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section7mfuShort Affair 1/18
Prompt: #1--Plan
Color: Black
Title: It Took Place in a New York Cemetery
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~825
It was a dark, moonless night as two figures—one a bit shorter than the other—snuck through the inky blackness towards the cemetery gates. The figure in the lead paused just outside the bars.
“There’re definitely people in there,” he determined. “Looks like the tip was right—THRUSH has started robbing graves now.”
A voice behind him muttered something quietly, in Russian.
“As much as I’d enjoy hearing you curse them repeatedly in your native tongue, Illya, the fact remains that we have work to do,” the man in the lead said. “We need to find out what they’re taking from these graves, and why.”
“So, what is the plan?” Illya asked, now in English.
“The plan is to climb this fence an approach them as quietly as possible. We’re only gathering information tonight.”
“You have the infrared camera?”
“Naturally,” the leader replied, beginning to scale the fence.
“Be careful, Napoleon!” Illya whispered.
He waited, watching as his partner clambered over the top of the fence and dropped down to the other side with a slight groan; Illya then gracefully followed, scaling the fence with the ease and grace of a cat and alighting on his feet to the other side, pausing as he saw his companion looking directly at him. Illya couldn’t see Napoleon’s expression in the dark, but he could very well imagine it after Napoleon’s ungainly landing.
“What?” the Russian asked, innocently.
“…Never mind,” Napoleon said. “Just follow me.”
Fighting back a smile, Illya did so. He soon sobered as they began to discern small lights up ahead—flashlights. Napoleon was already taking pictures with the infrared camera as he crept forward now, keeping as low to the ground as he could while still being able to walk.
He didn’t see the open grave in front of him in the inky blackness; the camera flew out of his hand as he fell. Illya had sensed something amiss and had tried to grab for his partner, but gravity had beaten him. The Russian now crawled to the edge of the grave.
“Napoleon!?” he asked, in a frantic whisper.
A quiet curse replied him, assuring Illya that Napoleon was alright, more or less.
“New plan, Tovarisch,” Napoleon muttered. “You find where the camera landed and get some pictures.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me; I’m not going anywhere.”
Illya searched for the camera; after being unable to find it, he drew the spare infrared camera he had brought with him and took the pictures of the THRUSH agents. He froze again, able to discern though the night vision window of the camera as to what one of the agents held in his hand: a needle inside of a glass egg—or was it diamond? The needle was handed down to an agent in the grave; a moment later, the needle returned to the glass egg.
“Napoleon?”
“What?”
“Napoleon, I think we should change our plan to a tactical retreat.”
Alarm bells began to ring in the American’s head; he trusted Illya’s judgment, of course.
“Alright. Get me out of here.”
Illya’s resourcefulness soon had him removing his black turtleneck to use as a makeshift climbing rope; the sleeve was just long enough for Napoleon to grab onto, and after making sure he had enough leverage by bracing himself against a headstone, Illya began the slow process of pulling him out of the grave.
“I’ve been dieting; can you tell?” Napoleon cracked, as he made it out of the pit.
“Not at all,” Illya countered, taking a moment to catch his breath. He glanced back at the THRUSH agents and then looked back at Napoleon with a nod.
Napoleon returned the gesture and the two of them retreated.
“So what was that about?” Napoleon asked, as they scaled the cemetery fence again.
“I thought I saw something that was…” He trailed off. “…A needle in a glass egg.”
“Is that significant?”
“It is if you’ve heard the tale of Koschei the Deathless.”
“…That’s the guy who put his soul in a needle?”
“And the needle in an egg,” Illya said, with a nod. “Those who held the egg could control Koschei.”
“And you think THRUSH is somehow inspired by this old Russian folk tale?”
“I know it’s just a tale, Napoleon!” Illya said. “But it makes you wonder why THRUSH would be holding something like that near an open grave. It may be something based on the legend that is the secret to some global plot.”
“It usually works that way,” Napoleon mused. “Alright, Tovarisch; the plan now is that we’ll come back in the morning and see which graves have been disturbed. It could be that they’re trying to unnerve anyone who comes by the cemetery into thinking that they’re invoking the legend. If that’s the case, then we need to find out what they’re trying to cover up.”
Illya nodded, and the two partners disappeared into the blackness of the night.
