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Willing to Lie For: A House LJ RP

[ Willing to Lie For | OOC: Inside the PPTH Staff ]
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[30 Jun 2006|07:28am]

Who: Lowe and *OPEN*
When: None specific (just trying to get back into the groove after my unexpected absence)
Where: cafeteria

Darrin stared up at the celing, cell phone pressed to his ear as he listened to his voicemail message that Neal had left for him.

Hey Darrin, it's me. I was just wondering how things where doing with you. Wondering if you've been eatting or just trying to avoid it as much as possible as you so tend to do....I do want to take you out sometime soon. It seems like you've been so busy with your hours that you probably just go home and pass out after you're done for the day, but it'd still be nice to call me every so often. I know you tend to isolate yourself, but I'm your brother. You know you can open up to me and that I won't snitch your little secrets to anyone....Just please, give me a call back....Bye.

Darrin frowned, had been frowning since his brother's third sentence. When his phone asked if he wanted to delete or save the message he pushed the button that would delete it. He then hung up the call and stared intently at his cell phone's wallpaper. It was something of a secret joke between the two of them. Darrin was always so very smart, but he tried to hide it. Neal had managed to get a picture of Einstein and strink it down to cell phone size. It showed him with his tongue sticking out. They'd both laughed at it, and even sometimes when he was having a particularly bad day he'd be able to flip open his phone and look at it to feel better. This wasn't one of those days apparently. It had been, but that voicemail killed it all.

In front of him the table was completely empty. He was supposed to be on lunch, but he simply wasn't hungry. Instead he went to his phone's menu options and selected the option that allowed him to check his e-mail. His lunch had just started so he decided he'd kill time playing around with his phone, making himself unaware of everyone else around him.
tell me lies

what rough beast [30 Jun 2006|12:46am]

[ mood | sore ]

Who: House, Stacy, closed[phone call]
Where: Still at Harvey's Bar & Grill
When: Still during the course of his discussion with Chase after their escape from PPTH; House, half past buzzed and headed for drunk, has a thought and excuses himself from Chase to make a phone call. [Worried about our jobs, are we? Naaaaah.]
What: Chase's comment about whose job is worth more makes House retreat for help to a familiar quarter.

Notes: I wanted to get this plot rolling a little faster, since no other logs have been posted; I'd assume that Stacy is just that cool and of course not at all bound by professionalism to help Parker out as to let Cuddy & Co. know she's talked to him. Hence: the call for advice.


How many beers had he had? Four, five? House had pretty much lost count at that point, and it wasn't even two o'clock yet; he had to snort and shake his head even as he excused himself to the huddle of waitresses and incoming lunch patrons... well, he excused himself until they refused to get the hell out of his way, anyway, and then he got a little more insistent with his shoulder and the end of his cane. Get the hell out my way, damnit.

He wasn't uneasy, not just yet, but a steadily shrinking part of his mind realized and acknowledged the very real risk that he'd taken in trying to make Chase let go of his past. By now Cuddy[and he refused to think about that, too, thanks: refused to think about what he might have lost by doing what he'd done] had probably put a contract out on his limping ass, and judging by Chase's willingness to sacrifice his job, he knew just as well as House did that they'd crossed some line, back there.

Which is why he'd excused himself from the table to slip into the tiny little benched alcove by the side doors, digging out his cell phone and sighing at it briefly before rubbing the back of his neck and flipping it open. He must be drunk, must be, or else he wouldn't have dialed the number from memory without thinking about it, without looking at it, without engaging his higher brain beyond the simple thought that she'd know, at least: she'd know and she'd say something, at least, before Sam Parker got her fucking fangs in his throat and ripped.

Even if it was only "It sucks to be you, Greg".

He cleared his throat when the phone was picked up. No preamble whatsoever.

"I think I'm in shit."

22 good ones|tell me lies

Chase/House Bar Thread [Sorry if this intro is a tad long.] [20 Jun 2006|08:51am]

Who: Chase, House; Closed (For Now).
Where: Harvey's Bar & Grill
When: Immediately following the unexpected events in House's office, and their subsequent consequences.

