[House starts to type, anyway, a diatribe about why Will is incredibly wrong. That or his definition of 'good man' is basically 'doesn't murder indiscriminately.' He has a list of actions he's taken that are selfish, calculated, manipulative, of Will, others. There is nothing in him that even begins to constitute 'good man.' Wilson is a good man. Eric Foreman is a complete dick, but also a 'good man.' House is just a selfish bastard who's gotten people killed for his own ends, helped to murder a man because it was interesting. He's gotten Will hurt because he wanted a partner. He could just point out withholding the Admin's video from the other man.
There is also nothing that's unconditional. He doesn't care about his father. He makes it a point not to care about other people. He doesn't care about most of the ones here. Ask a sampling of ten people and they will tell you he's a complete bastard, a terrible person, and useful. Those are the only characteristics he has. 'Good' is not among them.
But that last paragraph stops him sending it because he's incredibly pissed off that Will just decided to preempt him like that. He deletes everything and throws his tablet across the room and sulks for ten minutes, discomfort and pain plucking at his mind. Nails and static have replaced the instruments.
He moves over to where he chucked his tablet and pulls up a new private message window.
He types in Hannibal's username, knowing it's a bad idea.]
private (cw: drug addiction)
There is also nothing that's unconditional. He doesn't care about his father. He makes it a point not to care about other people. He doesn't care about most of the ones here. Ask a sampling of ten people and they will tell you he's a complete bastard, a terrible person, and useful. Those are the only characteristics he has. 'Good' is not among them.
But that last paragraph stops him sending it because he's incredibly pissed off that Will just decided to preempt him like that. He deletes everything and throws his tablet across the room and sulks for ten minutes, discomfort and pain plucking at his mind. Nails and static have replaced the instruments.
He moves over to where he chucked his tablet and pulls up a new private message window.
He types in Hannibal's username, knowing it's a bad idea.]
do you have any vicodin left?