Kuryakin walked along the grey corridors of headquarters, his nose buried in folder. Wearing his tinted glasses, they kept slipping down his nose; without thinking about it, he pushed them back in place every few minutes.
“Psssst,” It came from a nearby utility closet.
Napoleon peeked out, pulling Illya inside.
“What is going on?”
“They’re back,” Napoleon whispered.
“They as in…?”
“Oh bother, what are they going to do to us now? Torture, romance, death or some bit of silliness?” Illya moaned.
A little break from Christmas today with a triple drabble...
Prompted by: Haikus by Yosa Buson (1716 ~ 1783)
Fish the cormorants haven't caught
Swimming in the shallows.
Napoleon dragged himself out of the water, feeling the fish swimming around his bare ankles. He looked about in a daze, as the boat he and his partner were in moments ago burned in the dim light.
They had leapt free just before the explosion. Fuel ignited on the surface of the river, sending black smoke into the air along with bits of debris.
He scanned the shoreline, looking for Illya. There was no sign of him.
“Illya,” Napoleon called out.
A cough and a sputter among the reeds gave him his answer and a sigh of relief.
Still, a cormorant dove to feed...
In seasonal rain
along a nameless river
fear too has no name
A heavy rain began to fall as Illya pulled himself out of the muck along the shoreline, turning to watch as the downfall helped extinguish the wreckage of their boat.
“You okay tovarisch,” Napoleon called out.
“As best as can be expected, under the circumstances.”
“Got lucky again didn’t we chum?”
“Luck for you, skill for me,” the Russian fearlessly laughed.
“Always the smart-mouth aren’t you?”
“But of course...” Illya snickered.
In the midst of a muddy face, a toothy grin appeared.
“I will be back.”
A flash of lightning!
The sound of drops
Falling among the bamboos
Napoleon could hear the sounds of the approaching vehicles. He had nowhere left to run and felt trapped like a stinking rat by Chinese troops.
Where was Illya? He’d disappeard, but he spoke the language and might argue him out of this one.
Solo heard what they did to American agents...
He wiped the rain from his face, raising his hands.
Caught in their spotlights; a flash of lightning made him shiver.
Where was the Solo luck?
Note: this was one of the inspirations for my long story:
“China Beach” https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9469680/1/
The blond had learned to be very careful how he responded to that question. If a woman asked, she most likely hoped to be a part of that plan, or planned to insert herself into his.
If Napoleon were asking then it might be a prelude to an invitation to his family’s small event, or simply dinner together. The American was not always eager to be with family, a small mystery that had yet to offer resolution.
When Waverly asked it was something else entirely.
Illya hummed Christmas carols, handed out cards and even bought a few gifts for those few who had befriended the young Soviet agent. It turned out he had excellent taste, perhaps from his time in Paris.
Napoleon found it slightly unsettling, especially when Illya started going out on dates with the appreciative young ladies.
“Buying your dates, tovarisch?”
“I embody my gifts, naturally.”
Prompted by: The Thin People~Sylvia Plath
They are always with us, the thin people.Meager of dimension as the gray people.
Were small that they famished and Grew so lean and would not round
Illya watched as the crowds in Red Square shuffled by, moving with little purpose, as if they walked just for the sake of it, with no destination. Thin people with thin lives, life a daily drudge without hope. Yet he was not one of them.
( Read more... )
“It’s very pretty, luv. Too bad you’ll miss ski season this year.” Mark took in the cast on April’s left leg, the result of a nasty fall during their last mission.
“Hmmm… I wonder …”
“Wonder what?” Illya came upon his colleagues as they stood outside of Del Floria’s.
“Oh… Hi Illya. I was just wondering if a person could ski with a cast on her leg.”
“I suppose you could try.”
“Maybe I will.”
Mark groaned his disapproval.
Napoleon was running as he shouted back at his questioning partner.
“Hey! Keep up, will ya. I’m gonna catch that bird.”
Illya was flummoxed at the sight of his partner chasing a turkey through a maze of trees. Dealing with THRUSH was challenging at any time of the year, but combining Thanksgiving with their schemes…
“Wait up, Napoleon!” Illya shouted ahead as Napoleon got off a shot, tranquilizing the fowl in mid-stride. They watched as it faltered, an innocent in THRUSH’s never ending quest for world dominance.
“The Turkey Trot Affair… It’s embarrassing.”
“Everything else is gravy.”
note: this half drabble is the inspriation for the sequel to the "Un-happy New Year Affair" (a story told in short chapters) It's an AU WIP and will hopefully be completed soon...called 'The Black Jade Affair"
Prompted by: You, Andrew Marvell~Archibald MacLeish
And ever climbing shadow grow
They walked into the poorly lit building, both men on edge
not knowing what they’d find.
The the occupants were gone, members of the Black Jade gang, but
it was their leader, Chang Kuanghao they wanted.
Napoleon searched upstairs, rifling through paperwork... something the international courts could use against the man.
