Taking the Plunge
Jan. 1st, 2016 11:59 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuWrote this in honor of New Year's Day for the open posting.
“I'm chilly.” A cold breeze ruffled Illya’s hair and, below his trench coat, made the hair on his bare calves stand up.
“Tenderfoot,” Napoleon responded, while hunching his shoulders and tucking his head farther into the turned-up collar of his own winter coat.
“If I contract pneumonia, it will be on your head.”
“As I recall,” Napoleon said, “we both pulled her from a beach holiday to get us out of a jam.”
“And as I recall, you agreed to the terms of repayment without consulting me.” Illya stamped his feet in an attempt to restore some warmth to his legs.
“I magnanimously offered to repay her myself. I can't help that she insisted we both be present.”
Illya snorted. “You thought to spare me from an arduous day of sand, surf and sun? My gratitude knows no bounds.”
The sand at their feet was damp and cold, the chill penetrating the soles of their shoes. In front of them, the grey and white surf churned uninvitingly. The skies were leaden, obscuring the sun. Napoleon grimaced at the sight. “When she said we owed her a day at the beach, I admit I had envisioned something entirely different.”
Dozens of people milled around them on the stretch of shoreline. A few acknowledged the season with hats, gloves or coats. Many wore the black terrycloth robes that marked members of the Penguin Club. Still others defied the weather by wearing only their swimsuits.
“You know, I've heard about people who do this sort of thing,” Illya said. “I’ve just never met any.”
“Gentlemen, I didn't expect to see you here. Happy New Year.”
The agents turned in surprise to find their chief behind them. He was dressed in a black robe and sandals. “Happy New Year, sir,” they replied.
Mr. Waverly looked his agents up and down with a smile. “Will you be taking the Plunge today?”
“Ah, yes,” Napoleon said. “Faustina invited us.”
“Excellent. The more the merrier, as they say. Miss Pemberley took the Plunge on an assignment a few years ago and became quite keen on it. It’s you young people who will keep the tradition alive when we older members are gone.”
“We didn’t realize you belonged to the Club, sir,” Illya said.
“Yes, indeed. I’m a Penguin of longstanding.” He tightened the belt of his Club robe as a chill breeze passed between them. “Of course, our other responsibilities prevent me from participating regularly. But I do try to join in every New Year’s—“
Illya’s loud sneeze and mumbled apology cut him off.
“I hope you’re not catching cold, Mr. Kuryakin,” Mr. Waverly tutted.
“I hope not as well, sir.”
“The effects of the Plunge are actually quite salubrious. I haven’t had a cold in years,” their chief declared proudly.
A group of men of similar age and dress as Waverly called from further down the beach. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Enjoy the Plunge.” Mr. Waverly headed off to join his compatriots.
“Well, at least he’s never made this one of the mandatory fitness requirements,” Napoleon said, gazing at the Penguin emblem embroidered on the back of Waverly’s robe.
“I just hope he remembers our participation today at the next annual review,” Illya responded and sneezed again.
“Doing your part for the handkerchief industry again, are you?”
Faustina came along side them, a black robe draped over her shoulders. Despite the weather, she looked perfectly comfortable in the Club’s signature bikini.
“Thanks to you,” Illya grumbled, dabbing his nose with a square of white linen. “Who goes to the beach when it’s freezing?”
“Don’t exaggerate. It must be 50 degrees today. Far too warm really.”
“Really?” Napoleon broke off his admiration of her bikini to express his disbelief.
“Oh, yes. The water will feel that much more—bracing. Last year it was 27 degrees out and compared to the air, the water was like a warm bath.”
“That is just what I need. A warm bath,” Illya declared.
“Nonsense. The Plunge will do wonders for your health. Most members rarely get head colds after they join the Penguins.”
Several yards away, one of Waverly’s compatriots ascended a small platform, and the scattered crowd began to draw in closer.
“In the course of my professional career,” Illya said, as they walked toward the platform, “icy water has never done my health any good. I fail to see how that will change when I go in recreationally.”
Napoleon smiled at a trio of bikini-clad women passing by. “I don’t know. Maybe it comes down to frame of mind.”
“Hush,” Faustina said as they joined the expectant crowd. “The Club president is about to open the event.”
