House stumbles out of the truck with a bit of a grunt, barely steadying himself against one of the men just finished unloading the piano.  "Pard'n me... 'scuse me..."  He sets himself going the wrong way at first, bumping into the side of the piano.  "Pardon, pardon me..."  Turning himself around shakily, he wobbles against the truck as he tries to walk.  "'Scuse me..."  Finally he steadies himself by leaning on Megan's shoulder.<br/><br/>House is, of course, stone cold sober.  Not that he never touches a drop, he simply doesn't drink on fight nights.  B-grade martial arts movies have created the myth that drunken boxing masters are more effective the more they drink, and he is happy to exploit the assumption that people make about his sobriety.<br/><br/>"D'y'know... I used, I used to play piano..."  He looks uneasily at Megan's chin.  Despite the appearance that she manages both fighters, he's the one who signs her checks; he's just happy to have Wilson along for now.  "What was that?  I'm fighting, I'm fighting what now?"