- RUBI INBOX -

[verbol]

Leave a message -

Hello from...

RUBILYKSKOYE

25/09/----

Sorry I missed you, but stay out of my goddamn head.

— JH

---

Rubilykskoye

@rubilykskoye

CODE BY TESSISAMESS

Comments

[verbol]

Everything's tight in the crotch here, House.
They were uh - hold on ...

Could be red. Could be pink.

[unorthodoc]

You can't tell?

[verbol]

I don't know about you, but I prefer the comfort of darkness when my hangovers rearing it's ugly head.

[unorthodoc]

I assumed you might be a hair of the dog kind of guy. Need me to make a house call?

[verbol]

I am. Some of us also like to languish in bed for about forty minutes before we crawl back to the devil's water.

Nah, I'm good. I have to do a pick up from the Boarding House soon.

[unorthodoc]

I could give you a ride.

[verbol]

The golf cart's functional?

[unorthodoc]

Of course it's functional. Why would I get a non functional golf cart?

[verbol]

Seems like the kind of thing that would happen, I guess. Sure, I'll take a ride in.

[unorthodoc]

I'll beep you.

[ It'll sound like a foghorn. Right outside Jim's window. ]

[verbol]

I'm sure it'll sound like music to my ears to hear a car horn again.

[he needs to dress. needs to down a shot or three, brush his teeth to wash away the taste and smell of it. douse himself off with a wet cloth, just little Self Care Things. ]

[unorthodoc]

[ With House sensing there's no time like the present, he only gets half an hour to cram in all of that self care before his ride turns up. In the driver's seat, House is wrapped in a sheepskin coat, a hand-knitted wool hat, and aviator-style sunglasses which appear to have been made by someone with only a passing knowledge of what they're supposed to look like.

He pulls the cart up outside of Jim's little cabin and lays on the horn, expecting the usual Imperial March melody -- instead, it's the loud, long blat of an ocean liner coming into harbor. Whoops.

Just to make it clear, House shouts over the top of it: ]

Sorry! That one wasn't me! Might need to light a match! [ And so on. ]

[verbol]

[It is not music to his ears. It is a terrible drone, he can still hear it even when the sound tapers off into an echo. When he hobbles out of the cabin, Jim looks more put together than he feels, wrapped in a coat that is sheepskin lined and and a hat that is drawn right down to his eyebrows.

He says: ] If I could muster the energy for it I'd knock you out.

[Anyway, he's getting into the passenger seat, thank you House, very kind of you house. ] You bring my panties?

[unorthodoc]

[ The passenger seat is cold and damp and smells a little bit like goat. As Jim arrives, House is in the business of lighting himself a cigarette. He shakes out the match and glances over at his passenger. ]

Nah, I'm saving them for a rainy day. I like having something to sniff when I'm bored.

[ He sticks the cigarette between his teeth, guns the engine and pulls out. The tracks through the forest are not made for wheels and the golf cart isn't made for cross-country driving over anything more challenging than a well manicured green; between that and the frozen, uneven ground of the forest, there's a lot of turbulence. Jim might want to hold on to something.

As they go along through the underbrush, House fishes in the pocket of his coat and produces a small bottle, which he offers over to Hopper without taking his eyes off the "road". ]

Better than hair of the dog.

[verbol]

[The cold damp is about what he's been sleeping on, lately. The vial, however, gets a wary glance. ]

Is that opium? [Once again, Jim Hopper simply feels like a high school Don't Do Drugs poster. Are you being pressured by friends to take drugs? Yes. Wonderful distraction from the thought of House sniffing his panties, to which he is horrifically not revolted by.]

[unorthodoc]

Technically, it's only 10% opium.

[ House keeps the vial held out, driving one handed, teeth still gritted around his smoke. It's all a bit Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, he can't exactly blame Hopper for being hesitant.

They bump and bounce down the trail. House doesn't seem particularly interested in going slowly in the name of safety, either. ]

[verbol]

Only 10%, great. [He's taking it, obviously, and downing it one go. The driving is fine; if anything it is fairly nostalgic of driving with Joyce, hunting down Russian agents. Or, it could be the three shots making him sentimental.

In any case, one hand is gripping the side beam. ] Thanks, appreciate it. If I start slurring my words, at least make sure you throw me into a bed.

[unorthodoc]

Just don't do anything dangerous, like try to drive.

[ Says the man who has already dosed himself before leaving the warmth of his own cabin. Not that he was completely sober at that point. His own hangover is a problem he's pushing ahead of him, like a Sisyphean boulder.

It's not long before they hit the main track between the farmlands and the town. House swings them around, careless of Hopper's fragile state. He smokes as he drives, enjoying the familiarity of it, then companionably offers the cigarette to Jim as well. ]

Did you see Stephen's magic tricks last night? You think he does bar mitzvahs?

[verbol]

[The former gets the wryest look he muster. Then he's simply pretending he is not clinging on for dear life, like he's totally fine and not about hurl if he lurches any harder.

Great to be a white guy from the 80's, wonderful -] Oh, you should ask him. I'm sure he'll love that. [Jim would absolutely love that, privately. Alone.] I think he was just showing off. He likes to show off.

[unorthodoc]

[ That earns a snort of amusement. ]

Yeah, I got that from the fact that he calls himself Doctor Strange.

[ He glances briefly at Hopper, assessing if he's likely to throw up or fall off. The goat is a better passenger than this. ]

You should start sleeping together. Preferably soon. If it's before spring I win the pool.

[verbol]

Oh, if it's so you win the pool then sure. I'll get right on it.

[His sexuality crisis is going GREAT thanks for asking!] Well, more than I am. Already. [ahem. anyway. ] Can you slow down on the bumps, please. Think of your cart, House.

[unorthodoc]

If you puke on my cart, you're cleaning it up.

[ He's not slowing down. In fact, he makes a point of swerving around a farmer heading out to the fields in the other direction, giving her a merry wave as they go past. ]

John wants a double date. I think we should go bowling.

[verbol]

Asshole -

[Affectionate. His guts stay inside, for now. ] Oh, sure. Here I was thinking go karting was more your speed.

[unorthodoc]

Monster truck rallies. I've missed The Destroyer verses Raminator and Monster Jam. Do you know how much I paid for those tickets?

[ He's being completely honest and also mostly griping to himself at this point. They're coming up on the town, the walls visible through the trees as they rattle and bounce down the track. House takes one last drag on his cigarette, then pitches the butt into the trees. Littering, the very least of his crimes.

This time House elects not to use his parking space (the disabled parking bay is carefully outlined in chalk beside the gate, along with a small sign identifying it as for Doctor House's use only), but drives on through. The guards on the gate are surprised, but they recognise the men in the cart, and they get waved into the town. House gives them a salute as they go past, slowing down as the dirt track turns into the cobbles of the streets, out of consideration for the cart's suspension if nothing else. ]

So, boarding house, right? [ He takes the turn towards it. ] What are we picking up? Contraband?

[verbol]

Yeah, that does track somehow. [Monster trucks. That he paid for tickets. He can see it.

As for the why:] Yeah, something like that. You're waiting for me? [Hmmm. Hmm. He's weighing this. On one hand, his reputation as a youth cockblock may be ruined. On the other, he can give Eddie a piece of his mind and House at the same time. Two birds, one stone.

On the third hard, he doubts House will ever let him live this tantrum down. ] You don't have to.