Soon they were picking dormouse fur off of biscuits and sipping steaming
hot tea, relaxing and happily forgetting about the angry Sidhe who stormed
in earlier and the various yelling that had gone on. Bantelhopp had
retreated to the top of the head chair again, and had the handle of a
teacup clenched in the sharp claws of two long fingers. He pecked and
licked at the contents, creating a vastly amusing sight with the Mad Hatter
top hat still perched on the white-grey feathers of his head.
He cleared his throat, or some chimerical equivalent, and picked up a spoon with the thin tip of his tail, bringing it around to clink on the side of the teacup and call for attention from the crowd.
"Yes, pardon me. It is nearly time for us to return to the world of autumn." He bowed his head in silent reverie for a moment; a reverie that was shared by the entire table. "I'd like to thank our dreamers, once again, for believing enough to come here, and I'd like to offer them a small token of appreciation before I make my parting comments."
The dragon looked around, chortling and clucking amusedly to see the raised eyebrows all around.
Qotenmatch smiled. "What are you planning, Ban?" he queried across the table, one of the few times he'd spoken in the hours they'd been sitting and chatting.
The dragon's scaly chest puffed out proudly, and a dewlap of feathers spread in a fantastic display below his beak. "I have been known as a Chimera who knows... certain things. I would like to be able to answer you each a question of your choosing. I know that you all have plenty. I also know which ones you'll ask; which is good, it saves time in the deciding, and the asking. So, without further ado, I shall reply."
"Show-off," Tuttle grinned impishly.
Kim Luck pocketed a spoon, looking up attentively and smiling.
Lamb crouched at Qotenmatch's side and tweaked at a sleeping Radar's ear, making it twitch.
Bantelhopp leaned down and tenderly placed a set of fierce-looking claws on Father Mulcahy's shoulder, looking into his eyes.
"Yes." He answered. "There was a time when Fae ruled over man like men now rule over cattle. And there are some who still believe that this is the way of things. They are called the Unseelie, the Winter court. Without regard for human life they sap their victims of all emotion, adding to the numbers of disbelievers in the world. You yourself saw," he turned and nodded to Hawkeye, "And you yourself felt, how easily Radar was misguided into Unseelie action. Yet he was brought back again, and restored what it was he had taken." He turned back to the priest, "Thanks to you. Our blessing goes with you if you choose to lessen the Unseelie threat in the world."
Rearing up again, he looked down at Sparky, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and beginning to speak. "No. And, yes, I know you don't believe me, but that is the Corpse blood tinting your brain. There is no real affection between yourself and the Seneschal. I advise you to watch closely what happens to others of your sort, Ghoul, as they call you, and consider what your fate might be after they've decided you're no longer of any use."
Twisting his head until his eyes fell on Sidney. Sidney crossed his arms, taking his time analyzing why it was so discomforting to have questions answered before they've been properly asked. He looked around, smiling a bit as they each got a taste of the bane of Henry Blake's previous existance. His fingers knit themselves together, and he leaned forward to listen to the answer to the question he'd formulated.
"No. You're not imagining things. The guilt disorder promulgated by your University is nothing more than Corpse lies. If you attempt to go against them, they will know. And things will not go well for you. Move carefully, Doctor Freedman."
The dragon turned his head to Hawkeye; his eyelids began to droop in something like sadness, his spoon-bearing tail to fall a little from its spirited whipping.
Hawkeye looked up expectantly. His smirk was somewhat disbelieving, that of a clever student excepting to have caught the teacher at a loss. His eyes, nonetheless, were hopeful, shining blue as he watched the features of the avian face.
"July 27, 1953."
There was not a trace of smirk left to be found. On Hawkeye's face, or on anyone else's. Had he really asked--
"I'd suggest--" Bantelhopp interrupted the reverie, "That you write down any of this you particularly care to recall in future upon your return. One of the side effects of man's disbelief is that a veil of mists has descended between our world and yours, making it difficult for your kind to remember interactions with us very clearly... and by very clearly I mean at all."
