009 - SAY HELLO TO SMURF MD.
[Public video.]
[House is sitting in the infirmary at a desk. He looks very blue.
This is not a metaphor, House is physically electric-fucking-blue.
And he's so pissed. But he's at that point just beyond pissed where the situation is so ridiculous that it seems marginally funny.
Elaborate, childish metaphors are his thing, so while much of this seems ( Read more... )
[House is sitting in the infirmary at a desk. He looks very blue.
This is not a metaphor, House is physically electric-fucking-blue.
And he's so pissed. But he's at that point just beyond pissed where the situation is so ridiculous that it seems marginally funny.
Elaborate, childish metaphors are his thing, so while much of this seems ( Read more... )
It isn't that he has a plan of attack, or that he particularly wants to show Snape his handiwork in person, he just... needs to find him. It's magnetic, like a fist drawn to a jaw, like a knee to the crotch, like a train wreck. It's happening, it's not going to be pretty, and there's going to be nuclear fallout.
At Snape's door, House knocks loudly. And then he yells.
"HEY ASSHOLE."
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Soap. He couldn't help but congratulate himself.
Of course, now House was at his door, likely spoiling for a fight. At least, he thought, he could see his handiwork in person.
He crossed to the door, assumed his most innocent expression - which was more ironically innocent than actually innocent - and answered.
"I do hope that's not contagious."
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"What the fuck is this?" he asked, and one hand moved, gesturing to himself in a jerky motion. He was angry. That was blatantly obvious.
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"I have absolutely no idea," he replied, raising his brows and half-shrugging. He allowed himself to smirk again and asked, "Have you tried using soap?"
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However, when there was the suggestion of soap it triggered one of those moments of clarity where everything clicks into place. Soap.
His eyes widened as he thought about it, and the fact that when he'd gone back to his room to fucking scrub the blue off, it had only seemed to have gotten worse later. He wasn't sure how that worked, that the reaction wasn't instantaneous, but it had thrown him off.
His lips parted as if he was going to say something, and then his expression morphed, the abject horror and realization replaced with an intensely focused anger. Even so, a tiny little part of House was in silent awe of the sheer brilliance of Snape's plan. Damn him.
"You fucked with my soap!?" his voice was raised, not just in volume, but in octaves.
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One thing that could be said for House: he wasn't an idiot. If this little game continued, Snape decided he would have to do something slightly less obvious. More planning would be in order.
"If you'll excuse me," he said, taking a step back. Of course, this step back put him six feet from House; a sudden queasiness overcame him. The queasy feeling became stronger until he was holding back the urge to vomit.
"What did you do?!" he shouted, his sense of humor entirely gone.
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He was distracted when Snape moved away from him by a sudden wave of nausea. He felt ill. Not just vaguely, but urgently so. If House wasn't already blue, he'd look positively green.
House wasn't particularly focused on what Snape might be talking about, because he didn't care. He was interpreting his nausea in the cruelest and simplest way possible; Snape was a greasy bastard and there were strange smells emanating from his room and his general direction that had been wafted his way when the greasy bastard moved. Therefore, Snape's smelliness was the cause.
House took a step back and covered his mouth as he spoke, stomach feeling, if possible, worse for the ( ... )
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Seeing House do so made it impossible for him to hold back anymore.
Finished, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and as yet suspecting House of pulling some godawful prank that had obviously backfired, he took a step toward the other man (minding their half-digested meal puddles on the floor) with the full intent of murdering him right then and there.
The sick feeling immediately went away.
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He made to step away again, but stopped himself when he noticed a drastic change in how he felt when Snape got closer to him. House made a face, skeptical, the kind of expression one might make while hiding quietly in one's room while waiting for someone you were avoiding to walk away. He was waiting to see what happened. One eyebrow went up as nothing did.
"What the hell." It was a statement and a question, but blue House was all out of question marks.
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Was it a flood, or were they being punished?
He experimentally took a step backward, an expression on his own face that one gets when they suspect something bad has happened, but don't quite want to believe it yet.
The feeling returned, violently. He took a step back toward House and it vanished again.
"No." Disbelief and horror, all in that one word.
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And then House was off. Snape was after him - and not particularly a stranger to pain and running, either, but still lagging behind and stopping to dry heave every few yards.
When a person is bent double, succumbing to the reversal of their digestive process, it's very hard to think. It was for this reason that Snape followed House all the way to the end of the corridor before remembering he owned a wand, said wand was in his pocket, get the wand, use the wand, stop House, you're a wizard, aren't you?
He drew and aimed as well he could while running and trying not to be violently ill, then shouted something that really ought to have been, "Petrificus totalus," but wasn't, as it was interrupted by another surge of dry heaves.
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And then, he was very clearly a blue, barfing Galapagos Giant Tortoise. No longer running, but still too far from Snape, House the Unfortunate Blue Reptile was dry heaving and making sounds that clearly came right from nightmares about your grandparents that haunt your dreams forever.
House was still House, in his mind. He was still hating Snape with every fiber of his being, except now, all of those fibers were tortoise fibers. Truth be told, at this point, he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't high. And assuming he was high, this was awesome. If forcing Snape to run or puke wasn't great enough ( ... )
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Upon finally catching up to this new monstrosity, he had very little energy to do anything more than lean against the wall, panting and thanking Merlin he'd at least stopped House from running away. Of course, he'd have to fix this...but for now, Snape's new enemy could stay just the way he was. Tortoises couldn't run.
"I should give you to Paddy for stew," he threatened angrily.
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He leveled his wand at House half-tempted to ignore his discussion with Martha and just kill the tortoise quickly and quietly right here in the corridor. His fist tightened around the wand as he wrestled with his own conscience; enough had happened to him in the past four months to throw it all away on this most brilliant opportunity...but House would just come back, like they all did, and Snape would be an inmate.
Finally, he lowered his arm.
"I'll get help," he said stiffly.
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