As the pair rode past the security guard booth at the exit of the Hospital parking lot, the guards eyed them suspiciously. Both House, Chase, and the rest of the ducklings were fairly well known through-out the Hospital staff. Well…with the exception of the Morgue staff now, apparently. But the only time you would cross their path is if you wound up dead, right? So, maybe making the friendly with them isn’t something to be highly concerned about. Plus, it didn’t help that House’s motorcycle was the only one in the entirety of the parking lot with a handicap sticker on the front, a cane hooked to its side, and was bright orange. Easily recognizable. So much for not drawing attention to our vehicle. Why didn’t we just take my car…

What was really bugging Chase was that he couldn’t figure out by the brief glances he had gotten of the security guard’s faces, whether the suspicious looks were because they were leaving at 11 A.M. and their shifts only started a mere 2 hours ago, or because the news of what had happened in House’s office had already spread like wildfire. This Hospital, after all, was known for its fast spreading of juice gossip. Feelings of co-workers be damned.

Read more...Collapse )
10 good ones|tell me lies

[Mod Post: willingtoliefor Concordance/Timeline] [20 Jun 2006|12:41am]

[ mood | depressed ]

Hola. I, your resident diagnostician, creator, and lesser part-time co-mod, have been thinking for a while now that it might be a really good idea -- as I've seen around in other parts of these here lands -- to have a willingtoliefor concordance: basically, one single post that keeps track of all the major events and happenings to date in the game, with links to the appropriate threads and dates. Cool, huh?

This way, if a question ever comes up about What Happened When, all the information will be right here at your fingertips and/or keys, depending on how literal a sort of person you are. Anyway, this post will remain in the game comm's Memories, and it will be [hopefully] updated every time something major takes place.

So there you have it. Enjoy!


Well, I was born in a log cabin...Collapse )

1 good one|tell me lies

[19 Jun 2006|12:06pm]

Who: Foreman and [OPEN]
When: Time is fluid. (i.e. anytime)
Where: Cafeteria!
What: Dude's gotta eat, y0!

I have nothing witty or original to put hereCollapse )
20 good ones|tell me lies

[ Email to Chase ] [15 Jun 2006|03:59pm]

From: James Wilson <oncologeewhiz@gmail.com>
To: Robert Chase <doctor_robert_chase@yahoo.com>
Date: Thursday, June 15, 2006 2:31 PM
Subject: Avoiding Teasing

EmailCollapse )
3 good ones|tell me lies

[Done! - Finally] [13 Jun 2006|05:01pm]

Who: House, Cuddy, Closed
When: Um, today? Cuddy is back from her impromptu vacation (aka, Mun Died and Fell Off The Face Of The Earth)
Where: Cuddy's Office
Rating: Uh, as G. says: NC-37. Heh.
Notes: Well! This is now running under the assumption that, aherm, your favorite hospital administrator and favorite limping twerp were very bad doctors and did very bad, unsanitary things while everyone was at the Memorial Day cookout getting their drink on or, in Cameron's case, running away in supreme embarrassment. And then, we're using the excuse that, Cuddy totally flees the scene of the, well, er, "crime," and then just suddenly puts in a memo with the secretary that she's taking a week-long vacation the next day. Yay for running away from problems, because, you know, it works all the time. So. That's that.


Read more!Collapse )
126 good ones|tell me lies

E-mail to Stacy Warner; closed. [12 Jun 2006|11:16pm]

From: Sam Parker <got99problems@gmail.com>
To: Stacy Warner <animus.nocendi@gmail.com>
Date: Monday, June 12, 2006 11:16 PM
Subject: What's up?

You should try out for a lawyer or somethin'.Collapse )
3 good ones|tell me lies

[ Friday, approx. 8 PM; House and Wilson (Closed) ] [09 Jun 2006|11:39am]

The subject of a serious chat with House had come up more than once in the past week or so. Wilson knew it was unavoidable and he'd even been the one to suggest it a time or two, and yet he kept putting it off and putting it off and putting it off. The probability of a rational discussion was very low and Wilson's bruises from the last argument had only just faded completely. He didn't feel like explaining new ones to Allison.

Nevertheless, now that he'd gotten Stacy involved (sort of), if he kept putting things off, she'd end up bursting into House's office herself to -- to use her favorite word -- browbeat House into ... something. Who knew what. Stacy wasn't always the most rational person, either, when she was upset and/or worried.

