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This is only the 1st part of House's point of view.
Please rate and give CONSTRUCTIVE critisism. Thank you! :)
Part 4.2: House's POV:
“How do I look?” The hooker didn’t speak, rather drew her pinky finger to her lips and bit gently on the tip. Her eyes scorn up so that her visual field was half blocked by the blackness of her forehead, an abyss. The sinful look was met by House, who cocked a half smile, mimicking an old Irish actor he had seen in films. “That good, huh?” The phrase wasn’t a question. He wore the same melancholy gaze as the blonde had. Breaking the tension, a knock at the door echoed around the room, and movement ensued.
The wooden door opened to a similarly dressed man, black suit, white shirt, and perfectly shaped black neck tie. His hair was tussled slightly, giving off a certain boyish charm about it. His face did the same, and, although his skin wasn’t perfect, still emulated the qualities of a much younger man. The face, with its occasional open pores, modest coloration, and hardly noticeable mole accepted the light and illuminated.
“Umm…Hello.” He hadn’t meant the welcome to sound questionable and had immediately repented as it came off as abrasive. To this effect, the blonde chomped her gum purposefully louder, coursing it between her crème colored teeth. She held one arm out high, propping it against the doors left frame. This exposed her day old shaved armpit. Wilson cringed, sending deforiac shocks cruising through his nervous system. Her other hand strode upon her waist, slightly bent, placing her elbow to the ladder part of the doors space. This left little under a foot of open area in which Wilson delved through, and stuttering his words, managed to let some syllables through. “…uze me.”
House was standing, guarding the hallway, looking as pretentious as always. His half smile had extended, leaving his eyes baring certain illicit gestures toward the opposite man. Wilson cleared his throat and looked awkwardly at House. “Yeah…we should…” His voice was high pitched and a little squeaky. He shook his head softly as he recleared his throat. This time his voice was normal, or normal enough considering the circumstances. “We should probably get going.” He was never comfortable walking in on House when he had “company”; and the help the matter. It was House that had asked him to pick him up.
Wilson shelved back toward the door where the hooker had now presented her body leaning against the wall, her legs outstretched and crossed against each other, revealing her bright red, eight inched heals which matched poorly with her burgundy painted toe nails. Grabbing his jacket and slipping it over his arms, House moved swiftly, limping on the way to the door. “Right, Jimmy.” He smiled again as he shuffled past Wilson and the prostitute and out of the building. Wilson, taking a long breath and looking a little pissed off, followed.
-------------------------------------------------
The party was lively and, having already won six rounds in a row, House was feeling exuberant. That was, until Cuddy came. She was stunning and House, being the man that he is, couldn’t help but notice. Her body poured against dark, satin material, silhouetting her magnificent curves. From her shoulders to her breasts, her hips to her thighs, and sliding along her tapered legs, the gown flowed. House’s eyes followed its path. She sat, adjacent to him, forcing his eyes away from her bottom and gradually to her neckline. A golden locket shuttered against the moons shine and the fake lighting. It was simply gorgeous, stunning, like its hostess. The short chain ran along her collarbone, clipping, in a place House could not see, in the exact back of her neck.
For an hour, the trio played, and for an hour, House had not won one round. “You should just fold Wilson.” A laugh renounced through the table, sending an impulse from Houses brain to the pit of his stomach. He held back his own smile. A moment later, unaware of the scene, a man had appeared next to Cuddy, gabbing incoherently at her. House’s mind ran rigid as she stood once more, her hips protruding along the black fabric. He sighed and, making sure not to let Wilson see, though it was obvious he knew, scratched his forehead and spoke bluntly. “Careful Wilson, another slip like that and you won’t be the only one playin’ “Hold-em”…If you know what I mean.” Wilson hadn’t known what he meant and ironically, house hadn’t either. He blushed gently, and, aware that Cuddy had returned to her sitting position, shuffled the blue backed deck that sat before him.
