[log] Fresh Poison Each Week [closed]

[rubikscomplex]

Characters: House, Wilson, Hannibal, Will, Ecks
Location: Building 317
Date: Morning 356
Summary: Post-event recovery
Warnings: Hannibal-related warnings, plus event-related: fingernail horror, toothloss, cannibalism, vomiting, forced feeding, PTSD, mental instability, hallucinations, are possible to come up.

[Judging from the outside, this was definitely a house, but going inside, it seems to have been converted into something like an infirmary. There are a lot of metal tables neatly arranged in the living room and kitchen, and the bedroom has a mattress lightly-stained with blood: it seems like someone at least tried to clean the thing up as best they could, and even flipped it over so the cleaner side is on top. The toilet and shower still work: the shower even has hot water. Makeshift shelves have been attached to one of the walls.]

Comments

[onlytwothings]

[ Oh, look, if that isn't a sudden burst of hope. Not that Wilson is looking for any reason to not be resigned to his death, but when put forward so plainly, it's hard not to grab onto it. ]

You think that's even a possibility? It feels a lot like a long shot. [ Which he's certain House knows. ]

[rubikscomplex]

There are nanomachines inside your brain that can control what you do, think, and remember. Pretty sure a perma-cure for cancer's not outside the realm of possibility. I don't think these are our real bodies, but maybe they're close enough, if it's not just a consciousness transference that brought us here.

[onlytwothings]

Well, there's not much else I can do except hope that's the case. We won't know for sure until we leave.

[ If they leave. ]

I won't be complaining if that turns out to be the case.

[ Then House's life won't implode, and Wilson won't be dead. It sounds unbelievable when put that way. ]

[rubikscomplex]

[It's pretty damn unbelievable, in general. And House isn't really the type to hope. Hoping leads to pain, the kind that Vicodin can't fix except in excess quantities. Still, he'll just keep some of his thoughts to himself for once.]

You won't be complaining if it doesn't. Death's a great way to shut people up.

[He stubs out the smoldering remains of his cigarette and flicks the butt over into the corner.]

Anyway, I'm gonna go sleep. [Or at least lie down and attempt it.] Nighty-night.