The Colonel rolled supine as the vitae roused him from his torpor, and
before anything else the words "Capital R!" flew from his mouth. But
immediately after this he began to recuperate; the gaping hole in his back,
now hidden from sight, healed up nicely. His heart then began to beat in
its steady rhythm once more, and his lungs, emptied by the cry, began to
suck in useless air as if they required oxygen.
Regaining his bearings, he grasped the bed on either side of himself and sat up, breathing intently, looking first to the crowd around his right side, then up to his wife and the fledgling Brujah on his left. Though not embarrassed, his face colored as his heart's work began to show on his skin, turning the white flesh ruddy.
"Christ our Savior and his Maiden Mother," Joles swore mildly, "What on earth happened?"
Hawkeye stepped into the space between the two cots, sitting down on the empty one where Irene had been sitting moments earlier. He folded his hands seriously. "You went a little... well, off the deep end last night. We had to have Sparky stake you. We think it might have been a case of battle fatigue."
Joles looked incredulous, "Battle fatigue? But we're not even at the front."
"Doesn't matter," Sidney chipped in, leaning against the bed frame, "Colonel, I've seen cases of battle fatigue in guys who haven't even left Japan."
"It may not be the front, Colonel," Henry added, voice low and serious, "But I've seen more than my fair share of men crack up in my ranks. It took me a week to stop putting my underwear on backwards. You weren't expecting to come here and have to pitch in with the O.R.; heck, before all this happened, you probably weren't planning on coming here, period! Look, nobody could be expected to have to adjust to this mess overnight. A man's got to have time to build up his defenses a little. I've seen men driven to drink, some to women, others to rules and regulations, others to hare- brained schemes to get out or rampant practical joking to cover up the pain. You aren't staying here; you don't have to build up any walls that you'll have to break down again later; the 'm' in your mind doesn't have to stand for 'mobile.' You're lucky. But while you're here, you're going to be defenseless against a kind of wound you might not be ready for."
Irene stayed quietly in the background, watching her husband's face, hiding under a suitably solemn expression the grin that wanted to grace her lovely features as she saw the realization of her work. Between the blood exchanged in last night's... activities, and that which she'd just now administered from the Brujah to the Malkavian, Henry had become quite a likable fellow in Joles' eyes. He was convinced. The fact that he'd been a vampire for over a century and had, in that time, seen atrocious acts that would make even a depraved human heart shudder was swept under the carpet of Joles' subconscious as he bowed his head in respect for Henry's speech. Even without the bloodbond in place, however, the sentiment had much the same effect on the rest of the crowd. The only one left not horribly affected was Irene, who enjoyed the speech anyway, and feigned 'stunned appreciation of deep thoughts' very well.
Joles, for his part, waited a moment until it was clear that Henry had finished. That is to say, as far as it's ever clear that Henry's finished: thankfully he managed to end this particular speech with the bare minimum of trailings-off and hemming and hawing.
And then he swung his legs out of the cot and stood, facing Henry, looking as dignified as a man possibly could with a bloody hole in the back of his jacket.
"I'd like to thank you, Blake. You know my clan's propensity for being a little on the unstable side..."
Henry wasn't exactly sure whether it'd be the best plan to agree or disagree on this point, having the vague notion that Klinger might have ended up in the state he's in now by offending the Seneschal somehow on that point. He settled for a simple "Um..."
Joles held up a hand, in an affable mood, "You're concerned about my feelings! No need, I know our reputation. But the fact is that you--" he turned and looked to the rest, to B.J., Sidney, Radar, and Colonel Potter, "That all of you, despite our current impasse, took care to see me back to health in your... crude... but well-meaning institution."
He turned back to Henry, "And in return I think it's only fair for me to offer some sort of treaty in this battle. A truce?" He held out a hand.
Henry, startled, took a moment to spit it out, but finally repeated, "A truce!" most agreeably, and shook on it.
The small group of other personnel provided a general chorus of approbation. The group repaired to the camp office for belts of liquor for those who could still drink the stuff and a brief discussion of the outline of this new agreement.
It was agreed that there would be no more deaths or severe cripplings (or cripplings of any sort!) among the members of the 4077th M*A*S*H and the visiting representatives of the Camarilla. It was further agreed that all hard feelings that might exist about prior incidents of this sort should be tucked away somewhere not readily accessible. It was further agreed, slightly more seriously, that the 4077th would make efforts towards staunching rumors of vampire existence where they lay, and the Camarilla wouldn't entirely wipe them off the face of the planet. Here Joles made a halfhearted attempt to include in the negotiations a clause whereby he could take Father Mulcahy along with him to lend to the Tremere for further study, but, after being forced to admit that the 4077th would probably never get their chaplain BACK (unless they actually wanted back the puddle of chaplain-goo that would probably remain of him when the Tremere got through), the clause was quickly shot down, even by Irene, who gave her husband a firm thwack on the shoulder, though he protested that he was only kidding, after all. Further stipulation was made that if the 4077th would agree to not spread any knowledge of the supernatural that had been gained during this encounter, that the Camarillites must do the same.
"Okay, anything else?" Potter yelled out, waiting for the next issue to be brought up. Long ago the drawing up of the contract had driven off the Pooka with its utter boringness. He looked up from the piece of paper in shock as nobody responded.
"Nothing?" he asked, "Well, then!" he smiled, pleased, "Looks like we've got ourselves a deal."
