Mulcahy woke up with a snorting echoing in his ears, and his vision
unblurred to reveal a night sky positively shining with stars that cast a
faint light over the countryside. The planets blazed, Venus brightest of
all, outshining even the moon, who was a tiny scrap of a sliver in the
heavens.
The beauty of the night only impressed itself upon the prone priest for an instant. Then he shivered, the memories of earlier peeking up into his conscious mind. It must have been hours at that point since he'd taken the fall from the jeep. Klinger could be almost anywhere in Korea, raving like a lunatic at the locals or perhaps fallen somewhere himself, hurt, hit by a sniper, stepped on a land mine; anything might have happened, by now.
Suddenly the sky in front of him was eclipsed by a roving warm brown muzzle, and a warm tongue ran over his face. He wondered if he wasn't dreaming again, and listened hastily for a bleating of lambs. He heard nothing, and was relieved.
Calmly lifting his hand to the horse's chin, he moved its face and sat up, aching slightly but not much the worse for wear.
Father Mulcahy had to take a moment to stroke the long nose of the animal, the white stripe that ran down its brown nose separating two of the most sweet and expressive eyes Mulcahy had ever seen on an animal. He had stood up before he noticed the woman who was sitting on the horse's bare back.
"Oh..." Mulcahy exclaimed lightly, reaching up a hand to straighten his glasses. "Good evening."
The woman, he noted, was no peasant, dressed in silks of reds and greens, her face not hardened and cracked by the sun, but pale and smooth and-- pale.
She slowly and deliberately began to pronounce Korean words upon him. His mouth gaped open. He didn't understand what she was saying, but he knew. He knew she was one of them... kind of.
"You are... Doctor? Four Oh Seven Seven... M*A*S*H?" A man in less expensive-looking clothing bowed as he questioned the Father, and he, seeming to know that this was just a translator, after being startled by his initial appearance, turned back to the woman, straightening his shoulders in a brave display which seemed to make her smile.
"No. I'm a priest. But I do come from that unit. I suppose you're looking for the rest of your party." He accused, raising his voice in the slightest of degrees.
The peasant spoke in Korean, and the woman replied in such low tones that Mulcahy could hardly make them out.
"Wise man, priest," the man translated roughly, "There are ones like us, at M*A*S*H?"
The female was watching him carefully. Even the horse seemed to lift its ears in expectation of an answer. Mulcahy was put on guard by the question. "What, does the Camarilla even keep secrets from its own members? Yes, your Seneschal is there, and his... companion... and Colonel Blake. Your Scourge, sad to say, is no longer with us." The presence of this new vampire steeled his resolve, and his voice didn't waver in the insinuation of the Gangrel's death.
For the first time, the woman took her eyes off of Mulcahy and was thoroughly attentive to her translator's words. Then, having heard, she began to speak again, and she squeezed her legs gently on the gentle mare's sides, the horse responding well to the command, walking backward and to one side to uncover a white-clad body prone on the ground, a stain of darkening blood having crept over a patch of the unmistakable wedding gown.
"Did those ones do this?" the man asked as Mulcahy recoiled at the sight.
He glowered up at the woman, once he had regained his wits, which only took a moment. "No! But I'm betting I know who did."
The woman remained placid, though the horse looked a little shaken from his outburst. She spoke and it was duly translated:
"Not the outward harm. That he did, to himself, very willing. The inward harm, the harm in his mind."
Mulcahy watched the implacable woman, unnerved by her steadiness, "He did that to himself? I don't believe you. I know what you are."
Having heard it from her translator, she lifted a hand in a yielding fashion, and Mulcahy was told, "It is old custom here that, asking a drink of a person, you should not pour for yourself, but let them pour for you. You are to be told he will survive the wounds in his arms, but not those in his mind. Tell us who damaged him there."
The chaplain shivered at both the grisly explanation and the prediction for Max's future. He finally responded, "Your seneschal."
The vampire deftly dismounted the horse, and Father Mulcahy stepped back, running into the translator as he did so.
"Do not fear," the man uttered in comforting tones. "Your jeep is not working. You cannot bear your friend back to your M*A*S*H on foot. Take the horse. Care for him."
Mulcahy felt awkward on the receiving end of a kind gesture from a bloodsucking monster, but he forced himself to utter a short thank you. He squinted his eyes and leaned forward a bit as the woman and the translator lifted Klinger's body onto the horse.
"Are you going to be coming with us?"
The man and woman conferred for a while before the translator stepped back around the brown horse and answered, "No. There will be time, later, for us to meet your Camarilla. For now, you will say nothing to them of this."
