"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." -Blanche DuBois (in Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire)
[407 words]

I'm not sure I would call it "kindness" exactly. More like "stubbornness" and "determination". He just wouldn't leave, no matter what I did to try to push him away.

We didn't really even know each other that well. He was in Oncology, around the corner, I called him in for an occasional consult. Mostly I picked on him and belittled him. I didn't think he liked me that much. I was certain he thought I didn't like him. We tolerated each other because we had to work together, and we were in the same golf foursome.

It wasn't that I didn't like him. I just didn't care. I'd never had friends. I moved around so much when I was a kid, I lived all over the world, but never long enough anywhere to make friends. I didn't need friends, and I didn't label people as friends, really, because I didn't know what the word meant beyond the standard definition.

I found out, after I got sick. After the infarction. After my girlfriend betrayed me, and went deliberately against my wishes. I couldn't look at her after that. I didn't want her near me. I didn't want her to see me suffering through the recovery. I pushed her away, and he was there. He stepped up to take her place at my side.

I tried to get rid of him. I stubbornly refused to cooperate with him. I threw bed pans at him. I gave him the silent treatment when he came in my room, or I assaulted him with insults and stinging one liners.

He kept coming back. Some nights he never left. When I had a really bad day, he stayed. He didn't hold my hand. He rarely touched me at all, unless it was medically necessary. He read to me, or he sat beside me and didn't say a word.

He gave me back the will to live. He made me want to get better. I could have lain there and wasted away. It was entirely possible and highly probable I would never walk again. But he wouldn't accept that. He didn't want that for me. His quiet presence nudged me forward and made me get up out of that damn bed.

It wasn't "kindness" on his part. He didn't stay beside me because he was kind. Most of the time, he wasn't kind. He was stubborn and determined. He was, I realised, a friend.

Every one of us gets through the tough times because somebody is there, standing in the gap to close it for us. - Oprah Winfrey, O Magazine

I'm not sure I would call it "kindness" exactly. More like "stubbornness" and "determination". He just wouldn't leave, no matter what I did to try to push him away.

We didn't really even know each other that well. He was in Oncology, around the corner, I called him in for an occasional consult. Mostly I picked on him and belittled him. I didn't think he liked me that much. I was certain he thought I didn't like him. We tolerated each other because we had to work together, and we were in the same golf foursome.

It wasn't that I didn't like him. I just didn't care. I'd never had friends. I moved around so much when I was a kid, I lived all over the world, but never long enough anywhere to make friends. I didn't need friends, and I didn't label people as friends, really, because I didn't know what the word meant beyond the standard definition.

I found out, after I got sick. After the infarction. After my girlfriend betrayed me, and went deliberately against my wishes. I couldn't look at her after that. I didn't want her near me. I didn't want her to see me suffering through the recovery. I pushed her away, and he was there. He stepped up to take her place at my side.

I tried to get rid of him. I stubbornly refused to cooperate with him. I threw bed pans at him. I gave him the silent treatment when he came in my room, or I assaulted him with insults and stinging one liners.

He kept coming back. Some nights he never left. When I had a really bad day, he stayed. He didn't hold my hand. He rarely touched me at all, unless it was medically necessary. He read to me, or he sat beside me and didn't say a word.

He gave me back the will to live. He made me want to get better. I could have lain there and wasted away. It was entirely possible and highly probable I would never walk again. But he wouldn't accept that. He didn't want that for me. His quiet presence nudged me forward and made me get up out of that damn bed.

It wasn't "kindness" on his part. He didn't stay beside me because he was kind. Most of the time, he wasn't kind. He was stubborn and determined. He was, I realised, a friend.

(This is two part response, as you'll see. Part one in House's voice is 277 words. Part two is narrative, and falls in at 275 words.)


What do I strive for most? What is this? A contest? Fine. We'll look at all the contestants.

Accomplishment: Accomplishment's good. It's nice. it's getting recognised for doing the right thing, playing by someone else's rules. No thanks.I'd rather get results.

Security: Security is feeling safe. B-O-R-I-N-G. I'm secure. I know who I am. I know what I am. I know what I'm capable of.

Love: Love isn't all sunshine and roses, people. Love is giving someone else permission to screw up your life.

Power: Power's where it's at, baby. Power makes the world go round. Not everybody has it, but everybody wants it.People live and die for it. Nothing else in the world like it.

