Sat, May 19 2012
Workshop example (House/Blackjack)
Here is an example of the kind of thing I would like to have for our workshop. Since I am using a program/book/media that people might not be familiar with (unlike something like Harry Potter, that most readers will recognize inside of a paragraph or two) I will state that this is about a collision between "House" on Fox and the Japanese manga/anime/live action hero Blackjack, "a surgeon with the hands of God."
Please look this over and apply your critical eye. Do you get a feeling for the personalities of House, Pinoco, and the visitor? If you are familiar with House, do these characterizations seem appropriate to you? Does the text give you an idea of what kind of person Blackjack is, what he looks like, etc.? If you were familiar with House but not Blackjack, might this intrigue you?
Your answers to questions of that nature will tell me whether this brief scene succeeds as a workshop scene by establishing character and situation. Go for it!
Gregory House enjoyed his competition with his boss, Cuddy, more when he won the round than otherwise; but this was one of those "otherwise" times. Clinic duty. Mid-morning on Monday, just when all the really interesting people came in, too, after they'd had all weekend to worry about their symptoms until they'd decided they were dying or they'd spent the weekend ignoring symptoms of conditions that might have been treated with the utmost ease and least expense if they'd only come in on Friday as they should have.
"Who's this?" he asked loudly of anybody who would answer him, taking the patient's chart up out of its slot on the door to the examining room. "Unaccompanied minor? Japanese? What are we running here, an "It's A Small World" convention and please don't sue me Disney?"
He'd spoken too loudly, apparently, because the door to the examination room swung open suddenly and a small beast yelled "I'm not a minor, I'm eighteen years old!" in a surprisingly loud voice. It took him a moment to identify the source of the noise; he was tall, he knew that, but the patient standing in the doorway was possibly four feet short, if that. He wondered, for one moment, whether Cuddy had set him up, knowing how much he didn't like children. They bit. He especially didn't like precocious spoilt children, and this patient looked like an index example.
"That's not what it says on the chart." Letting the cover-sheet on the clip-board drop he looked down on the little beast with resignation tinged with disgust. "And don't talk back. You're supposed to on the table waiting for examination. What's your name?"
She stepped back as he stepped forward; he closed the door, and leaned up against it, watching her climb up onto the examining table. Her body language was not eighteen years old. She moved like a child of seven or eight; it had been his experience that the way that people moved their bodies was sometimes a more sure indication of their actual chronological age than their height or hair-color.
"My name is Pinoco," she said primly, her pudgy little hands folded in her lap. "And there's nothing wrong with me, I'm just looking for the doctor. Who are you?"
"Well, I'm a doctor." House didn't bother to disguise the mockery in his voice, though he moderated it. She was just a kid. Kids knew, whether or not you did your best to hide the fact that you didn't like them. "If there's nothing wrong with you, why are you here?"
Now she jumped up to stand on the examining table and leaned forward, as though facing a raging gale. "I'm – looking – for – the – Doctor," she repeated, with exaggerated enunciation. "And you're not him. But those policemen would have taken me to the station and put me in charge of a social worker, and then I would have had some real explaining to do. I think you should buy me some ice cream."
Not a chance of that. "Symptoms," House said, reading off the chart. "Dizziness, nausea, blurred vision, yadda, yadda, yadda. Concussion or anemia, which is it?"
"Listen," the girl said. She certainly looked like a little girl, cute little frock, big bow in her hair, round cheeks, baby fat. She just didn't sound like one, except of course that she had a child's shrill voice. "I've already explained. There's nothing wrong with me. I was just making sure that they'd take me to the hospital, because that's the first place he'll look for me. Give me some ipecac, and maybe he won't be able to scold me until he's gotten over being angry."
There were too many things that just weren't adding up about this. "Castor oil, maybe," he suggested, but he wasn't about to give her anything. "Why don't you tell me who you're looking for? There are over two hundred and fifty-seven doctors in this –"
Something bumped the door against which House was still leaning, and made him jump. The little girl, Pinoco, giggled. House decided he really didn't like her, but before he had a chance to think about what uncomfortable and useless medical tests he could make her parents or guardians pay for the door was pushed open from behind him, and there was Chase of all people. Who had the grace to look a little embarrassed when he saw House, but who was clearly distracted.
"In here," Chase was saying, to someone behind him. "Oh, this is Doctor House. He's brilliant. You'd like him."
Someone that distracted Chase, someone Chase was s*cking up to with enthusiasm and even sincerity. He could say What is the meaning of this intrusion, and he liked saying What is the meaning of this intrusion especially when it was him intruding on someone else, but he didn't have time. There was a tall man in a dark suit behind Chase, a man with vaguely Oriental features and a shock of hair that fell into his face – white on one side of his head; black on the other. A scar running diagonally down his face and several scars adorning his cheeks, looking over Chase's shoulder into the treatment room; when Pinoco caught sight of him she screamed, and came running.
"Doctor! Doctor! Oh, Doctor, I was so scared!"
Part of which sounded sincere to House and part of which did not. It seemed that the visitor had the same evaluation, because his face seemed to express a mixture of amusement and relief. "Now, now, Pinoco," the visitor warned, as she clung to his trouser-leg and howled. "It's not appropriate for you to be creating a disturbance. Settle down. You have some explaining to do, I think."
A bolo tie. A black suit, a black raincoat over his shoulders, and a bolo tie. Was the circus in town? House decided to save the query for later, and instead asked Chase. "Doctor of what, exactly? Agriculture? Central European tourism?"
Chase didn't answer, because the visitor answered instead. "Neither," he said. "I apologize for the inconvenience. Pinoco was very wrong to do what she did. Thank you, Doctor Chase, I'm in your debt."
Stooping down the visitor picked up the little girl, who buried her face in his neck and sniffled. There was no mistaking the gesture; whoever she was, whoever he was, he was her guardian, and had carried her around on more than one occasion. House closed the chart and handed it to Chase, watching them leave. "I hope we got her billing information," House said. "Or Cuddy won't give me credit for the clinic time. Do you know that man?"
Here came Foreman and Cameron, rushing up to where House stood with Chase – both of them in a state of considerable excitement. "Where is he?" Cameron said. "Is it really – "
Chase pointed, just as the tall man with the little girl reached the glass doors and stopped to let them slide open to let them through. "That's him," Chase said. "He introduced himself. That's the Doctor. That's Blackjack."
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