The voice of the chimera was sad and disdainful all at once. "Which is why I've waited until now, as we're about to leave, to ask you-- to command you- -" he started again, trying his best to sound his most authoritative. "to charge you with two missions of the utmost importance."
Hawkeye looked up, concerned, "Try asking. We're all friends here, remember?"
Bantelhopp lowered his head in admission of the fact. "Radar will recover, thanks to your efforts. But to lessen the impact of his unfortunate encounter, he must be taken somewhere safe to spend the day."
Father Mulcahy looked across to Hawkeye, "Not his office-- people are always going in and out of there."
Hawkeye nodded, "Not the swamp-- Ferret face is in there, and he's the last tentmate Radar needs."
Bantelhopp nodded. "Correct, and even more correct. He needs to be taken to the cave across the minefield."
"What?" The three mortals and one semi-immortal chorused in confusion.
"Freehold..." whispered Qotenmatch, the word itself a song, a smile stretching across his mouth.
"Indeed. The cave is a freehold," the dragon explained, "a natural outpouring of glamour. If Radar rests there a while, with Qotenmatch's help he should make a swift and sturdy recovery."
"Well, that doesn't sound too tough," Sidney patted his hands down on his legs, about to stand up. He caught such a sorrowful look from the dragon, however, that he sat down again. "That's not the tough part, is it?" he hazarded a guess.
"Indeed not," Bantelhopp affirmed, and sighed heavily.
Hawkeye's lower lip trembled -- he couldn't stop it -- as all at once he divined where it was heading.
"Henry," he whispered.
Mulcahy's eyes widened. He tilted his head up to look from Hawkeye to Bantelhopp, who was nodding quietly. His eyes flitting back to Hawkeye, now squinted slightly, warily. "I'm missing something," he stated curiously.
Sidney gave his old psychologist "Aha... How jumpy Radar's been around the Colonel... I thought it was just the expected psychological trauma of the... recent developments."
"Aha!" echoed Father Mulcahy in his light, airy tone. "And how that Sidhe reacted to Sparky's presence here..."
"Aha!" re-echoed Sparky. He paused. "What, 'aha'?"
"To put it shortly," Bantelhopp began, "The power of man's disbelief is the most omnipresent threat to the Kithain way of life. And the force of that disbelief seems to be... concentrated in certain substances. Most notably, cold iron... and vampires."
Father Mulcahy was too stricken by the statement to even think to take note of it for possible future use-- he looked down to the teacup in front of him, murmurring, "Poor Radar."
Hawkeye nodded, his voice raising in something near anger, but falling away more toward helplessness. "Yeah." He stated, clipped. "Poor Radar." He shook his head, his voice raising, "Henry was like a father to that kid! It was bad enough when he-- died," Hawkeye still had to get over a lump in his throat to say that. "Now he's got to be... allergic to him?" He shut his eyes.
"Hawkeye," Qotenmatch spoke up, his voice gentle and soothing, his bear- ears turning to point towards the doctor. "We've spoken to him over and over again about it. He won't listen to us. He's simply too fond of Colonel Henry Blake."
Bantelhopp nodded and took over, "Please. Talk to him. And keep him away from the corpses! He needs some time to recuperate."
Hawkeye looked to the other three, who nodded shortly and quietly. Hawkeye summarily nodded as well. "We'll do what we can."
Bantelhopp nodded. "Thank you, Hawkeye Pierce. Thank you, all of you." He looked up at the sky, which was beginning to darken with a swirling vortex. "See you in the funny papers."
~
Thirteen and a half minutes after the troupe had disappeared into the O.R., they came trundling back out through post-op, Mulcahy and Sparky each bearing the end of a litter that had gone in with a young man, a pair of glasses, and a teddy bear, now bearing a teddy bear, a pair of glasses, and an adolescent ram, Hawkeye Pierce and Sidney Freedman hurrying alongside.
