vicodincrutch | Dial Tone

[The answer is no. No point in dwelling on the shortcomings of time. There's a swell of pride in simplistic modern medicine just for a few seconds. Usually some smug asshole in the City can wave a wand or something and wellness comes after. Except what good is modern medicine when it's not available to everyone?

He makes a face listening because that would be about right.]

Let me see.

[Let me poke at it.]

Okay.

[He proffers his leg.]

Or y'want me to, uh, take off my pants?

[He's had quite a few doctors poke and prod at his leg, and none have helped much. But this one is from the future. Surely that's worth something.]

Whatever gives me the best look at what's been done.

[And as long as this doesn't get any more awkward than a pant removal. It's gone there before. Ah. The adventures of the City.]

How many procedures did you say they subjected you to?

[He didn't. It's a curiosity.]

[ooc;ugughghg going to work but will be back later toniiiight! >o]

It's my thigh, so I guess I might as well.

[Jimmy doesn't really have anything against taking off his pinstriped slacks and showing the extensive scarring on his right thigh. And hey, he's wearing underwear, which might be better than House can say for some patients]

I dunno. Two surgeries that I know of, maybe more when I was unconscious. Lotta poking and prodding in the hospital.

[[OOC: Have a good day at work!]]

[Praise the lord for the modern use of undergarments.]

That's what we do best.

[So he does his own testing sensitivity.]

We're going to take an ultrasound to get an idea of how much shrapnel and scar tissue.

[Continual poking and feeling.]

Do you have any allergies to penicillin or painkillers? If not we're going to find out.

[He winces as House pokes at his leg, not wanting to show that it hurts like hell, but unable to avoid it.]

I don't think I'm allergic to anything. As far as I know.

[He steps off a moment to yell down the hall for the machinery.]

Ultrasound first then x-ray. I want to be sure the tissue could take a full removal.

[Even though it is fascinatingly horrible, House doesn't tell him that if they performed a CAT scan it would forcibly remove the shrapnel from his body. That's just too mean.]

It appears fixable. [Surprisingly optimistic observation from House. It almost makes him feel bitter. So far no one from an advanced future can undo tissue death in his own leg wound.]

Fixable? You sure?

[He'd love it to be fixable, but it's almost as though he's gotten used to being injured, so his tone is a little skeptical.]

So... would that get rid of the limp too?

[[OOC: Because I'm horrible, I kinda want his injuries to seem fixable, and then have something go terribly wrong. Can House arrange that? >.> ]]

Edited 2012-09-29 23:07 (UTC)

Before opening you up and seeing for sure, yes.

[His own tone is not quite so accepting and easy going. Who are you sir, who are you to question? Who is the professional?]

One thing at a time. Depending on the damage your recovery will follow suit.

[ooc; I'm down! Sent you a dw pm!]

Well... I can't even begin to thank you for this. I mean... shit, it'd change a lot of things, y'know?

I signed up for it.

[Gushy thank yous. How does he even accept them when they come around all the time.]

How you walk. Personal views on strength and masculinity. Your game with the ladies.

[House presents them as fact. He's operating the machine on his own to see. Huh.]

[He laughs.]

That'd all be good, except the game with the ladies. I got a wife. Kinda.

She's not a lady anymore. She's the wife.

[Nodding his head exaggeratedly.]

Good for you.

[Small talk with the thanks? His favorite. House wonders what the kind of means but stashes that for later. He had a wife. Kinda. Either way for the both of them, the kind of wives are sort of in another realm of being. The here and now is that Jimmy has a hunk of metal he needs to get out.]

[Jimmy nods, then lapses into silence for a moment before frowning.]

When're you from, anyway?

[What a difference a few inches of foreign object makes to the body.]

The future.

[Said with absolute deadpan before adding:]

Princeton in Jersey.

No shit, Jersey? Me too.

[He's actually surprised at how many people from New Jersey he's met here. Although none of them have been from Atlantic City, and none of them have been from 1920.]

True, dog.

[Except that's not the sort of gangster he suspects that this man is. House may not be from Atlantic City but in the future it's only a freeway or so away.]

Small universe.

[Because he can't leave well enough alone as he writes down on a chart.]

What do you do for a living?

A little of this, a little of that.

[He's always vague about his job, because not everyone around here takes it well, but he decides to be slightly more candid with House.]

Some driving, some protection work, some... imports.

[Illegal ones, at that.]

A limp would make you sort of distinct I imagine.

[Easy to report to a cop. Not very great getaway skills. Hum de dum.]

Well. From what I know you won't be out of work one way or the other.

If I can find work around here, that is.

[Because, with alcohol being legal in the City, Jimmy seems to be suddenly out of a job.]

Dial Tone

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