Excitement: A little excitement here and there helps break up the monotony of life, but it isn't the be all of life.

Knowledge: Knowledge is power. Therefore, I divert back to what I said about power. Power makes the world go round.

And the winner is POWER, ladies and gentleman. Climb out of your holes, people. You need power to win a video game. You need power to get anywhere in life. We all define power differently, but it all comes down to the same thing. Power is what makes you who you are. It's everything, all at once, all together. And when something's missing, you're weak, or at least weakened.


What House really strives for is security. In his pills. This is a scene lifted from canon to show his need and how far he will go to get it:

He slithered onto the balcony that connected Diagnostics and Oncology. Wilson's office was dark, he'd already left for the night. He'd probably gone home early to try to work things out with his wife. The thought was laughable, but House didn't let it distract him. He had a specific goal, and nothing was going to get in his way.

He scaled the wall that divided the balcony into two sides. It wasn't quite waist high, and he'd slid over it so many times, he did it without thinking. He pushed off and came down on the left side, keeping the pressure off his right leg. He didn't glance over his shoulder, because that act would mean he was doing something wrong. He hobbled to Wilson's door, and tugged it open with a smug little smile. Just like Wilson to leave it unlocked.

House limped over to the desk, and the limp might have been a little more pronounced than usual. There wasn't anyone to see him as he crossed the dark office to the desk. He switched on a small lamp, and found what he was looking for in the top drawer. Wilson really was predictable. House tore off the first page, and tossed the prescription tag carelessly into the drawer.

He took a moment to fill out the script, and signed Wilson's name to the bottom. Light off, Dr Gregory House backtracked to his own office to pick up his bag and head to the nearest drug store to fill his new prescription. 36 Vicodin would hold him over for a few days, until he could convince Wilson to give him a legit script.

The world is going to end in a week. Right. No more patients, no more medical books, no more Cuddy's cleavage dirty looks. I sure as hell wouldn't waste my time at the hospital. Let them all die, the sky is falling anyway.

I'd hire a hooker. For the whole week. Paid up front. Hookers probably wouldn't know the world was ending. She'd think she'd already died and gone to Heaven anyway. Hell, I'd get two. Maybe three. A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. One who can cook, for sure. I'm going to eat well, take my pills, and drink as much as I can.

I'm not going to call my mother, I won't answer the phone if she calls. I have nothing to say to her, there's nothing she could say that I want to hear. Apologies that come at the end like that, don't matter, don't mean anything. I died once. Legally dead, for over a minute. I've been on that train. I know what goes through your head when you think, when you really believe, you're going to die.

And the truth is, everybody lies. Death is the only sure thing in life. From the moment you're born, death is imminent. There's no cure, kids. We're all here, and we're all going to die. It could be today, tomorrow, next week, or next year, but we're all headed for the same prize.

Some of us are more aware of it than others. I'm a doctor. I've seen death in action. I've seen someone turn it around at the last possible second. I've seen the whole spectrum. I've lived it, and lived to tell about it.

Every morning when I wake up, I wonder if I'm going to be able to get out of bed. If I'll be able to walk. I pop a couple Vicodin. I check my eyes for signs of jaundice and liver failure. And then I haul my ass up and go to work.

If I found out today, that I've only got a week to live, nothing would really change because I'm already dying.

What do I regret most? You would think it would be my leg. Maybe I regret not making the right diagnosis sooner. Maybe I regret giving Stacy power by medical proxy. Maybe I regret that I never quite managed to end it all during those horrible first months of my recovery. That's the safe bet.

But it's wrong. Oh, it's up there. It's definitely up there. In the running. Just missed the finish line by a hair.

My biggest regret...No. It doesn't matter.

This is bull shit. Why would I want to talk about this now? Talking about it doesn't change anything. The infarction happened. The surgery happened. The recovery happened. I live alone, I fix my meals, I get to work, and I do my job. I save lives, I solve baffling medical cases. I make a difference.

There will be a huge gaping hole in the field of Diagnostic Medicine when I leave. And no one, no one, will care what I regret most in my life. No one needs to see my picture on the cover of People Magazine, and the article about how it's all my father's fault never needs to be written.

All anyone needs to know is I made it. Against all the odds. I won.

