No Persecution this week... Because I was revising English for my mocks. With X. With interesting results. Yes, I hear the sound of my devastated fangirls (/guys?) wailing and gnashing their teeth. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, avid readers.
For all non-Brits/Brits that don't know how GCSEs work, in the English Language 1 exam, we have to write a description and a narrative. We get told what to describe, and get a choice of five phrases to base the narrative on. Like, begin with this, end with that, write about a time you felt happy. But me and X decided to revise by practicing writing House fics! And here is mine. (The bitch gave me a blooming hard sentence. She's mean like that.)

Finish with the sentence: "And it was then that House realized that perhaps there had been more to the purple dolphin than met the eye after all." You must also describe House's apartment.

It was late. Somewhere between one and two in the morning. The room was dark, the only light coming from the luminous numbers on the small digital clock that rested on the piano and the moon outside the window. A leather couch, once situated in the middle of the room (as shown by the lighter colored patch of carpet) had been pushed up against the wall, presumably to create more space in the tiny cramped apartment. The television, likewise, had been moved into a corner and, by the looks of the silver cobwebs draped across it, forgotten. Used dishes and glasses cluttered the floor, some of which smelled old enough to be a biohazard. An old, mahogany coffee table at the edge of the room was cluttered with sheets and sheets of paper. On top of all the paper lay a spent syringe and a tiny vial half-filled with a colorless liquid. The label, illuminated by the moonlight, identified the liquid as morphine.

The piano was the only item in the room which hadn't been moved out of the way and abandoned. The top of the piano was clear of dust and highly polished, reflecting the moonlight back at the window like a mirror. Music was stacked carefully, almost obsessively so, perfectly aligned with the edge of the piano top. The music had been alphabetized – the first piece composed by Albinoni, the second by Bach, and so on. Next to the music sat a small, translucent, orange bottle. It was filled to the halfway mark with little white pills. The white lid had been removed and placed to the right of the bottle.

The room was absolutely silent, and almost absolutely still. The only movement came from the man lying on the floor in the middle of the room. He lay on his back, eyes open, unblinking, staring at the ceiling, motionless. He could have been a corpse, but for rhythmic tapping of the index finger of his right hand against the floor. The man was tall with dark hair, shot through with silver. The darkness made it difficult to make out any other features of the man, save the sleek black cane that lay carefully positioned across his chest.

The man's name was Gregory House, and he was a doctor. He was also high as a kite.

When House got drunk, he was a maudlin drunk. The person that he preferred to get drunk with, a younger man named James Evan Wilson, was well used to listening to the morose, self-pitying remarks he made while intoxicated. However, when House got high, his thoughts and actions were highly entertaining. For him, at least. Right now, riding his morphine high, he was incapable of movement, which was probably a good thing. He didn't close his eyes, though – he was too busy thinking.

There were so many things to think about, and all of them were so much fun. He thought about his young female employee. Her hair had been pretty, once upon a time, but then she got it cut all horribly. Those bangs didn't suit her; they made her face look fat. House decided to tell her so at the next opportunity he got.

Then he thought about his slightly less young female employer. She had pretty hair, pretty eyes. House wanted to kiss her, now, because she had pretty lips as well. House wondered what she tasted of. Probably lip gloss, or maybe mint, from when she brushed her teeth in the mornings. It would depend, he supposed, on what time of the day he were to kiss her. Right now, for example, she probably wouldn't taste very nice. Maybe he would kiss her the next day, when she would taste good again.

Then he thought about his two young male employees. Chase had the prettiest hair of them all, because it was so blond, and it was probably in really good condition as well. It looked nicer when he didn't use any products on it, and just let it be floppy and nice. Foreman didn't have any hair, but he did steal cars, which made it kind of okay.

Then he thought about his best friend in the whole world. His hair wasn't as pretty as Chase's hair was (although it was prettier than Cameron's, by a long shot) and he didn't have any breasts – at least, not particularly big ones – but he was House's most favorite person ever. He had tasted Wilson before, and he tasted good. He should have tasted like cancer, House mused, laughing out loud. After all, he was a cancer doctor. Everyone liked Wilson, though, which was probably very nice for Wilson. People gave him lots of presents, especially his patients, which was weird, because really people should give presents to sick people, not the other way around. House remembered that Wilson had once had a little girl as a patient whose name was Sarah, and she had been very, very sick, but Wilson had made her better. Sarah had given Wilson a toy purple dolphin to say thank you, which she had picked out herself from the gift shop. House had thought that Sarah should have given Wilson something more valuable than the purple dolphin, which had only cost about $4.99 because it was very little. Wilson had said that it was the thought behind the gift that counted, and that it was very nice of Sarah to give him anything at all, because she wasn't very old, only four or five or six or seven, House didn't remember. Then House had snorted and told Wilson that he should throw the dolphin away, because it would just clutter up his office, or something. The details were hazy. But House did remember that Wilson had told him to go to hell, and that made him sad right now, although he hadn't been very sad at the time. House thought about crying, but he was feeling too spaced out and generally happy. Maybe he would give Wilson a kiss next time he saw him to say how sorry he was.

And then House thought about Eve, who was the girl that had been raped, and he thought how Eve had come to see him in his office before she had left the hospital. House hadn't wanted to see Eve again because… he couldn't remember. But he hadn't wanted to see Eve, and she had come to see him anyway. She had said thank you, and something about how talking had helped her to begin to work through her issues, which was the opposite of what talking had done for him, and then she had kissed him on the cheek. It hadn't been a big display of affection but it had made him feel like maybe he had done something right, which he hadn't thought he had done before. The little action had had a big effect on him.

And it was then that House realized that perhaps there had been more to the purple dolphin than met the eye after all.

--FIN--