The mountains over Persia change
Chang Kuanghao had expanded his business from drugs to human trafficking and needed to be stopped. He was feared in Chinatown, but his partners, the Russian mob made him formidable. *
Illya had killed the man’s sister, and were Kuryakin’s identity ever found out by Chang, the Russian was as good as dead.*
Few travelers in the westward pass
It has been a long journey for the agents, as they tried to track Chang down and this place, they were sure they’d finally had him cornered.
Chang eluded them again, it was as if he knew they were coming. That could only mean one thing...a mole inside U.N.C.L.E... but who?
Of evening widen and steal on
They continued their search of Chang’s hideaway, with Illya walking slowly down to the basement. The only sound were his barely perceptible footsteps on the stairs. There was an odd odor, one that was familiar and reached back into memories he’d long suppressed as a child. The scent of death.
High through the clouds and overblown
The floor felt wet beneath his feet, almost slick and he crept along the walls, touching his hand to them to keep from slipping in the darkness. His fingers finally found a light switch, and he opened it...
Gasping at the sight...gagging, he vomited. This was something he could not have expected.
The sails above the shadowy hulls
He ran up the stairs as he broke into a sweat. Shaking, he ran straight into his partner.
Napoleon grabbed Illya by the arms. “Are you all right, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.
Illya slowed his breathing, still shaking from the sight. “Many ghosts. “They are dead...all dead.”
The low pale light across that land
Napoleon walked down the stairs with trepidation, dreading to look upon what had shaken his partner up so badly. Illya joined him on the steps.
“Are you sure you’re okay pal?”
“I have to be, this is something we must do together. Prepare yourself for a gruesome shock moy drug.”
The shadow of the night comes on.
Napoleon too gasped at the sight. The room was filled with dozens of women and young girls. Changs stable had been murdered, left there to die in the darkness.
The agents walked among the dead, eerily lit by a dim light, when they heard it.
A soft moan...someone was alive.
Napoleon acknowledged the remark with a wan smile, something slightly less subtle than the grimace of pain he was holding back.
“Thanks, but the exchange rate isn’t very good on my thinking right now.”
Illya knew his friend was distressed about his condition, anxious to know the results of the most recent tests. Tests that might prove the CEA was not yet field ready.
“Napoleon…’ The Russian knew and understood exactly what his partner was enduring. Most agents encountered deadly injuries that required a long road of healing.
“You will be back, but whole.”
Prompted by: Weary Waitress~Robert Service
Thank God it's near to closing time,
--Merciful midnight chime.
He’d waited for her until closing, she was tired and he was horny. Not a good combination. The Russian smiled at her, setting her senses tingling as he always could. She’d find the energy, she always did when he was in town.
She’d missed him...was that a good thing?
Yet not too sleepy to forget
- Her cheap alarm to set.
Their lovemaking was intense as always, and they spoke little. She’d learned not to ask where he’d been or what he’d done. Maybe he was a spy or something, or maybe he was just a gigolo.
Still he was a tender lover...she needed that.
His embrace was enough for her.
And yet he is too shy to speak,
-Far less to touch her cheek.
Sometimes it seemed that he was too shy to talk, and expressed himself with his caresses, his tongue...those lips and haunting eyes. They were so expressive and helped her to let her thoughts wander about him.
He asked no questions of her other than wanting to know if he pleased her.
--How wistfully romance can haunt
A city restaurant!
He was gone early in the morning, never saying when or if he’d return. When working, she’d watch for him, there, walking through the restaurant door, looking for a different kind of meal. It wasn’t just sex he craved, his soul was searching for something to ward off his loneliness.
A sense of Spring and singing rills,
--Love mid the daffodils.
It was a Spring day when he returned, his face was bruised; he refused to say how it happened, and did not look to go to bed, just wanting to walk, enjoying the flowers...life.
He’d changed, distant now, saying good bye to her.
Somehow she knew he’d never return.
Prompted by: Rhetorical Questions~Hugo Williams
Do you think I mind
He did it again, intervened when I was about to kiss her, turning the woman towards him as if I were not even there.
Not that I really wanted to kiss her, she was not exactly my type, but she needed to be given the confidence she needed to seduce the guard.
when you tell me what to do
You tell me I need to play the field more, but that is just not me. I cannot go from bed to bed like you. I need something more, it has to be meaningful, something that would last for more than at least a night...
Eventually she would tire of me, not being around and I would be tossed aside I suppose, but for a while we would have something significant.
and you set off alone
You who are off with a different woman each night, should not judge me. I am content with my life and with the women in it and the way things are.
When I make love to a woman, it needs to feel permanence for as long as I can keep it that way...
Stop setting me up with dates Napoleon, as I am content.
Illya looked sideways at his partner who was squirming to get free of a large tarpaulin in which they were wrapped and tied so that only their heads could be seen.
“I see. And your system is working how?”
Napoleon smirked a trademark sign of disgust at the Russian’s lack of confidence in his … umm… system.
Just then the door burst open with a resounding whack as the lone THRUSH guard fell into the room followed by Mark Slate and April Dancer.
“See, I told you I had a system.”