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[personal profile] avirra
 I've been having grief with my home internet connection, so I hope no-one minds me playing catch-up.  I'm doing these as drabbles and posting them in my drabble collection.  Links for the first 5 below (don't have them on AO3 yet - sorry):

A for Alexander www.fanfiction.net/s/7729817/927/Is-There-a-Russian-Word-for-Drabble

B for Bomb www.fanfiction.net/s/7729817/928/Is-There-a-Russian-Word-for-Drabble

C for Cat www.fanfiction.net/s/7729817/929/Is-There-a-Russian-Word-for-Drabble

D for Dog www.fanfiction.net/s/7729817/930/Is-There-a-Russian-Word-for-Drabble

E for Economizing www.fanfiction.net/s/7729817/931/Is-There-a-Russian-Word-for-Drabble
[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
I first read this a couple of years ago and immediately fell in love with it. It's set in the early days of Napoleon and Illya's partnership.

Click [livejournal.com profile] avirra's icon to go to AO3.

Temp Avirra.jpg
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
SUMMARY: Illya is on his own for a mission in Casablanca.

Otiginally written for a Song Story Challenge with the prompt being " The Year of the Cat" (written by Al Stewart and Peter Wood)

Click on Avirra's icon to take you to AO3


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[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
Avirra is having trouble with LJ and asked me to post her Song Story for her.

"The End of a Brief Encounter"

the link takes you to AO3
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
Avirra is having problems getting onto LJ so am posting this for her



"Brush up your Shakespeare"

click on the image to take you to the story

[identity profile] laurose8.livejournal.com
Perhaps a few days late, but definitely better than never. As most know, [livejournal.com profile] avirra has given the fandom a sound and dialogue series of elegant ficlets. It's hard to choose among these chocolates, but this week I'm posting the Valentine one.
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
Back in 2013 glennagirl posted regarding the "Mary Sue" phenomenon in writing. After a great discussion on the topic, a few of usdecided to do an impromptu Mary Sue round robin using a prompt by [livejournal.com profile] reapermum



Well, actually she (Mary Sue) is here, the inspirational starting point, and you can follow her exploits by staying on section7mfu and just use these links: Reaping Mary Sue part I, part II, part III, part IV, part V, Epilogue

The participants : [livejournal.com profile] glennagirl reapermum, mrua7, avirra and avrovulcan



[identity profile] laurose8.livejournal.com
Most of the fandom will be avidly following [livejournal.com profile] avirra 's Alexander/Millicent arc. But they just might have missed Twas The Night Before Christmas , a gentle and beautifully paced three chapters not without some sadness.
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
SUMMARY: April ropes the boys into a holiday celebration with a twist.

(click on the image to take you to the story...this is her icon)


[identity profile] avirra.livejournal.com

As a rule, Napoleon wouldn't describe himself as a supestitious man, but the darkness of a Scottish Highlands night reminded him more of the dark of a cavern rather than the normal night time dark he was accustomed to.  It was the sort of dark that seemed to swallow light rather than welcome it.  If that weren't eerie enough, the occassional flash of an animal's eyes ane the faint nickering sounds of a horse added to the creepiness factor when Illya's mention of the kelpie came back to mind.  All in all, with his surroundings, Napoleon found it very easy to see how many of the lurid tales of the area came to be.  With little around to aleve the darkness, the mind tended to go a bit overboard with imagining what the noises around them might be from.

Their movements had to be slow and steady.  With no other artificial lights around, they would draw attention to themselves if they made use of flashlights.  Illya was leading the way and was lucky enough to find a path that the local wildlife seemed to make frequent use of.  It made their footing far less treacherous although it would have been difficult to say whether it was the red deer or Napoleon who was the most startled when he turned to look behind him and found himself nearly nose to nose with the young stag before it bounded off;  Illya was hard pressed to keep a start face while Napoleon tried to get his breathing back under control.