[From Here]


Within a few minues, Greg was pushing the door of their room open and all but pulling James inside. He shut and locked the door and stashed his cane against the wall near the bed.

And because he really wants to use this icon, he immediately started shedding his shirt, blue eyes locked on his lover.

Oh yes. Greg was horny.

OOC: Started a new writing community specificly geared toward the pups.

questionthepups

Using the prompts found on THIS WEBSITE, questionthepups is a no pressure community for writer and role players to react and respond to questions designed to stimulate character growth, development, and understanding.

Any and all pups and muns are welcome. Multiples of pups are allowed.

Imagination and creativity should know no limits.

Come one, come all and explore.

questionthepups

I don't know what's going on. I think I must have picked up a virus or...something.

Last night, gmail was working fine. I went to refresh my inbox, and...nothing. I got stuck on the LOADING screen. I Xed out of Firefox, and rebooted. Still...LOADING. I rebooted the whole computer. You guessed it, LOADING. I opened gmail just fine in my AOL browser. Hmmm. I let it sit over night. This morning? Firefox wouldn't go past LOADING.

I opened Opera. Gmail opens just fine, but Opera seems to pick and choose which mails it will open. So, nix that. I pulled up Enigma. It seems, so far, to be fine.

I've deleted everything connected to Firefox, and reinstalled. Still...LOADING.

And just now I opened Trillian, but...it won't let me see my contact list. So...I don't know what's going on. I assume I have a virus, and I'm running an antivirus software...But, if I disappear, this is why. I am very extremely not happy right now.

YOUR CHARACTER:
Real Name: Gregory House (mostly goes by House)
Codename: (if applicable)
Other Aliases: (Example: nicknames, fake names, online handles)

Occupation: Doctor. Head of Diagnostics Medicine, also Necrologist
Citizenship: American
Place of Birth: Michigan, USA
Birthdate: 12-21-59
Deathdate: 6-11-14 (randomly pulled out of the air)
World of Origin: House, MD
Marital/Relationship Status: Single
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Known Relatives: Parents John and Dorothy House
Known Confidantes: Dr James Wilson (Head of Oncology)
Known Allies: Dr James Wilson, Dr Lisa Cuddy (Dean of Medicine), Dr
Allison Cameron (Immunologist, works under him in Diagnostics)
Major Enemies: Himself

Height: 6'2"
Weight: 160ish
Hair: dark brown with some grey
Eyes: bright blue
Skin: pale
Other distinguishing Features: Won't he be surprised to wake up and
find out his leg isn't horribly disfigured? None, really, since his
scars will be gone

Fighting Skills: Before the infarction, he was athletically fit, so
I'd say swift and accurate in a fight.
Other Skills: Brilliant mind, can think his way through most anything.
Has taught himself several languages by reading and listening to
music
Powers: None
Do they still have there powers?: (Yes or no and why) --
Special Limitations: None, as his leg won't be an issue
Source of Powers: (Mutation, Magical, or Technological) --

Three Items: (What three personal items were in their satchels when
they were resurrected?): His cane, even though he won't need it. he
doesn't know he won't need it. A notebook of personal poetry and music
and other writings, and I don't suppose he could get a piano in there?
Um. I don't know. Er, a small teddy bear that Wilson gave him when he
was in hospital with the infarction.

Personality: (At least a hundred words) Greg is a first class jerk. He
is antisocial, which means he has a terrible bedside manner. He yells
at people quite a lot, and he doesn't tolerate stupidity. He's a
go-getter, and tends to do whatever it takes to get what he wants.
He's snarky and rude, obnoxious and...dedicated. He's loyal to a
fault, when he's loyal at all. He doesn't let many people close to
him, and there are really only two or three people he'd ever lean on.
Quote: "Everybody Lies"
Quirks: Has an intese gaze and will not hesitate to stare someone down.
Hobbies: Before the infarction, he played a lot of sports. Lacrosse,
Tennis, every kind of ball, jogging, golf. Also reads books in the
original languages (even if he doesn't actually know the language),
plays video games, watches soap operas and television dramas, listens
to just about every kind of music, plays piano and guitar, likes to
watch monster truck rallies.
History: (At least two-hundred hundred words) House was one of those
kids who was born old. His mother always said he was "five (or
whatever) going on thirty" He was too smart. He was walking at seven
months, talking in complete sentences at ten months. He excelled at
school, and never had many friends because he spent so much time
alone. He went to school on a full scholarship, and never had less
than an A in any class. (We know from canon he was "already a legend"
when he was an Michigan State grad student).

