Joles turned back to Henry half-threateningly. "Did you," he pointed for
emphasis, "tell HIM," he pointed again, now to Hawkeye, "About our species?
Jesus Christ! We just WENT OVER THIS!"
Joles looked close to hyperventilation, his face suddenly quite ruddy as he panted and grabbed his chest. Irene ran to him and murmured quiet things next to his face, and he looked calmer.
Henry spoke up, stammering, "No! I mean, no! I-- I hardly remember them, myself..."
"And we never went over them in detail," Irene reminded her husband, "It must have been..."
Sparky tried to disappear into a corner.
"Meg." Joles gritted his teeth in despair. He looked up, his eyes slightly bloodshot. "Did Meg tell you I was crazy? Tell me the truth."
"Yes," Hawkeye replied, without even thinking about it. He stepped back after he spoke, wondering where the reply had come from.
"Thought so," Joles shook his head.
"Accursed Gangrel will be the ruin of me, one day. Did I warn the Prince that her species was not, under ANY circumstances, to be trusted with a position of responsibility within the Camarilla? Yes, I said so, didn't I? I'm not just imagining that after the fact, am I, Irene?"
She shook her head assiduously.
"No, of course not. It was a bad idea. And I daresay we wouldn't be having half the trouble we are now if we'd taken the candidate that the Brujah had sent. At the very least the Sheriff might have come with me, instead, and we might have let the Gangrel have her woodland hunt of Hilson instead of sending her out here to do the work of a real Kindred."
Irene simply nodded, evidently used to his rants of this kind.
The M*A*S*H staff... well, they weren't quite sure what to say.
It was alright. Joles was doing enough talking for the rest of them. "And what does she do, the first second we're out in the field? Turns herself into a... a winecask and starts telling tales to the mortals! And then..." he looked around frantically, "And then she goes and disappears! Where on earth did she get to, anyway? Probably off talking to a goat or something..." He visibly shivered. "Filthy."
"MEG!" he bellowed, as he burst into motion and headed out into the compound, "GET OVER HERE!"
He breathed raggedly with the force he'd used to bellow, and one by one, beginning with his wife, and then his ghoul, and ended by the hesitant young Brujah, came out to join him.
Besides the rough rasping of air along bloody vocal chords, the only reply that came was the rumbling of truck wheels.
This was enough to put Joly off his guard. He lifted his hand to shield his face from the headlights of the approaching vehicle, staring at it as if it were a figment of his imagination until it honked at him and he jumped out of its way. It pulled fully into the compound and the driver hopped out, gripping a wounded shoulder.
To everybody's delight, none of the vampires went after the blood pouring out of the young man's wound.
"Hawk? Hawk?" the young fellow said, "We got lost on the way back to our unit. Fell into some sniper fire. We're hurt, bad. Thank gawd I remembered the way back."
Hawkeye helped the young man sit down to wait for triage to begin, "Thank goodness for that." He mumbled, as the customary PA announcement began to blare over the loudspeaker.
He stood and turned to the Seneschal, who stood muttering to himself next to his bride. "Well, for a nonexistent camp, we're pretty popular, huh, Colonel?" he quipped as the compound began to buzz to life.
"You'd better scrub. You ARE a doctor, right?"
Joly stepped forward, nodding in a dignified yet humble manner, "Well, yes. I might need you to go over a thing or two, for me, though."
Hawkeye and B.J. looked up questioningly as they headed toward the scrub room.
Joles nodded to Irene and followed after them, "I haven't, well, technically performed any surgery since 1837."
~
Joles looked close to hyperventilation, his face suddenly quite ruddy as he panted and grabbed his chest. Irene ran to him and murmured quiet things next to his face, and he looked calmer.
Henry spoke up, stammering, "No! I mean, no! I-- I hardly remember them, myself..."
"And we never went over them in detail," Irene reminded her husband, "It must have been..."
Sparky tried to disappear into a corner.
"Meg." Joles gritted his teeth in despair. He looked up, his eyes slightly bloodshot. "Did Meg tell you I was crazy? Tell me the truth."
"Yes," Hawkeye replied, without even thinking about it. He stepped back after he spoke, wondering where the reply had come from.
"Thought so," Joles shook his head.
"Accursed Gangrel will be the ruin of me, one day. Did I warn the Prince that her species was not, under ANY circumstances, to be trusted with a position of responsibility within the Camarilla? Yes, I said so, didn't I? I'm not just imagining that after the fact, am I, Irene?"
She shook her head assiduously.
"No, of course not. It was a bad idea. And I daresay we wouldn't be having half the trouble we are now if we'd taken the candidate that the Brujah had sent. At the very least the Sheriff might have come with me, instead, and we might have let the Gangrel have her woodland hunt of Hilson instead of sending her out here to do the work of a real Kindred."
Irene simply nodded, evidently used to his rants of this kind.
The M*A*S*H staff... well, they weren't quite sure what to say.
It was alright. Joles was doing enough talking for the rest of them. "And what does she do, the first second we're out in the field? Turns herself into a... a winecask and starts telling tales to the mortals! And then..." he looked around frantically, "And then she goes and disappears! Where on earth did she get to, anyway? Probably off talking to a goat or something..." He visibly shivered. "Filthy."
"MEG!" he bellowed, as he burst into motion and headed out into the compound, "GET OVER HERE!"
He breathed raggedly with the force he'd used to bellow, and one by one, beginning with his wife, and then his ghoul, and ended by the hesitant young Brujah, came out to join him.
Besides the rough rasping of air along bloody vocal chords, the only reply that came was the rumbling of truck wheels.
This was enough to put Joly off his guard. He lifted his hand to shield his face from the headlights of the approaching vehicle, staring at it as if it were a figment of his imagination until it honked at him and he jumped out of its way. It pulled fully into the compound and the driver hopped out, gripping a wounded shoulder.
To everybody's delight, none of the vampires went after the blood pouring out of the young man's wound.
"Hawk? Hawk?" the young fellow said, "We got lost on the way back to our unit. Fell into some sniper fire. We're hurt, bad. Thank gawd I remembered the way back."
Hawkeye helped the young man sit down to wait for triage to begin, "Thank goodness for that." He mumbled, as the customary PA announcement began to blare over the loudspeaker.
He stood and turned to the Seneschal, who stood muttering to himself next to his bride. "Well, for a nonexistent camp, we're pretty popular, huh, Colonel?" he quipped as the compound began to buzz to life.
"You'd better scrub. You ARE a doctor, right?"
Joly stepped forward, nodding in a dignified yet humble manner, "Well, yes. I might need you to go over a thing or two, for me, though."
Hawkeye and B.J. looked up questioningly as they headed toward the scrub room.
Joles nodded to Irene and followed after them, "I haven't, well, technically performed any surgery since 1837."
~