Minutes later, a voice sounded throughout the air. House again only caught glimpses of the noise. “…and gentleman…” “…three years old…” “…Why I do this…” It wasn’t until a woman had begun walking to the podium that he turned his gaze. He had been eyeing Cuddy out of the corner of his eye, watching as her blue irises lit up with every spoken word sounding. He felt pressure in his gut as he watched a single tear drop from her eye onto her outreached finger. He had felt the urge to hold her face firmly in his hands and tell her everything would be okay. His mind ran rigid with thoughts of comforting her, of holding her, of kissing her. His body did not. As still as he could, he sat, keeping his direct sight pointed to a wall hanging of a country road that didn’t, at all, find the least bit “artsy”. His main focus was torn away as the sky lights flickered. Again and again they bounced before completely departing. It was pitch black and House found his heart too was flickering and, only hearing the silence of the room, found himself holding his breath. He heard a pound…and a scream. Then, revealed by the return of the lights, held his eyes wider than normal, taking in the scene at the front of the room. He was out of his chair quickly, leaving his cane resting cautiously on the stone floor. Moving oddly, he hastily walked, rising and sinking with each step, hopping through the aisles circling the tables. People began to notice the body and, like utter artifact, ran through the lobby, straying directly toward the doors. Twice, House was kicked in the shin, unsheathed, he kept pace. Before he knew it, he was hobbling up a set of stairs, dragging an unsuspecting blonde, scraggly haired man with him. The two ascended rather abruptly, the blonde haired man passing the handicapped one. House nodded his head toward the other man, as if to say “go on” and, understanding, Chase followed the command. A second later, House watched as the man’s crisp white shirt turned a corner and sped out of sight.
The top of the stairs came as a great milestone, and like a reward for his endurance, House stopped atop them to rest. His eyes closed around the pain, shooting and stabbing in each and every direction possible in his right leg. Again, his eyes squeezed, a hopeful gating mechanism that did nothing whatsoever for the excruciating spasms. It did, however, upon the opening of his eyes, give him the temporary vision of a blind man. Gradually, shades of black and red danced in circles and dots around the whites of his eyes. He sighed and, rising his hands from massaging his thigh, continued his step with botched sight.
By the time the time the office door was reached, he read it with full sight.
Gregory House M.D.
Department of Diagnostics
The glass opened freely, but unknowingly into darkness. The flicker of the lights had not insinuated the insurance of full brightness, but instead, shorted the last red emergency light, causing it to vacate. House licked his lips and flipped the switch a couple more times, hopping this would fix the problem. It hadn’t. He limped forward into the abyss, extending his broad arms into the air, groping for solid matter. A small scream renounced the great area, bouncing from the window pane and against each of the other three walls, two of which echoed uniquely along its glass counterparts. “House!” The voice whispered. “Cameron?...Where the hell…” House was disgrunt and let his words trail off. Cameron was seated, holding up what House thought looked like and illuminated Harry Potter wand. It was a small flashlight in which House recognized instantly. It was part of his medical instrumental stash that he kept in a side drawer of his desk. He had used it many times on patients before; checking their corneal reflexes and pupil dilation responses. “HEEEEY!...I know making me blind would make me mentally more appealing to your damaged soul…but…could you NOT shine that right into my eyes!?” Cameron sighed and lowered the light. “What happened? I was…” her mouth closed off the sentence. House could tell she had prepared a lie and Cameron, knowing he knew this, changed her direction. “I heard a shot, and a scream.” “Yeeaaah!” He let his sarcastic tone drone through his mind and out of his mouth. “Can never get my jockeys on right, and sometimes…” Now he turned to Cameron and whispered to her, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you elastic isn’t a leading cause of infertility.” His own self assuredness made him smirk. “House!! Be serious for once!” As dark as it still was he thought he could still see her snarl at him. He dropped his smirk and looked serious once more. “Yes.” He paused. “There was a shot…someone’s dead.” Cameron look livid under his gaze and, unwillingly, his blue eyes left hers and searched the room, his body following in suit. Moving in and out of the elucidated carpet tiles, he moved toward the window. “The doors are locked, the windows too. The only way out of this place is in a pine box…chosen by this maniac.” Cameron’s anger turned quickly to fear as she stood and met him at the window. “A murder?” Her voice was higher than before, portraying the fear showing through her face. “A murder game.” At this last, hyphenated word House looked at her rather empathetically. “And we all have to play.” He pulled an Ace of spades from his left sleeve cuff and twisted it, knowingly, between his fingers. “Some game huh…”
This is only the 1st part of House's point of view.
