vicodincrutch | Dial Tone

Having to rely on any substance to main functionality? You're addict, no matter the reason. That's how Amory sees it, that's how he sees himself.

"I can't stand his accent," he replies, flatly.

It all boils down to shame. If you're going to paint yourself pathetic, best do it with a stranger, and Robert Chase isn't a stranger. In moments of desperation Amory has made the call, asked for help even when it meant feeling sick to his stomach. A different, pervasive kind of sick that comes from exposing yourself as weak and pathetic. Pitiable, even.

But House is inconsequential enough.

"I'll owe you." he pauses, "I'll make you a trade for it."

"That offensive billabong of word distortion is your ticket to candyland." Does he think this is some kind of a healthcare shopping mart where you can pick and choose your physician? That may be true but there aren't that many doctors, Amory will run out of he stays picky.

"My mind won't be changed by a pretty please. Get over whatever quarrel you have. I don't know. Give him a eucalyptus brace of peace." Yeah that's right. Asking isn't enough especially with House. As for pity, Amory is barking up the wrong tree. Pity he has in full for other people, for stupidity.

"It'd be easier if we were fighting."

Easier to do anything than court Gregory House for a favor. Maybe even wrestle a bear. But for once, Amory's trying to do this right. As right as right can be when you're trying to convince someone to write you up double dose under the table, presuming the City even has tables.

"I'm asking you because you understand. I'm not talking sympathy. I mean, pragmatically, you understand what it means to live with pain, and what a reasonable person would do to make it stop."

"If you're looking for a conflict mediator, you're going about it wrong." Not to mention possibly wrecking the state of being more by contacting House. It's what happens. He seldom asks to be invited in on an issue, the man lets himself in. "Chase is reasonable if you kiss his ass enough." Even if it isn't a fight. Something like snake charming, except the wallaby is not so venomous.

"Are you incapable of making an appointment?" House cannot read his face or intentions yet. All he knows is this man is hitting him up for a fix. No appointment here. "That's how you get pills. That's how I get pills. Shocking, I know."

"I won't be kissing his arse. Or anything else. Trust me," he replies, adding a tired shake of his head to accent his growing frustration. Any other time than now, he'd might be inclined to banter. "If Chase and I had a problem, I wouldn't be coming to you. You're not his keeper, and I'm pretty sure I'm a grown up. But thanks, for your concern."

Amory is an intractable nuisance, House. Now he's moved on to disturbing the peace of your desk, lifting a newspaper off a pile of medical documents and settling himself on one of the adjacent chairs. Why do you even have chairs, anyway?

"I can make appointments," he answers, (pretending) reading the paper as he speaks. "That doesn't mean I'll get what I need."

"He's your doctor, the doctor that will be writing your prescriptions. Except you're asking me. Correct me if I'm wrong." On his feet and around the desk, House regards the other man as though he'll make more sense from this angle.

Wait. What? The touching? Is he serious? This is how you get what you want? House comes closer and leans on the desk enough to kick the chair back from the desk. "Grown up? Could have fooled me."

"And you must be the exemplar," he raises an eyebrow, "of maturity."

You can kick him down, but he'll get right back up. Ideally. Well, at least in this case. (How much punch can a cripple pack?) Readjusting the chair, Amory scoots it forward to reclaim his unwavering station in front of House's desk. In fact, he scoots even closer, leaning forward to make his determination known, if it wasn't already.

"Chase isn't my doctor. He's a friend. The distinction's important." He folds the paper neatly, and sets it in his lap. "I don't have a doctor, and I don't want one."

"I'm not the one making proclamations like I'm a grown up." Yes, that comes with a change in pitch of his voice to further mock. "Even more so, how did you even think this would turn out? So you're in pain. You know the drill. Chase or no Chase." Barging in and expecting satisfaction is usually something that the doctor does himself with point and purpose. While he has no tolerance for being on the other side he has even less because Amory is piss poor at making his point. Everything has to have a pitch to sell or convince.

"Okay Chase friend. You annoying." Say. That's his paper.

Straight to the point would distill down to: "I'm in a fuckload of pain. I need more pills. Give me." But Amory has more foolish pride than that to directly admit his vulnerability and thus demean himself-- though by doing so, he's likely evoked a contradiction.

The issue is also that when Amory discusses medical business, the conversation will always skip around the center. It's instinct. Can you see his discomfort? Hospitals mean death. Pain is one stepping stone to his own coffin.

