Dr. Gregory House (house_in_order) wrote in monk_onthe_mind,
Dr. Gregory House
house_in_order
monk_onthe_mind

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Princeton-Plainsboro teaching hospital (OB/GYN Lounge) - Princeton, New Jersey - Early morning

All was still in the lounge; any residents and their supervisors unfortunate enough to snag duty were the only bodies around at this ungodly hour, anyway. Except for House.

But no surprise there, right? The infectiologist was generally wherever he wanted to be.

The scruffy figure draped over the brown armchair facing the silent television stirred slightly, his left foot twitching and his heel tilting into the carpet as his knee extended. He winced, reaching to deliver the stiff joint a reprimanding slap before tenderly tugging its lifeless counterpart back across the armrest. Then he sat up, groaning mightily.

Greg House was in fine form this morning -- his cheek lay flat against the chair back with a couple days growth of silvery stubble, his blue shirt open (well... one button was done) and hopelessly molded to the corresponding creases in the chair’s worn leather, revealing an equally mussed gray t-shirt beneath. His sleek black walking cane sat tangled and forgotten with his jacket at his feet.

House dug the heel of his hand roughly into one eye, blinking the other against the hall lights intruding through the open door. The atmosphere was saturated by their monotonous hum, and the dull familiarity of the whole situation instantly began to bore him.

And damn, his leg hurt. Surprise, surprise.

“Lovely wakeup call,” he growled. Well, wasn’t it? Gotta love the pain. Keeps me on my feet. Using the armrest as his lever, House swung himself upright, and he stumbled clumsily toward the refrigerator. Opened it.

Nothin’ interesting… unless the stench counted. Spotting a half-empty can of Mt. Dew(which was probably his anyway), he snatched it up and leaned into the door as it closed. Staring into the dark carpet, the doctor paused before tilting his head back to down the can, which he then abandoned unceremoniously on the fridgetop while he turned to stagger back to his chair.

Vicodin… Vicodin… wheeeere’s the goddamn Vicodin? He shifted and pushed his hands into his jean pockets, trolling for the lovely little orange cylinder. All they turned up with was an unwrapped peppermint. He stared for a moment, as though very seriously considering how the thing got there, before popping it into his mouth.

[Closed until House is in the mood to interact with other player characters]
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