)

[symbolificating]

Life is surprisingly... great. When was the last time that his life was great? It's hard to remember, through Tritter and divorces and just generally being House's friend/punching bag, but he can really, finally, officially say that things are great. He's dating a girl he loves, and she loves him, and even if she has some House tendencies -- so

Comments

[arubikscomplex]

... there's a ridiculous surge of childlike glee that bubbles up in House when he sees Wilson standing there. It's stupid, and it's so very kindergarten of him, but he wants to go and pull his hair, then run (hobble) away.

Instead, he clears his throat, sounding annoyed, and says loudly, "About time you showed up."

[symbolificating]

And now, definitely, he starts to suspect that this is all somehow House's fault. "House, where are we? What did you do?" Wilson responds with very real annoyance and just the slightest twinge of anger. Importantly there's no fear; on a fundamental level, he knows House wouldn't put Wilson in a dangerous situation. ... he's pretty sure.

[arubikscomplex]

"Now -- why do you always assume I did something? This doesn't have to be my fault, you know. I showed up here just the same as you did, no explanations. Just -- three years earlier." He holds his hand up preemptively, "Before you sputter in indignation, I know you probably saw me at work yesterday. Or today, even. This place is weird like that."

[symbolificating]

"Because you usually did do something," he replies tiredly. He frowns and shakes his head at House. "That makes no sense at all. House, if this is some ploy to keep me away from Amber, then..." He trails off and waves his hand in the air before he tosses it up. "Then you've really reached the height of ridiculousness and insanity. And childishness."

He wanders over to the front desk to start looking for any indication of where they are and a telephone so he can go home. What he finds instead is an envelope with his name on it, which he picks up. He raises his eyebrows at the key inside and turns back to House. "And what's this supposed to be? You got me a room here?"

[amutantangel]

"Huh?" A tall man with wide, feathery white wings hanging loosely over his shoulders turns a corner into the room and takes a long look at Wilson. He doesn't look immediately familiar. "Hi. You must be new."

[symbolificating]

.........................

Did House drug him? Is he asleep? Maybe this is some dream; maybe he fell asleep on the bus on the way home. Either that or he fell into an X-Men comic book.

"Uh... Sorry -- yes -- uh -- what's your name?"

[amutantangel]

"...Ah, Warren." He tries not to cringe at the reaction. "Worthington. Hi."

[symbolificating]

"... James Wilson. Hi." He holds his hand out to shake Warren Worthington's hand and he tries not to let on that he's freaking out. It doesn't work overmuch. "So... um. Nice -- nice wings."

[drcaresalot]

And here, Wilson, have a non-House coworker, smiling a little. "Hi, Dr. Wilson. Good to see you."

[symbolificating]

"Cameron?" If House pulled this off, he did an excellent job. Maybe this is some sort of conference thing he forgot about? "What's all this about?"

[drcaresalot]

"Well. It's... a bit weird, actually. Would you actually believe me if I said we were in a hotel in the middle of nowhere and nobody can leave?"

[symbolificating]

He looks Dubious. "... no. But then again, I wouldn't have much of a reason to think you were lying to me, so I might actually believe you a little. Are you serious? How is that possible?"

[notbirdnorplane]

Lest Wilson think that he's in the Marvel Universe only or something, a rather unassuming tweedy reporter will wander by, flipping through some paperwork. He'll stop when he sees the new arrival and offer a somewhat sympathetic smile. "Um, hi. From the look on your face, I'm guessing you just got here."

[symbolificating]

......... that is Superman. Or, well, Clark Kent, but like Wilson is fooled because he has on a pair of glasses. If Wilson was that easily fooled he'd never survive being House's friend. He must be having a really, really cool dream. The last time he had a dream involving Superman, he must've been... ...no, okay, that was last year. (The both of them were in red capes and blue spandex -- one of his more privately amazing dreams that he doesn't share with anyone else.)

"I suppose so, yes." If this is a dream, he might as well stay calm. "Where are we?"

[notbirdnorplane]

Hey, now. It's a pair of glasses, a bad-fitting suit, and an incredibly dippy hairstyle. But yeah. It's Superman.

Clark shrugs. "It's... a hotel. You probably have, um, a key at the front desk. Well... if you didn't, you know, find it already."

[symbolificating]

Wilson glances over at the front desk and lo and behold, Superman was right. Not that Wilson would ever really doubt him anyway. First he has no reason to and second it might be bad for his health. So far this dream is pretty cool. He wonders when the spandex will come in. "And here I thought I was done with hotels for a while," he mutters, palming the key and sliding it into his pocket. "Thanks."

[arentyoudarling]

One thing Joan just loves about this place is all the dashing men in suits. This particular dashing man looks like he's really been through the ringer, weary and confused and a little rumpled, and she knows she's not the first resident to greet him. Still, she can't just ignore a newcomer -- how rude would that be? She pauses on the staircase she's been descending and leans against the bannister, sizing up this stranger for a moment before smiling. "Hello, there. Did you just get here? Or have you had a chance to make some friends?"

[symbolificating]

Wilson really can't get all of this through his head but he can't deny that what House and Cameron are saying is true. A part of him is kind of excited about living with Superman and Batman and the like, minus the Joker, et al. He hears a voice calling and turns around, smiling in return. "I have met some friends, yes. Some people I know from work have been here for a while, it seems. I'm James Wilson."

[arentyoudarling]

"Lucky you. I haven't met anyone I used to know. Then again, it's not unusual -- no one in Manhattan ever takes a vacation." Of course, she's from Madison Avenue in the early 1960s when work was a vacation, where boozing and womanizing on the job were perfectly acceptable. She holds out her hand for you to take from the stairway. "Joan Holloway. What do you do, Mr. Wilson? Or what did you do?"