The white-haired man on the platform lifted his arms. When he had the crowd’s attention, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Members. Guests. Welcome to the annual Penguin Plunge.” He paused while the crowd applauded and cheered. “Many of us gather weekly to enjoy the benefits of cold-water bathing. But, as evidenced by our numbers today, the New Year’s Day Plunge holds a special significance.”
Napoleon and Illya exchanged a glance as Faustina, intent on the president, linked her arms with theirs and drew them closer to her.
“On this day, we pause to remember the year behind us. The triumphs and tragedies. The friends gained and friends lost.” Another round of applause followed. The agents recognized a ‘Hear, hear' as Mr. Waverly’s.
“On this day, we also witness the birth of a new year. I hope this day also brings a rebirth within each of you. Fresh hopes. Fresh faith. Fresh love and laughter.” He lifted his arms again, as if giving a benediction. “As that cold water invigorates your bodies, may it also bring fresh vigor to your spirits. May it fill you with strength and courage to meet whatever this new year will hold.”
Though the sky remained grey and overcast, the beach suddenly seemed brighter and warmer than it had earlier. The president picked up a conch shell from the platform. “Now, everyone take your places. When I blow the signal, we Plunge!”
The crowd gave a final cheer before scattering into a ragged line where the waves lapped the sand. The three agents walked arm-in-arm to an empty spot at the water's edge.
“So this was more than creative payback,” Napoleon said as he removed his coat and shoes, tossing them onto the sand behind them.
Illya added his things to the pile. “Or general mischief,” he said.
Faustina threw back her robe with a flourish. “There was a little of both. But only a little.” She took one of their hands in each of hers. “To fresh hope and faith,” she said.
“To fresh strength and courage,” Illya added, squeezing her hand.
Napoleon smiled. “To fresh love and laughter.”
As the conch shell sounded, the three agents ran headlong into the chill Atlantic waters. Alexander Waverly stood watching as they cavorted like children, a fond smile curving his lips. He offered his own silent benediction before plunging into the waters himself. 'May we all emerge safely from this new year, and may next year’s Plunge find us back again.'
“I'm chilly.” A cold breeze ruffled Illya’s hair and, below his trench coat, made the hair on his bare calves stand up.
“Tenderfoot,” Napoleon responded, while hunching his shoulders and tucking his head farther into the turned-up collar of his own winter coat.
“If I contract pneumonia, it will be on your head.”
“As I recall,” Napoleon said, “we both pulled her from a beach holiday to get us out of a jam.”
“And as I recall, you agreed to the terms of repayment without consulting me.” Illya stamped his feet in an attempt to restore some warmth to his legs.
“I magnanimously offered to repay her myself. I can't help that she insisted we both be present.”
Illya snorted. “You thought to spare me from an arduous day of sand, surf and sun? My gratitude knows no bounds.”
The sand at their feet was damp and cold, the chill penetrating the soles of their shoes. In front of them, the grey and white surf churned uninvitingly. The skies were leaden, obscuring the sun. Napoleon grimaced at the sight. “When she said we owed her a day at the beach, I admit I had envisioned something entirely different.”
Dozens of people milled around them on the stretch of shoreline. A few acknowledged the season with hats, gloves or coats. Many wore the black terrycloth robes that marked members of the Penguin Club. Still others defied the weather by wearing only their swimsuits.
“You know, I've heard about people who do this sort of thing,” Illya said. “I’ve just never met any.”
“Gentlemen, I didn't expect to see you here. Happy New Year.”
The agents turned in surprise to find their chief behind them. He was dressed in a black robe and sandals. “Happy New Year, sir,” they replied.
Mr. Waverly looked his agents up and down with a smile. “Will you be taking the Plunge today?”
“Ah, yes,” Napoleon said. “Faustina invited us.”
“Excellent. The more the merrier, as they say. Miss Pemberley took the Plunge on an assignment a few years ago and became quite keen on it. It’s you young people who will keep the tradition alive when we older members are gone.”
“We didn’t realize you belonged to the Club, sir,” Illya said.
“Yes, indeed. I’m a Penguin of longstanding.” He tightened the belt of his Club robe as a chill breeze passed between them. “Of course, our other responsibilities prevent me from participating regularly. But I do try to join in every New Year’s—“
Illya’s loud sneeze and mumbled apology cut him off.
