Radar leaned up and peered through the smoggy windows separating the post-
op ward from the diog lab. Shrinking back, he turned his body to stand
over the counterspace he'd cleared off for his work, his neck still craned
around to listen for anyone about to walk in from the other room.
Poking his tongue out from a mischievous corner of his mouth, he picked at a scab on his wrist from yesternight's tumble in the cave. "I really gotta get back to that cave sometime," Radar mumbled to himself as he scooped up a little droplet of blood that welled up from the scab on the end of a tongue depressor, "I always liked stalagmites when I was a kid. They kind of reminded me of my mom's legs when she'd been sitting playing bridge too long with Mrs. Callahan and her two daughters. Betty would always kick her sister under the table, one time for however many cards trumped she had, and it was always kind of fun to see what color the bruises would get by the end of the night. My favorite was the dark grey ones."
So Radar spoke to nobody in particular, using the tongue depressor as a makeshift swizzle stick in the short glass of hemoglobin he'd just mixed. One more peek into the next room, and he entered, bearing in the slightly odd drink just as he would a brandy or gin.
"... oh, and the hepatitis... you have no idea how much Hepatitis we see here, Colonel, it's just--" Hawkeye was going on, the Seneschal starting to hunch semi-fetally over the newly dealt cards, a pallor like death hovering over his features.
"Sparky!" Joles finally got out, calling over his shoulder, then, gritting his teeth, mumbled, "Where is that damned ghoul?"
"On his way, sir," Radar piped as he shoved through the door backward into the room. "Wait for it..."
"Wait for it--?" Joles mouthed confusedly, and Hawkeye held a hand up from across the table, "Just wait. Our Radar's got a radar for ghouls."
"Hey have any of you guys seen a--aaaAAAa! Sir, Colonel sir!" Sparky burst in headlong and then nearly recoiled back out the door before standing anxiously in the presence of his regnant.
Joles stood swiftly, setting the hand of cards down on the tabletop, just barely remembering the necessity of setting them down face-down, a fact for which Henry was infinitely grateful, having had to throw several hands already due to the Seneschal's increasing agitation, and having received a decent hand off the bat, this time. He settled his own cards down, likewise, and sat back, watching the realization of the trouble he was in dawn on Sparky.
Who trembled violently as the Seneschal, obviously in the latter stages of his deranged mind's failings, ordered his medical case to be brought.
"I-- ah-- um-- well-- see--" Sparky began, with all the eloquence of a banana slug.
The worst ran through the Seneschal's mind immediately. Stuck here, in the hellhole of the East, his body refusing to obey his commands, cold decay creeping over him and bacteria eating away his flesh and bearing it away with them down into the fetid slush of the earth. Panic pushed at his lungs and his beast roared to be let loose upon the offending bloodslave, but he spent a moment performing mental calisthenics, running percentages and probabilities and soothing numbers through his disordered thoughts until he had there wherewithal to growl, "YOU... WHAT?"
Radar, his golden Pooka tongue nearly tied by the visage of the vampire who threatened to make Frank Burns look cuddly, thrust the blood- filled cup into the hands of Hawkeye Pierce, and, as Sparky was trying to get something out of his terrified mouth, spoke up.
"Oh, he gave us your case, sir, he said he thought it'd be nice to take your medicine, um, um,"
"Orally," Hawkeye finished. "Shots in the arm can be a shot in the arm, but there's nothing like a good drink, huh?" He passed the glass along the table to B.J.
"From a glass?" Joles hissed, "Do you know how unsanitary that is? This place is crawling with... with... infestations!"
"Nonsense, Colonel, we've got our own autoclave here at the M*A*S*H 4077th germ ranch. Goes from 0 to sterile in 16 seconds." B.J. handed the glass down the line to Sidney, who held it up for the Seneschal's inspection.
Over by the Pooka, Henry grinned and spoke up, "Yeah, can cook a lobster in under 5 minutes, too."
Radar brought a hand to his forehead in an exasperated gesture but giggled anyway.
Joly stared at the cup, nervous bloodsweat breaking out over his face as he felt his body temperature fluctuate wildly in an attempt to modify itself. The rest of the room watched him as he hesitantly took the cup, shut his eyes, steeled himself, and downed it.
While the Malkavian's eyes were shut, Hawkeye silently looked up at Radar. Radar gave him a silent wink in return. Hawkeye smiled and nodded.
Joly took two full deep breaths before his eyes opened. He forced the new blood through his system, stabilizing his vein structure and moving the metallic sediments he was sure were accruing on their north edges back into the flow, as they should be.
"That's... much better." He tentatively spoke, settling the cup upon the table and feeling his chest for his regularized heartbeat. He was comforted. The slightly strange flavor that the blood had held only nagged a bit at the back of his brain. Sparky leaned up against a wall as to not faint with utter relief. He sighed.
