Father John Francis Patrick Mulcahy, meanwhile, started in the direction of the latrine. The sterile white shafts of artificial light that cut through the nighttime campground and made the nipping wind that much cooler shimmered off the murky lenses of the flailing glasses the priest held clamped in his left hand.
He frowned and bent his elbow to bring the object into closer range, and hissed at it, "And you, too! I guess you were in on all of this, hm? Well, just remember, I never made any promises about you. And if you don't think I'd do something, just go find Billy O'Sullivan-- he and I used to scrap for fun on the lawn before boxing-- I broke /his/ glasses often enough to keep his parents out of tape half the school year!"
"Father?"
Mulcahy looked up, surprised to find himself interrupted mid-threat by the sentinel on duty, who looked equally surprised to come upon the camp chaplain having a shouting match with an inanimate object.
"Everything alright?"
Mulcahy opened his mouth and cast an accusatory glance at the pitiful-looking object in his hand. He shut his mouth again, biting his lower lip and reigning in his self-control. "Yes. Pardon me." he tersely spoted, and continued past.
"If I keep talking to you, people will think I've gone off the deep end." Mulcahy observed in the general direction of the chimera as he came to stand near the latrine.
The crunching of the gravel under the shoes of the sentinel underscored the otherwise profound silence.
"He's not here," Mulcahy mumbled to himself, feeling silly for having said it even as the words were leaving his mouth. Of course, the first place to look for a fellow who's spent all day spreading several layers of mistruths is in the place he confessed himself to be going.
That familiar glare off the grungy lenses caught his attention.
"Shut up!" Mulcahy replied testily, deciding to make his next stop the errant Corporal's office, passing, one more time, the confused sentinel, who saluted hesitatingly and answered, "Sorry, sir."
Mulcahy sprinted the rest of the way back across the compound to Radar's office.
Klinger was leaning over a pile of papers, puffing at a cigar.
"Seven-I-Semicolon...." he began
"E... s... a...." he concluded, befuddledly.
"Father. Do you know what '7i;esa' is supposed to mean?" Klinger questioned, as the chaplain scampered in.
"No. Have you seen Radar?"
"No... he isn't in post-op?"
"No... oh, nevermind--" Father Mulcahy wheeled around, and was about to leave when he spun around again, ran to Potter's office doors, looked in the windows, and, not finding Radar there, turned around again, and froze in his tracks, staring at the teddy bear on the cot, blazing with the crescent monster signal.
"I guess it's some kind of special... military code..." Klinger shrugged, turning to the typewriter.
"I guess it is," whispered Mulcahy, sweeping out the door, grabbing the teddy bear on the way out.
Erupting out into the night, Mulcahy slowed to a halt in the light of the central compound, the silence growing oppressively irritating. Where could that damned creature have gotten to? He tilted his head to face the ground, listening out as he moved in between the tents. He was accustomed to taking quiet walks in the evenings to put his thoughts in order, and, as his vision was often unfocused, he'd gotten used to the sounds of the nocturnal camp. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing, that is, in the vein he was looking out for. Looking down at the items in his hand, he took in a deep breath, and looked behind him, slipping into a shadowy patch behind the VIP tent.
Taking off his glasses and tucking them in his shirt pocket, "Oh, God help me," he whispered, and, half hoping that something drastic would happen, half hoping that nothing would happen at all, he put on the pair that belonged to the Changeling. Grasping along the edge of the tent, he sidled along until he reached the edge of the shadows, facing into the compound. He opened his eyes.
The compound was bathed in something like daylight. The effect was dizzying, compounded with the super-clear lines reverse-blurring in the normal manner for a person wearing a prescription glasses far stronger than his own, causing individual pieces of white sand to glare out of the compound floor, and panels of olive drab slide popping out at him in emerald green.
Leaning backward to steady himself on a steel tentpost, he suddenly spun around, gasping at the sight of the post, a color black so dark in contrast to everything around it that it seemed to have a color of its own. A bright black.
Moderating his breath to help the shock of the change, Mulcahy lifted his hand in a nervous habit to lift the glasses up on his nose. He set his jaw firmly and locked his knees when his fingers touched a warm scaly leg.
"All right. Where is he?" Mulcahy started, trying his best not to let his voice waver with the fear of having a dragon perched on the side of his head.
"Our young ward meant no harm, but he--" Mulcahy nearly dropped the bear that had been tucked under his arm as it began to speak, but he gripped the creature in both of his hands and squeezed perhaps a little harder than was warranted.
"Tell me where he is, or God help me--"
Bantelhopp let out a loud chirp from above, cutting off the threat.
Mulcahy felt the noise move into the middle of his words and cut them short. He almost felt as if he had to physically shift his thoughts around in his head to continue his train of thought. This process done, however, he simply uttered, "Oh."
He knew where Radar was. He turned and began to walk out of the camp.
He was hardly thinking about it. He tried to, but it was hard to focus on where he was headed. In a few moments he flexed his fingers against he bear, trying to ascertain that he was, in fact, still in control of his faculties, and hadn't been completely taken over by these monsters.