Please rate and give CONSTRUCTIVE critisism. Thank you! :)
Part 4.2: House's POV:
“How do I look?” The hooker didn’t speak, rather drew her pinky finger to her lips and bit gently on the tip. Her eyes scorn up so that her visual field was half blocked by the blackness of her forehead, an abyss. The sinful look was met by House, who cocked a half smile, mimicking an old Irish actor he had seen in films. “That good, huh?” The phrase wasn’t a question. He wore the same melancholy gaze as the blonde had. Breaking the tension, a knock at the door echoed around the room, and movement ensued.
The wooden door opened to a similarly dressed man, black suit, white shirt, and perfectly shaped black neck tie. His hair was tussled slightly, giving off a certain boyish charm about it. His face did the same, and, although his skin wasn’t perfect, still emulated the qualities of a much younger man. The face, with its occasional open pores, modest coloration, and hardly noticeable mole accepted the light and illuminated.
“Umm…Hello.” He hadn’t meant the welcome to sound questionable and had immediately repented as it came off as abrasive. To this effect, the blonde chomped her gum purposefully louder, coursing it between her crème colored teeth. She held one arm out high, propping it against the doors left frame. This exposed her day old shaved armpit. Wilson cringed, sending deforiac shocks cruising through his nervous system. Her other hand strode upon her waist, slightly bent, placing her elbow to the ladder part of the doors space. This left little under a foot of open area in which Wilson delved through, and stuttering his words, managed to let some syllables through. “…uze me.”
House was standing, guarding the hallway, looking as pretentious as always. His half smile had extended, leaving his eyes baring certain illicit gestures toward the opposite man. Wilson cleared his throat and looked awkwardly at House. “Yeah…we should…” His voice was high pitched and a little squeaky. He shook his head softly as he recleared his throat. This time his voice was normal, or normal enough considering the circumstances. “We should probably get going.” He was never comfortable walking in on House when he had “company”; and the help the matter. It was House that had asked him to pick him up.
Wilson shelved back toward the door where the hooker had now presented her body leaning against the wall, her legs outstretched and crossed against each other, revealing her bright red, eight inched heals which matched poorly with her burgundy painted toe nails. Grabbing his jacket and slipping it over his arms, House moved swiftly, limping on the way to the door. “Right, Jimmy.” He smiled again as he shuffled past Wilson and the prostitute and out of the building. Wilson, taking a long breath and looking a little pissed off, followed.
-------------------------------------------------
The party was lively and, having already won six rounds in a row, House was feeling exuberant. That was, until Cuddy came. She was stunning and House, being the man that he is, couldn’t help but notice. Her body poured against dark, satin material, silhouetting her magnificent curves. From her shoulders to her breasts, her hips to her thighs, and sliding along her tapered legs, the gown flowed. House’s eyes followed its path. She sat, adjacent to him, forcing his eyes away from her bottom and gradually to her neckline. A golden locket shuttered against the moons shine and the fake lighting. It was simply gorgeous, stunning, like its hostess. The short chain ran along her collarbone, clipping, in a place House could not see, in the exact back of her neck.
For an hour, the trio played, and for an hour, House had not won one round. “You should just fold Wilson.” A laugh renounced through the table, sending an impulse from Houses brain to the pit of his stomach. He held back his own smile. A moment later, unaware of the scene, a man had appeared next to Cuddy, gabbing incoherently at her. House’s mind ran rigid as she stood once more, her hips protruding along the black fabric. He sighed and, making sure not to let Wilson see, though it was obvious he knew, scratched his forehead and spoke bluntly. “Careful Wilson, another slip like that and you won’t be the only one playin’ “Hold-em”…If you know what I mean.” Wilson hadn’t known what he meant and ironically, house hadn’t either. He blushed gently, and, aware that Cuddy had returned to her sitting position, shuffled the blue backed deck that sat before him.
