095. Diagnosis

[vicodincrutch]

I wouldn't be who I am without looking a gift horse in the mouth. Either someone has paid all women some amount of money to appear attracted or mildly interested or there is a curse going on. Or an out break.

In the event of the first, C-cups and up only.

[ooc; you know you want to.]

Comments

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[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

Mmmm?

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[thenormalsquint]

[Things are getting harder than they should be--no pun intended--because Angela's trying to juggle the treasure hunt in the desk with one hand and trying to reach for that twice-damned cell that won't stop ringing. You'd think people would actually use the voicemail feature.

And House isn't making it easy with his mouth on sensitive areas of her neck.]

My phone...

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[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

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[thenormalsquint]

[You know, that's a good question. Just who is calling. She lets loose a breath of frustration, leaning further back glance at the screen on the phone that somehow made its way to the floor. Two seconds of realization is all she needs before she's reluctantly pulling herself off that good-smelling man.]

Shit. It's my boss.

[It's Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers by ZZ Top. Maybe that's another omen.]

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[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

What? You aren't allowed a thirty minute break?

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[thenormalsquint]

For lunch.

[Not for following manly scents down the hall and onto a desk to be half naked, looking for condoms under Batman.

She isn't paying attention as she dresses herself quickly, except to remember to put her bra back on, but her hair and her skirt are still shifted into all sorts of directions. Her thong, though? That she leaves deliberately as a souvenir on the edge of his desk.]

I'll be back for those later.

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[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

Consider them stashed.