"Hey! Hey you! Under there!"
Rizzo grunted vaguely as he awoke from his alcohol-induced stupor under the jeep that was slowly drizzling oil down his cheek. Besides this tickle, the other sensations that slowly crept into his mind were those of a toe of a shoe being roughly dug into the side of his leg, and that of the harshly whispered words being tossed down at him from above the jeep.
"Hey you, wake up!"
The shoe toe came harder this time, and Rizzo grunted again as he pulled himself, slightly blackfaced, out from under the "vee-hickle."
"Look, sorry to bother you, but have you seen a-- a--" Aparky wildly gesticulated the approximate size of the briefcase, "with a-- a--" he gripped the air as if grabbing the lost item's handle, "And some--" he lifted up a hand with fingers poised about three inches apart to indicate the size of the needles inside.
Rizzo squeezed his eyes shut, and then peered back up at the overly nervous ghoul.
Sparky grew more agitated still. "Cauuse I was--" he pantomimed throwing a football, "And then I musta--" he spread his arms wide and looked around the motor pool, which had served as one of the endzones for the game, "Cause I can't--" at this point, he looked about ready to cry.
Rizzo slowly shook his head. "Sorruh, son," came the burbling reply from his parched throat. "I ain't seen nothin' like this, with a, and some."
Rizzo turned his head aside as the distressed demi-Malk groaned and hurried off elsewhere to look. As he patted around in his pockets for his half- smoked cigar from last night, he chuckled. "Not to say I seen much of ANYTHING but 'de insides o' my eyelids today!"
Situating the grungy cigar in its usual corner of his mouth, he used the side of the jeep to pull himself to a standing position and took a few seconds to blearily wipe the sand off of his backside before beginning to direct his wobbling steps back towards the O club. Some events in this life are even more predictable than the nightly rising of the kindred.
But Rizzo could not have possibly expected his path to his nightly drunken revelry to be cut off short by the arrival of the camp chaplain, on horseback, with a white bundle draped over the back of the creature.
Father Mulcahy deftly jumped down from the horse's back, and, seeing that Rizzo was the only person there, walked a few more steps with the horse, shouting, "Someone, a litter, please!" with some urgency.
Rizzo stepped back and squinted at the surreal scene as a blur of green- clad men surrounded the rear of the placid horse, gently took its load, and put it on a guerney. In the night the voices of the other men all ran together as they murmured among themselves, but the high voice of the priest stood out among the noises with a certain surety of speech found in most men of the cloth.
"No, he's just been cut, we won't need to bother one of the surgeons."
"Yes, he'll need some blood, we ran into more of-- well, it's been a long trip back, we lost our Jeep."
"Where are the doctors, anyway?"
"Oh," here his voice rose with a certain indignance. "Oh, I /see/."
The corpsmen scurried back off with Klinger in tow towards the operating theater. Mulcahy removed his glasses for a moment, and Rizzo could see his eyes full of righteous anger.
Replacing his glasses on his face, he grabbed the horse's chin, perhaps a bit more roughly than was warranted, for the creature snorted in objection as it followed along, and approached Rizzo. "Park this somewhere, will you?" he requested offhandly, then turned to storm toward the diagnostic ward. "Playing poker at a time like this!"
~
Rizzo grunted vaguely as he awoke from his alcohol-induced stupor under the jeep that was slowly drizzling oil down his cheek. Besides this tickle, the other sensations that slowly crept into his mind were those of a toe of a shoe being roughly dug into the side of his leg, and that of the harshly whispered words being tossed down at him from above the jeep.
"Hey you, wake up!"
The shoe toe came harder this time, and Rizzo grunted again as he pulled himself, slightly blackfaced, out from under the "vee-hickle."
"Look, sorry to bother you, but have you seen a-- a--" Aparky wildly gesticulated the approximate size of the briefcase, "with a-- a--" he gripped the air as if grabbing the lost item's handle, "And some--" he lifted up a hand with fingers poised about three inches apart to indicate the size of the needles inside.
Rizzo squeezed his eyes shut, and then peered back up at the overly nervous ghoul.
Sparky grew more agitated still. "Cauuse I was--" he pantomimed throwing a football, "And then I musta--" he spread his arms wide and looked around the motor pool, which had served as one of the endzones for the game, "Cause I can't--" at this point, he looked about ready to cry.
Rizzo slowly shook his head. "Sorruh, son," came the burbling reply from his parched throat. "I ain't seen nothin' like this, with a, and some."
Rizzo turned his head aside as the distressed demi-Malk groaned and hurried off elsewhere to look. As he patted around in his pockets for his half- smoked cigar from last night, he chuckled. "Not to say I seen much of ANYTHING but 'de insides o' my eyelids today!"
Situating the grungy cigar in its usual corner of his mouth, he used the side of the jeep to pull himself to a standing position and took a few seconds to blearily wipe the sand off of his backside before beginning to direct his wobbling steps back towards the O club. Some events in this life are even more predictable than the nightly rising of the kindred.
But Rizzo could not have possibly expected his path to his nightly drunken revelry to be cut off short by the arrival of the camp chaplain, on horseback, with a white bundle draped over the back of the creature.
Father Mulcahy deftly jumped down from the horse's back, and, seeing that Rizzo was the only person there, walked a few more steps with the horse, shouting, "Someone, a litter, please!" with some urgency.
Rizzo stepped back and squinted at the surreal scene as a blur of green- clad men surrounded the rear of the placid horse, gently took its load, and put it on a guerney. In the night the voices of the other men all ran together as they murmured among themselves, but the high voice of the priest stood out among the noises with a certain surety of speech found in most men of the cloth.
"No, he's just been cut, we won't need to bother one of the surgeons."
"Yes, he'll need some blood, we ran into more of-- well, it's been a long trip back, we lost our Jeep."
"Where are the doctors, anyway?"
"Oh," here his voice rose with a certain indignance. "Oh, I /see/."
The corpsmen scurried back off with Klinger in tow towards the operating theater. Mulcahy removed his glasses for a moment, and Rizzo could see his eyes full of righteous anger.
Replacing his glasses on his face, he grabbed the horse's chin, perhaps a bit more roughly than was warranted, for the creature snorted in objection as it followed along, and approached Rizzo. "Park this somewhere, will you?" he requested offhandly, then turned to storm toward the diagnostic ward. "Playing poker at a time like this!"
~