And was promptly smacked in the face by the door from the compound as it burst open once more, Irene poking the top half of her body inside.
"Darling? I think we've got a problem."
~
Poking his tongue out from a mischievous corner of his mouth, he picked at a scab on his wrist from yesternight's tumble in the cave. "I really gotta get back to that cave sometime," Radar mumbled to himself as he scooped up a little droplet of blood that welled up from the scab on the end of a tongue depressor, "I always liked stalagmites when I was a kid. They kind of reminded me of my mom's legs when she'd been sitting playing bridge too long with Mrs. Callahan and her two daughters. Betty would always kick her sister under the table, one time for however many cards trumped she had, and it was always kind of fun to see what color the bruises would get by the end of the night. My favorite was the dark grey ones."
So Radar spoke to nobody in particular, using the tongue depressor as a makeshift swizzle stick in the short glass of hemoglobin he'd just mixed. One more peek into the next room, and he entered, bearing in the slightly odd drink just as he would a brandy or gin.
"... oh, and the hepatitis... you have no idea how much Hepatitis we see here, Colonel, it's just--" Hawkeye was going on, the Seneschal starting to hunch semi-fetally over the newly dealt cards, a pallor like death hovering over his features.
"Sparky!" Joles finally got out, calling over his shoulder, then, gritting his teeth, mumbled, "Where is that damned ghoul?"
"On his way, sir," Radar piped as he shoved through the door backward into the room. "Wait for it..."
"Wait for it--?" Joles mouthed confusedly, and Hawkeye held a hand up from across the table, "Just wait. Our Radar's got a radar for ghouls."
"Hey have any of you guys seen a--aaaAAAa! Sir, Colonel sir!" Sparky burst in headlong and then nearly recoiled back out the door before standing anxiously in the presence of his regnant.
Joles stood swiftly, setting the hand of cards down on the tabletop, just barely remembering the necessity of setting them down face-down, a fact for which Henry was infinitely grateful, having had to throw several hands already due to the Seneschal's increasing agitation, and having received a decent hand off the bat, this time. He settled his own cards down, likewise, and sat back, watching the realization of the trouble he was in dawn on Sparky.
Who trembled violently as the Seneschal, obviously in the latter stages of his deranged mind's failings, ordered his medical case to be brought.
"I-- ah-- um-- well-- see--" Sparky began, with all the eloquence of a banana slug.
The worst ran through the Seneschal's mind immediately. Stuck here, in the hellhole of the East, his body refusing to obey his commands, cold decay creeping over him and bacteria eating away his flesh and bearing it away with them down into the fetid slush of the earth. Panic pushed at his lungs and his beast roared to be let loose upon the offending bloodslave, but he spent a moment performing mental calisthenics, running percentages and probabilities and soothing numbers through his disordered thoughts until he had there wherewithal to growl, "YOU... WHAT?"
Radar, his golden Pooka tongue nearly tied by the visage of the vampire who threatened to make Frank Burns look cuddly, thrust the blood- filled cup into the hands of Hawkeye Pierce, and, as Sparky was trying to get something out of his terrified mouth, spoke up.
"Oh, he gave us your case, sir, he said he thought it'd be nice to take your medicine, um, um,"
"Orally," Hawkeye finished. "Shots in the arm can be a shot in the arm, but there's nothing like a good drink, huh?" He passed the glass along the table to B.J.
"From a glass?" Joles hissed, "Do you know how unsanitary that is? This place is crawling with... with... infestations!"
"Nonsense, Colonel, we've got our own autoclave here at the M*A*S*H 4077th germ ranch. Goes from 0 to sterile in 16 seconds." B.J. handed the glass down the line to Sidney, who held it up for the Seneschal's inspection.
Over by the Pooka, Henry grinned and spoke up, "Yeah, can cook a lobster in under 5 minutes, too."
Radar brought a hand to his forehead in an exasperated gesture but giggled anyway.
Joly stared at the cup, nervous bloodsweat breaking out over his face as he felt his body temperature fluctuate wildly in an attempt to modify itself. The rest of the room watched him as he hesitantly took the cup, shut his eyes, steeled himself, and downed it.
While the Malkavian's eyes were shut, Hawkeye silently looked up at Radar. Radar gave him a silent wink in return. Hawkeye smiled and nodded.
Joly took two full deep breaths before his eyes opened. He forced the new blood through his system, stabilizing his vein structure and moving the metallic sediments he was sure were accruing on their north edges back into the flow, as they should be.
"That's... much better." He tentatively spoke, settling the cup upon the table and feeling his chest for his regularized heartbeat. He was comforted. The slightly strange flavor that the blood had held only nagged a bit at the back of his brain. Sparky leaned up against a wall as to not faint with utter relief. He sighed.
And was promptly smacked in the face by the door from the compound as it burst open once more, Irene poking the top half of her body inside.
"Darling? I think we've got a problem."
~