The woman he was dancing with was beguiling enough to turn a saint's head and Napoleon had no such natural resistance.
“You do remember our mission?” his partner asked scathingly in his ear from across the room.
He smiled unconcernedly, spinning her around dizzyingly.
“And you have noticed she is KGB?”
Of course. Really, Illya should know by now that he wasn't inclined to discriminate.
“Her name is Irina Petrovna Pichushkin. She and I were acquainted back home. Intimately acquainted. If that makes a difference to you.”
Ah. Sadly it did. He brought the dance to an end with regret.
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Date: 2015-09-10 08:25 am (UTC)Glad you liked the drabble as well btw.
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