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section7mfuThe Prompt - May be the devil, and the devil hath power
T' assume a pleasing shape. Yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds
More relative than this. The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.
“The play’s the thing.”
“I beg your pardon sir,” said Napoleon, wondering why his boss had suddenly started quoting Hamlet.
“That is the final part of the message we have received from Mr Slate,” Waverly explained. “He has been tailing a known THRUSH operative with the goal of learning where an important meeting is to be held. He had to abandon his surveillance, but not before he discovered that the location will be revealed within the script of a one night play, which is being performed tonight, at the Cherry Lane Theatre in Greenwich Village. If you recall, Prince Hamlet used to play to send a message.”
“That’s right,” Solo replied, recalling the scene. “He was telling his uncle that he knew how his father was killed.”
Yes, and isn’t rather apt that the play is going to inform this U.N.C.L.E.?”
“I am assuming Mr Solo and myself shall be attending the performance,” stated Illya, looking up from a report he was reading.
“You are correct in your assumption, Mr Kuryakin. “Waverly confirmed. “I have sent someone to procure two tickets for you. The play begins at eight sharp.”
The agents arrived at the theatre and took their seats with plenty of time to spare; each of them wearing slight disguises. Napoleon had his hair slicked back with Brylcreem, and had been fitted with tooth caps which gave him a prominent overbite. Illya had adopted a dark wig and brown contact lenses. The changes didn’t dramatically alter their appearances, but would hopefully be enough for them to avoid detection. After all, there were going to be a lot of Thrushes inside the theatre.
Fifteen minutes into the performance, both men were incredibly bored. It was quite possibly one of the direst and most amateurish plays either had ever had to sit through. Unfortunately, they had to take notice of every word spoken. Illya had had the foresight to bring a recording device, but there was always the chance it could feel. As it turned out, he really needn’t have worried.
Shortly after the start of the third act the lead actor launched into a painfully overacted soliloquy, in which he heavily inflected the pertinent information.
“Oh how I yearn for a FRESH MEADOW,” he yelled, dropping to his knees and throwing wide his arms. “However, I fear that, like for Caesar, the IDES OF MARCH will hold some import. AS THE SUN SETS destiny shall arrive.”
The second the play was over, Solo and Kuryakin left the theatre as swiftly as they dared. Once they were in their car, Napoleon contacted Mr Waverly.
“The meeting is set for the evening of March 15th at the Fresh Meadow Country Club,” he told him.
“Very good Mr Solo,” Waverly acknowledged. “I have another team ready and waiting to take things from here. I shall see you both in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Sir.”
“Fancy a late dinner?” Napoleon asked, turning to Illya.
“After sitting through that dreadful play, I need several stiff drinks,” the Russian replied. “Followed by a late dinner."
The End
T' assume a pleasing shape. Yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds
More relative than this. The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.
“The play’s the thing.”
“I beg your pardon sir,” said Napoleon, wondering why his boss had suddenly started quoting Hamlet.
“That is the final part of the message we have received from Mr Slate,” Waverly explained. “He has been tailing a known THRUSH operative with the goal of learning where an important meeting is to be held. He had to abandon his surveillance, but not before he discovered that the location will be revealed within the script of a one night play, which is being performed tonight, at the Cherry Lane Theatre in Greenwich Village. If you recall, Prince Hamlet used to play to send a message.”
“That’s right,” Solo replied, recalling the scene. “He was telling his uncle that he knew how his father was killed.”
Yes, and isn’t rather apt that the play is going to inform this U.N.C.L.E.?”
“I am assuming Mr Solo and myself shall be attending the performance,” stated Illya, looking up from a report he was reading.
“You are correct in your assumption, Mr Kuryakin. “Waverly confirmed. “I have sent someone to procure two tickets for you. The play begins at eight sharp.”
The agents arrived at the theatre and took their seats with plenty of time to spare; each of them wearing slight disguises. Napoleon had his hair slicked back with Brylcreem, and had been fitted with tooth caps which gave him a prominent overbite. Illya had adopted a dark wig and brown contact lenses. The changes didn’t dramatically alter their appearances, but would hopefully be enough for them to avoid detection. After all, there were going to be a lot of Thrushes inside the theatre.
Fifteen minutes into the performance, both men were incredibly bored. It was quite possibly one of the direst and most amateurish plays either had ever had to sit through. Unfortunately, they had to take notice of every word spoken. Illya had had the foresight to bring a recording device, but there was always the chance it could feel. As it turned out, he really needn’t have worried.
Shortly after the start of the third act the lead actor launched into a painfully overacted soliloquy, in which he heavily inflected the pertinent information.
“Oh how I yearn for a FRESH MEADOW,” he yelled, dropping to his knees and throwing wide his arms. “However, I fear that, like for Caesar, the IDES OF MARCH will hold some import. AS THE SUN SETS destiny shall arrive.”
The second the play was over, Solo and Kuryakin left the theatre as swiftly as they dared. Once they were in their car, Napoleon contacted Mr Waverly.
“The meeting is set for the evening of March 15th at the Fresh Meadow Country Club,” he told him.
“Very good Mr Solo,” Waverly acknowledged. “I have another team ready and waiting to take things from here. I shall see you both in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Sir.”
“Fancy a late dinner?” Napoleon asked, turning to Illya.
“After sitting through that dreadful play, I need several stiff drinks,” the Russian replied. “Followed by a late dinner."
The End
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no subject
Date: 2016-03-04 10:35 pm (UTC)And a very enjoyable fic it was, too, when I wasn't wincing in sympathy for Napoleon and Illya. Thrush always has some new torture.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-05 09:32 am (UTC)Sitting through a bad play is indeed a form of torture :-)
no subject
Date: 2016-03-04 11:13 pm (UTC)Clever treatment having Mark clue them in and the THRUSH using the dialogue as secret messages. Not too secret though ;)
no subject
Date: 2016-03-05 09:33 am (UTC)The message might have been a bit more secret if THRUSH had gotten a better actor.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-04 11:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-05 09:36 am (UTC)As soon as I saw the wonderful prompt (Hamlet is one of my two favourite Shakespeare plays), I knew I had to do something with a hidden message play.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-05 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-05 09:37 am (UTC)My brain is trying to imagine the overbite, but it keeps rejecting the idea.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-05 02:09 pm (UTC)