Train Torment - Pic fic Tuesday - Oct 4th
Oct. 4th, 2016 10:35 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuStepping from the train, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin carefully scanned the platform. They both span around a full 360 degrees to see who had also left the train, but could see no sign of the woman.
“I think we’ve shaken her off,” Solo stated, his eyes continuously looking for any indication of her presence.
“I wish I could believe that,” Illya replied, with venom in his voice. “I hold you entirely to blame.”
“I thought you would,” Napoleon mumbled.
Truth be told, he was to blame. He suspected he was going to have to buy Illya an extremely large dinner to make up for it. The Russian had been an innocent bystander.
“Come on, Tovarisch, let’s get our luggage and go to the hotel.”
The two of them had one more look along the platform before heading off to find a taxi.
The journey to their hotel only took fifteen minutes. Throughout the journey, Illya had constantly kept turning to glance out of the rear window. He was convinced that they hadn’t seen the last of the woman. Napoleon on the other hand was certain they would have no more trouble from her.
“Illya, will you calm down,” he told his partner as they checked in to the hotel. “I know paranoia is natural for you, but I promise you, we’ll see no more of her.”
“Eight hours, Napoleon,” Illya retorted. “We were on that train with her for eight hours.”
“I know, I know, but it’s all over now.”
“Oh My Word!”
Illya flinched as the heavy Bronx accent of Marcie May Hooper cut across the lobby.
“You were saying?” he mumbled to Solo.
“Miss Hooper,” Napoleon said to the woman, by way of greeting. “Are you staying at this hotel?”
“I most certainly am!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Wonderful,” Illya echoed, totally deadpan.
“You made a long journey simply fly over. I think I would have been bored to tears had I not had the two of you to talk to.”
“I think you mean ‘talk at’”, the Russian muttered, turning away.
“Are you staying long,” Marcie May continued, showing no sign of hearing what Illya had said. “I do hope so. The three of us could have dinner together, maybe see the sights tomorrow. Or how about I find a theatre and find a show we could all go and see. I’m here for the week. Wouldn’t it be great if we could enjoy this holiday as a group? I would love to . . .”
“We’re busy!” Kuryakin snapped.
“Aren’t you just a Gloomy Gus?” said Miss Hooper, with a pout.
“Don’t worry about my friend,” Napoleon told her.
He had turned the charm right up and easily deflected any offense she might have felt from Illya.
“However,” he continued. “I am afraid that he is quite correct in what he says. We are here on business and will only be staying the one night.”
“Oh, that’s too bad!”
“Please excuse us,” Napoleon said, as he kissed Marcie May’s hand. “We must be getting on.”
After saying their goodbyes, the agents went to their room, where Illya made a point of locking the door.
“We could have avoided all that if you haven’t flirted with her on the train.”
“Flirted?” Solo replied. “I only said hello to her. It is hardly my fault that neither of us got a word in edgeways after that.”
“I’m still blaming you,” Illya reiterated. “You can make up for it by paying for room service. I’m going nowhere near this hotel’s restaurant while she’s around.”
Napoleon shrugged in agreement. It was a small price to pay not to hear Marcie May Hooper’s voice again.
.
“I think we’ve shaken her off,” Solo stated, his eyes continuously looking for any indication of her presence.
“I wish I could believe that,” Illya replied, with venom in his voice. “I hold you entirely to blame.”
“I thought you would,” Napoleon mumbled.
Truth be told, he was to blame. He suspected he was going to have to buy Illya an extremely large dinner to make up for it. The Russian had been an innocent bystander.
“Come on, Tovarisch, let’s get our luggage and go to the hotel.”
The two of them had one more look along the platform before heading off to find a taxi.
The journey to their hotel only took fifteen minutes. Throughout the journey, Illya had constantly kept turning to glance out of the rear window. He was convinced that they hadn’t seen the last of the woman. Napoleon on the other hand was certain they would have no more trouble from her.
“Illya, will you calm down,” he told his partner as they checked in to the hotel. “I know paranoia is natural for you, but I promise you, we’ll see no more of her.”
“Eight hours, Napoleon,” Illya retorted. “We were on that train with her for eight hours.”
“I know, I know, but it’s all over now.”
“Oh My Word!”
Illya flinched as the heavy Bronx accent of Marcie May Hooper cut across the lobby.
“You were saying?” he mumbled to Solo.
“Miss Hooper,” Napoleon said to the woman, by way of greeting. “Are you staying at this hotel?”
“I most certainly am!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Wonderful,” Illya echoed, totally deadpan.
“You made a long journey simply fly over. I think I would have been bored to tears had I not had the two of you to talk to.”
“I think you mean ‘talk at’”, the Russian muttered, turning away.
“Are you staying long,” Marcie May continued, showing no sign of hearing what Illya had said. “I do hope so. The three of us could have dinner together, maybe see the sights tomorrow. Or how about I find a theatre and find a show we could all go and see. I’m here for the week. Wouldn’t it be great if we could enjoy this holiday as a group? I would love to . . .”
“We’re busy!” Kuryakin snapped.
“Aren’t you just a Gloomy Gus?” said Miss Hooper, with a pout.
“Don’t worry about my friend,” Napoleon told her.
He had turned the charm right up and easily deflected any offense she might have felt from Illya.
“However,” he continued. “I am afraid that he is quite correct in what he says. We are here on business and will only be staying the one night.”
“Oh, that’s too bad!”
“Please excuse us,” Napoleon said, as he kissed Marcie May’s hand. “We must be getting on.”
After saying their goodbyes, the agents went to their room, where Illya made a point of locking the door.
“We could have avoided all that if you haven’t flirted with her on the train.”
“Flirted?” Solo replied. “I only said hello to her. It is hardly my fault that neither of us got a word in edgeways after that.”
“I’m still blaming you,” Illya reiterated. “You can make up for it by paying for room service. I’m going nowhere near this hotel’s restaurant while she’s around.”
Napoleon shrugged in agreement. It was a small price to pay not to hear Marcie May Hooper’s voice again.
.
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Date: 2016-10-05 01:49 am (UTC)Then again, the worst mode of public transportation is the bus; there's only one place to hide and that's in the "closet" commonly referred to as the loo.
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Date: 2016-10-05 01:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-05 04:32 am (UTC)It has gotten to the point that random busses have transit security people riding on them as well as every bus is equipped with security cameras.