Private Tillman's mouth gaped open; he pushes himself up on his elbows, his cheeks pushing up into his eyes as he craned his neck to get a better look.
Hawkeye bent over and winked at him as they passed. "Isn't it amazing what they can do with modern plastic surgery?"
~
He cleared his throat, or some chimerical equivalent, and picked up a spoon with the thin tip of his tail, bringing it around to clink on the side of the teacup and call for attention from the crowd.
"Yes, pardon me. It is nearly time for us to return to the world of autumn." He bowed his head in silent reverie for a moment; a reverie that was shared by the entire table. "I'd like to thank our dreamers, once again, for believing enough to come here, and I'd like to offer them a small token of appreciation before I make my parting comments."
The dragon looked around, chortling and clucking amusedly to see the raised eyebrows all around.
Qotenmatch smiled. "What are you planning, Ban?" he queried across the table, one of the few times he'd spoken in the hours they'd been sitting and chatting.
The dragon's scaly chest puffed out proudly, and a dewlap of feathers spread in a fantastic display below his beak. "I have been known as a Chimera who knows... certain things. I would like to be able to answer you each a question of your choosing. I know that you all have plenty. I also know which ones you'll ask; which is good, it saves time in the deciding, and the asking. So, without further ado, I shall reply."
"Show-off," Tuttle grinned impishly.
Kim Luck pocketed a spoon, looking up attentively and smiling.
Lamb crouched at Qotenmatch's side and tweaked at a sleeping Radar's ear, making it twitch.
Bantelhopp leaned down and tenderly placed a set of fierce-looking claws on Father Mulcahy's shoulder, looking into his eyes.
"Yes." He answered. "There was a time when Fae ruled over man like men now rule over cattle. And there are some who still believe that this is the way of things. They are called the Unseelie, the Winter court. Without regard for human life they sap their victims of all emotion, adding to the numbers of disbelievers in the world. You yourself saw," he turned and nodded to Hawkeye, "And you yourself felt, how easily Radar was misguided into Unseelie action. Yet he was brought back again, and restored what it was he had taken." He turned back to the priest, "Thanks to you. Our blessing goes with you if you choose to lessen the Unseelie threat in the world."
Rearing up again, he looked down at Sparky, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and beginning to speak. "No. And, yes, I know you don't believe me, but that is the Corpse blood tinting your brain. There is no real affection between yourself and the Seneschal. I advise you to watch closely what happens to others of your sort, Ghoul, as they call you, and consider what your fate might be after they've decided you're no longer of any use."
Twisting his head until his eyes fell on Sidney. Sidney crossed his arms, taking his time analyzing why it was so discomforting to have questions answered before they've been properly asked. He looked around, smiling a bit as they each got a taste of the bane of Henry Blake's previous existance. His fingers knit themselves together, and he leaned forward to listen to the answer to the question he'd formulated.
"No. You're not imagining things. The guilt disorder promulgated by your University is nothing more than Corpse lies. If you attempt to go against them, they will know. And things will not go well for you. Move carefully, Doctor Freedman."
The dragon turned his head to Hawkeye; his eyelids began to droop in something like sadness, his spoon-bearing tail to fall a little from its spirited whipping.
Hawkeye looked up expectantly. His smirk was somewhat disbelieving, that of a clever student excepting to have caught the teacher at a loss. His eyes, nonetheless, were hopeful, shining blue as he watched the features of the avian face.
"July 27, 1953."
There was not a trace of smirk left to be found. On Hawkeye's face, or on anyone else's. Had he really asked--
"I'd suggest--" Bantelhopp interrupted the reverie, "That you write down any of this you particularly care to recall in future upon your return. One of the side effects of man's disbelief is that a veil of mists has descended between our world and yours, making it difficult for your kind to remember interactions with us very clearly... and by very clearly I mean at all."
The voice of the chimera was sad and disdainful all at once. "Which is why I've waited until now, as we're about to leave, to ask you-- to command you- -" he started again, trying his best to sound his most authoritative. "to charge you with two missions of the utmost importance."
