Fishing - Picfic Tuesday - Feb 9th
Feb. 9th, 2016 10:33 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuFor Illya it had felt like a long, long journey. In reality, he and Napoleon had only been travelling for about two hours. They were heading for a weekend of fishing at a large pond belonging to Solo’s grandfather. Illya would have preferred to spend the weekend following his own pursuits, but there was a small chance the two agents would have to suddenly leave for Europe. To this end, Napoleon had persuaded him to join him at his family’s cabin.
Ordinarily, Illya didn’t mind hearing stories about his partner’s young life, but two hours of fishing stories became boring quite quickly. Napoleon was seemingly determined to recount his every catch. It apparently wasn’t enough to give details of each ‘man versus fish’ struggle, but also the description of each fish in minute detail. The weather conditions and the time of day were included as vital points of interest. Napoleon insisted that early morning was best for a good haul. This was then followed by how each catch was cooked and also how it tasted; including comparisons with other fish he’d eaten.
Finally, just as Illya was considering feigning sleep, they reached the turning to the cabin. The switched from a smooth tarmac road to a dirt track which severely tested the suspension. When they got to the cabin, another twenty minutes later, Illya was astonished by it. He was expecting a small wooden structure containing maybe two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. What he actually found was house which, from the look of the outside, had at least eight bedrooms. Due the size of the building, it was impossible the see the water beyond. Napoleon had described it as a pond, but following his description of the ‘cabin’, Illya wouldn’t be surprised to find a large lake.
Napoleon brought the car to a stop and the two men climbed out. They were immediately hit with a strong rotting scent.
“Can you smell that?” Illya asked, sniffing the air experimentally.
Solo mirrored the sniffing and crinkled his nose.
“Let’s get the gear inside and we can go and investigate.”
“It will take an hour to get your equipment inside,” Illya commented. “Did you really need so much?”
Solo shrugged dismissively. He’d only brought three poles, a selection of reels, several spools of spare line, two cases of hand-made flies, one box of live bait and two keeps nets.
“I wouldn’t say it was excessive,”
Illya snorted. “Napoleon, I’ve seen you catch fish using a stick, a length of string, a piece of bent wire and a caterpillar you found on a nearby fern. You really don’t need this much stuff.”
“That was survival,” Solo retorted. “This is leisure.”
It actually only took a matter of minutes to get the equipment inside. It was as he entered the main living are that Illya got his first glimpse of the pond. What he saw also explained the aroma they’d detected.
“I think you have a problem, Napoleon,” he called out to the other man, who was in the kitchen putting his live bait in the refrigerator. Joining Illya in front of the French doors, Napoleon’s eyes widened in shock.
“What the hell!” he exclaimed.
For several seconds, Napoleon fumbled with the keys for the cabin and eventually found the one he was searching for. Pushing the doors open he stepped out and took in the full horror.
Hundreds of dead fish lay on the shores of the pond, with hundreds more floating on the surface of the water. The stench was much more potent than it was around the front of the cabin, and Napoleon estimated it the fish had been dead no more than three or four days.
“What could have caused this?” Illya asked, stepping up behind Solo.
“My father knew a man who found his lake full of dead fish, and that turned out to be algae,” Napoleon told him. “But there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of it here.”
“You don’t suppose it could be THRUSH. I know it’s unlikely, but given who you are, it’s something we have to consider.”
“All things are possible, but I doubt it.”
The smell from the rotting fish was too strong for the agents to remain outside for much longer, so they retreated back inside. They entered just as someone knocked on the front door. Napoleon opened it to reveal the local sheriff.
“Sheriff Denton at your service, Sir,” he announced. “May I ask if you are affiliated with the owners of this cabin?”
“It belongs to my grandfather, Augustus Solo,” Napoleon told him. “I’m Napoleon Solo. I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me about the fish.”
“I am indeed. Your vehicle was seen heading down here by one of my officers, and as I wasn’t too far away, I thought I’d better come and let you know what happened,” the Sheriff explained. “I am given to believe a letter was sent to your grandfather informing him, but he may not have received it yet.”
Napoleon invited the sheriff in and offered him a chair. Nodding a greeting to Illya, he clarified the situation.
“We have a lot of trouble with Moonshiners in the area,” he began. “And I mean a lot! To be completely honest, the problem is so big we tend to turn a blind eye, unless they start to impact on other people. Well, three days ago the revenuers came to the area and word spread quickly. Before anyone could do anything else, every man with still decided to dispose of their illegal liquor in the nearest body of water.”
“Can we prosecute?” Napoleon asked, appalled at the atrocious act of vandalism.
“Only if you can prove anything,” Denton told him. “So you don’t really stand a chance.”
Illya’s pocket started beeping, causing Napoleon and Denton to look at him.
“Excuse me,” the Russian mumbled, muffling the sound with his hand as he went outside.
“I guess he must be a doctor,” Denton commented. “With him having a pager.”
“Something like that,” Napoleon replied, going over and opening the front door.
It wasn’t subtle, so the Sheriff easily got the hint. Solo thanked him for taking the time to come explain the situation and ushered him out. Illya re-entered the room.
“You wouldn’t have had a chance to fish anyway,” he said, tucking his communicator away. “We’re going to Paris.”