"Don't fear." Bantelhopp whistled from above.
"But will you listen, now? We're on our way;
and this you know from your own senses, which,
of course, are ours."
"The radar..." Mulcahy mumbled, falling, oddly enough, in the rhythm of the verse.
"Yes, but trust
us now on that, and hear us next on this:
the tragic case of Hawkeye Pierce. Start not
like that, let me speak on. We ourselves call
it mournful, wish to see it righted, for
we think it may. Despite your threats, we would
not shown you to him had we ever thought
him blameless, and you not without mal-intent."
During this speech, Mulcahy walked along, spying now and again to right or left dark patches rising from the earth, which he seemed to be navigating in between while seeming, to himself, to be walking in a straight line. With some concentration he came to the realization that he was walking through the minefield. How Radar had gotten through the minefield at night half-blind was beyond him, until he realized that there were certainly other paths to be taken /around/ the minefield that would lead to locations on the other side. He felt the peculiar discomfort of having his very life in the hands of a dragon and a small magic bear. Had they led him out here falsely? Was this a trap? No, it wasn't, was the answer that immediately popped into his mind.
The answer, he tried to remind himself, supplied by the monsters themselves.
No, it simply wasn't the truth. The chimerae were truly trying to help.
Mulcahy grimaced and tried to keep his brain on straight. "So, you both are against this... feeding? Isn't it... I don't know... normal, for your kind?"
"Not hardly," piped Qotenmatch. "Yet you don't believe me: No,
"I say, we are of a different sort than those
Who feed and plunder in such a shameful fashion.
But Radar-- he is young, and he was hurt;
He was confused, he knew not why his friend
Was now hiding himself and not allowing
Him any recourse to recovery."
"Hiding himself?" Mulcahy wondered down at the bear, as he began to find the ground more rocky and the terrain a bit more treacherous. "Hiding himself..." He recalled, as if out of nowhere, his injunctive to the staff to withold what he thought Radar was feeding off of. "Hiding himself." He repeated a third time. "And so he felt... he had to take it some other way."
A flush ran over his face at the thought of himself at the root of all of this. "Dear lord..." he shook his head, resting a hand on a boulder he now found at waist height.
"Dear lord!" chorused the chimerae on his person. Mulcahy, confused at the echo, looked up, and his jaw fell open, the hair on the back of his neck prickling with shock.
A wide crack in a stone outcropping lay ahead, radiating jolly warmth.
"It's a cave," Mulcahy observed, creeping involuntarily closer.
Qotenmatch looked up at Bantelhopp, his little muzzle trembling in awe of the place.
~
He frowned and bent his elbow to bring the object into closer range, and hissed at it, "And you, too! I guess you were in on all of this, hm? Well, just remember, I never made any promises about you. And if you don't think I'd do something, just go find Billy O'Sullivan-- he and I used to scrap for fun on the lawn before boxing-- I broke /his/ glasses often enough to keep his parents out of tape half the school year!"
"Father?"
Mulcahy looked up, surprised to find himself interrupted mid-threat by the sentinel on duty, who looked equally surprised to come upon the camp chaplain having a shouting match with an inanimate object.
"Everything alright?"
Mulcahy opened his mouth and cast an accusatory glance at the pitiful-looking object in his hand. He shut his mouth again, biting his lower lip and reigning in his self-control. "Yes. Pardon me." he tersely spoted, and continued past.
"If I keep talking to you, people will think I've gone off the deep end." Mulcahy observed in the general direction of the chimera as he came to stand near the latrine.
The crunching of the gravel under the shoes of the sentinel underscored the otherwise profound silence.
"He's not here," Mulcahy mumbled to himself, feeling silly for having said it even as the words were leaving his mouth. Of course, the first place to look for a fellow who's spent all day spreading several layers of mistruths is in the place he confessed himself to be going.
That familiar glare off the grungy lenses caught his attention.
"Shut up!" Mulcahy replied testily, deciding to make his next stop the errant Corporal's office, passing, one more time, the confused sentinel, who saluted hesitatingly and answered, "Sorry, sir."
Mulcahy sprinted the rest of the way back across the compound to Radar's office.
Klinger was leaning over a pile of papers, puffing at a cigar.
"Seven-I-Semicolon...." he began
"E... s... a...." he concluded, befuddledly.
"Father. Do you know what '7i;esa' is supposed to mean?" Klinger questioned, as the chaplain scampered in.
"No. Have you seen Radar?"
"No... he isn't in post-op?"
"No... oh, nevermind--" Father Mulcahy wheeled around, and was about to leave when he spun around again, ran to Potter's office doors, looked in the windows, and, not finding Radar there, turned around again, and froze in his tracks, staring at the teddy bear on the cot, blazing with the crescent monster signal.
"I guess it's some kind of special... military code..." Klinger shrugged, turning to the typewriter.
"I guess it is," whispered Mulcahy, sweeping out the door, grabbing the teddy bear on the way out.