Joles stood up and gave a slight bow, "Agreed, Colonel, and it was a ple--"
"Wait!" Irene cut in, putting her hand on Joly's arm.
"There IS one more item I think we ought to discuss... one more... issue... I'd really like to put to rest..."
~
Regaining his bearings, he grasped the bed on either side of himself and sat up, breathing intently, looking first to the crowd around his right side, then up to his wife and the fledgling Brujah on his left. Though not embarrassed, his face colored as his heart's work began to show on his skin, turning the white flesh ruddy.
"Christ our Savior and his Maiden Mother," Joles swore mildly, "What on earth happened?"
Hawkeye stepped into the space between the two cots, sitting down on the empty one where Irene had been sitting moments earlier. He folded his hands seriously. "You went a little... well, off the deep end last night. We had to have Sparky stake you. We think it might have been a case of battle fatigue."
Joles looked incredulous, "Battle fatigue? But we're not even at the front."
"Doesn't matter," Sidney chipped in, leaning against the bed frame, "Colonel, I've seen cases of battle fatigue in guys who haven't even left Japan."
"It may not be the front, Colonel," Henry added, voice low and serious, "But I've seen more than my fair share of men crack up in my ranks. It took me a week to stop putting my underwear on backwards. You weren't expecting to come here and have to pitch in with the O.R.; heck, before all this happened, you probably weren't planning on coming here, period! Look, nobody could be expected to have to adjust to this mess overnight. A man's got to have time to build up his defenses a little. I've seen men driven to drink, some to women, others to rules and regulations, others to hare- brained schemes to get out or rampant practical joking to cover up the pain. You aren't staying here; you don't have to build up any walls that you'll have to break down again later; the 'm' in your mind doesn't have to stand for 'mobile.' You're lucky. But while you're here, you're going to be defenseless against a kind of wound you might not be ready for."
Irene stayed quietly in the background, watching her husband's face, hiding under a suitably solemn expression the grin that wanted to grace her lovely features as she saw the realization of her work. Between the blood exchanged in last night's... activities, and that which she'd just now administered from the Brujah to the Malkavian, Henry had become quite a likable fellow in Joles' eyes. He was convinced. The fact that he'd been a vampire for over a century and had, in that time, seen atrocious acts that would make even a depraved human heart shudder was swept under the carpet of Joles' subconscious as he bowed his head in respect for Henry's speech. Even without the bloodbond in place, however, the sentiment had much the same effect on the rest of the crowd. The only one left not horribly affected was Irene, who enjoyed the speech anyway, and feigned 'stunned appreciation of deep thoughts' very well.
Joles, for his part, waited a moment until it was clear that Henry had finished. That is to say, as far as it's ever clear that Henry's finished: thankfully he managed to end this particular speech with the bare minimum of trailings-off and hemming and hawing.
And then he swung his legs out of the cot and stood, facing Henry, looking as dignified as a man possibly could with a bloody hole in the back of his jacket.
"I'd like to thank you, Blake. You know my clan's propensity for being a little on the unstable side..."
Henry wasn't exactly sure whether it'd be the best plan to agree or disagree on this point, having the vague notion that Klinger might have ended up in the state he's in now by offending the Seneschal somehow on that point. He settled for a simple "Um..."
Joles held up a hand, in an affable mood, "You're concerned about my feelings! No need, I know our reputation. But the fact is that you--" he turned and looked to the rest, to B.J., Sidney, Radar, and Colonel Potter, "That all of you, despite our current impasse, took care to see me back to health in your... crude... but well-meaning institution."
He turned back to Henry, "And in return I think it's only fair for me to offer some sort of treaty in this battle. A truce?" He held out a hand.
Henry, startled, took a moment to spit it out, but finally repeated, "A truce!" most agreeably, and shook on it.
The small group of other personnel provided a general chorus of approbation. The group repaired to the camp office for belts of liquor for those who could still drink the stuff and a brief discussion of the outline of this new agreement.
It was agreed that there would be no more deaths or severe cripplings (or cripplings of any sort!) among the members of the 4077th M*A*S*H and the visiting representatives of the Camarilla. It was further agreed that all hard feelings that might exist about prior incidents of this sort should be tucked away somewhere not readily accessible. It was further agreed, slightly more seriously, that the 4077th would make efforts towards staunching rumors of vampire existence where they lay, and the Camarilla wouldn't entirely wipe them off the face of the planet. Here Joles made a halfhearted attempt to include in the negotiations a clause whereby he could take Father Mulcahy along with him to lend to the Tremere for further study, but, after being forced to admit that the 4077th would probably never get their chaplain BACK (unless they actually wanted back the puddle of chaplain-goo that would probably remain of him when the Tremere got through), the clause was quickly shot down, even by Irene, who gave her husband a firm thwack on the shoulder, though he protested that he was only kidding, after all. Further stipulation was made that if the 4077th would agree to not spread any knowledge of the supernatural that had been gained during this encounter, that the Camarillites must do the same.
"Okay, anything else?" Potter yelled out, waiting for the next issue to be brought up. Long ago the drawing up of the contract had driven off the Pooka with its utter boringness. He looked up from the piece of paper in shock as nobody responded.
"Nothing?" he asked, "Well, then!" he smiled, pleased, "Looks like we've got ourselves a deal."
Joles stood up and gave a slight bow, "Agreed, Colonel, and it was a ple--"
"Wait!" Irene cut in, putting her hand on Joly's arm.
"There IS one more item I think we ought to discuss... one more... issue... I'd really like to put to rest..."
~