hh_mirror

That secrets board thing had certainly been interesting. House had entirely too much fun posting a few disparaging remarks up there, which resulted in two interesting arguments - pointing out to Lily that he thought she and Sirius were being moronic, and a snark-fest with Agnes Nutter. House had also been propositioned for buttsex by the Feegles, and he wasn't quite sure what to think of that. Disturbing, in any case, if they were to be believed that they were tiny and blue - not to mention there being a thousand of them.

The two serious ones he'd posted, though, he'd never admit to. House was good at telling people serious things - if they were soon to be dead, or he knew he'd never see them again. It was the people that were constantly in his life that he had trouble talking with.

In any case, the argument with Lily had also resulted in a bet. And House could never resist a challenge, particularly if there was something for him in it too. It wasn't much, but it was enough for him to want to avoid it. And he couldn't just back out from a bet.

Which is why House was now standing outside Wilson's door holding his backpack, hovering almost uncertainly. Inside the zipped up back-pack was his three stashes (yes, three) of ten Vicodin bottles, his morphine and hypodermic needles, and a vial of pain potion. Replicating charms were pretty handy, really. It wasn't that he was afraid of what living up to his side of the bet would entail (okay, so, he was a little), and neither was he unsure that Wilson would want to see him after House had recently blown up at him over a few words (but, yeah, that definitely came into it as well). It was just... he'd done this once already. He knew what it entailed. And doing it again didn't seem like that much fun.

Still, he valued his pride more than his well-being, and his pride told him that he couldn't back down from this. A bet was a bet.

House rapped on Wilson's door with his cane, once, twice, but didn't shout at him to answer the door like he usually would. He was a little pre-occupied. If he didn't start trying to win the bet straight away, he knew he'd probably try to find some way to get out of it. Promptness was the key. Even if it did mean creating hell on earth for himself for the next week.