"What's my line?" and introduction
Aug. 27th, 2015 10:46 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuHello all,
I'd like to post a challenge ficlet (hope I have followed the rules correctly...) and say hello at the same time. I've been lurking for a little while, and enjoying all the posts, and thought I should finally post something myself :)
I'm very new to this show. I heard about it years ago thanks to the Star Trek connection, knew it had a big fandom and thought it sounded like the kind of show I would enjoy, but I never could watch it until they finally brought out some new Region Two DVDs (just a few weeks ago!).
The ficlet is for the What's My Line challenge.
Prompt: You're late again.
Author: Garonne
Word count: 625
Illya came round the corner of the warehouse and found Napoleon sitting on a low brick wall, whistling while he waited.
"There you are," Napoleon said brightly. "I thought they'd never let you out for lunch. Any problems this morning?"
Illya grunted in reply. In truth, he was rather enjoying this job. He liked being undercover when it involved playing a juicy role, or 'hamming it up' as Napoleon called it. And this one was almost too easy. He just had to put on a flat cap and an old coat and exaggerate his accent, and he was an illegal Russian immigrant working on the New York waterfront. He wasn't going to admit that to Napoleon, however.
"Learn anything interesting yet?" Napoleon added.
Illya gave him a hard, uncompromising glare.
"I won't sell my information that easily." He nodded at the paper bag that lay on the wall beside Napoleon. "Show me what you've brought first."
Napoleon grinned, and opened the bag. He pulled out an enormous ham sandwich --
"No ketchup, no mayonnaise," he said.
-- a packet of crackers, a slice of quiche, an apple and a bottle of milk, and laid them all out on the wall.
Illya ran his gaze over the display.
"That looks satisfactory," he said finally.
He hoisted himself up onto the wall to sit beside Napoleon.
"It seems we were right," he said after several minutes of silent chewing. "The freight company is a front. They're smuggling artifacts and antiquities from at least five different countries. And thereby lining the pockets of five despotic regimes."
"And breaking several UN conventions in the process."
Illya nodded. By now he'd devoured everything except the apple. He looked at it thoughtfully, polished it on his sleeve, and bit into it.
"This afternoon I should be able to get hold of the documents Waverly needs to take this to the next level," he said around a mouthful of apple.
"Got the camera?"
Illya tapped his jacket pocket.
"Good."
Napoleon leaned back, supporting his weight on his hands, and began to whistle again. After a minute or so, Illya took a final bite of the apple, and tucked the core into the paper bag. Napoleon looked at his watch.
"Six minutes," he announced. "My word, you were hungry. I wouldn't have bet on less than seven or eight."
Illya hadn't even noticed he was being timed. He frowned.
"I have spent the morning shifting heavy containers around, you know. While certain other people lounged around in fancy suits in air-conditioned offices."
To his surprise, a look of concern crossed Napoleon's face.
"Miserable, is it?"
"No, it's fine," Illya admitted. "I'm almost enjoying it. The only problem is the foreman, who's a nasty piece of work."
"You think he's mixed up in the smuggling racket?"
"No, he just enjoys running a little despotic regime of his own. And he seems to think that because I'm supposedly here illegally, I'll put up with just about anything." Illya looked at his own watch. "Speaking of despotic foremen, I'll be in trouble if I don't get back to work soon."
"Wait a minute."
Napoleon produced another paper bag from his coat pocket. He ripped it open, and Illya saw the corner of a large chunk of chocolate cake.
He managed to summon a scowl, though not without a considerable effort.
"Napoleon, you'll make me late for work."
Napoleon raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling. He clearly wasn't the slightest bit fooled.
"Do you want it or not?"
"Well... I wouldn't like to waste it."
"You're late again, Sokolov," the foreman growled when Illya slipped through the warehouse door ten minutes later.
But this time, with his stomach full thanks to his partner, Illya didn't care.
I'd like to post a challenge ficlet (hope I have followed the rules correctly...) and say hello at the same time. I've been lurking for a little while, and enjoying all the posts, and thought I should finally post something myself :)
I'm very new to this show. I heard about it years ago thanks to the Star Trek connection, knew it had a big fandom and thought it sounded like the kind of show I would enjoy, but I never could watch it until they finally brought out some new Region Two DVDs (just a few weeks ago!).
The ficlet is for the What's My Line challenge.
Prompt: You're late again.
Author: Garonne
Word count: 625
Illya came round the corner of the warehouse and found Napoleon sitting on a low brick wall, whistling while he waited.
"There you are," Napoleon said brightly. "I thought they'd never let you out for lunch. Any problems this morning?"
Illya grunted in reply. In truth, he was rather enjoying this job. He liked being undercover when it involved playing a juicy role, or 'hamming it up' as Napoleon called it. And this one was almost too easy. He just had to put on a flat cap and an old coat and exaggerate his accent, and he was an illegal Russian immigrant working on the New York waterfront. He wasn't going to admit that to Napoleon, however.
"Learn anything interesting yet?" Napoleon added.
Illya gave him a hard, uncompromising glare.
"I won't sell my information that easily." He nodded at the paper bag that lay on the wall beside Napoleon. "Show me what you've brought first."
Napoleon grinned, and opened the bag. He pulled out an enormous ham sandwich --
"No ketchup, no mayonnaise," he said.
-- a packet of crackers, a slice of quiche, an apple and a bottle of milk, and laid them all out on the wall.
Illya ran his gaze over the display.
"That looks satisfactory," he said finally.
He hoisted himself up onto the wall to sit beside Napoleon.
"It seems we were right," he said after several minutes of silent chewing. "The freight company is a front. They're smuggling artifacts and antiquities from at least five different countries. And thereby lining the pockets of five despotic regimes."
"And breaking several UN conventions in the process."
Illya nodded. By now he'd devoured everything except the apple. He looked at it thoughtfully, polished it on his sleeve, and bit into it.
"This afternoon I should be able to get hold of the documents Waverly needs to take this to the next level," he said around a mouthful of apple.
"Got the camera?"
Illya tapped his jacket pocket.
"Good."
Napoleon leaned back, supporting his weight on his hands, and began to whistle again. After a minute or so, Illya took a final bite of the apple, and tucked the core into the paper bag. Napoleon looked at his watch.
"Six minutes," he announced. "My word, you were hungry. I wouldn't have bet on less than seven or eight."
Illya hadn't even noticed he was being timed. He frowned.
"I have spent the morning shifting heavy containers around, you know. While certain other people lounged around in fancy suits in air-conditioned offices."
To his surprise, a look of concern crossed Napoleon's face.
"Miserable, is it?"
"No, it's fine," Illya admitted. "I'm almost enjoying it. The only problem is the foreman, who's a nasty piece of work."
"You think he's mixed up in the smuggling racket?"
"No, he just enjoys running a little despotic regime of his own. And he seems to think that because I'm supposedly here illegally, I'll put up with just about anything." Illya looked at his own watch. "Speaking of despotic foremen, I'll be in trouble if I don't get back to work soon."
"Wait a minute."
Napoleon produced another paper bag from his coat pocket. He ripped it open, and Illya saw the corner of a large chunk of chocolate cake.
He managed to summon a scowl, though not without a considerable effort.
"Napoleon, you'll make me late for work."
Napoleon raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling. He clearly wasn't the slightest bit fooled.
"Do you want it or not?"
"Well... I wouldn't like to waste it."
"You're late again, Sokolov," the foreman growled when Illya slipped through the warehouse door ten minutes later.
But this time, with his stomach full thanks to his partner, Illya didn't care.
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Date: 2015-08-27 09:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-29 09:55 am (UTC)