Doug Murphy ; Scrubs

[nervous-guy.livejournal.com]

((All of the Scrubs muns have approved, so I unleash Doug into the wild! Also, italicized words are his written responses :D))

Flashes of light didn't normally occur with people, did they? Well, sure, that had happened to Doug before, usually after he had his picture taken or something, when you... hee, when you got those purple dots behind your eyes that made you bump into things? And he'd always told his mom that they'd looked liked fluffy pom-poms, like the ones he put on those collages he made in second grade. Good times, second grade. But this wasn't those light flashes! This was... actually light flash! Like... lightning.

Oh, God, did he get struck by lightning? He really hoped he hadn't gotten struck by lightning. ...How lightning would have occurred in the middle of an elevator in the middle of Sacred Heart Hospital, the thought hadn't occurred to him, but he was pretty sure it could happen. Somehow. ...Man.

As it were, he was standing stock still in the middle of the sorting room, frozen in place and hugging a body bag to him for dear life (hah! Get it!? Pun!). His eyes were wide and completely overflowing with terror. ...No, almost literally. He was on the brink of tears.

When Doug finally did manage to break out of his temporary, rigor mortis-like stance, his eyes landed on a table. Of paper. "Okay, Doug," he mumbled to himself, hugging the body bag tighter to himself, like it was something that sucked out terror. Like a teddy bear. A big, dead, teddy bear. "You can do this," he continued his self-motivational speech in a stern voice under his breath, giving a decisive nod and dropping the bag unceremoniously onto the table beside the papers. To inspect, of course.

An application? Could this be a good thing? Maybe the flash had been a... a teleporter! And he was getting a new job opportunity! Only... Oh, no. They'd taught everyone how to write applications in school, back in seventh grade, but he'd never been very good at such. They made him nervous (but then again, what didn't?) and he always ended up totally failing at them. Dang it. He kept repeating, 'okay' to himself, grabbing at the... pen? Feather? How did you write with a feather? After a few testy scribbles, nothing was written on the page, and he was starting to panic. How could he write anything if he didn't have a pen!?

Wait! His fanny pack!

And everyone at work mocked him for wearing something so very 1987. Boy, would he show them.


1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

Cheese? ...Cheese! Hey, he knew cheese! He thought there was going to be scary questions about... references, and past experience! Man! This was way better! Whew. Maybe this application thing wasn't going to be as bad as he initially thought...

I like mozzarella, he scrawled happily, in his neat, precise handwriting. It's yummy and it tastes good on homemade pizza!

And then paused, gnawing on the end of his pen for a moment before he drew a smiley face for good measure. Maybe if he was nice and friendly, whoever was going to read this thing later wouldn't treat him like... well, Doug.


2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

Kill? ...Oh, God! He wasn't going to kill anyone! It had been bad enough at the hospital when he'd done it on accident. No, really, visions of ex-patients saying, 'You killed me!' in strange, wobbly, ghost-y voices haunted his dreams. Like, every night. But killing someone on purpose? No way. No sir.

I like Carrot Top! He's funny!

He chewed on his lip, analytically. He'd have to answer this, wouldn't he? If he didn't, they'd get mad at him. Er, these currently non-existent application people. And all his good work would go to waste, that one question he answered...! He'd answered that question pretty good! All right, all right.

...Barney. ...Dinosaurs are scary.


3. What time is it where you are?

It is OH GOD, MY WATCH DOESN'T WORK ANY MORE. I THINK I BROKE IT.


4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them?

After his lack of suaveness on the last question, and the fact that he had... just scrawled out his terror with panicked eyes without even realizing he was writing, he just moved onto the next question. Scribbling it out would make the paper ugly, and, well, maybe they wouldn't pay much attention to the Harry Potter-nesscapitals.

This question wasn't exactly all that much better, though. Murder? Sexual harassment? What kind of scary place was this? It already looked like a dungeon, and now he was answering an application that was talking about practically every sin under the sun...! All it had to do was mention alcohol and, well! All he wrote was, Sexual harassment isn't good either! and hesitated before he moved onto the next question. It was the same problem with the killing question. If he didn't answer, his application might not be accepted...!