"That's my intention," he cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward to rest his palms on his thighs. "I'm not asking you to do this from the kindness of your heart. I'll do you a favor. I'll pay you, trade you something."

How demeaning.

What is the point of going loud and big then not saying exactly what is the point of it all? House sees discomfort but it's that of a weasel, a waffler and a liar. He can't stand two of the three. At least liars see the layers to conversation. Amory thinks that it can stay at the surface and be self-serving? Hell no. It undoes the ballsy nature of a confrontation. Go big or go home. What a newbie.

"No. Are you even listening? I'm a doctor not a dealer." And he is insulted that for someone who gets how much of a curmudgeon this gimp doctor is, he believes he can dangle some kind of a carrot. Hell no. "You're wasting my time and yours."

House has been there except he has prescriptions, he has ways. Desperate ones. Unlike some stubborn and stupid types who believe you can blitz a doctor's personal office, the doctor has feigned injury to seek prescriptions from other clinics, has tried other means. When all else fails get a script and call it a day. Maybe it's because he feels that the schemes make him more of the master of pain even though there is more than enough evidence to the other way around.

Just because he 'gets' House's ornery manner and unrelenting cynicism, doesn't he mean he comprehends the doctor. On a singular basis, person by person, Amory routinely fails at deriving more than a superficial reading. He says he understands human nature on a whole, but people, individuals? He's grown up too self-involved for that.

"If I make an appointment, a proper one," he pauses, "Will you take it?"

To confront and dodge the point is a contradiction. To confront someone, you have to open up a part of yourself, to supply fuel for your conviction. Otherwise it's just hollow, meaningless bullshit. But Amory's not so good at that.

Slowly, he breathes, dropping his attitude to ease into a character more subdued. He straightens up in his chair, and meets House's eyes.

"I don't want Chase seeing me as some invalid. A guy that can't keep himself up on one heavy dose of pills, who has to go begging for another." Chase has already seen it. He gave him fucking tranqs, but that was once and once was enough. "From you, I don't care. See me however you want. You're a stranger, and I'm happy keeping it that way."

Edited 2011-05-01 19:29 (UTC)

What or who would House be if he was not analyzing everything and everyone? Amory is full of tells and signs. Definitely worth a second, third, forth look over. He doesn't tick the same way as others. Then again, the world is more full of irregularities than people realize. Traits though those come in patterns. Self-involving is a basic human nature that people constantly fight because of manners or expectations.

"If I find something to prescribe painkillers for. There's a process. Again, there are plenty of street corners you must be aware of." For a quick fix. Amory is a snob. He wants hospital grade. That much House can tell.

"Physical strength makes a person invalid?" That is exactly what it sounds like. His brow wrinkles terrifically as he waits for that kind of an answer.

"Being able to function," he holds a breath, "determines whether a person's invalid."

He is a snob. How apt you are, Dr. House. Pressing a hand against his forehead, Amory can feel a headache digging at the front of his skull.

"I've been in this hospital twice in less than a year. Both cases arose from complications. Isn't that enough proof?"

The thought of a doctor treatment him is positively frightening. Every time it's been frightening; he's just never been conscious enough to pitch a fit.

Oh.

Wait.

Yeah, that time. With the haunted hospital and...

Most of the time he's not conscious enough.

"Because everyone knows that you are your body. Of course! Why didn't I think of it that way?" Sarcasm because there wasn't enough of that so far. House just looks at Amory for a long moment. He is not the doctor to be talking to about this kind of skewed perceptions of functionality. If he's in pain. As usual, he believes his own problems are far more intense than anyone else's.

"You're jumping to conclusions immensely." Complications too? Hah. Well. Whatever. House shakes his head. "Take a number. Make an appointment. We'll see what comes out of that.

Already the doctor's own opinion, seemingly on the lower end of the totem pole to Chase, has been formed without involving any medical history. That in of itself is pretty fucking irritating too.

"You can't deny that people treat you differently,"

He flashes a look toward House's cane, a suggestion so subtle that catching it would be a matter of coincidence. Returning the newspaper back to House's desk, Amory then stands, proceeding to act on what must be House's tantamount desire at this very second-- leaving. He doesn't bother with goodbyes or thanks yous, just a tilt of his head and a final word before he heads to the door.

"Your word, then," he replies, slipping the cap on once more, identity obscured, "I'll make an appointment."

Dial Tone

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

Re: an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;

an empty face and empty bones;