He walked over and led the horse to the confused Father, lifting his hand to stroke the soft underside of her chin. "She will follow you. She's a good beast. You may keep her."
~
The beauty of the night only impressed itself upon the prone priest for an instant. Then he shivered, the memories of earlier peeking up into his conscious mind. It must have been hours at that point since he'd taken the fall from the jeep. Klinger could be almost anywhere in Korea, raving like a lunatic at the locals or perhaps fallen somewhere himself, hurt, hit by a sniper, stepped on a land mine; anything might have happened, by now.
Suddenly the sky in front of him was eclipsed by a roving warm brown muzzle, and a warm tongue ran over his face. He wondered if he wasn't dreaming again, and listened hastily for a bleating of lambs. He heard nothing, and was relieved.
Calmly lifting his hand to the horse's chin, he moved its face and sat up, aching slightly but not much the worse for wear.
Father Mulcahy had to take a moment to stroke the long nose of the animal, the white stripe that ran down its brown nose separating two of the most sweet and expressive eyes Mulcahy had ever seen on an animal. He had stood up before he noticed the woman who was sitting on the horse's bare back.
"Oh..." Mulcahy exclaimed lightly, reaching up a hand to straighten his glasses. "Good evening."
The woman, he noted, was no peasant, dressed in silks of reds and greens, her face not hardened and cracked by the sun, but pale and smooth and-- pale.
She slowly and deliberately began to pronounce Korean words upon him. His mouth gaped open. He didn't understand what she was saying, but he knew. He knew she was one of them... kind of.
"You are... Doctor? Four Oh Seven Seven... M*A*S*H?" A man in less expensive-looking clothing bowed as he questioned the Father, and he, seeming to know that this was just a translator, after being startled by his initial appearance, turned back to the woman, straightening his shoulders in a brave display which seemed to make her smile.
"No. I'm a priest. But I do come from that unit. I suppose you're looking for the rest of your party." He accused, raising his voice in the slightest of degrees.
The peasant spoke in Korean, and the woman replied in such low tones that Mulcahy could hardly make them out.
"Wise man, priest," the man translated roughly, "There are ones like us, at M*A*S*H?"
The female was watching him carefully. Even the horse seemed to lift its ears in expectation of an answer. Mulcahy was put on guard by the question. "What, does the Camarilla even keep secrets from its own members? Yes, your Seneschal is there, and his... companion... and Colonel Blake. Your Scourge, sad to say, is no longer with us." The presence of this new vampire steeled his resolve, and his voice didn't waver in the insinuation of the Gangrel's death.
For the first time, the woman took her eyes off of Mulcahy and was thoroughly attentive to her translator's words. Then, having heard, she began to speak again, and she squeezed her legs gently on the gentle mare's sides, the horse responding well to the command, walking backward and to one side to uncover a white-clad body prone on the ground, a stain of darkening blood having crept over a patch of the unmistakable wedding gown.
"Did those ones do this?" the man asked as Mulcahy recoiled at the sight.
He glowered up at the woman, once he had regained his wits, which only took a moment. "No! But I'm betting I know who did."
The woman remained placid, though the horse looked a little shaken from his outburst. She spoke and it was duly translated:
"Not the outward harm. That he did, to himself, very willing. The inward harm, the harm in his mind."
Mulcahy watched the implacable woman, unnerved by her steadiness, "He did that to himself? I don't believe you. I know what you are."
Having heard it from her translator, she lifted a hand in a yielding fashion, and Mulcahy was told, "It is old custom here that, asking a drink of a person, you should not pour for yourself, but let them pour for you. You are to be told he will survive the wounds in his arms, but not those in his mind. Tell us who damaged him there."
The chaplain shivered at both the grisly explanation and the prediction for Max's future. He finally responded, "Your seneschal."
The vampire deftly dismounted the horse, and Father Mulcahy stepped back, running into the translator as he did so.
"Do not fear," the man uttered in comforting tones. "Your jeep is not working. You cannot bear your friend back to your M*A*S*H on foot. Take the horse. Care for him."
Mulcahy felt awkward on the receiving end of a kind gesture from a bloodsucking monster, but he forced himself to utter a short thank you. He squinted his eyes and leaned forward a bit as the woman and the translator lifted Klinger's body onto the horse.
"Are you going to be coming with us?"
The man and woman conferred for a while before the translator stepped back around the brown horse and answered, "No. There will be time, later, for us to meet your Camarilla. For now, you will say nothing to them of this."
He walked over and led the horse to the confused Father, lifting his hand to stroke the soft underside of her chin. "She will follow you. She's a good beast. You may keep her."
~