![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ssclassof56.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuPrompts: black/core
“Illya, play us a song.”
The request was picked up and repeated by several other nubile, young snow bunnies, who quickly claimed chairs around him or gathered at his feet. Illya sat on the deck, comfortably warm in a black sweater and ski pants, his left ankle propped up and wrapped. After faking a sprain on their first day at the resort, he’d stationed himself in the lodge, gathering information from those who preferred seeing and being seen to actual skiing. Rather disconcertingly, he'd also gathered a cadre of young admirers, thanks to some books of Beat poetry and the guitar which were part of his cover.
Napoleon had found his partner’s popularity disconcerting as well. As his own assignment was a statuesque blonde suspected of being THRUSH to the core, he soon got over his dismay. Using binoculars, Illya had recently spotted them riding the ski lift up the mountain and looking very cozy.
At the other end of the deck, Faustina leaned on the banister, watching a tall blond build a snowman replica of her on the ground below. He was the brother of Napoleon's quarry, and she’d been encouraging his attentions all week. Too well, it seemed. Last night she'd worried that Dan was getting serious.
“How about a song about a snowman?” Illya suggested, picking up the guitar.
Faustina smiled down at Dan as he put the finishing touches on his creation. Between the agents, skiers paraded past, heading out to the shining slopes or into the warm lodge, ignorant of the darker forces at work in the resort and of those sent to stop them. Illya strummed the guitar and been to sing.
Made of snow, I don't know
How I fit in
To and fro, people go
I stand and grin
Way to go, even though
I can't begin
Made of snow, I don't know
How I fit in
The girls around him sighed and leaned in. As Faustina clapped for her admirer’s frosty tribute, Dan ran up the steps and pulled her into an embrace. Faustina allowed it for a moment before pushing him away playfully. Using this man had not been easy, she’d said, especially as they’d determined he had no involvement with THRUSH. He was sincere and likable, albeit unfortunate in his sister, with dreams of a wife and a picket fence. And Faustina was afraid those dreams had begun to include her.
Ever cold, love untold
I don't belong
Have and hold, so untold
I think they're wrong
Heart of gold, grownin' old
Just like the song
Ever cold, love untold
I don't belong
A redhead, one of the bolder of the group, rested her head against Illya’s right knee. Part of him registered her hand stroking his calf, as the rest of him played and sang and watched Dan grow increasingly agitated at Faustina's deflections. Finally Dan grasped her arms and, with his face close to hers, spoke earnestly and fervently. Illya recognized a declaration of love when he saw one. Faustina’s response was brief, and Dan released her angrily and turned away. She stared at his back, unmoving. For the sake of the mission, they needed him; she couldn't let him walk away yet. A cloud passed over the sun. The breeze turned chill, the snow dull.
Button eyes, lullabies,
I melt away
Criticized, compromised
White turns to grey
I'm paralyzed, otherwise
I'd leave today
Button eyes, lullabies,
I melt away
Faustina laid a hand on Dan’s stiff back and spoke. Her words placated him, and when she pulled on his shoulder to turn him around, he didn't resist. Faustina stroked his cheek, then wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his chest. Dan returned the embrace and bent to murmur into her hair. She closed her eyes, but not before meeting Illya’s gaze across the deck. Her glance was a potent cocktail of determination, resignation, and regret, with a twist of self-loathing.
Made of snow, I don't know
How I fit in
Ever cold, love untold
I don't fit in
Button eyes, lullabies,
I don't fit in
Made of snow, I don't know
How I fit in
As the final chord died away, a light snow began to fall.
----------
Illya's song is not of the 60s, but "Snowman" by Ed Robertson from 2004's Barenaked for the Holidays. I listened to the CD recently and could see Illya singing it.
“Illya, play us a song.”
The request was picked up and repeated by several other nubile, young snow bunnies, who quickly claimed chairs around him or gathered at his feet. Illya sat on the deck, comfortably warm in a black sweater and ski pants, his left ankle propped up and wrapped. After faking a sprain on their first day at the resort, he’d stationed himself in the lodge, gathering information from those who preferred seeing and being seen to actual skiing. Rather disconcertingly, he'd also gathered a cadre of young admirers, thanks to some books of Beat poetry and the guitar which were part of his cover.
Napoleon had found his partner’s popularity disconcerting as well. As his own assignment was a statuesque blonde suspected of being THRUSH to the core, he soon got over his dismay. Using binoculars, Illya had recently spotted them riding the ski lift up the mountain and looking very cozy.
At the other end of the deck, Faustina leaned on the banister, watching a tall blond build a snowman replica of her on the ground below. He was the brother of Napoleon's quarry, and she’d been encouraging his attentions all week. Too well, it seemed. Last night she'd worried that Dan was getting serious.
“How about a song about a snowman?” Illya suggested, picking up the guitar.
Faustina smiled down at Dan as he put the finishing touches on his creation. Between the agents, skiers paraded past, heading out to the shining slopes or into the warm lodge, ignorant of the darker forces at work in the resort and of those sent to stop them. Illya strummed the guitar and been to sing.
Made of snow, I don't know
How I fit in
To and fro, people go
I stand and grin
Way to go, even though
I can't begin
Made of snow, I don't know
How I fit in
The girls around him sighed and leaned in. As Faustina clapped for her admirer’s frosty tribute, Dan ran up the steps and pulled her into an embrace. Faustina allowed it for a moment before pushing him away playfully. Using this man had not been easy, she’d said, especially as they’d determined he had no involvement with THRUSH. He was sincere and likable, albeit unfortunate in his sister, with dreams of a wife and a picket fence. And Faustina was afraid those dreams had begun to include her.
Ever cold, love untold
I don't belong
Have and hold, so untold
I think they're wrong
Heart of gold, grownin' old
Just like the song
Ever cold, love untold
I don't belong
A redhead, one of the bolder of the group, rested her head against Illya’s right knee. Part of him registered her hand stroking his calf, as the rest of him played and sang and watched Dan grow increasingly agitated at Faustina's deflections. Finally Dan grasped her arms and, with his face close to hers, spoke earnestly and fervently. Illya recognized a declaration of love when he saw one. Faustina’s response was brief, and Dan released her angrily and turned away. She stared at his back, unmoving. For the sake of the mission, they needed him; she couldn't let him walk away yet. A cloud passed over the sun. The breeze turned chill, the snow dull.
Button eyes, lullabies,
I melt away
Criticized, compromised
White turns to grey
I'm paralyzed, otherwise
I'd leave today
Button eyes, lullabies,
I melt away
Faustina laid a hand on Dan’s stiff back and spoke. Her words placated him, and when she pulled on his shoulder to turn him around, he didn't resist. Faustina stroked his cheek, then wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his chest. Dan returned the embrace and bent to murmur into her hair. She closed her eyes, but not before meeting Illya’s gaze across the deck. Her glance was a potent cocktail of determination, resignation, and regret, with a twist of self-loathing.
Made of snow, I don't know
How I fit in
Ever cold, love untold
I don't fit in
Button eyes, lullabies,
I don't fit in
Made of snow, I don't know
How I fit in
As the final chord died away, a light snow began to fall.
----------
Illya's song is not of the 60s, but "Snowman" by Ed Robertson from 2004's Barenaked for the Holidays. I listened to the CD recently and could see Illya singing it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}