It seemed far longer, but according to Napoleon's watch, it had taken them just under an hour to reach the edges of the Kilchurn ruins and, as if the area had in mind to set the scene for a horror tale, a thick fog was creeping from the dark waters of the loch and beginning to surround the castle.  As prearranged, Napoleon reached forward and gave a light tug on Illya's gunnysack to let him know to stop.  Once they were close enough to speak in whispers, Napoleon gestured toward the incoming fogbank.  The old term about fog being as thick as pea soup came to mind.

"Think the weather is going to be a problem?"

Illya studied the fog for a moment, then shrugged.

"We will need to be cautious not to lose one another, but it should work to our advantage in avoiding being seen by whomever is inside Kilchurn.  Unless, of course, they are using something to detect thermal changes."

"Leave it to you to think of that cheerful option."

"Better to be prepared for the worst, my friend."

Both men froze then ducked off of the trail and into the surrounding bushes at a nearby sound.  Horses, but not the supernatural kind.  These were fully saddled with riders, the foremost rider leading the way cautiously down the trail that the two agents had vacated just in time.  The following rider was complaining bitterly, his Brooklyn accent making it obvious that he was not a local.

"Out in the middle of nowhere and likely to break our necks in this fog."

The tone of the man on the lead horse indicated that this was far from the first time he'd heard the complaints.

"By all mean, Matthews, feel free to register your disapproval with Lady Olivia when she returns from her meeting with Central.  I can set you up with an appointment."

The retraction was a speedy one.

"No, no - no need to bother Her Ladyship.  I was just blowing off some steam."

A chuckle from the lead horse was the only response as they continued past.  Napoleon and Illya remained in place and silent until they could no longer hear the horses,  Returning to the trail, Napoleon brushed off a few leaves.

"I think that confirms the presense of a bird's nest ahead.  Lady Olivia sounds formidable."

"Many of the female THRUSHes we have met have been."

"True enough, chum.  I wonder how old Her Ladyship is?"

That got a scowl from Illya.

"Mind on the job, Napoleon."

Napoelon simply gave his partner a wink.

"Always.  But there's more than one way to do reconnaissance.

To his credit, Illya managed not to roll his eyes as he started down the trail again.






[identity profile] avirra.livejournal.com
“You'd better get up here. Right now.”

Illya didn’t even take time to respond before he rushed out of the room.  As for Baitman, despite his mantra that ghosts weren’t real, he was close on Illya’s heels.  He wasn’t about to be left behind in case Mother Fear (or whatever that thing was) made another appearance.

Meanwhile, back at the Waverly home, Mrs. Waverly woke with a start, much more clear headed than she had been when Napoleon’s call had pulled her from sleep.  The slight headache plus the fact that she was normally a light sleeper made her suspicious.  It only took a quick glance to tell her that Napoleon had lied to her.

Alexander Waverly was, as his wife knew full well after many years of marriage, a creature of habit, at least inside the walls of their own home.  His slippers were still beside the bed and his robe, like her own, was draped on his side of the cedar blanket chest that was at the foot of their bed.

Not far away was Alexander’s valet chair – a lovely piece of sturdy oak furniture with a dark leather padded seat.  His suit for the day was still there with his shoes tucked neatly underneath.  She pulled on her own robe and quickly opened the drawer that was underneath the seat and felt her heart sink even more.  Alexander’s wallet, favorite pen, and pipe pouch were all still neatly in their places inside the drawer.

Her first thought, to call Napoleon back, was quickly dismissed.  Illya was also dismissed as he was bound to already be with Napoleon and quite busy.  Her fingers rapidly dialed up the next in line – April Dancer.

April was soundly asleep, hugging her pillow tightly.  She and Mark had finished up an overseas assignment and flown back the morning before.  Mister Waverly had been kind enough to say that, since their mission had been a resounding success, their paperwork could stand to wait a day and that they should get some sleep.  As sleep had been in very short supply, neither she or Mark argued.  Between exhaustion and jet lag, by the time the jangling of her phone penetrated her brain, April had been sleeping like the dead for nearly fourteen hours.

“Hello?”

“This is Mrs. Waverly, Miss Dancer.  I suspect Mister Solo is already aware and thinks he is being kind by not alarming me, but Mister Waverly is missing and I suspect he was taken from our bedroom while we slept.”