Hawkeye looked up, concerned, "Try asking. We're all friends here, remember?"
Bantelhopp lowered his head in admission of the fact. "Radar will recover, thanks to your efforts. But to lessen the impact of his unfortunate encounter, he must be taken somewhere safe to spend the day."
Father Mulcahy looked across to Hawkeye, "Not his office-- people are always going in and out of there."
Hawkeye nodded, "Not the swamp-- Ferret face is in there, and he's the last tentmate Radar needs."
Bantelhopp nodded. "Correct, and even more correct. He needs to be taken to the cave across the minefield."
"What?" The three mortals and one semi-immortal chorused in confusion.
"Freehold..." whispered Qotenmatch, the word itself a song, a smile stretching across his mouth.
"Indeed. The cave is a freehold," the dragon explained, "a natural outpouring of glamour. If Radar rests there a while, with Qotenmatch's help he should make a swift and sturdy recovery."
"Well, that doesn't sound too tough," Sidney patted his hands down on his legs, about to stand up. He caught such a sorrowful look from the dragon, however, that he sat down again. "That's not the tough part, is it?" he hazarded a guess.
"Indeed not," Bantelhopp affirmed, and sighed heavily.
Hawkeye's lower lip trembled -- he couldn't stop it -- as all at once he divined where it was heading.
"Henry," he whispered.
Mulcahy's eyes widened. He tilted his head up to look from Hawkeye to Bantelhopp, who was nodding quietly. His eyes flitting back to Hawkeye, now squinted slightly, warily. "I'm missing something," he stated curiously.
Sidney gave his old psychologist "Aha... How jumpy Radar's been around the Colonel... I thought it was just the expected psychological trauma of the... recent developments."
"Aha!" echoed Father Mulcahy in his light, airy tone. "And how that Sidhe reacted to Sparky's presence here..."
"Aha!" re-echoed Sparky. He paused. "What, 'aha'?"
"To put it shortly," Bantelhopp began, "The power of man's disbelief is the most omnipresent threat to the Kithain way of life. And the force of that disbelief seems to be... concentrated in certain substances. Most notably, cold iron... and vampires."
Father Mulcahy was too stricken by the statement to even think to take note of it for possible future use-- he looked down to the teacup in front of him, murmurring, "Poor Radar."
Hawkeye nodded, his voice raising in something near anger, but falling away more toward helplessness. "Yeah." He stated, clipped. "Poor Radar." He shook his head, his voice raising, "Henry was like a father to that kid! It was bad enough when he-- died," Hawkeye still had to get over a lump in his throat to say that. "Now he's got to be... allergic to him?" He shut his eyes.
"Hawkeye," Qotenmatch spoke up, his voice gentle and soothing, his bear- ears turning to point towards the doctor. "We've spoken to him over and over again about it. He won't listen to us. He's simply too fond of Colonel Henry Blake."
Bantelhopp nodded and took over, "Please. Talk to him. And keep him away from the corpses! He needs some time to recuperate."
Hawkeye looked to the other three, who nodded shortly and quietly. Hawkeye summarily nodded as well. "We'll do what we can."
Bantelhopp nodded. "Thank you, Hawkeye Pierce. Thank you, all of you." He looked up at the sky, which was beginning to darken with a swirling vortex. "See you in the funny papers."
~
Thirteen and a half minutes after the troupe had disappeared into the O.R., they came trundling back out through post-op, Mulcahy and Sparky each bearing the end of a litter that had gone in with a young man, a pair of glasses, and a teddy bear, now bearing a teddy bear, a pair of glasses, and an adolescent ram, Hawkeye Pierce and Sidney Freedman hurrying alongside.
Private Tillman's mouth gaped open; he pushes himself up on his elbows, his cheeks pushing up into his eyes as he craned his neck to get a better look.
Hawkeye bent over and winked at him as they passed. "Isn't it amazing what they can do with modern plastic surgery?"
~