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10 November 2007 @ 12:17 am
It was Saturday.

It was Saturday, and all week, Stacy had tried to talk herself out of going to coffee with him. It was more on principle and pride than anything else, and reasoning that he really had no reason to call her other than the fact that he might want to get laid again. She felt too conflicted, most of the time, between being hurt and just thinking that she might've over-reacted. And that, in itself, drove her insane. By Saturday, she just wanted to go and see which one it was.

So she dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a light shirt. It took her too long to decide, which was strange. She never worried about what she wore; it was a routine, most of the time. And breaking out of that routine she had was what she found difficult.

But despite all that, she found herself at his place again, standing in front of the door.

And before she lost the nerve, she knocked.
 
 
16 October 2007 @ 12:24 am
All week, Stacy had felt like an idiot.

At work, all her friends had asked her what happened with Greg, what happened with the doctor that she'd left to go to the bar with. And she'd answered them all with a polite, bold-faced lie, simply saying, "Not much," because she hardly wanted to discuss how much of an idiot she was with anyone, much less her co-workers. And most of all, she just wanted to forget about it.

Regardless, though, she couldn't really help thinking about it. It was pathetic, yes, but she couldn't help thinking about what she could've done differently. Most of the time, she just envisioned herself walking away and not going with him to the bar in the first place. Other times, she wondered if she said something wrong, but she couldn't figure it out. At the end of the night, she'd felt like a hooker, and he'd done nothing to help that.

So she wasn't going to see him again.

It was a decision that was easily made, and she went on with her week, immersing herself in her work and reminding herself not to think about it. She'd never had any real luck in relationship, and there was no reason to think that now would be any different.

The decision, she thought, was made.
 
 
07 October 2007 @ 04:35 pm
House ducked behind a bunker and crouched down, holding his paintball rifle close to his chest. He was breathing quickly from having run across the paintball arena, dodging paintball ammunition from opponents. He was sweating somewhat from how hot it was inside the mask he had to wear, not to mention the thick camoflage clothing he was in; thick to prevent injury should he get hit from an oncoming paintball pellet.

It was an indoor paintball centre, this particular part done up to look like woodlands. This whole paintball thing was a birthday party a friend of his had thrown for another friend, so House wasn't too familiar with half the people that he was running around, playing army combat with. Not that he cared – he was having a blast.

He waddled crouched down on his knees towards the end of the bunker and peered out around the corner for any opponents. The area looked clear, so House stood up and darted out from behind the bunker to sprint towards another bunker nearby. Just as he did, he spotted an opponent, and quickly raised his rifle to aim, and fired.