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Ignoring the coughing patients in the clinic, no matter how sick they look———fingers flex around his cane upon noticing her. Finally, someone that he can tolerate. Sort of. Using his cane to tap her shin.
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samantha's sitting on the patient chair in one of the rooms of the clinic, mindlessly scrolling on her phone. her issue this time is minimal - just what she suspects is strep throat. it's not pleasant, but nothing compared to what @mousesbite treated her for previously.
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﹙ Something akin to curiosity takes over his features. Not concern. Not worry. Just...interest. Brows furrow, leaning back, arms raising above his head to 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩. ﹚ That argument usually won’t hold up in court. ⤷
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⠀ ( Subtle? Perhaps to other people, but to Wilson...
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⠀ Nevertheless, despite a further tendering of gaze, nothing else betrays his acknowledgement of it. A slow nod follows, in tandem. ) I'll see what I can do.
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⠀ ( 𝘈𝘩. Stiffening. Countenance
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“ When you talk about someone that you don’t know you usually refer to them as 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺. ” This is 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 awkward. “ What if——what if you knew someone. Would you still refer to them that way? Is that weird? ”
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Perhaps the imaginary brick wall around his heart is beginning to crumble. The sight of Wilson is enough for it to crack—it’s scary. House has no control over his facial expressions anymore. He has to rely on his sarcastic ⤷
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⠀ Wilson's own fist flexes around his pen, as always, self dissolved in the documents before him; less a person, than a function. He was fully engrossed, until...
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⠀⠀The door to his office is flung open, unceremoniously, and the torrent of grandiose that
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“ You’ll be happy to know I haven’t killed anyone today. ” Clearly, he’s stalling. “ I think what I’m about to say is worse than murder, though. ” He shifts, sitting up straight, hands in his lap. ⤷
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