Minutes later, a voice sounded throughout the air. House again only caught glimpses of the noise. “…and gentleman…” “…three years old…” “…Why I do this…” It wasn’t until a woman had begun walking to the podium that he turned his gaze. He had been eyeing Cuddy out of the corner of his eye, watching as her blue irises lit up with every spoken word sounding. He felt pressure in his gut as he watched a single tear drop from her eye onto her outreached finger. He had felt the urge to hold her face firmly in his hands and tell her everything would be okay. His mind ran rigid with thoughts of comforting her, of holding her, of kissing her. His body did not. As still as he could, he sat, keeping his direct sight pointed to a wall hanging of a country road that didn’t, at all, find the least bit “artsy”. His main focus was torn away as the sky lights flickered. Again and again they bounced before completely departing. It was pitch black and House found his heart too was flickering and, only hearing the silence of the room, found himself holding his breath. He heard a pound…and a scream. Then, revealed by the return of the lights, held his eyes wider than normal, taking in the scene at the front of the room. He was out of his chair quickly, leaving his cane resting cautiously on the stone floor. Moving oddly, he hastily walked, rising and sinking with each step, hopping through the aisles circling the tables. People began to notice the body and, like utter artifact, ran through the lobby, straying directly toward the doors. Twice, House was kicked in the shin, unsheathed, he kept pace. Before he knew it, he was hobbling up a set of stairs, dragging an unsuspecting blonde, scraggly haired man with him. The two ascended rather abruptly, the blonde haired man passing the handicapped one. House nodded his head toward the other man, as if to say “go on” and, understanding, Chase followed the command. A second later, House watched as the man’s crisp white shirt turned a corner and sped out of sight.
The top of the stairs came as a great milestone, and like a reward for his endurance, House stopped atop them to rest. His eyes closed around the pain, shooting and stabbing in each and every direction possible in his right leg. Again, his eyes squeezed, a hopeful gating mechanism that did nothing whatsoever for the excruciating spasms. It did, however, upon the opening of his eyes, give him the temporary vision of a blind man. Gradually, shades of black and red danced in circles and dots around the whites of his eyes. He sighed and, rising his hands from massaging his thigh, continued his step with botched sight.
By the time the time the office door was reached, he read it with full sight.
Gregory House M.D.
Department of Diagnostics
The glass opened freely, but unknowingly into darkness. The flicker of the lights had not insinuated the insurance of full brightness, but instead, shorted the last red emergency light, causing it to vacate. House licked his lips and flipped the switch a couple more times, hopping this would fix the problem. It hadn’t. He limped forward into the abyss, extending his broad arms into the air, groping for solid matter. A small scream renounced the great area, bouncing from the window pane and against each of the other three walls, two of which echoed uniquely along its glass counterparts. “House!” The voice whispered. “Cameron?...Where the hell…” House was disgrunt and let his words trail off. Cameron was seated, holding up what House thought looked like and illuminated Harry Potter wand. It was a small flashlight in which House recognized instantly. It was part of his medical instrumental stash that he kept in a side drawer of his desk. He had used it many times on patients before; checking their corneal reflexes and pupil dilation responses. “HEEEEY!...I know making me blind would make me mentally more appealing to your damaged soul…but…could you NOT shine that right into my eyes!?” Cameron sighed and lowered the light. “What happened? I was…” her mouth closed off the sentence. House could tell she had prepared a lie and Cameron, knowing he knew this, changed her direction. “I heard a shot, and a scream.” “Yeeaaah!” He let his sarcastic tone drone through his mind and out of his mouth. “Can never get my jockeys on right, and sometimes…” Now he turned to Cameron and whispered to her, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you elastic isn’t a leading cause of infertility.” His own self assuredness made him smirk. “House!! Be serious for once!” As dark as it still was he thought he could still see her snarl at him. He dropped his smirk and looked serious once more. “Yes.” He paused. “There was a shot…someone’s dead.” Cameron look livid under his gaze and, unwillingly, his blue eyes left hers and searched the room, his body following in suit. Moving in and out of the elucidated carpet tiles, he moved toward the window. “The doors are locked, the windows too. The only way out of this place is in a pine box…chosen by this maniac.” Cameron’s anger turned quickly to fear as she stood and met him at the window. “A murder?” Her voice was higher than before, portraying the fear showing through her face. “A murder game.” At this last, hyphenated word House looked at her rather empathetically. “And we all have to play.” He pulled an Ace of spades from his left sleeve cuff and twisted it, knowingly, between his fingers. “Some game huh…”