Wilson glanced at the clock and sighed. Now was as good a time as any. Past dinner but before bedtime. He flipped his phone open, hit the first speed dial button, and listened until House's answering machine picked up. "I know you're there, House," he said. "I'm coming over. If there's a hooker there with you, you better be done by the time I arrive. Uh... And if you're not, I guess I'll wait in the kitchen or something. But I'm coming over and I'm letting myself in and we're having this talk that we've been saying we need to have. See you in a while."

A half an hour later, Wilson unlocked House's front door and slipped into the apartment. "Honey, I'm home," he called, rather hoping House was actually alone.
36 good ones|tell me lies

[ Email to Cameron ] [09 Jun 2006|11:06am]

From: James Wilson <oncologeewhiz@gmail.com>
To: Allison Cameron <in.a.white.coat@gmail.com>
Date: Friday, June 09, 2006 11:06 AM
Subject: Invitation

EmailCollapse )
4 good ones|tell me lies

Let the Whipping Boy Ride [08 Jun 2006|10:25am]

[ mood | creative ]


Notes: Now COMPLETE! House and Chase have fled the pris-- er, PPTH, and are now on their way to Harvey's Bar & Grill, to be continued in a separate thread. Please see the notes from this post, folks, to set up the conditions for their return. ;)

Also: some interesting themes have come up toward the mid-point/end of this thread. Warning for mild intensity and vague/slight references to molestation.


Who: House, open[ducklings, Wilson, blood-sucking lawyer, anyone].
When: Let's try and keep it semi-coherent, at least: the Thursday morning he comes back to work, after the encounter with Cuddy and his day off.
Where: Diagnostics conference room, his office
What: Better stock up on your nitroglycerin, kiddies; House is -- almost -- his trouble-making self. Although he's still in increased pain, and wondering what recent events mean for him emotionally. Tread with caution. This could also lead into that DDX thread we've been dying to get started.

Notes: This was FUN... and also pretty accurate, ahaha. But one caveat, my friends: although the Vicodin extraction method here is 100% accurate[and safe, actually], the descriptions of extracting DXM from cough syrup ARE NOT RECOMMENDED, which is why I didn't describe them in detail. I know because he knows, if that doesn't sound too stupid, but a)I've never actually done that, and b)I don't WANT to. It's dangerous and... well... just dumb. But we all remember the Migraine Medication Process™, don't we? ;)


What's your secret weapon? Will it set us free, fully free to use each other?

If Satan had started handing out ice skates in spiffy red and black to match the decor -- the day Greg House showed up at Princeton-Plainsboro at exactly 9:13 A.M. -- House himself was oblivious to that fact.

He should have been gleefully capering around the hospital, knowing that The Boss wasn't looming over his shoulder, knowing that his team wouldn't rat him out if he skipped clinic duty, pocketed a bottle full of Vicodin[or even, really, another vial of hydromorphone; the stash Wilson had found had been the tame stuff], or sent some poor intern off to do his dirty work. He should have been furiously grumpy, the leg having kept him up half the night, tossing and turning and cursing: something wasn't right there, whether it be re-growing nerves or a prelude to another infarction... he hadn't been able to squirm into an MRI just lately, and the worry gnawed at him, even if it was mostly subconscious. He should have been sitting at home, leg propped up, listening to his stereo and just generally... zoning.

But here he was.Collapse )

42 good ones|tell me lies

[08 Jun 2006|12:38am]

Who: Allison Cameron and James Wilson
What: Wilson didn't call, Cameron cares, and there is much hand-wringing over House.
When: Tuesday afternoon, the day after the PPTH barbecue of doom.
Where: The Lab, Wilson's car, a restaurant, and Wilson's apartment.
Rating: PG-13 for language and a fade to black cut.

