A short while and many drinks later:
Meg hung over Sparky's shoulders as she giggled and snorked and reached out her hand for another martini. "I /love/ this song. P-play it again! Sparky! Gimm'ya kiss." She puckered vaguely over the ghoul's shoulder, who looked desperately over at Captain Pierce, who had his legs propped up on a round table, crossed at the ankles.
"Yes, ma'am," Sparky replied, but didn't, banking correctly that the Scourge wouldn't know the difference. He wavered and tried to hold up the flailing Gangrel.
"So, Meg," Hawkeye called out, sipping his drink far more slowly than Meg, unexperienced in the ways of alcohol, chugged hers down, "The Nosferatu are the wizards?"
She shook her head heavily, "Nope, nope, the Tremere, the wizards. The Nos, the, uh, ugly sumsavagon."
"Ma'am? Ma'am?" Sparky hissed, "You think maybe we should get out of here? Please?"
"Oh NOooo, Shparky. Cap'n Hawkeye, he's good, I'll vouch for him. And him, and him--" she started pointing out random individuals on the dance floor. "Yeah." She affirmed. "We're good."
"My Regnant's gonna kill me," Sparky whimpered, but continued obediently holding the scourge off of the floor.
"Oh, yeah, right, that's right," Hawkeye went on, egging her on, "And the Ven-- the, err--"
"Ventrue. They like to, err, paper, write on paper, and be in charge, yup."
Hawkeye laughs, "Well, at least THEY were smart enough to recognize that Henry Blake didn't fit in with THEM. Sure, he's got the writing on paper down--"
Radar, who was perched nearby, nodded, "Last I reckoned, he was up to 32 signatures a minute."
"But being in charge is definitely NOT his forte."
"No, no, wouldn't think so. Brujah just... go and get angry, and beat things a lot."
Hawkeye and Radar looked at one another. "Well, that describes Colonel Blake to a tee," Radar mumbled, obviously not meaning it.
"And THEN!" Meg jabbed a finger demonstratively into the air. "There's us Gangrel. The /good/ Gangrel... the /noble/ Gangrel... the... waitasec. Oh, no, uh, Gangrel are bad. But not all'vum. I'M a Gangrel." She swung her finger around to point at herself. "Couldn't tell, could'ja?" she winked. "It's an old Nos trick."
Hawkeye squinted at her, "Uh, no, it doesn't show, at all. What-- what's an 'old Nos trick?'" he asked, despite vehement shakes of the head from Sparky.
"Oh, please, no," the ghoul mumbled.
"Oh! You wanna see!" squealed the Gangrel, "Here!"
Most of the people left in the bar, though many had already dispersed to head toward the location of the movie, were too involved in their dance partners, their drinks, or their respective tabletop spaces to notice the slight blurring of the Scourge's form, her suddenly sprouted clusters of pale yellow fuzz, her long, drooping ears, her eyes large and brown, her nostrils tall and lined with fur in the center of her face, the sudden blackness and density of her fingernails. It was probably a good thing. Hawkeye and Radar were freaked out enough for the lot of them.
"Yuup... you don't get to be scourge by sittin' there and lookin' pretty..." the creature giggled, and put her mask back up, assuming the aspect once more of a short, homely girl with a drunk-off-her-hindside grin on her face.
"Evidently not," Hawkeye commented, his eyebrows pushing up into his fetching bangs. Radar sat with his mouth falling open a while, as Hawkeye quickly changed the subject.
"So, and those other two, they're both--"
Meg shook her head, "Nope. They're what'cha call a Mixed Marriage. She's a, a Tor-- Tor--"
"A Toreador, yeah, the bullfighters."
"Ole!" cried the Gangrel, snorting with laughter.
"And he's a-- he's a Malkavian." She made a sour face.
Hawkeye put his feet back on the ground and leaned forward, interested in investigating this gesture.
"A Malkavian? You never mentioned those before."
"Oh, well, yah," she dipped Sparky a bit, who blushed horridly, and whispered shakily, "We don't like to TALK about them, much. They're NUTS."
"Nuts? As in Bananas, Crackers and--"
"Nuts!" Meg cried, "Bonkers, suh, I swear, every man jack of them! You take a person, normal as the night is long, and you put 'em in with a Malk for a while and they're all crazier than-- something really, really crazy-- " she trailed off, putting a hand on her forehead, "Uugghhhhh. I think I have to go get rid of this stuff, now, 'scuse me. Where'd-- where'd everybody go?" She stared around at the nearly empty room.
Hawkeye stood up, "We're all going to the movie. It'll be over in the mess tent. See you there?" He headed off toward the door, Radar hopping up and following behind, though watching the Gangrel a bit distractedly.
"Yah, sure, just, uh, oh, I'll find'ja." She slurred, "Sparky, can you help me find the bathroom?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sparky painedly answered, leading her out of the Officer's Club.
All was quiet in the Officer's Club when the announcement came over the P.A. system. All those who were left were the few that had completely passed out for the night.
Or so the last to leave had thought. Now one head lifted off of its table, deceptively aware, and smiling like a man looking over a winning lottery ticket he found on the sidewalk.
"Malks, huh?" Klinger grinned, "I can smell Toledo already!"