LilyPotterIsKindOfPrettyIGuessIDon'tKnowTheEnd.


5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

Gah! There it was! The drinking!

Uh, I probably shouldn't go to too many bars. People get set on fire I end up hitting them with I get really, really drunk.


B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.

Harry? George? Fred? Who were these people? Harry Houdini? George Harrison? Drop Dead Fred? Or maybe Harrison Ford, and Harry was a nickname? George Clooney? Freddie Prinze Jr.? Heh. Scooby Doo was a good movie.

Er.

My mom said that homosexuality is against the Lord. Or... Jesus. Or something. But, you know, she had a wine cooler while she said that and she gets kind of giggly when she has wine coolers. ...And I met this guy once and he said he was gay and he was pretty cool - he even gave me a cookie! And... Ian McKellen's gay! And he's Gandalf! So... they ARE good! Go you, Houdini! You get your 'Beatle' and your 'Queen'!


C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.

Oh, boy, you know, I'll help you with that. ...Me and Ted get asked to go through paperwork a lot. Because it's important...!


D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

Useless? That wasn't the first time he'd heard that. Along with 'stupid', 'incompetent', 'skittish' and 'a nervous wreck', amongst other colorful descriptions. And some of them might have been true, yes, and he may or may not have messed up a few times through his residency at the hospital. ...All three years of it. But he wasn't useless! Especially with his job in Pathology, or working with the morgue! He was danged useful!

Uh. I did a lot of stuff in college, you know. And finished near the bottom of my classgraduated! ...I can tell you how people died. ...I'm a good coroner. I have some deaths named after me! That's kind of... cool!

There's other stuff. Give me a minute. I'll think of it.

*Written a few moments later.*
BIKES. I CAN BIKE. REAL WELL.


6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you.

A bribe? Oh, boy. He didn't have much in the way of a bribe. He glanced around, briefly, checking inside his fanny pack and counting out...

I have... five dollars and sixty-seven cents... and a rubber band, and my pager, a cherry-flavored lolli-

"Oh! I'm a really good cyclist!" he announced to nobody in particular, and when he noticed that nobody was, in fact, around, he scribbled the fact after the 'useless' question, tongue between his teeth.

-pop, and... a currently-occupied body bag.

There. That may work!



I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Douglas Murphy.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Douglas Murphy
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. You know, that was just a rumor in high school, but Douglas Murphy.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ...Will it? ...Marmalade is scary. If it ruled the world, anyway, it would be. ...Douglas Murphy.

Comments

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((Reposted for spelling, hurr.))

When one was in the habit of hiding one's reactions well, House found that it often worked to his advantage at times like these. Normally, he would have looked fairly disgusted and denied that no, he wasn't friends with Cox, in any normal sense of the word. But instead, he raised an eyebrow and smiled slowly, taking a couple of limping steps forward into Doug's personal space just to be extra intimidating. Oh, this was fun.

"Oh yeah," he agreed, "We're best friends. And he's told me all about you. One of our favorite hobbies is making petrified little interns do rounds in the Hospital Wing, asking them questions and then confining them to the locked room if they answer wrong. And guess what? You're next."

[nervous-guy.livejournal.com]

Oh, dear God, no! He couldn't be friends with Dr. Cox! No! That would just... the world would break. There would be too much sarcasm! Doug looked, if possible, MORE terrified, his eyes widening to astronomical widths as House spoke. This was... And he had been holding such high hopes for this school. Now it was just a place of horror. Pure, unadultered horror.

"You two are friends?" he squeaked in a high-pitched, petrified voice. "You... you lock them in rooms? Oh, God, oh, God, I'm claustrophobic!" This was high school all over again, getting strung up by his tighty whities in the locker room.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

"What are you doing?" House asked incredulously, smirking in amusement and a vague hint of condescension. "You've never met me, and you assume I'm telling the truth?" Good lord, what did Cox teach these interns? It wouldn't have been along the lines of treating all people equally and lovingly, but honestly.