Erupting out into the night, Mulcahy slowed to a halt in the light of the central compound, the silence growing oppressively irritating. Where could that damned creature have gotten to? He tilted his head to face the ground, listening out as he moved in between the tents. He was accustomed to taking quiet walks in the evenings to put his thoughts in order, and, as his vision was often unfocused, he'd gotten used to the sounds of the nocturnal camp. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing, that is, in the vein he was looking out for. Looking down at the items in his hand, he took in a deep breath, and looked behind him, slipping into a shadowy patch behind the VIP tent.
Taking off his glasses and tucking them in his shirt pocket, "Oh, God help me," he whispered, and, half hoping that something drastic would happen, half hoping that nothing would happen at all, he put on the pair that belonged to the Changeling. Grasping along the edge of the tent, he sidled along until he reached the edge of the shadows, facing into the compound. He opened his eyes.
The compound was bathed in something like daylight. The effect was dizzying, compounded with the super-clear lines reverse-blurring in the normal manner for a person wearing a prescription glasses far stronger than his own, causing individual pieces of white sand to glare out of the compound floor, and panels of olive drab slide popping out at him in emerald green.
Leaning backward to steady himself on a steel tentpost, he suddenly spun around, gasping at the sight of the post, a color black so dark in contrast to everything around it that it seemed to have a color of its own. A bright black.
Moderating his breath to help the shock of the change, Mulcahy lifted his hand in a nervous habit to lift the glasses up on his nose. He set his jaw firmly and locked his knees when his fingers touched a warm scaly leg.
"All right. Where is he?" Mulcahy started, trying his best not to let his voice waver with the fear of having a dragon perched on the side of his head.
"Our young ward meant no harm, but he--" Mulcahy nearly dropped the bear that had been tucked under his arm as it began to speak, but he gripped the creature in both of his hands and squeezed perhaps a little harder than was warranted.
"Tell me where he is, or God help me--"
Bantelhopp let out a loud chirp from above, cutting off the threat.
Mulcahy felt the noise move into the middle of his words and cut them short. He almost felt as if he had to physically shift his thoughts around in his head to continue his train of thought. This process done, however, he simply uttered, "Oh."
He knew where Radar was. He turned and began to walk out of the camp.
He was hardly thinking about it. He tried to, but it was hard to focus on where he was headed. In a few moments he flexed his fingers against he bear, trying to ascertain that he was, in fact, still in control of his faculties, and hadn't been completely taken over by these monsters.
"Don't fear." Bantelhopp whistled from above.
"But will you listen, now? We're on our way;
and this you know from your own senses, which,
of course, are ours."
"The radar..." Mulcahy mumbled, falling, oddly enough, in the rhythm of the verse.
"Yes, but trust
us now on that, and hear us next on this:
the tragic case of Hawkeye Pierce. Start not
like that, let me speak on. We ourselves call
it mournful, wish to see it righted, for
we think it may. Despite your threats, we would
not shown you to him had we ever thought
him blameless, and you not without mal-intent."
During this speech, Mulcahy walked along, spying now and again to right or left dark patches rising from the earth, which he seemed to be navigating in between while seeming, to himself, to be walking in a straight line. With some concentration he came to the realization that he was walking through the minefield. How Radar had gotten through the minefield at night half-blind was beyond him, until he realized that there were certainly other paths to be taken /around/ the minefield that would lead to locations on the other side. He felt the peculiar discomfort of having his very life in the hands of a dragon and a small magic bear. Had they led him out here falsely? Was this a trap? No, it wasn't, was the answer that immediately popped into his mind.
The answer, he tried to remind himself, supplied by the monsters themselves.
No, it simply wasn't the truth. The chimerae were truly trying to help.
Mulcahy grimaced and tried to keep his brain on straight. "So, you both are against this... feeding? Isn't it... I don't know... normal, for your kind?"
"Not hardly," piped Qotenmatch. "Yet you don't believe me: No,
"I say, we are of a different sort than those
Who feed and plunder in such a shameful fashion.
But Radar-- he is young, and he was hurt;
He was confused, he knew not why his friend
Was now hiding himself and not allowing
Him any recourse to recovery."
"Hiding himself?" Mulcahy wondered down at the bear, as he began to find the ground more rocky and the terrain a bit more treacherous. "Hiding himself..." He recalled, as if out of nowhere, his injunctive to the staff to withold what he thought Radar was feeding off of. "Hiding himself." He repeated a third time. "And so he felt... he had to take it some other way."
A flush ran over his face at the thought of himself at the root of all of this. "Dear lord..." he shook his head, resting a hand on a boulder he now found at waist height.
"Dear lord!" chorused the chimerae on his person. Mulcahy, confused at the echo, looked up, and his jaw fell open, the hair on the back of his neck prickling with shock.
A wide crack in a stone outcropping lay ahead, radiating jolly warmth.
"It's a cave," Mulcahy observed, creeping involuntarily closer.
Qotenmatch looked up at Bantelhopp, his little muzzle trembling in awe of the place.
~