~
Meg hung over Sparky's shoulders as she giggled and snorked and reached out her hand for another martini. "I /love/ this song. P-play it again! Sparky! Gimm'ya kiss." She puckered vaguely over the ghoul's shoulder, who looked desperately over at Captain Pierce, who had his legs propped up on a round table, crossed at the ankles.
"Yes, ma'am," Sparky replied, but didn't, banking correctly that the Scourge wouldn't know the difference. He wavered and tried to hold up the flailing Gangrel.
"So, Meg," Hawkeye called out, sipping his drink far more slowly than Meg, unexperienced in the ways of alcohol, chugged hers down, "The Nosferatu are the wizards?"
She shook her head heavily, "Nope, nope, the Tremere, the wizards. The Nos, the, uh, ugly sumsavagon."
"Ma'am? Ma'am?" Sparky hissed, "You think maybe we should get out of here? Please?"
"Oh NOooo, Shparky. Cap'n Hawkeye, he's good, I'll vouch for him. And him, and him--" she started pointing out random individuals on the dance floor. "Yeah." She affirmed. "We're good."
"My Regnant's gonna kill me," Sparky whimpered, but continued obediently holding the scourge off of the floor.
"Oh, yeah, right, that's right," Hawkeye went on, egging her on, "And the Ven-- the, err--"
"Ventrue. They like to, err, paper, write on paper, and be in charge, yup."
Hawkeye laughs, "Well, at least THEY were smart enough to recognize that Henry Blake didn't fit in with THEM. Sure, he's got the writing on paper down--"
Radar, who was perched nearby, nodded, "Last I reckoned, he was up to 32 signatures a minute."
"But being in charge is definitely NOT his forte."
"No, no, wouldn't think so. Brujah just... go and get angry, and beat things a lot."
Hawkeye and Radar looked at one another. "Well, that describes Colonel Blake to a tee," Radar mumbled, obviously not meaning it.
"And THEN!" Meg jabbed a finger demonstratively into the air. "There's us Gangrel. The /good/ Gangrel... the /noble/ Gangrel... the... waitasec. Oh, no, uh, Gangrel are bad. But not all'vum. I'M a Gangrel." She swung her finger around to point at herself. "Couldn't tell, could'ja?" she winked. "It's an old Nos trick."
Hawkeye squinted at her, "Uh, no, it doesn't show, at all. What-- what's an 'old Nos trick?'" he asked, despite vehement shakes of the head from Sparky.
"Oh, please, no," the ghoul mumbled.
"Oh! You wanna see!" squealed the Gangrel, "Here!"
Most of the people left in the bar, though many had already dispersed to head toward the location of the movie, were too involved in their dance partners, their drinks, or their respective tabletop spaces to notice the slight blurring of the Scourge's form, her suddenly sprouted clusters of pale yellow fuzz, her long, drooping ears, her eyes large and brown, her nostrils tall and lined with fur in the center of her face, the sudden blackness and density of her fingernails. It was probably a good thing. Hawkeye and Radar were freaked out enough for the lot of them.
"Yuup... you don't get to be scourge by sittin' there and lookin' pretty..." the creature giggled, and put her mask back up, assuming the aspect once more of a short, homely girl with a drunk-off-her-hindside grin on her face.
"Evidently not," Hawkeye commented, his eyebrows pushing up into his fetching bangs. Radar sat with his mouth falling open a while, as Hawkeye quickly changed the subject.
"So, and those other two, they're both--"
Meg shook her head, "Nope. They're what'cha call a Mixed Marriage. She's a, a Tor-- Tor--"
"A Toreador, yeah, the bullfighters."
"Ole!" cried the Gangrel, snorting with laughter.
"And he's a-- he's a Malkavian." She made a sour face.
Hawkeye put his feet back on the ground and leaned forward, interested in investigating this gesture.
"A Malkavian? You never mentioned those before."
"Oh, well, yah," she dipped Sparky a bit, who blushed horridly, and whispered shakily, "We don't like to TALK about them, much. They're NUTS."
"Nuts? As in Bananas, Crackers and--"
"Nuts!" Meg cried, "Bonkers, suh, I swear, every man jack of them! You take a person, normal as the night is long, and you put 'em in with a Malk for a while and they're all crazier than-- something really, really crazy-- " she trailed off, putting a hand on her forehead, "Uugghhhhh. I think I have to go get rid of this stuff, now, 'scuse me. Where'd-- where'd everybody go?" She stared around at the nearly empty room.
Hawkeye stood up, "We're all going to the movie. It'll be over in the mess tent. See you there?" He headed off toward the door, Radar hopping up and following behind, though watching the Gangrel a bit distractedly.
"Yah, sure, just, uh, oh, I'll find'ja." She slurred, "Sparky, can you help me find the bathroom?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sparky painedly answered, leading her out of the Officer's Club.
All was quiet in the Officer's Club when the announcement came over the P.A. system. All those who were left were the few that had completely passed out for the night.
Or so the last to leave had thought. Now one head lifted off of its table, deceptively aware, and smiling like a man looking over a winning lottery ticket he found on the sidewalk.
"Malks, huh?" Klinger grinned, "I can smell Toledo already!"
~