[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com

Hope you have a gorgeous and fun-filled day!

[identity profile] sidhe-uaine42.livejournal.com
I apologize for the fact that this is completely unbeta'ed, plus the fact that I posted it so late (I just got back from a doctor's appointment, and I have to go back Friday to get blood drawn since they couldn't get any today.)  I hope nobody minds the OC Scottish Wildcat. *blush*
Meow )
[identity profile] sidhe-uaine42.livejournal.com
I apologize for such a sparse entry. *blush*
**************************

Illya brushed his hair back with one of his scraped hands, mixing the dust and seeping blood with the makeup he carefully applied earlier. He quietly let his partner know his thoughts as he relaxed his guard, switching languages frequently as his vocabulary slipped.

Napoleon caught a few of the words and phrases as he waited out the blond's tirade. A dark eyebrow rose slightly as he took a breath. "Illya, are you questioning my dear mother's species? After all that I've gone through and done for you, you're slandering my heredity?"

The normally stoic man stopped when he realized that the other had somehow understood everything he said in his frustration. "I will apologize to your dear mother. I am not sure about you, though. Although your arrival has eliminated three items on my list, most important is transportation. I must wash my hands carefully before they get infected."

His partner snatched his right hand and examined it closely. The faint discoloration and traces of splinters from the painted sill took him aback. "I'll take you home with me. It's closer and the fewer people who find out about this, the better. Besides, I have a feeling that I'm going to have company later tonight." *Knowing Dwayne, he's going to ask about the so-called FBI agents that abducted you...*

"I'll let you know after I get everything off me. I think that I found several spider webs..."

"After you." the dark-haired man gestured toward a sleek car parked several feet away from the blond's prison. "Oh, and I have several cans of Spaghetti-Os with meatballs if you want after you shower."

(It's your turn, insaneladybug)
[identity profile] glennagirl.livejournal.com
Originally posted by [livejournal.com profile] sidhe_uaine42 at Round Robin entry for Section 7/Higher Objectives, Chapter 3 by sidhe_uaine42
http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/1390570.html

I didn't have a beta, plus I apologize for not really moving the storyline ahead. It's my first time writing in this fandom. *blush*
************************

A man sat in front of a mirror, a nice array of cosmetics on the table along with several pairs of colored contact lenses. With an experienced hand, the man chose a foundation two shades darker than his natural skin tone, then returned the rest to their respective places.

Turning his attention to the contacts, his hands trembled slightly. "Should I go green or brown? Odd eyes? Who should I be? A Georgian? Armenian? Chechen? Ukrainian? From the Baltic States? Siberia, perhaps part Inuit? One of the gypsies?"

He shook his head, delaying his final decision for another few minutes as he reached for an eyebrow pencil to cover his pale blond eyebrows. "Perhaps I should add a little red this time. Oh, and maybe a tiny scar." He caught a glimpse of his partner in his peripheral vision, turning away from his own reflection.

"Napoleon, were you able to get a couple of wires?"

"New girl in requisitions. It was like taking candy from a baby." The dark-haired man replied. "Need help?"

"Just wondering which color eyes I should have, plus which State I should be from. It would effect my accent as well as my dialect." Illya turned back to the mirror, then added a tiny scar near the right side of his nose.

"I see what you mean." Napoleon tilted his head slightly to his right, scrutinizing his partner's work. He reached for the appropriate hairpiece for the rest of the look the Soviet was trying for.

"Spacibo, drug."

"You're welcome."

Illya shook his head slightly. "You're not going to pass as a Soviet with your obvious American accent. We're going into Little Russia, and the mafiya will shoot first, ask questions later. Our cover story is that you're first-generation American or originally from the Soviet Union. They'll catch us if you don't adapt.

"I trust you, but this is the first time we couldn't ask for backup from anyone."

The dark-haired man squeezed the blond's shoulder, causing the other to relax.

"If I have to, I'll play deaf and dumb," Napoleon smiled slightly.

"Until a pretty girl crosses your path..."

(Okay, insaneladybug, it's your turn.)

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Section VII Propaganda and Public Relations

July 2017

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