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section7mfu2016-05-21 08:46 am
jantojones.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2016-05-21 08:46 am
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The Mask is Always There - Song Story Callenge - May 21st
Can this world be a masquerade
Are you really what we see on the outside
And hidin' what you really are on the inside
Pretending that you're something you're really not, yeah yeah.
The World’s a Masquerade – Earth, Wind, and Fire.
Lying on a bed in another seedy motel room, following another successful mission, Napoleon watched with interest as the brown-eyed, red-haired man in front of him slowly transformed.
First, the truly horrible blue jacket was removed, temporarily leaving the matching trousers, followed by an equally awful yellow tie. Next, two contact lenses were removed to reveal the bright blue eyes beneath. With the peeling off of two dark eyebrows, and the red wig, Illya Kuryakin emerged.
Had Napoleon not known what Illya looked like in his disguise, even he wouldn’t have recognised him. The Russian had an uncanny ability to portray a different person. Solo was convinced that his partner didn’t just play a part, but that he actually became the part. This would, of course, explain why he was so successful undercover.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” Kuryakin replied, as he washed the glue residue from his face.
“We all know how to go undercover, and how to adopt a disguise, but you seem to be able to live the aliases you are given,” Solo explained. “Everyone, no matter how good, has little tell-tale signs. Unconscious mannerisms and such which are difficult to cover. But you are able to hide everything that is you.”
Illya pondered the question as he dried his face. He’d never really thought about it before.
“I suppose it was something I learned very early,” he finally answered. “After my world was ripped apart, I found it beneficial to be invisible.”
Being invisible was something Napoleon had never had to do as a child. He had always seemed designed to stand out, having been taught the correct way to dress, and how to properly behave in polite company. This, added to his natural exuberance and confidence meant he was always noticed. Upon joining U.N.C.L.E. he’d learned the art of disguise and camouflage and, although he was quite adept, he still always felt pretty much like himself just pretending.
“Don’t you ever worry that you may one day forget who you are?”
Illya gazed at Solo quizzically.
“I’m not going to suddenly get amnesia.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Napoleon retorted. “And you know it.”
Kuryakin lay down on the other the bed and contemplated the ceiling.
“To be honest, my friend,” he responded. “This is not something I have given much thought to. Growing up, being unnoticed meant survival. It was just something I had to do, and I don’t think there was any conscious effort. When I got older and certain talents I had developed, it became much harder, but my natural ability to conceal myself out in the open became useful for my career. In answer to your question, I can never forget who I am. Even you have never seen the man I keep buried deep inside.”
“Are you telling me that the Illya Kuryakin I know is all just an act?” Napoleon asked, suddenly sitting up.
“No,” Illya assured him. He remained lying down but looked his friend squarely in the eye. “I’m saying that the man deep down is still the angry and hurt little boy, and I don’t like being that person. The man you know is the real me, I am just careful to keep my emotions behind a mask. Do you understand?”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Solo replied, taking up his horizontal position again. “But, I could never understand why. I have never experienced the horrors you have, so have never needed to hide myself, other than as part of a mission.”
He paused momentarily before once again sitting up, and leaping to his feet.
“This conversation is in danger of becoming maudlin. How about dinner, on me?”
Illya grinned. “I accept, but let me change first.”
As he got into his usual black attire, he suddenly stopped and looked at Napoleon.
“If it means anything,” he began. “You know the real Illya Kuryakin more than anyone else ever has.”
.
Are you really what we see on the outside
And hidin' what you really are on the inside
Pretending that you're something you're really not, yeah yeah.
The World’s a Masquerade – Earth, Wind, and Fire.
Lying on a bed in another seedy motel room, following another successful mission, Napoleon watched with interest as the brown-eyed, red-haired man in front of him slowly transformed.
First, the truly horrible blue jacket was removed, temporarily leaving the matching trousers, followed by an equally awful yellow tie. Next, two contact lenses were removed to reveal the bright blue eyes beneath. With the peeling off of two dark eyebrows, and the red wig, Illya Kuryakin emerged.
Had Napoleon not known what Illya looked like in his disguise, even he wouldn’t have recognised him. The Russian had an uncanny ability to portray a different person. Solo was convinced that his partner didn’t just play a part, but that he actually became the part. This would, of course, explain why he was so successful undercover.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” Kuryakin replied, as he washed the glue residue from his face.
“We all know how to go undercover, and how to adopt a disguise, but you seem to be able to live the aliases you are given,” Solo explained. “Everyone, no matter how good, has little tell-tale signs. Unconscious mannerisms and such which are difficult to cover. But you are able to hide everything that is you.”
Illya pondered the question as he dried his face. He’d never really thought about it before.
“I suppose it was something I learned very early,” he finally answered. “After my world was ripped apart, I found it beneficial to be invisible.”
Being invisible was something Napoleon had never had to do as a child. He had always seemed designed to stand out, having been taught the correct way to dress, and how to properly behave in polite company. This, added to his natural exuberance and confidence meant he was always noticed. Upon joining U.N.C.L.E. he’d learned the art of disguise and camouflage and, although he was quite adept, he still always felt pretty much like himself just pretending.
“Don’t you ever worry that you may one day forget who you are?”
Illya gazed at Solo quizzically.
“I’m not going to suddenly get amnesia.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Napoleon retorted. “And you know it.”
Kuryakin lay down on the other the bed and contemplated the ceiling.
“To be honest, my friend,” he responded. “This is not something I have given much thought to. Growing up, being unnoticed meant survival. It was just something I had to do, and I don’t think there was any conscious effort. When I got older and certain talents I had developed, it became much harder, but my natural ability to conceal myself out in the open became useful for my career. In answer to your question, I can never forget who I am. Even you have never seen the man I keep buried deep inside.”
“Are you telling me that the Illya Kuryakin I know is all just an act?” Napoleon asked, suddenly sitting up.
“No,” Illya assured him. He remained lying down but looked his friend squarely in the eye. “I’m saying that the man deep down is still the angry and hurt little boy, and I don’t like being that person. The man you know is the real me, I am just careful to keep my emotions behind a mask. Do you understand?”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Solo replied, taking up his horizontal position again. “But, I could never understand why. I have never experienced the horrors you have, so have never needed to hide myself, other than as part of a mission.”
He paused momentarily before once again sitting up, and leaping to his feet.
“This conversation is in danger of becoming maudlin. How about dinner, on me?”
Illya grinned. “I accept, but let me change first.”
As he got into his usual black attire, he suddenly stopped and looked at Napoleon.
“If it means anything,” he began. “You know the real Illya Kuryakin more than anyone else ever has.”
.