Music is his first love, though he pursued a career in medicine. He's
drawn to the puzzle of difficult cases, and can treat a patient
without ever seeing the person face to face. he hates talking to
patients as a rule, because "everybody lies" and they never tell him
the important stuff anyway. So he tends to puzzle it out, based on
symptoms and test results.

Several years ago, he suffered intense leg pain that escalated after a
misdiagnosis. He suffered an infarction, or blood clot, in his thigh
that resulted in muscle and tissue death and removal. His girlfriend
authorised a surgery he didn't want, which probably saved his life,
but left him angry and bitter, and dependant on a cane. During his
recovery, Greg taught himself to speak and read fluently in several
different languages. He also pushed everyone he cared about out of his
life except his best friend who refused to give up on him.

Greg is a very determined and head strong individual, as stated in his
personality profile. He usually knows what he wants, and will o
anything to get it.
Death: (It needs to be at least one hundred words. How old were they?
How did they die?) Greg was 54 when he died. Acute Vicodin overdose.
It wasn't intentional. He was having a really really bad day. And took
too many pills. He ended up face down on his bed, and lacked the
strength to roll over. He lay there knowing he was dying. Knowing he
could prevent it, but he was really just so tired of fighting. He'd
fought nearly fourteen years with his leg., and it was getting worse
by the day. He just...gave up.

Sample RP: (Don't need a novel here, about 200 words, give or take
should do it and it needs to be in, the sample also needs to be in
third person past or present tense) [From lj user gotcanewillpoke, as
House was moving to a new town]

The first light of morning had him waking blearily against the sun. He
sat up, raked both hands through his hair and across his face. He
needed a shower, he needed to shave. he needed to eat. He hadn't eaten
since Baltimore, two days earlier, and his stomach rumbled irritably.
He needed to take his medications. He briefly thought about trying to
find a hospital where Wilson didn't work and likely wouldn't have any
connections yet, where he could get a refill on his Vicodin
prescription.

He discounted that thought immediately, but it disturbed him that he'd
thought it at all. He really needed to call Wilson, find out exactly
where he and Aziraphale were living. If he could see Phale anytime
soon. He wasn't sure how much longer he could resist getting his
Vicodin prescription refilled, or taking a hack saw to his leg.

He massaged his thigh for a few minutes, until he felt he could chance
standing. He gripped the cane, swayed a little, and caught his balance
on the back of the bench. His furniture wasn't due to be delivered
until Friday. He couldn't take another two nights on the park bench,
and the floor of his house wasn't any better. He sighed, and resigned
himself to getting a hotel room in town.

He hobbled to his townhouse, his leg throbbing with each step. His
cane echoed off the walls of the empty house, and not for the first
time he wondered what he was thinking when he bought a two story home.
He'd liked the layout, and the area. He backed up to the park, the
city's transportation system was close, the hospital was close, in
case Wilson really did find him a position, assuming he accepted it.
It had parking available for the bike, and he could have his dog. It
was too good to pass up.

His dog. Cash. He shook his head. He didn't want to think about Cash.
He distracted himself by slinging his bag over his shoulder and
tackling the stairs. He needed to shower before he could even consider
going out in public again. The heat of the water felt good, and he
stood under the stream until it went cold. He had no towel, and sat on
the edge of the tub to drip dry.

His second set of clothes were clean enough, and he sat down to slide
down the stairs because that was easier than trying to walk. He
retrieved his cane at the bottom and pulled himself up to head in to
town.

Greg & James, of course
Edit: NWS warning removed, as Greg fell asleep in his lovers arms, rather than delve into NWS territoy. New warning for...Greg/Jmaes sweetness *g*

[After this]

Greg was quiet on the way up to their room. He'd been feeling like the walls were closing in on him. Maybe they were. He let James lead the way inside, and closed the door softly behind them. He felt like he ought to say something, but he didn't know what to say.

He slipped out of his shirt, his shoes, his jeans. His right leg looked normal, though the color was slightly off. More pale. He closed his eyes and sat down on the bed. Eyes opened and looked up at James, and still he said nothing.