In which Cameron is angry and hurt, Wilson is clueless and avoidant, and House is there in spirit.Collapse )
tell me lies

[ Monday evening; Short phone conversation between Wilson and Stacy ] [07 Jun 2006|04:23am]

Wilson sat at his desk and stared at his cell phone, looking mildly forlorn. He couldn't believe it had come to this, but it had. Cameron's solution had been to tell Cuddy about House's new "little" problem, and that was what Wilson's initial thought had been, too. But there was one more person whose opinion he still felt he needed -- one other person who still cared deeply about House even though he probably didn't deserve it. So he flipped the phone open, scrolled to the number he wanted and hit the button to dial.

Two rings later, that smooth voice with its pretty Southern lilt answered. "Wilson?" it said uncertainly.

'Hallo, Stace,' Wilson said with forced cheer. 'Long time no chat.'Collapse )
tell me lies

that you'll run, and never tire [01 Jun 2006|04:21am]

[ mood | accomplished ]

Who: House, Cuddy, hopefully Cameron a little later in the thread.
When: Logically, this gets put somewhere around 6:30-7:00 P.M., Monday evening, as the odious staff cookout is just beginning to get funky/wind down just a little.
Where: PPTH field-->Lobby/Corridors-->Dean's office
What: He just can't let well enough alone.

Notes: There may be a little adult capering later on in this one. Consider yourself warned.

Welcome to the Seventh Circle of HellCollapse )

40 good ones|tell me lies

Sometimes Good Just Isn't Enough [29 May 2006|06:07am]

[ mood | discontent ]

[[Note: I'm formatting this the way I'd gotten used to, since there are quite a few interconnected threads going and I wanted to make sure I remembered.]

House, open to Cameron[potentially a surprise visitor, if one is plotwise so inclined]
Middle-of-the-night, after his shouting match with Cuddy and his argument with Wilson. Before this thread.

Note: Some rather adult themes in this one.]

If you don't expect things to work out, if you always expect to have control, then one of two things will invariably happen: you'll either have a much easier life than the rest of the ant farm... or everything, sooner or later, is going to blow up in your face.

Gregory House understood the desire for control.

It made sense to him, made everything fall into neat little boxes, quantifiable data. Take everything that's scattered around your feet in pieces, and put it together into a pattern. Find the thing that's pushing your buttons, and strangle it into a harness, make it work for you.


Unfortunately, this time it wasn't that easy.

He'd spent the better part of the time brooding viciously about his argument with Cuddy in her office; every time he did think about it, the urge to find her wherever she happened to be at that particular time of day and smack her was deliciously tempting. He kept telling himself -- and it was the honest truth, actually -- that he was less worried about the slam to his ego than about the stupidity she was stupidly letting herself get carried away with.

And yeah, part of it might be selfish, too: she was the boss, after all. And no matter how much he pushed and provoked her, she'd kept him on the payroll: four other administrators had long ago decided that his snark wasn't worth his salary. And if he lost the job, he really had nothing to buffer him, to keep him going, nothing to keep his mind off the pain and to bolster his sense of usefulness, no puzzle to throw up between him and the world he hated so badly. No function for Dr. House.

Nothing to keep you alive, you mean. Let's be honest, here, Greg.

But that wasn't all of it, and he spent most of the afternoon and early evening fervently denying that to himself: bemused as he screwed around in his office for the last couple hours, swallowed two Vicodin with the last of the coffee, threw his crap into his knapsack and crutched his way to the parking lot; irritated as he kicked his bike up to sixty-five, then seventy, on the freeway, taking a much longer and dangerous route than he actually needed to take.

Frustrated and bitter, as he cane-paced his silent apartment, spent forty minutes pounding out his fury on the piano -- composing, scrapping, playing a random medley of notes fast and loud and carelessly -- and downed the first of many amber shots from a plastic drive-through cup. Irate, as he waited for the pain in his leg to ease, waited for the pain in his leg to ease, and finally sprawled himself out on the sofa to part pale skin with the tapered edge of a needle, dark red flowers blooming in the barrel and blessed, whitewashed relief... for a little less than an hour.

By the time he got to irate, he already had a hand on the phone.Collapse )

22 good ones|tell me lies

[ Friday; Cameron and Wilson ] [29 May 2006|07:00am]

Who: Allison Cameron and James Wilson
What: Cameron bet Wilson he couldn't teach her to swear, and now he's gonna try to collect.
When: Friday
Where: Someplace private. (Coma Guy's room. XD)
Rating: R for LANGUAGE. (Cameron's hot when she swears, says Wilson.)

