Dial Tone

[vicodincrutch]

 

"House. Leave a message."

Open for: text, email, voicemail, horrific late night calls, assorted action.

Comments

an empty face and empty bones;

[fatespoken]

"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.

an empty face and empty bones;

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

"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.

an empty face and empty bones;

[fatespoken]

"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."