“I hope you’re not catching cold, Mr. Kuryakin,” Mr. Waverly tutted.
“I hope not as well, sir.”
“The effects of the Plunge are actually quite salubrious. I haven’t had a cold in years,” their chief declared proudly.
A group of men of similar age and dress as Waverly called from further down the beach. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Enjoy the Plunge.” Mr. Waverly headed off to join his compatriots.
“Well, at least he’s never made this one of the mandatory fitness requirements,” Napoleon said, gazing at the Penguin emblem embroidered on the back of Waverly’s robe.
“I just hope he remembers our participation today at the next annual review,” Illya responded and sneezed again.
“Doing your part for the handkerchief industry again, are you?”
Faustina came along side them, a black robe draped over her shoulders. Despite the weather, she looked perfectly comfortable in the Club’s signature bikini.
“Thanks to you,” Illya grumbled, dabbing his nose with a square of white linen. “Who goes to the beach when it’s freezing?”
“Don’t exaggerate. It must be 50 degrees today. Far too warm really.”
“Really?” Napoleon broke off his admiration of her bikini to express his disbelief.
“Oh, yes. The water will feel that much more—bracing. Last year it was 27 degrees out and compared to the air, the water was like a warm bath.”
“That is just what I need. A warm bath,” Illya declared.
“Nonsense. The Plunge will do wonders for your health. Most members rarely get head colds after they join the Penguins.”
Several yards away, one of Waverly’s compatriots ascended a small platform, and the scattered crowd began to draw in closer.
“In the course of my professional career,” Illya said, as they walked toward the platform, “icy water has never done my health any good. I fail to see how that will change when I go in recreationally.”
Napoleon smiled at a trio of bikini-clad women passing by. “I don’t know. Maybe it comes down to frame of mind.”
“Hush,” Faustina said as they joined the expectant crowd. “The Club president is about to open the event.”
The white-haired man on the platform lifted his arms. When he had the crowd’s attention, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Members. Guests. Welcome to the annual Penguin Plunge.” He paused while the crowd applauded and cheered. “Many of us gather weekly to enjoy the benefits of cold-water bathing. But, as evidenced by our numbers today, the New Year’s Day Plunge holds a special significance.”
Napoleon and Illya exchanged a glance as Faustina, intent on the president, linked her arms with theirs and drew them closer to her.
“On this day, we pause to remember the year behind us. The triumphs and tragedies. The friends gained and friends lost.” Another round of applause followed. The agents recognized a ‘Hear, hear' as Mr. Waverly’s.
“On this day, we also witness the birth of a new year. I hope this day also brings a rebirth within each of you. Fresh hopes. Fresh faith. Fresh love and laughter.” He lifted his arms again, as if giving a benediction. “As that cold water invigorates your bodies, may it also bring fresh vigor to your spirits. May it fill you with strength and courage to meet whatever this new year will hold.”
Though the sky remained grey and overcast, the beach suddenly seemed brighter and warmer than it had earlier. The president picked up a conch shell from the platform. “Now, everyone take your places. When I blow the signal, we Plunge!”
The crowd gave a final cheer before scattering into a ragged line where the waves lapped the sand. The three agents walked arm-in-arm to an empty spot at the water's edge.
“So this was more than creative payback,” Napoleon said as he removed his coat and shoes, tossing them onto the sand behind them.
Illya added his things to the pile. “Or general mischief,” he said.
Faustina threw back her robe with a flourish. “There was a little of both. But only a little.” She took one of their hands in each of hers. “To fresh hope and faith,” she said.
“To fresh strength and courage,” Illya added, squeezing her hand.
Napoleon smiled. “To fresh love and laughter.”
As the conch shell sounded, the three agents ran headlong into the chill Atlantic waters. Alexander Waverly stood watching as they cavorted like children, a fond smile curving his lips. He offered his own silent benediction before plunging into the waters himself. 'May we all emerge safely from this new year, and may next year’s Plunge find us back again.'
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no subject
Date: 2016-01-02 05:42 am (UTC)Happy New Year!
no subject
Date: 2016-01-02 02:15 pm (UTC)Happy New Year!