Astarion
Surprisingly there were not many pubs in London that played American football on the televisions. Even then, it was usually like one television out of half a dozen above the bar. As a result, House had not only a regular pub that he went to this time of year but also a regular seat.
"Hey Greg," said the bartender as House slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and leaned his cane against it. He went ahead and poured a double of Jack Daniels on the rocks and pushed it to him without House having to ask. "Who's playing tonight?" he asked, as if he cared. But House appreciated the effort.
"Ohio State versus Rutgers," said House then added gleefully, "I'm just here to watch Ohio State get their asses kicked." He'd gone to Michigan.
"Hey can I also get a basket of chips?" he asked, and the bartender nodded and walked away.
"Hey Greg," said the bartender as House slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and leaned his cane against it. He went ahead and poured a double of Jack Daniels on the rocks and pushed it to him without House having to ask. "Who's playing tonight?" he asked, as if he cared. But House appreciated the effort.
"Ohio State versus Rutgers," said House then added gleefully, "I'm just here to watch Ohio State get their asses kicked." He'd gone to Michigan.
"Hey can I also get a basket of chips?" he asked, and the bartender nodded and walked away.
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Astarion gave him a look, then perched himself on the exam table.
"It's been a long time since I was in a doctor's office," he admitted.
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Astarion offered his wrist, since that felt less vulnerable than offering the one in his neck.
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Astarion managed not to flinch when House plugged him in, only tensing a little. It didn't hurt, yet he tensed as though expecting it anyway.
"It's deep in there," he noted, suddenly a bit less arrogant and noticeably more vulnerable. "The virus, I mean."
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"Just... Be careful. Don't remove it by mistake," he insisted.
He didn't want to find himself crawling back to Cazador. Didn't want to think on what the man would do to him.
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“Tell me more about how you picked this thing up,” he said.
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"I don't really recall the details. I was working- Hunting, I suppose you might say, for the man who changed me. He liked to send me out to lure home treats. I ended up in some club, with all these... I dunno, cult like ravers. Next thing I knew they had infected me. Managed to get out, but..."
He trailed off.
"When I went back the next day to confront them, the place was destroyed."
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"Delightful. So, put a leash on it or something," Astarion said. "There has to be a way to control it, surely."
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"Really?" he asked, daring to feel hopeful. "Well... That would be good."
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"The symptoms are good, I no longer feel tethered to my former master. I can go out when I please, do what I want. ...With just the occasional pain in my skull and some odd visions here and there..." Astarion explained.
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Also the utter ick he felt at the reminder of what some sicko had done to him.
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"I dunno, they're sort of abstract. I don't remember much of it clearly, just this insistence that things are okay for now. I'm safe."
Though he didn't feel very safe.
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"Well, the people who gave me it assured me it was. The intention, apparently, is to wipe me and use me as... I don't know, a shell? A bot? I don't know, but I know I don't want it."
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After a moment he glanced over at him. "Have you decided you trust me?"
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"I don't have much choice. It's not like I have many other options. ...Besides, it can't get much worse at this point," Astarion said.
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House hesitated, and looked back at him. "It just seems like you've had a lot of people rooting around in your head."
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"If you're worried about payment, I'm sure we can work something out," Astarion said, instinctively turning on the charm.
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"Slow is good," Astarion nodded. "It'll hopefully buy me time to find a more permanent solution."
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