[log] fuck [closed]

[devoutish]

Characters: Alfie Solomons, Emily Kaldwin, Gregory House, John Watson, Royce Melborn, Tifa Lockhart
Location: building 120 and building 101
Date: evening of 190 to morning of 192
Summary: when you see "House" and "Royce" in the same log you know it's gonna be a party
Warnings: ear removal

Catch-all for EVERYTHING - death, murder, torture, yelling, etc. Top-level and tag as you see fit.

Comments

[devoutish]

[Why House, what could be so dangerous about a barefoot guy in his bathrobe?

(The answer is "potentially a lot". He and Royce have probably already conferred by this point.) ]

Fucking hell, you really should put that down. You might hurt someone.

[rubikscomplex]

[He knows you have a scalpel, Alfie. Or, well, he knows you might have a scalpel along with whatever else you have. He doesn't trust the other man's word about trading it away.]

This? Nah! Figured you just might be up for a game. You like to play, right? [House brings the mallet up and holds it like he would a lacrosse stick. He's a ragged, incredibly thin and pale man in the light thrown from his tablet, but like hell is he just going to roll over.

It'll take a bit more intimidation than that. And probably the appearance of a blade. For now, his tone is clipped and sarcastic as he just watches Alfie.]

[devoutish]

Is that for playing? I don't even know what that is, mate.

[rubikscomplex]

And here I thought you had an education in you, guv'ner. Never read Through the Looking Glass? They used flamingos, but you must know what croquet is.

[devoutish]

Croquet, yeah, I've heard of croquet. Never played it myself, much less with the queen.

[rubikscomplex]

And here I thought all you limeys got to have tea with the queen every Tuesday. The lies they tell you in America!

[devoutish]

Set that down. Come on.

[He gestures to the table.]

I'd just like to talk.

[rubikscomplex]

I'm pretty sure what I have in my hands doesn't actually stop you from talking.

[devoutish]

But it's not very sporting, is it.

[rubikscomplex]

Because you're all about sporting. You wanna talk, Solomons, talk. I'll even have a treat for you if you get on with it.

[devoutish]

Put the mallet down, House.

[His voice is calm and even, perfectly conversational.]

[rubikscomplex]

Make me.

[His body tenses all over, heart rate kicking up. He's ready for an attack.]

[devoutish]

[He slips one hand into his pocket, leaving it there as he walks over to House, reaching out to take hold of the mallet.]

[rubikscomplex]

[Defiance gives way rather swiftly to fear when he sees Alfie's hand go to his pocket, the one where he kept his scalpel before. House doesn't back up, he just moves around the table, trying to keep it between himself and Alfie. It's an incredibly childish tactic, but he's feeling just a little like a terrified child.

If the shoe fits, wear it.]

Stay the hell away from me, asshole!

[devoutish]

[Alfie doesn't chase him. His tone doesn't change.]

The mallet, House.

[rubikscomplex]

[He really despises that everything about this reminds him of his father. The quiet menace, the unwavering tone, unflinching focus, and the promise of so much worse if he doesn't do as he's told. The mallet shakes in his hands, and then he slams the head onto the middle of the table to make a crack that's enough to wake or startle the entire house.]

It's down, Dad.

[House absconds, taking the mallet and snagging his pack as he flees the kitchen. He's aiming to get upstairs to the bedroom that Tifa had mentioned earlier.]

[devoutish]

[Fiiiiiiiine, House. He'll let you go. And come back later to talk. With Royce.]