Henry grumbled as he started clearing out the mess, finding himself
yielding slightly to tempting Brujah-esque thoughts of heading out to go
tear Frank's throat out before sunrise. The Beast in him was content.
Outside, the crowd of Kine dispersed and Joles and Irene stood outside the VIP tent door, out of the way of the armfuls of items that came flying out every once in a while, their arms around each other. They weren't too discontent, either, unlike a certain someone who was lurking nearby.
"Psst! Colonel!" a hushed, nasal voice hissed from the darkness to the side of the VIP tent.
Joly removed his fond cheek from Irene's silky hair and looked down at her, "Did you hear something, dearie?"
Irene nodded, "I think you're being called."
"Over here!" the voice added, rather unnecessarily, as both the kindred were perfectly capable of discerning the exact location of a fieldmouse giving birth on the other side of the mountain.
Joles sighed dramatically and loosed himself from his lady. He spun neatly around and directed his pace toward the voice, rather unconcerned. He spoke as he did so: "And what is the subject matter of a meeting which requires such quarantined conditions?"
"Kiss me, you fool!" Klinger yelled, spinging at the all unwary Seneschal, long white wedding train trailing in the camp muck, rustling dried bouquet clutched in a white-gloved hand.
"What the hell?!" Joles stumbled backward to try to get out of the corporal's way, but was caught up in the hairy Lebanese arms and smooched within an inch of his Unlife.
"Marry me!" Klinger cried, and Irene took a graceful step closer, leaning to peek around the corner and lifting a hand to her mouth to hide a chuckle at the hilarity of the situation.
Joles, gathering his wits, slipped out of the corpsman's grasp and, in an action resembling flight, retreated to Irene's side. "Look, young man, I don't know what you've heard about me, but you're awfully mistaken," he chided.
Klinger waved the bouquet in the manner of one shaking a finger, "Ohhh, no... There's no mistake. You're nuts! Well, look," he gestured down at his wedding dress, "So am I! We're two of a kind! You gotta get me out of this place!
Joles stared intently at Klinger, for a while, waiting until the man in the dress was obscured by swaths of steady color. Steady. Still and steady as the rock of Gibralter. It made Joles nearly sick with envy to look at Klinger's aura.
His face grew stony. "You, friend, if I may call you that without you getting the wrong idea, are most certainly NOT... 'nuts.'"
"Of course I am! Look at me!"
"I AM looking."
"What do I have to do to convince you I'm insane?"
Joles suppressed a low sound of deadly annoyance in his throat. "I'd SUGGEST that you go insane."
Klinger laughed. "I'd even do that to get out!"
Irene, concerned, tried to lift her hand to Joles' chest, tried to soothe his pained heart. "Darling, let's--"
Joles grabbed her hand, a little more roughly than he meant to, then adjusted his grip to a softer, more natural pose, as his turbulent spirit made its way into the inert mists of Klinger's perfectly sane aura. The soul, perfectly non-threatening in its simplicity, didn't even make Joles think twice about entering its confines.
"It is said," he spoke, "that part of sanity is desiring sanity. Why I, in whom this quality is abundant, am denied a gentle and non-reactive spirit like yours, while you, who aspire to destroy yourself, are allowed to walk through the world with madness rolling off of you like water off the back of a duck, I cannot fathom. If it is ever proved to me that insanity is derived simply from performing unusual actions without provocation, I will no longer consider myself a member of my species, but a perverse aberration of the universe, alone and disconsolate."
Joles reached out a mental hand and cajoled the kine's mind a bit, causing an appropriate drastic fear to run down through the corporal's marrow. "But I am not alone, and madness is a real force to be reckoned with. And you,"
Irene whimpered, "Joly, stop..."
"And you... Maxwell Q. Klinger..." Joles continued, nearly trembling with anger, ignoring his wife's pleas, "Who seek in sanity madnesses which you don't understand enough to have the common sense to fear, will find them. In... abundance!"
With these words, he took the mind he's held in his hand and twisted it violently. The colors of Klinger's aura fled in all directions like confused grains of pepper upon the surface of a glass of water, and instantly a whirling suffused it five times as rough and wild as that of the Seneschal himself.
Joles turned and gently led his wife away, meeting Henry in front of the tent.
"Hey, um, sorry for all that mess in there, Colonel." He looked around, "Something wrong out here?"
"Yes, well," Joles replied, smiling faintly, "Nothing /you/ can fix, Henry, let's just... let's all just go to sleep. We'll see how things are in the evening."