So, having instilled doubt in his previous words, House widened his eyes in what he felt was an appropriately daunting manner. "But who knows. I could be lying about that, too. Maybe I am speaking the truth, and Cox and I really do lock people in a room with spiders and zombies." He paused. God, this was fun. "And you'll never know until it just happens one day, out of the blue, when you're least expecting it."

[nervous-guy.livejournal.com]

Doug was more gullible than... actually, there wasn't really a metaphor for that. He was just gullible. Horribly, horribly gullible - he would've believed most of anything people tried to pawn off on him. So far, just in this sorting room, there had been mentions of magic and planets exploding and... well. So now, he was just confused. "So you're not... friends?" he asked slowly, and...

Or he WAS lying and he'd been telling the truth about lying... which would mean he HADN'T been lying... or he'd been telling the truth about lying and, in turn, HADN'T been lying as well as lying and... Oh, God, Doug's head was going to explode. He was pretty sure. He just clutched the sides for a moment, blinking and... cripes, not the spiders and zombies again. Looking like he was going to burst into tears at any given moment, he looked up to House with a completely wounded puppy stare, looking desperate. "Oh, God, please don't lock me in with spiders and zombies."

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

Pretending to consider this request, House rubbed his chin in what looked like deep thought. Good lord, this guy looked like he was about to start crying! He'd had to find Cox and have a good laugh at him for this, if this Doug was the kind of normal staff in Sacred Heart.

"I might not," he allowed. "If you can tell me what lanugo are, and when they present. And I might even vote you somewhere, if you still have that lollipop."

[nervous-guy.livejournal.com]

Luckily, Doug was not the example of a normal staff member at Sacred Heart (unless, of course, you were trying to exemplify the lawyers). He was... an extreme case of anxiety and just, well, horror in general. So.

Lanugo, though. Lanugo. He could do this...! No, really. He did know things. He was a halfway decent doctor, in all actuality. It was just the remembering things that was half of the issue, and then, you know, carrying out said doctorly tasks. "Lanugo are..." Oh, crap, oh, God, what were lanugo? "They're..."

He took a deep breath, and, all in one, long breath, "Lanugo are downy hair on the body of the fetus and newborn baby it is the first hair to be produced by the fetal hair follicles, usually appearing on the fetus at about five months of gestation it is very fine, soft, and usually unpigmented although lanugo is normally shed before birth around seven or eight months of gestation, it is sometimes present at birth this is not a cause for concern: lanugo will disappear within a few days or weeks of its own accord."

It just kind of came out like a punch, all in one large sentence and, well. He coughed once, at the end, eyes wide and hopeful.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

Damn. House hadn't been expecting that. By all rights, this guy seemed completely incapable of actually answering of question about something so simple as a flu, let alone goddamn lanugo. Huh.

"Oh, very clever," he rolled his eyes, clearly impatient. "Fine, what house do you want, then? As long as it isn't Slytherin, I'll vote you anywhere you care to go. Guess you won't be spending time with the spiders and the zombies this time." Honestly, House was only voting him somewhere so he could hopefully watch or hear about the utter (and potentially medical) chaos that resulted from having this guy in the castle. It was probably a good thing they didn't actually have a morgue. Though who knew what Doug was going to try to do with the Popcorn Room.

[nervous-guy.livejournal.com]

It did happen, every once in a while. That blue moon where he remembered something and spouted off the information like it was almost text book. Of course, that was when he wasn't frozen in fear, somebody - usually Dr. Kelso - staring down his nose like he was doing everything wrong, like he couldn't NOT do anything wrong.

Okay, okay. House. House, he could do this. After a brief moment of pride that he had actually remembered the answer to said question and he'd been able to answer, he spoke, "Actually, uh." Considering that Slytherin one sounded a bit creepy, and Doug was just grateful he wasn't going to be locked in with zombies and spiders, scary, itchy spiders... "That Hufflepuff House? Sounds... kinda cool. A lot of people have been saying that one," he offered hopefully, shrugging a little and clutching to the stitch in his chest like he was going to go into cardiac arrest.

Crisis averted. For now...