The prospect of earning fifty bucks wasn't unappealing and that's what Wilson told himself he was the most interested in, but the real drawing point of this bet was spending more time with Cameron.Collapse )
tell me lies

[House, Cuddy, Closed. Um, a day after House's Phone posts] [28 May 2006|03:33am]

Honestly, sometimes she wondered why she didn't just delete her stupid journal and feign ignorance to the steady march of posts on her computer monitor. She wouldn't be tempted to read or hear things she knew she was going to regret, especially in her slightly elevated emotional state. But this - this latest House rant - threw her into the dilemma of staying where she was, rolling her eyes over the whole affair, and actually doing something that would be productive as far as work went; or to give in to her complete desire to smack some humility into him.

She had this dilemma about twice a week, actually.

Only, this time, things were somewhat different now. Far more personal. Far higher stakes. She didn't like this latest downward spiral House seemed intent upon traveling - it was affecting his team and his one and only friend, a man whose patience could put Ghandi to shame had the man still been alive. The only question left now was: when would it start to affect his work?

"Get yourself together and get down to the Clinic," she said as soon as she entered House's office without knocking. Raising her wrist to look at her watch, she continued, "It's already ten minutes into your shift."
8 good ones|tell me lies

[Chase; Open to anyone; Friday Morning around 10:30; Diagnostics Staff Room] [27 May 2006|02:19am]

Pushing his way through the door that lead out into the hallway from the male staff locker room, he glances down at his watch as he fastens it to his wrist, it reads 10:30am. His morning had been rather rough thus far, and he’d only been on duty a few hours. The most recent patient he had checked in on had vomited blood all over him, which lead to him having to take a shower in the locker room, seeing as how he wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. Wearing dress pants, a polo shirt, dress shoes and his white lab coat, his blond hair still rather damp with water and combed back away from his face.

This was going to be a long day, huh? Why did all the long, drawn out days have to be Fridays? Someone up there must be having a piss-poor day as well, then again…could be worst. Could have people dieing.

At this thought, he raps gently on a near by panel of wood that was part of the wall to his left.

Better safe then sorry in this Hospital.

He knew he had little under half hour before he was due in House’s office to…well, collect information which will conclude who’s the winner of the bet. He was uncomfortable at the idea of pulling down his pants in front of his co-worker, doctor or not. Especially House who would probably make him feel stupid and embarrassed if he *didn’t* size up as he boasted he would.

Plus, its not exactly a warm day out...so even if you lose, you have an excuse. Wait a second…

Glancing down to the crotch of his dress pants, he looking suddenly concerned.

…maybe the shower could have waited…Oh, Crap.

But…if he didn’t at least do the bet, even if he lost, House would just have one more thing to hold against him and pitch cracks at. Not something he wanted. If anything, he wanted a little more respect from the team leader. Sighing heavily, he enters the Diagnostics staff room to find it completely and utterly empty, so he wonders over to the sink. Grabbing his mug and the squeeze bottle full of honey on the shelf, he begins to boil water in the electric kettle for tea. Then…

…drinking tea does not make me British!

Shaking his head to himself, he rubs his temple as it begins to throb slightly, and side glances over to the white board.

No new cases? Odd. Where is everyone, anyway?
tell me lies

[Thursday evening 8:30 pm, then Friday morning 8 pm] Darrin's apartment, then the clinic [26 May 2006|12:19am]

