Radar only noted the odd pacing of his longtime partner in crime; urged on
by his moment of foreboding, he quietly opened the door and stepped out
into the dazzling dark emerald glow of the compound.
He gaped and stood awed at the side of the compound. He couldn't see any trace of what had happened there, but he could feel that something had happened. Something-- wonderful. For good or bad, he couldn't tell, but it was glorious, whatever it was. He snatched his hat off in respect of it.
It was like a hint of frankincense left around the edges of the night, a sip of water that tastes exactly like water except for the fact that you know it's holy.
"What's all this?" he questioned his taciturn companion as he sniffed out traces of the excitement in the atmosphere.
"Something happened here," he affirmed, as he wasn't getting anything out of Bantelhopp.
As if in reply, the wind wailed and ruffled whoever's underwear the flagpole was sporting that night. "What music they make," Radar repeated from the film, and looked down as he felt something tickle at his ankle.
A thin veil of light silty dust seemed to move plaintively in the wind, then settle to the earth again, barely distinguishable from the regular camp dirt.
From the emerald gloom there stepped a dusky figure of a man of God whose equal-armed Chaplain's cross shone briefly and racked the Pooka with a shiver. Even before Radar could see Father Mulcahy's face, he felt that discerning, disapproving stare, he heard a hesitation in the man's step, and he knew that a decision was being made.
The Father was startled to come across Radar in the compound, himself. For an instant, the beastly, ram-like features of the Pooka and the uniformity of army attire made him believe that there once more stood before him the beast he'd slain moments before. Thus his hesitation, before the familiar green limb of the dragon creature come warily into view, and the creature spoke, its face flickering back into the familiar visage of the company clerk.
"Hey, Father," Radar spoke, a timid smile sprouting to try to paint a picture of confidence and certainty over the situation as he jammed his hands 'casually' into his pockets. "You're missing a real good flick in there. I'd still be watching it but it was all crowded and the machine was heating up the tent so I figured--" he looked down as all his prattling was getting him was a shame-inducing silent stare from the priest, and he dug a toe awkwardly into the oddly dusty earth, "So I figured I'd just-- come out and get some cold air, while, you know, it's still warm enough to feel it." He blushed, made acutely aware of his childish manner of speech by the Hunter's presence.
"I see." Father Mulcahy replied lightly. "Radar, I would highly suggest that in the future you keep yourself at a distance from our... guests. They'll only be a bad influence on you."
"Why, Father? I mean, I haven't really talked to any of them, yet, but... they seem nice enough."
"They seem so, don't they? Don't let them make a fool of you, Radar. They have... masks... masks that they wear, masks of kindness and goodness and decency to put all around them at total ease. But when those masks are removed, there's nothing good, nothing human underneath. They foster peace as a cover to hide the fact that they are creatures of violence and death. But that's all they are, and all they ever will be."
'And you, too, Radar,' Mulcahy continued silently, inwardly apostrophizing to an audience of himself, his God, and whatever beings might be acting as messengers between the two. 'Poor wretched child. You're still alive, there, and you can still control what wants to reign within you, but how long will it last? How long can I help you hold it back? The war won't last forever, then it'll be back to Iowa with you, where I might never see you again, where you'll life and learn to listen to the monster that whispers in your ear. And who will be there to protect you? Who?'
"Good night, Radar," Mulcahy concluded, "Enjoy the movie."
He turned and left in the direction of his tent, leaving Radar fretting equally over the priest's words and over what was left unsaid.
~
He gaped and stood awed at the side of the compound. He couldn't see any trace of what had happened there, but he could feel that something had happened. Something-- wonderful. For good or bad, he couldn't tell, but it was glorious, whatever it was. He snatched his hat off in respect of it.
It was like a hint of frankincense left around the edges of the night, a sip of water that tastes exactly like water except for the fact that you know it's holy.
"What's all this?" he questioned his taciturn companion as he sniffed out traces of the excitement in the atmosphere.
"Something happened here," he affirmed, as he wasn't getting anything out of Bantelhopp.
As if in reply, the wind wailed and ruffled whoever's underwear the flagpole was sporting that night. "What music they make," Radar repeated from the film, and looked down as he felt something tickle at his ankle.
A thin veil of light silty dust seemed to move plaintively in the wind, then settle to the earth again, barely distinguishable from the regular camp dirt.
From the emerald gloom there stepped a dusky figure of a man of God whose equal-armed Chaplain's cross shone briefly and racked the Pooka with a shiver. Even before Radar could see Father Mulcahy's face, he felt that discerning, disapproving stare, he heard a hesitation in the man's step, and he knew that a decision was being made.
The Father was startled to come across Radar in the compound, himself. For an instant, the beastly, ram-like features of the Pooka and the uniformity of army attire made him believe that there once more stood before him the beast he'd slain moments before. Thus his hesitation, before the familiar green limb of the dragon creature come warily into view, and the creature spoke, its face flickering back into the familiar visage of the company clerk.
"Hey, Father," Radar spoke, a timid smile sprouting to try to paint a picture of confidence and certainty over the situation as he jammed his hands 'casually' into his pockets. "You're missing a real good flick in there. I'd still be watching it but it was all crowded and the machine was heating up the tent so I figured--" he looked down as all his prattling was getting him was a shame-inducing silent stare from the priest, and he dug a toe awkwardly into the oddly dusty earth, "So I figured I'd just-- come out and get some cold air, while, you know, it's still warm enough to feel it." He blushed, made acutely aware of his childish manner of speech by the Hunter's presence.
"I see." Father Mulcahy replied lightly. "Radar, I would highly suggest that in the future you keep yourself at a distance from our... guests. They'll only be a bad influence on you."
"Why, Father? I mean, I haven't really talked to any of them, yet, but... they seem nice enough."
"They seem so, don't they? Don't let them make a fool of you, Radar. They have... masks... masks that they wear, masks of kindness and goodness and decency to put all around them at total ease. But when those masks are removed, there's nothing good, nothing human underneath. They foster peace as a cover to hide the fact that they are creatures of violence and death. But that's all they are, and all they ever will be."
'And you, too, Radar,' Mulcahy continued silently, inwardly apostrophizing to an audience of himself, his God, and whatever beings might be acting as messengers between the two. 'Poor wretched child. You're still alive, there, and you can still control what wants to reign within you, but how long will it last? How long can I help you hold it back? The war won't last forever, then it'll be back to Iowa with you, where I might never see you again, where you'll life and learn to listen to the monster that whispers in your ear. And who will be there to protect you? Who?'
"Good night, Radar," Mulcahy concluded, "Enjoy the movie."
He turned and left in the direction of his tent, leaving Radar fretting equally over the priest's words and over what was left unsaid.
~