"Great Grandma Moses!" Colonel Potter's voice boomed over the O.R. as he
stopped behind the Malkavian to check up on his work, "I can only wish I'll
have that kind of skill when I'm over a century out of practice."
Joles held his hand out to the nurse, who already had the instrument he'd wanted out and ready. "It's a simple matter of familiarity with the workings of the human body. Once you know all the patterns, all the systems... everything else..." he pulled up on a stitch, the first of an incredibly neat and uniform set of stitches, "Falls into place."
He'd had some trouble, at first, with the names of the instruments, and which would be proper to use at any given time, and Hawkeye and B.J. had found obvious amusement in watching the Seneschal get flustered as he tried to explain what it was that he wanted.
After a few minutes of snickers, Joles, not to be laughed at, had simply reached into the nurse's quite malleable Kine mind and had plucked the words directly from her. In time, as she grew used to his presence in her brain, he simply picked the correct images and showed them to her mentally, bending her into a vague extension of himself that needed no verbal instruction.
He did his best to use a sort of prophylactic layer, carefully inserting his will into just those portions of her mind he needed, but the silly creature, finding her work much simpler now than she ever had as her body was more or less under the Malkavian's control, felt free to let her mind wander, and random thoughts came rushing up now and again to poke at Joly's consciousness.
"Hey, you, there." Joles softly uttered, his eyes meeting hers briefly, "Mind on the task, please? As much as I realize that you find Hawkeye Pierce's nocturnal behavior patterns to be absolutely fascinating, I have no need to have those pestiferous images running rampant through my veins."
"Ah- uh--" she stammered, looking around in embarrassment.
"Nevermind the apologies, just be silent and let me work. And, Colonel," his voice now turning polite, "I'd appreciate it if you hovered a little less closely over the operation. The air's taint is growing too concentrated here." He looked from side to side as if inspecting the air. "Yes, yes, too thick here, please, two steps back, and stop sweating, if you can." He went and continued the operation, and Potter obligingly went back to where another patient was being prepped for him.
Across an aisle, Potter caught Pierce's eye, who silently shrugged and twirled a bloody gloved finger about his temple.
With two kindred on staff, the O.R. session was completed in record time: just over two hours. Nevertheless, this brought the hour up to somewhere around 4:30 in the morning, and Joles, after thoroughly washing his hands 4 or 5 times in succession, suggested that they all go to sleep and discuss matters the next evening.
So it was arranged for Sparky to crash in the swamp, and an extra pair of coffins was dragged into the VIP tent for the visitors.
Several members of the camp walked along beside the vampires as they headed back to their tent.
"I have to admit, I was a little impressed." Hawkeye smirked, "Though I don't suppose there are many vampires around who'd get queasy at the sight of blood."
Joles shook his head, laughing, "No, nor at a good many other things, besides."
"I can imagine," Hawkeye commented dourly, "With all those... hm... Nosferatu? Around... those were the ugly ones, right?"
Joles lifted an eyebrow toward Hawkeye. "I hope you don't mind if I borrow some of your surgical equipment tomorrow with which I may suture shut my Scourge's mouth. Where DID that girl run off to, anyhow?" He looked around disdainfully.
"Need anything else, before you go to sleep, sir?" Sparky wedged through the crowd to his regnant's side, gripping the suitcase significantly.
"No, Sparky, I'm quite well, now. You're dismissed," he waved a hand lightly, and the ghoul was gone almost before he finished speaking.
The other four arrived at the door of the VIP tent, the wind blowing unusually cold around them and causing the olive green walls to flutter.
"Say, speaking of Meg, won't she need a place to stay, tonight?"
Joles held open the door for Irene as she stepped inside. "What? Meg didn't tell you about the Gangrel affinity for finding their own places to sleep? I'm positively aghast."
Joles' chuckle was cut short by a squeal of mock-terror verging on utter glee from Irene, within the tent. Within a second she came shuffling out of the tent with her eyes scrunched up in laughter, and she bent double with her hands over her face. "Oh, Joly, darling, go inside, you HAVE to see."
Joles took his wife's hand with a cautious but jovial, "Oh, dear," obviously not concerned, as Irene seemed to find the room so amusing, but feigning consternation nonetheless.
He stepped into the room and adjusted his eyes to the darkness. He laughed loudly himself to see the garlands of garlic and the crucifix decorations which had been etched in or attached to nearly every surface in the tent. He turned and poked his head back out the door as he reached to turn on the light.
"Henry Blake," he chuckled, "What kind of idiots do you keep around this place?"
Henry craned his neck and peered in the room. His eyes rolled in frustration, and he muttered, "Frank..."
