What happened

Shortly after the fifth coconut had been thrown into the open sea, a continuation of his earlier actions that had been brutally criticized through pestering whines by his anorexically-annoying female companion on that deserted sandlot, the door appeared. To his good fortune, the woman -- and her little dog too! -- were out like lights by that point, and being a self indulgent billionaire with the poignant disregard for most other people, he didn't see any cause to wake them.

Now, Lex Luthor was by no means a newcomer to the world of the strange and fantastic. He did exist in a world where the lives of everyday citizens were served and protected by a flying fruitcake in spandex tights, and where evil criminal masterminds -- including and those not unlike himself -- were in a perpetual state of attempted global domination. He was, after all, on a deserted island because he had gotten the maniacal notion that a continent crafted of crystallized kryptonite would be a good idea.

So suddenly finding a door, semi hovering over the water just off the beach, with a knob and an open keyhole, wasn't extraordinary in the least. Just convenient. And he wasted no time in walking knee deep into the ocean until he came face to face with the door.

He leaned forward to peek inside the keyhole. At first there was nothing but an infinite blackness on the other side. But then there was something. He wasn't sure what. But it was something. And something was better than the nothing he had now. And being that the woman was inconsequential to him, easily manipulated females that were pleasing to look at were a dime a dozen these days, he didn't even give her a second thought.

He reached forward and turned the knob.

And found himself standing in the middle of a street. An intersection, actually. With a taxi cab speeding directly towards him.

"What the--?!"

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“Hemorrhoids.” House said more than asked upon entering the examining room.

This had become his life for the past couple of months. Doing clinicals since his takeover concept didn’t work nor did it win him his own practice. It was an early twenty-something who sat on the bed. Boy had long hair and an equivalent goatee.

House leaned on his cane with both of his hands.

“This is where you talk.”

Gowns weren’t flattering things. The boy wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Well, yeah, about a month ago it hurt to sit. And then there was a growth. My friend told me about how he had ‘roid problems but his popped. These haven’t popped… they just throb.”

“Well, as you know, we took a few tests. To make sure you were a good boy and didn’t deserve coal for Christmas.”

There was a hopeful look on the boy’s face.

“You’ve been naughty, son, and that’s not hemorrhoids on your ass. That’s venereal warts. I bet you believed all that business in Sex Ed about how condoms were latex Jesus Christs.”

The boy’s eyes were the size of cup coasters.

“I checked into it. Your insurance covers cryosurgery. That means we’re going to prop your bare ass up and have our way with it with nitrogen. This doesn’t mean you’re cured. So, next time I see you, I want to hear how you’ve been spreading your disease. You’re infected, might as well infect everyone else.”

House smiled and nodded as he began to walk out.

The boy simply blinked.

Sitting in House’s inbox wasn’t another room number and file. Instead, it was a request on behalf of Arkham. House flopped on the lobby couch as he thumbed through the file. A patient gave the doctor a bizarre look and House snarled back.

There were errors everywhere. The Joker’s real name was never revealed. But House could help Arkham (if only to get to go to the magical land of Batman’s rogue gallery) because The Joker was never ill. He found it amusing that his resume could get him respect to validate the body of a murdering comic-book psycho but god forbid it get him any respect at the hospital. After awhile, the lobby began to get thick with actual sick people and House decided it was time to exit left.

As always, he walked. There was no hurry when approaching the epic Arkham. Once inside, there was the paperwork to fill out to prove that he wasn’t a nutcase (which could be argued) himself or someone attempting to break out the Joker. What shocked House the most was the fact the man wasn’t Jack Nicholson or Cesar Romero but he did have the character. This Joker seemed to inhibit the feral nature of the comics.

Two fictional characters in a padded room.

"They fetch me, of course, because I've nagged the shit out of my superior. Probably sent me here to be scared. Well, I don't scare easily. Even if you fucked a skull. People have kinks. My name is House, don't feel like you have to introduce yourself. I have a clipboard. It has magical things on it. Like your name."

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Usually it wasn't a good idea to leave injured people alone, but Bigby was a grown man- or wolf, which would probably sound better in an argument- and he could definitely take care of himself. There was food in the fridge, wood on the fire and a first aid kit Charming had managed to dig out lying on the sofa. Whoever said the Prince didn't take good care of his guests?

Charming wanted to explore The City, find out as much as he could about it. It was definitely, unabashedly American; it had a lot of Starbucks, where horrible American popular music was played very loudly.

He had wandered for an hour, not looking for anything in particular, just observing. There were definitely some interesting people around here, but it seemed a civilised city. A casual walk around a park, and he was ready to head back home. Passing a small diner, he thought he saw someone familiar sitting at the window, but the glint was too strong to make out who it was.

Oh well, Charming thought with a shrug, and walked straight onto a wad on gum.

Oh yes, an unabashedly American city.

Sometimes you just couldn't say no. When you were as hungry and as low on energy as Snow was, polite manners eventually went their way out the window, and standards such as "always insisting on paying for your meal" were lowered, just a little. Still. She'd only ordered a small meal of pancakes with fruit-salad, but it was tasty enough, and by the time she was halfway through the meal, she was already feeling better, and more energised, and was almost ready to go searching once again for her car.

Smiling positively, she looked out the window, and that was when her eyes popped right out of her skull. Literally.

Or maybe not so literally, but when she saw her ex-husband picking gum off his shoe, she didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. Eventually, she did neither, and satisfied herself with frantically tapping her nails against the window and saying "Charming!" loudly through the glass, in order to get his attention.

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