For all Illya could sympathise with the destruction of the fish pond, he really wasn’t relishing the long flight to Europe listening to Napoleon’s lamentations.
The End
(btw. I'm really not sure about this one.)
.
Ordinarily, Illya didn’t mind hearing stories about his partner’s young life, but two hours of fishing stories became boring quite quickly. Napoleon was seemingly determined to recount his every catch. It apparently wasn’t enough to give details of each ‘man versus fish’ struggle, but also the description of each fish in minute detail. The weather conditions and the time of day were included as vital points of interest. Napoleon insisted that early morning was best for a good haul. This was then followed by how each catch was cooked and also how it tasted; including comparisons with other fish he’d eaten.
Finally, just as Illya was considering feigning sleep, they reached the turning to the cabin. The switched from a smooth tarmac road to a dirt track which severely tested the suspension. When they got to the cabin, another twenty minutes later, Illya was astonished by it. He was expecting a small wooden structure containing maybe two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. What he actually found was house which, from the look of the outside, had at least eight bedrooms. Due the size of the building, it was impossible the see the water beyond. Napoleon had described it as a pond, but following his description of the ‘cabin’, Illya wouldn’t be surprised to find a large lake.
Napoleon brought the car to a stop and the two men climbed out. They were immediately hit with a strong rotting scent.
“Can you smell that?” Illya asked, sniffing the air experimentally.
Solo mirrored the sniffing and crinkled his nose.
“Let’s get the gear inside and we can go and investigate.”
“It will take an hour to get your equipment inside,” Illya commented. “Did you really need so much?”
Solo shrugged dismissively. He’d only brought three poles, a selection of reels, several spools of spare line, two cases of hand-made flies, one box of live bait and two keeps nets.
“I wouldn’t say it was excessive,”
Illya snorted. “Napoleon, I’ve seen you catch fish using a stick, a length of string, a piece of bent wire and a caterpillar you found on a nearby fern. You really don’t need this much stuff.”
“That was survival,” Solo retorted. “This is leisure.”
It actually only took a matter of minutes to get the equipment inside. It was as he entered the main living are that Illya got his first glimpse of the pond. What he saw also explained the aroma they’d detected.
“I think you have a problem, Napoleon,” he called out to the other man, who was in the kitchen putting his live bait in the refrigerator. Joining Illya in front of the French doors, Napoleon’s eyes widened in shock.
“What the hell!” he exclaimed.
For several seconds, Napoleon fumbled with the keys for the cabin and eventually found the one he was searching for. Pushing the doors open he stepped out and took in the full horror.
Hundreds of dead fish lay on the shores of the pond, with hundreds more floating on the surface of the water. The stench was much more potent than it was around the front of the cabin, and Napoleon estimated it the fish had been dead no more than three or four days.
“What could have caused this?” Illya asked, stepping up behind Solo.
“My father knew a man who found his lake full of dead fish, and that turned out to be algae,” Napoleon told him. “But there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of it here.”
“You don’t suppose it could be THRUSH. I know it’s unlikely, but given who you are, it’s something we have to consider.”
“All things are possible, but I doubt it.”
The smell from the rotting fish was too strong for the agents to remain outside for much longer, so they retreated back inside. They entered just as someone knocked on the front door. Napoleon opened it to reveal the local sheriff.
“Sheriff Denton at your service, Sir,” he announced. “May I ask if you are affiliated with the owners of this cabin?”
“It belongs to my grandfather, Augustus Solo,” Napoleon told him. “I’m Napoleon Solo. I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me about the fish.”
“I am indeed. Your vehicle was seen heading down here by one of my officers, and as I wasn’t too far away, I thought I’d better come and let you know what happened,” the Sheriff explained. “I am given to believe a letter was sent to your grandfather informing him, but he may not have received it yet.”
Napoleon invited the sheriff in and offered him a chair. Nodding a greeting to Illya, he clarified the situation.
“We have a lot of trouble with Moonshiners in the area,” he began. “And I mean a lot! To be completely honest, the problem is so big we tend to turn a blind eye, unless they start to impact on other people. Well, three days ago the revenuers came to the area and word spread quickly. Before anyone could do anything else, every man with still decided to dispose of their illegal liquor in the nearest body of water.”
“Can we prosecute?” Napoleon asked, appalled at the atrocious act of vandalism.
“Only if you can prove anything,” Denton told him. “So you don’t really stand a chance.”
Illya’s pocket started beeping, causing Napoleon and Denton to look at him.
“Excuse me,” the Russian mumbled, muffling the sound with his hand as he went outside.
“I guess he must be a doctor,” Denton commented. “With him having a pager.”
“Something like that,” Napoleon replied, going over and opening the front door.
It wasn’t subtle, so the Sheriff easily got the hint. Solo thanked him for taking the time to come explain the situation and ushered him out. Illya re-entered the room.
“You wouldn’t have had a chance to fish anyway,” he said, tucking his communicator away. “We’re going to Paris.”
For all Illya could sympathise with the destruction of the fish pond, he really wasn’t relishing the long flight to Europe listening to Napoleon’s lamentations.
The End
(btw. I'm really not sure about this one.)
.
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Date: 2016-02-10 03:03 pm (UTC)