chocolate_frapp (chocolate_frapp) wrote,

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day 26

a song you can play on an instrument

oh, crap. I can't play any instruments. :(


Chapter 8

The bar was getting ready to close.

Wilson whimpered, "I don't wanna go home!" sounding like a scared kid.

House sighed. "Look, I don't blame you for not wanting to go back home to some fight you're having with Sam, why don't you crash at my place tonight?"

"Okayyy..." Wilson slurred, starting to walk out the door towards House's bike.

House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right, we're both drunk off our butts and you think we're taking my bike home, THAT'S gonna end well."

Ronnie, the bartender, a tall skinny guy with a ponytail, a Fu Manchu mustache and several Harley tattoos, picked up the phone. "You should listen to House, dude, I'm calling you a cab."

House snagged Wilson's shirt collar and tugged him back away from the bike, but Wilson wrested free and made a rather pathetic effort to put on a tough guy act. "Oh, yeah?! Well, I oughta--"

"Cut the crap, Wilson, we're getting a cab," House snapped. "Sorry about this, Ronnie."

"All right, House, but your friend better calm the fuck down, I'm only cutting him slack because you did such a righteous job patching up Junkyard after he took that spill."

They managed to take a taxi back to House's place without further incident and got inside without falling over, despite disability and drunkenness.

House suddenly noticed, much to his discomfort, that Wilson had started to cry.

  • (no subject)

    Not much going on here, I'd rather not haul around groceries with a bad leg but at least it's getting better, the PT seems to be working.

  • (no subject)

    If someone doesn't like my fanfic writing that's their opinion but I think it's incredibly cowardly to trash it anonymously.

  • (no subject)

    This sucks. My favorite bar went out of business.

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