Henry looked around, and, seeing nothing, shrugged, and followed the other two kindred into the tent.
~
Outside, the crowd of Kine dispersed and Joles and Irene stood outside the VIP tent door, out of the way of the armfuls of items that came flying out every once in a while, their arms around each other. They weren't too discontent, either, unlike a certain someone who was lurking nearby.
"Psst! Colonel!" a hushed, nasal voice hissed from the darkness to the side of the VIP tent.
Joly removed his fond cheek from Irene's silky hair and looked down at her, "Did you hear something, dearie?"
Irene nodded, "I think you're being called."
"Over here!" the voice added, rather unnecessarily, as both the kindred were perfectly capable of discerning the exact location of a fieldmouse giving birth on the other side of the mountain.
Joles sighed dramatically and loosed himself from his lady. He spun neatly around and directed his pace toward the voice, rather unconcerned. He spoke as he did so: "And what is the subject matter of a meeting which requires such quarantined conditions?"
"Kiss me, you fool!" Klinger yelled, spinging at the all unwary Seneschal, long white wedding train trailing in the camp muck, rustling dried bouquet clutched in a white-gloved hand.
"What the hell?!" Joles stumbled backward to try to get out of the corporal's way, but was caught up in the hairy Lebanese arms and smooched within an inch of his Unlife.
"Marry me!" Klinger cried, and Irene took a graceful step closer, leaning to peek around the corner and lifting a hand to her mouth to hide a chuckle at the hilarity of the situation.
Joles, gathering his wits, slipped out of the corpsman's grasp and, in an action resembling flight, retreated to Irene's side. "Look, young man, I don't know what you've heard about me, but you're awfully mistaken," he chided.
Klinger waved the bouquet in the manner of one shaking a finger, "Ohhh, no... There's no mistake. You're nuts! Well, look," he gestured down at his wedding dress, "So am I! We're two of a kind! You gotta get me out of this place!
Joles stared intently at Klinger, for a while, waiting until the man in the dress was obscured by swaths of steady color. Steady. Still and steady as the rock of Gibralter. It made Joles nearly sick with envy to look at Klinger's aura.
His face grew stony. "You, friend, if I may call you that without you getting the wrong idea, are most certainly NOT... 'nuts.'"
"Of course I am! Look at me!"
"I AM looking."
"What do I have to do to convince you I'm insane?"
Joles suppressed a low sound of deadly annoyance in his throat. "I'd SUGGEST that you go insane."
Klinger laughed. "I'd even do that to get out!"
Irene, concerned, tried to lift her hand to Joles' chest, tried to soothe his pained heart. "Darling, let's--"
Joles grabbed her hand, a little more roughly than he meant to, then adjusted his grip to a softer, more natural pose, as his turbulent spirit made its way into the inert mists of Klinger's perfectly sane aura. The soul, perfectly non-threatening in its simplicity, didn't even make Joles think twice about entering its confines.
"It is said," he spoke, "that part of sanity is desiring sanity. Why I, in whom this quality is abundant, am denied a gentle and non-reactive spirit like yours, while you, who aspire to destroy yourself, are allowed to walk through the world with madness rolling off of you like water off the back of a duck, I cannot fathom. If it is ever proved to me that insanity is derived simply from performing unusual actions without provocation, I will no longer consider myself a member of my species, but a perverse aberration of the universe, alone and disconsolate."
Joles reached out a mental hand and cajoled the kine's mind a bit, causing an appropriate drastic fear to run down through the corporal's marrow. "But I am not alone, and madness is a real force to be reckoned with. And you,"
Irene whimpered, "Joly, stop..."
"And you... Maxwell Q. Klinger..." Joles continued, nearly trembling with anger, ignoring his wife's pleas, "Who seek in sanity madnesses which you don't understand enough to have the common sense to fear, will find them. In... abundance!"
With these words, he took the mind he's held in his hand and twisted it violently. The colors of Klinger's aura fled in all directions like confused grains of pepper upon the surface of a glass of water, and instantly a whirling suffused it five times as rough and wild as that of the Seneschal himself.
Joles turned and gently led his wife away, meeting Henry in front of the tent.
"Hey, um, sorry for all that mess in there, Colonel." He looked around, "Something wrong out here?"
"Yes, well," Joles replied, smiling faintly, "Nothing /you/ can fix, Henry, let's just... let's all just go to sleep. We'll see how things are in the evening."
Henry looked around, and, seeing nothing, shrugged, and followed the other two kindred into the tent.
~