"Hm?" the Seneschal queried.
"Oh, nothing, sir, just your standard army-issue idiot."
~
Joles held his hand out to the nurse, who already had the instrument he'd wanted out and ready. "It's a simple matter of familiarity with the workings of the human body. Once you know all the patterns, all the systems... everything else..." he pulled up on a stitch, the first of an incredibly neat and uniform set of stitches, "Falls into place."
He'd had some trouble, at first, with the names of the instruments, and which would be proper to use at any given time, and Hawkeye and B.J. had found obvious amusement in watching the Seneschal get flustered as he tried to explain what it was that he wanted.
After a few minutes of snickers, Joles, not to be laughed at, had simply reached into the nurse's quite malleable Kine mind and had plucked the words directly from her. In time, as she grew used to his presence in her brain, he simply picked the correct images and showed them to her mentally, bending her into a vague extension of himself that needed no verbal instruction.
He did his best to use a sort of prophylactic layer, carefully inserting his will into just those portions of her mind he needed, but the silly creature, finding her work much simpler now than she ever had as her body was more or less under the Malkavian's control, felt free to let her mind wander, and random thoughts came rushing up now and again to poke at Joly's consciousness.
"Hey, you, there." Joles softly uttered, his eyes meeting hers briefly, "Mind on the task, please? As much as I realize that you find Hawkeye Pierce's nocturnal behavior patterns to be absolutely fascinating, I have no need to have those pestiferous images running rampant through my veins."
"Ah- uh--" she stammered, looking around in embarrassment.
"Nevermind the apologies, just be silent and let me work. And, Colonel," his voice now turning polite, "I'd appreciate it if you hovered a little less closely over the operation. The air's taint is growing too concentrated here." He looked from side to side as if inspecting the air. "Yes, yes, too thick here, please, two steps back, and stop sweating, if you can." He went and continued the operation, and Potter obligingly went back to where another patient was being prepped for him.
Across an aisle, Potter caught Pierce's eye, who silently shrugged and twirled a bloody gloved finger about his temple.
With two kindred on staff, the O.R. session was completed in record time: just over two hours. Nevertheless, this brought the hour up to somewhere around 4:30 in the morning, and Joles, after thoroughly washing his hands 4 or 5 times in succession, suggested that they all go to sleep and discuss matters the next evening.
So it was arranged for Sparky to crash in the swamp, and an extra pair of coffins was dragged into the VIP tent for the visitors.
Several members of the camp walked along beside the vampires as they headed back to their tent.
"I have to admit, I was a little impressed." Hawkeye smirked, "Though I don't suppose there are many vampires around who'd get queasy at the sight of blood."
Joles shook his head, laughing, "No, nor at a good many other things, besides."
"I can imagine," Hawkeye commented dourly, "With all those... hm... Nosferatu? Around... those were the ugly ones, right?"
Joles lifted an eyebrow toward Hawkeye. "I hope you don't mind if I borrow some of your surgical equipment tomorrow with which I may suture shut my Scourge's mouth. Where DID that girl run off to, anyhow?" He looked around disdainfully.
"Need anything else, before you go to sleep, sir?" Sparky wedged through the crowd to his regnant's side, gripping the suitcase significantly.
"No, Sparky, I'm quite well, now. You're dismissed," he waved a hand lightly, and the ghoul was gone almost before he finished speaking.
The other four arrived at the door of the VIP tent, the wind blowing unusually cold around them and causing the olive green walls to flutter.
"Say, speaking of Meg, won't she need a place to stay, tonight?"
Joles held open the door for Irene as she stepped inside. "What? Meg didn't tell you about the Gangrel affinity for finding their own places to sleep? I'm positively aghast."
Joles' chuckle was cut short by a squeal of mock-terror verging on utter glee from Irene, within the tent. Within a second she came shuffling out of the tent with her eyes scrunched up in laughter, and she bent double with her hands over her face. "Oh, Joly, darling, go inside, you HAVE to see."
Joles took his wife's hand with a cautious but jovial, "Oh, dear," obviously not concerned, as Irene seemed to find the room so amusing, but feigning consternation nonetheless.
He stepped into the room and adjusted his eyes to the darkness. He laughed loudly himself to see the garlands of garlic and the crucifix decorations which had been etched in or attached to nearly every surface in the tent. He turned and poked his head back out the door as he reached to turn on the light.
"Henry Blake," he chuckled, "What kind of idiots do you keep around this place?"
Henry craned his neck and peered in the room. His eyes rolled in frustration, and he muttered, "Frank..."
"Hm?" the Seneschal queried.
"Oh, nothing, sir, just your standard army-issue idiot."
~