section7mfu | Salt - A Little Drabble Do Ya!

Note: Drabble and a half, from a prompt switch with colonial_teapot.

Mr. Waverly excused himself, and Napoleon finally spoke. “There's no other way,” he said. “No restaurant is secure enough. Mrs. Waverly is out of town. And his club is still under evacuation.”

Illya frowned. “Gas leak, right?”

“Well, that's what they said. And this meeting won't wait till after dinner time.”

They passed through the dining room of the Waverlys' Connecticut home, then into a small kitchen with pale yellow cabinetry. Napoleon grabbed a pink-flowered apron off a hook near the door.

The Russian looked over at his partner. “When you told him dinner was taken care of, you meant…”

“No need to get fancy,” Napoleon said, handing the apron to Illya. “No aspic, no soufflé, nothing like that.”

With a smile, he left.

Illya surveyed the cabinets, inventorying his ingredients. He sighed when he saw the cardboard canister of salt with its cheery slogan: “When it rains – it pours.”