"So what do you think it's going to be like?" Neal asked.
Darrin turned to look at his little brother who was sitting on the couch munching away on a chocolate chip cookie, then lifted a thin, delicate shoulder. "I have no idea, but I'll call you tomorrow evening and tell you all about it."
"You nervous?"
Darrin paused for a moment as he was bringing a cookie up to his mouth. He was a bit nervous. He didn't want to do anything that'd cause him to mess up in front of one of the other doctors he was supposed to shadow. He was also nervous for other reasons, but instead he said, "Yeah, a little, but I'm sure I'll do fine."
Quietly. "Do you think they'll find out?"
Darrin avoids the question by craming the cookie he'd been holding in his mouth and taking his sweet time chewing. Damn you Neal! Stop getting into my head and pulling out that which terrifies me the most. I don't want to think about this. Not now. Do you even realize how much worse my nervousness will be if this is going to be on the forefront of my mind? "I sure hope not," he says softly. "If they do then I might as well kiss this line of work good-bye. No one would want me to see them. Everyone would be uncomfortable around me, it'd just be a big mess."
Neal looks at his brother with softness in his eyes, even though the question that came out of his mouth stung like a sharp slap across the face. "Then why did you even do it?"
Darrin looked away and busied himself with putting away the rest of the cookies. "You know why. I shouldn't have to explain myself again." He knew the words where sharp and hurtful, but it didn't matter at that moment.
Neal rose from the couch and went up behind Darrin, slipping his arms around his waist and resting his cheek against his older sibling's back. "Darrin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out that way. It's just, I'm worried for you. You know I'm the only one that gets you. Don't push me away, please."
Darrin licked his lips to wet them and closed his eyes, fighting back tears, whispering, "I don't need this worry. I need to focus or else I'm going to screw up. Help me keep positive thoughts running through my head. I've got enough negative thoughts that sneak up on me at the worst times, of my own."
Neal nods against Darrin's back. "Ok, it's a deal. You want to watch 'Nightmare Before Christmas'? That always seems to help cheer you up?"
Darrin slowly turned around, staring into the face that was just a younger copy of his own. "I really should see about doing some more research so I'm all up to date on the latest diseases, diagnosis and things. But I guess I could use a good movie to calm down with. Popcorn?"
Neal nods and goes to find the movie to put in the DVD player while Darrin pops a bag of extra butter popcorn in the microwave. Soon the two of them are snuggled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them, the lights off, and the TV screen showing them their selected DVD choice.

* * *

Darrin slowly pushed open the front door to the clinic and looked around. He was dressed in baby blue scrubs, white sneakers, and his bright red hair had been slicked back. He was supposed to meet someone there who was to tell him who he was going to be paired up with for the day, but he couldn't seem to see anyone at the moment.

Guess I'll just wait right here until someone shows. Hopefully that'll be soon.
16 good ones|tell me lies

[House; Cuddy; closed(for now); House's office-->Dean's office; Thursday after-hours] [25 May 2006|12:01am]

[ mood | amused ]

I want a girl with the right allocations, who’s fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack.

Sometimes, the world seems to cant precariously, tinted through some nasty red filter, seems to make even less sense than it does on an average basis. And when this happens, it's almost impossible to keep any sense of rational perspective.

It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you, House mused darkly, idly thwacking the oversized tennis ball off one side of his desk. Maybe it was just the increase in the pain in his leg, maybe he was tired, maybe he was getting ready to spawn an entire colony of anal-dwelling butt-monkeys, who knew. But he was getting mightily annoyed, real fast. They needed him, damn it, no matter how high and mighty they might like to think they were. Let Chase try and run Diagnostics for a week, he thought bitterly. You'll have half a dozen dead patients and rainbow slippers as standard operating procedure.

What was with all of them lately, anyway? Cuddy, he could understand... so, okay, almost understand. In his blazing, fierce pride at knowing things about people, he'd thought he'd seen something, in that look. Something significant, anyway. And so what if he thought she was irrational, so what if he didn't want to involve himself in her affairs any more than he could amuse himself with(liar)... so what if he thought she was rash, and stupid, and desperate, which made everything that much more stupid... okay, so somewhere along the line that reasoning got convoluted and lost, but still. He wasn't an idiot. He wasn't obsolete.


He tapped idly at his computer keys for a little while longer, fuming in greater degrees: no cases, no work, no puzzle, no convenient syringe to make him stop thinking... and what was he still doing here, anyway? Not going home, that's an easy one. But he'd be damned if he didn't take some of them with him, at least. Misery loves company.

The few people left in the hallways had learned by long and mostly unpleasant experience to avoid him when he came steamrolli-- well, okay, limping mutely down the corridors; he had the elevator to himself, and wasted no time in glancing around furtively like a cat burglar before bursting through Cuddy's office doors with a fair amount of grace for a cripple.

"Okay. You're an idiot."

24 good ones|tell me lies

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