[The room is dim, but there's enough light for the camera to make out that there's only one person in it, sitting stiffly at the table like an interrogation subject.]

So thanks for the talk, but I reckon cutting me out of your will sent the message clear enough. Couldn't find any 'you're a disappointment' cards?

[Silence replies, but Chase continues the conversation, bitterly.]

I didn't want your money. I never wanted your money. [And he pauses, and something makes him huff a laugh.]

Figured out it was all I was going to get. You don't think I might have wanted to say goodbye?

[Why would he, since-]

I hated you. Didn't mean I didn't still-

Doesn't matter, now. Look, why don't you take this down to the hospital. Probably find someone more interested in listening to your lectures, there. Sign a few copies of your books.

[Another wait for a response that doesn't come, and Chase's tone slips from sarcastic to something dull and flat.]

You don't have a shadow, here.

[A beat. An interruption.]

Sooner be in his than yours.

[And now the silence stretches long. Chase pushes his chair back from the table and stands, but neither party are done talking.]

Allison was wrong about that.

[Barely enough time for the invisible speaker to draw breath.]

Don't want to talk about it. We're not going to talk about it. [But someone doesn't agree and, jaw clenched, despite himself, Chase listens.] Right, and you walked out on two kids and your sick wife. Careful, dad, high ground's looking a little shaky.

[He turns, walking to a counter in the back of the room. The motions, a familiar glug and clink denote drink being poured. He speaks without turning.]

It's under control. Think I'd still have a job right now if I showed up for surgery with shaky hands?

[Pause.]

It's under control.

[Silence.

Silence.

Silence, but for the hard slam of the glass against the back wall. Liquid spilling.]

And maybe I'd prefer to be just like her.

There's a girl vomiting into the book return box in the library. She says it's nerves but it doesn't smell much like them.

I thought somebody should probably know.

Oh, and if anybody else finished the chem test early enough: think there's extra credit for noticing the examiners were playing human Pacman between the desk grids? I need to ask because, apparently, in Public school, you never can tell.

See you in fall.


[No, he's not expecting to attend the dance (although plans are subject to change). In the meantime he can be caught collecting his violin from the Westerberg High music rooms before heading into town. At the local grocery store he'll pick up baby food and heavy flow tampons, and hide them under at least six bags of potato chips. And, late in the evening, groceries, violin and shopping bag unloaded, he'll be found on the shoreline at the beach, expertly skipping pebbles out across the waves.]

Does anyone really believe the devil made them do it?

Then, why should we be comfortable applying that logic to curses?

[The audio output from Chase's device clicks and rattles. To anyone on the desert side, occasional word-endings are lost in the background noise. Glass city dwellers might make out every third word.]

Odd, I don't remember joining Médecins Sans Frontières.

Calling it a fort lends it too much grandeur. There's a refugee camp out towards the edge of the city, some kind of Checkpoint Charlie set up behind it. It's cramped, it's hot, keeps some of the monsters out and none of the sand.

It's better than the desert.

[The rattling speakers give way to a rattling cough.]

The hospital finally caved in on itself this morning. Anyone who was helping evacuate patients, we're done. Nothing to go back for now. Anyone who stopped by to turn the place over without picking anyone up: lets hope you don't need help using that equipment.

Tried to get through to me? Try again. Apparently rewiring the device screws with your voicemail. I'd like to speak to someone who can tell me about the other city.

In the meantime... I'm on call.



[Locked to House + Wilson]

Where are you.

[Lab coat on, it's another general address. Anyone paying attention might note he rarely (deliberately) uses the network for anything personal.]

All non-emergency surgical procedures are officially cancelled until further notice. The hospital can no longer guarantee a non-contaminated operating space. If anyone knows a way to hold the sand back, or of somewhere that's not emulating the Sahara, please get in touch. When I want to go to work in flip-flops I'll open that beach shack.

[He reaches forward to turn off the monitor. Hesitates.]

Oh, and for those of you who weren't taught it when you were three: don't take candy from strangers.


[ooc: he's eaten dozens of the hearts, but he's unlikely to be telling -you- that. His secrets are available in multiples and still open for takers.]

A few points of business. If anyone's feeling bored and altruistic or, for that matter, bored and masochistic, the hospital is holding a blood drive this weekend. Why not leave the City with a souvenir of you?

NICU is for very sick babies. It's not a daycare. Keep treating it as one and we'll be disposing of untagged infants in the same way government buildings do unlabelled packages.

All breast screenings are on hold until Monday. Trust me, no one who has to wear a lead lined apron to be in the same room as you is taking an interest in how you look without your shirt.

[The small camera pans from feet (converse) raised and crossed on a desk, to an open door marked Exam Room 3 before turning a circle so the doctor can address the network.]

Right, we're open. You can consider this a free clinic, I'll be billing the hospital for time and a half. Everyone's a winner, just so long as none of you try to follow me home, or to the gym, or to the bathroom.

Again.



[Text: Private to Eden]
About the other

I think I

No. Not today.



[OOC: of course you are allowed to follow him wherever you'd like over the course of the weekend. Just no duplicates of House cast without permission, please, and any mention of marriage-divorce-murder is assumed private. Backdating is open until forever in no small part because I have a raging cold.]

[Extreme close up on the curved lines of someone's palm. As the hand pulls back it becomes obvious the device has switched its recording function on while being set down somewhere - in this case, on the tilted surface of a bar. The assorted patrons propping it up can be seen in a concave blur through a half-empty glass.

One of them, the man whose fortune the city's palmists will know intimately by now, is pulling another man - younger but not by too much, though he has the languid poise of disaffected youth - back by the shoulder. And it's hard to hear amid the clinking chatter of the bar as Chase says something to him, but the last part is more audible. He's raising his voice.]

-going to tell me what you put in her drink.

[The other man protests, reacts angrily, and a push in Chase's direction creates a reverse momentum that sees the doctor slam the younger man back against the bar.

This is when the device goes spinning, and everything afterwards comes in dizzy, flickering frames. Punches thrown, a crowd pushing in, weak attempts at holding either party back. Something splashes across the floor, blood or a spilt drink, the flash of broken glass is too brief to confirm either. It's all very quick, and then, somewhere in the push of the crowd, a foot comes down on the device.

And then it's black.]


[ooc: because his canon is insane, chase now has a real-life sister. please ignore tags that say he doesn't. also, sigh.]

Before you stick anything up your own arse or anyone else's, make sure it has a wide base. You'll be making your surgeon's life a lot more pleasant.

Plus, unless you can top the 18 inch umbrella, I guarantee you're not going to impress us.

We're not going to believe you fell and landed on the vacuum attachment.

That carrot wasn't oiled because you were preparing to cook with it, unless you've an odd preference for seasoning.

Your anus contains gas. Inserting anything flammable or already on fire up it is liable to blow a hole in your anterior rectal wall. And they're a bitch to live with.

In fact, anything sharp is a bad idea. Anything with narrow, inflexible protrusions.

Barbie has narrow, inflexible protrusions.

You can try introducing the family pet to your backside, but no real cases of rodent insertion have ever made it into medical literature. You're more likely to get an unpleasant bite.

Wood can splinter.

Paint can chip.

Bottles and other objects with an opening are going to cause a vacuum and you're not going to enjoy that kind of sucking, believe me.

If you're set on sticking something up your arse, and I'm not objecting to however you want to pass the time, make sure it's a smooth object with a wide base. You could try a butt plug or someone else's penis. I hear they're reasonably well designed for purpose.

Bad ideas:

( not-ic cut and mildly NSFW )