That brought April to full alertness faster than a cold shower could have.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

“A bit of a headache, but nothing worse for myself.  There is a scent I don’t recognize in the air, so I would venture to say a gas of some sort was used to keep us asleep.  By the way, dear?  If you would be so kind, I want you to verify the names of the agents that were assigned to us tonight.  If they are still alive and not incapacitated, we will be having a lengthy chat with them once Alexander has returned.”

April winced in sympathy for whoever those agents were.  She remembered Mark’s reaction to being on the wrong end of Mrs. Waverly’s protectiveness over her husband.  Deciding to jump off the deep end, she cleared her throat.

“If you’ll pardon my asking, why do you think Mister Solo already knows?”

“Because he lied to me, my dear.  And unless you believe that I’ve gone dotty enough in my old age to believe that Alexander would leave to take an emergency conference call – one that, might I add, he could have taken over the secured lines here – in his pajamas without even his robe or his slippers?”

April didn’t hesitate.

“No, ma’am.  I see what you mean.  I will send a team out immediately to see how the kidnappers got past your home’s security.  Mister Slate and I will contact Mister Solo to see where he needs us to find Mister Waverly.”

Satisfied that the top agents would be looking for her husband, Mrs. Waverly nodded to herself.

“Excellent, Miss Dancer.  I shall expect either my husband or a progress report by lunchtime.  Now, I will get dressed to get ready for the investigation team’s arrival and allow you to take care of rousing Mister Slate.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as the dial-tone returned, April dialed Mark, finding her partner had already been awake for about an hour.  He promised to pick her up shortly and to have a stout cup of coffee waiting for her in the passenger’s cup holder.  They decided to wait until they were together to contact Napoleon so that they could hear the details of the hunt for Mister Waverly at the same time and be ready to go wherever Napoleon needed them to be.
 
[identity profile] avirra.livejournal.com

As the man departed. Illya merely shrugged.

"I suspect he is playing both sides of the wall. Dismiss him as a distraction."

After a momentary look of confusion, Napoleon chuckled.

"That's 'playing both sides of the fence'."

Illya made an impatient gesture.

"Wall, fence - what does it matter? I would rather shower than argue semantics."

Napoleon moved to the side and held the door open for his partner.

"My abode awaits. You still have a spare outfit there, so we don't need to return to your apartment for anything. I'll ask April and Mark to retrieve your things. I'm afraid you'll be switching apartments again, chum."

Illya simply grunted his acknowledgment and sank into the passenger seat as his adrenaline rush faded. A long, hot shower and fresh clothes did wonders for reviving him. Use of his spare makeup kit and some cling wrap had Napoleon staring at his partner in less than an hour.

"That's one look I've never seen on you, pal. You look like an entirely different person bald."

"That is the point, is it not? Get ready, my friend. No more delays - we are headed to Little Russia now.

[identity profile] avirra.livejournal.com
(Carrying on from insaneladybug - passing the torch over to selyndaep)

Chapter 5

Illya glanced up enough to view Napoleon's return in the mirror. Napoleon's expression was sufficient for him to halt what he was doing and turn around.

"What is wrong, Napoleon?"

Napoleon started to speak, then shook his head while reaching for a pad of paper and pen.

"Nothing. Got halfway to the car and found I'd forgotten my keys."

Curious, Illya played along as Napoleon wrote.

"You need to slow down, my friend."

"Yeah, I do tend to get ahead of myself when I rush, don't I?"

Taking the offered pad, Illya quickly read the short note : 'Someone had a recording of us talking about Little Russia. Might your apartment be bugged?'

Illya wrote a quick note back : 'My apartment is scanned daily for bugs, but there are directional devices that could achieve the same results.'

Napoleon frowned, jotting down two words : 'Daily? Why?'

Illya rolled his eyes after he took the pad back : 'CIA - FBI - KGB - THRUSH - pick whichever acronym you prefer. I have gathered enough listening devices to melt down and make a table lamp since coming to this country.'

Napoleon let out a low whistle, then covered for the slip.

"Found my keys!"


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Section VII Propaganda and Public Relations

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