Prompt: #1--Plan
Color: Black
Title: It Took Place in a New York Cemetery
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~825
It was a dark, moonless night as two figures—one a bit shorter than the other—snuck through the inky blackness towards the cemetery gates. The figure in the lead paused just outside the bars.
“There’re definitely people in there,” he determined. “Looks like the tip was right—THRUSH has started robbing graves now.”
A voice behind him muttered something quietly, in Russian.
“As much as I’d enjoy hearing you curse them repeatedly in your native tongue, Illya, the fact remains that we have work to do,” the man in the lead said. “We need to find out what they’re taking from these graves, and why.”
“So, what is the plan?” Illya asked, now in English.
“The plan is to climb this fence an approach them as quietly as possible. We’re only gathering information tonight.”
“You have the infrared camera?”
“Naturally,” the leader replied, beginning to scale the fence.
“Be careful, Napoleon!” Illya whispered.
He waited, watching as his partner clambered over the top of the fence and dropped down to the other side with a slight groan; Illya then gracefully followed, scaling the fence with the ease and grace of a cat and alighting on his feet to the other side, pausing as he saw his companion looking directly at him. Illya couldn’t see Napoleon’s expression in the dark, but he could very well imagine it after Napoleon’s ungainly landing.
“What?” the Russian asked, innocently.
“…Never mind,” Napoleon said. “Just follow me.”
Fighting back a smile, Illya did so. He soon sobered as they began to discern small lights up ahead—flashlights. Napoleon was already taking pictures with the infrared camera as he crept forward now, keeping as low to the ground as he could while still being able to walk.
He didn’t see the open grave in front of him in the inky blackness; the camera flew out of his hand as he fell. Illya had sensed something amiss and had tried to grab for his partner, but gravity had beaten him. The Russian now crawled to the edge of the grave.
“Napoleon!?” he asked, in a frantic whisper.
A quiet curse replied him, assuring Illya that Napoleon was alright, more or less.
“New plan, Tovarisch,” Napoleon muttered. “You find where the camera landed and get some pictures.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me; I’m not going anywhere.”
Illya searched for the camera; after being unable to find it, he drew the spare infrared camera he had brought with him and took the pictures of the THRUSH agents. He froze again, able to discern though the night vision window of the camera as to what one of the agents held in his hand: a needle inside of a glass egg—or was it diamond? The needle was handed down to an agent in the grave; a moment later, the needle returned to the glass egg.
“Napoleon?”
“What?”
“Napoleon, I think we should change our plan to a tactical retreat.”
Alarm bells began to ring in the American’s head; he trusted Illya’s judgment, of course.
“Alright. Get me out of here.”
Illya’s resourcefulness soon had him removing his black turtleneck to use as a makeshift climbing rope; the sleeve was just long enough for Napoleon to grab onto, and after making sure he had enough leverage by bracing himself against a headstone, Illya began the slow process of pulling him out of the grave.
“I’ve been dieting; can you tell?” Napoleon cracked, as he made it out of the pit.
“Not at all,” Illya countered, taking a moment to catch his breath. He glanced back at the THRUSH agents and then looked back at Napoleon with a nod.
Napoleon returned the gesture and the two of them retreated.
“So what was that about?” Napoleon asked, as they scaled the cemetery fence again.
“I thought I saw something that was…” He trailed off. “…A needle in a glass egg.”
“Is that significant?”
“It is if you’ve heard the tale of Koschei the Deathless.”
“…That’s the guy who put his soul in a needle?”
“And the needle in an egg,” Illya said, with a nod. “Those who held the egg could control Koschei.”
“And you think THRUSH is somehow inspired by this old Russian folk tale?”
“I know it’s just a tale, Napoleon!” Illya said. “But it makes you wonder why THRUSH would be holding something like that near an open grave. It may be something based on the legend that is the secret to some global plot.”
“It usually works that way,” Napoleon mused. “Alright, Tovarisch; the plan now is that we’ll come back in the morning and see which graves have been disturbed. It could be that they’re trying to unnerve anyone who comes by the cemetery into thinking that they’re invoking the legend. If that’s the case, then we need to find out what they’re trying to cover up.”
Illya nodded, and the two partners disappeared into the blackness of the night.
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Date: 2016-01-19 12:22 am (UTC)I certainly hope there'll be more I can add to this! Thanks again!