No Winners - Short_Affair
Oct. 24th, 2016 01:04 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
glennagirl.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuPrompts: harvest, pink
Word count: 1030
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I have a history between Illya and April. The story links are the end.
.................................................................
"That is definitely not the color of a harvest celebration."
April shot a look at the Russian filled with threats of violence. He saw it, but the incongruity of what he was looking at beyond the chilly expression on her face was more compelling.
"It is pink. Pink is not the color of harvest. Oranges and browns and … What?"
Now he was surrounded by a gaggle of little girls, or at least that was how he would later describe them. Each of them stood with hands on hips, which was also how April was standing. Illya backed up two steps and found he was standing against a large scarecrow. He gingerly sidestepped the straw-filled creature until he had a clear shot out of the stage area.
"I was merely pointing out…"
"That you don't know what we're doing here?" April sounded upset.
"Perhaps. But also that pink is definitely not the color of harvest." Truth was he didn't know what they were doing, but there were pumpkins and all of the telltale signs of Autumn. Save for one thing: it was pink.
"April, the pumpkin is…"
"Pink. I know what color it is Illya. This is a theater set, for a group of young people who raise money for a homeless shelter. It isn't supposed to be realistic."
"Oh." This was absolutely the last time he was going to accompany April to one of her projects. He had opened his mouth once more only to be corrected and …
"I apologize. I thought it was … harvest. You all look very pretty." A last gasp at saving himself. The little girls all forgave him and surrounded the handsome blond man. Miss Dancer was so lucky to have such a pretty boyfriend.
"Girls, girl… let him go. He's sorry and I know you all have to get back to your rehearsal. Bye now… yes, b'bye." The girls all sighed and giggled their way back to the rehearsal, leaving Illya to ponder why exactly he was here, why she wanted him here…
''Illya, don't let them bother you. Little girls always assume there is romance in the air." April was so tempting, still… They had had their tryst and come out on the side of all work and no more play. Neither of them could afford to feel anything, and this ridiculous setting just made it that much more difficult to concentrate.
"So, why did you bring me here?" Legitimate question. He needed an answer.
"Someone, I don't know who, wrote a note threatening to disrupt the play so that the money couldn't make it into the hands of the shelter. This person disapproves of the location, so we can assume that it is someone who lives in the neighborhood, probably close to it."
"I see. And you thought we might do a little sleuthing and discover who this person is?" April nodded, a smile replacing the frown she had worn while reprimanding him.
"The shelter is a necessary element for helping women with children get off the streets, possibly away from an abusive environment. The building was donated, and it is in a well to do area. I think someone doesn't want it affecting the real estate market, or disturbing some fairy tale existence where no one is without food or shelter. We need to make sure this doesn't fail. Will you help me?"
Illya was quick to start an investigation into the origin of the anonymous letter. It didn't take long to track down the person, there was nothing clever in how he had done it nor did he take any measures to truly hide his identity.
April was thrilled and grateful. She could have done this on her own, but Illya's resources were deeper than her own and time was an issue. The play was in two nights, and public response and good will were key to its success. A visit from two men in black suits and sunglasses served to deter the letter writer from pursuing his prejudices, along with assurances that his tax returns would be under the strictest scrutiny for as long as he sought to halt the shelter from opening. Profuse apologies and promises to behave were collected and recorded.
As for the play, it was a success and no one objected to pink pumpkins and a harvest full of glitter and pastels. It seems the fairy kingdoms prefer those colors during all seasons. Illya let it pass without any more comments while April cheered on the players onstage. At the end of it the audience was happy and generous.
As the two agents were leaving the venue it seemed only natural to consider a drink, or a cup of coffee.
"Would you like to come over and toast the evening? I even have something that qualifies as a meal, in case you're hungry." The gleam in her eye was infectious, the invitation tempting.
"I would enjoy that very much. I fear it would be a mistake, however, to put ourselves in a position to … "
A raised eyebrow challenged him to finish the sentence.
"We tried being, um… lovers. We have barely succeeded at not being … lovers. If I accept your invitation, what do you think are our chances of …"
He didn't finish asking before April had her arms around his neck, kissing him from a depth even she hadn't anticipated. When they came up for air it was obvious that the chances weren't good. Or they were, depending on one's point of view.
"I don't gamble darling. We're not like those little girls, wearing pink and living in a world of make believe. We're real, and we don't get that many chances at happiness. Tonight is one of those times when we can be happy."
Illya caressed her cheek with a finger, angled his head just so… kissing her again, drawing her closer to his body. April suddenly pulled back, aware of what he was doing.
"You're right Illya. Goodnight darling…' April was breathless, and sad and … relieved.
"You know, even when we win we lose. Why is that Illya?" She hailed a cab and climbed in, taking some of his happiness with her.
........................................................................
Word count: 1030
......................................
I have a history between Illya and April. The story links are the end.
.................................................................
"That is definitely not the color of a harvest celebration."
April shot a look at the Russian filled with threats of violence. He saw it, but the incongruity of what he was looking at beyond the chilly expression on her face was more compelling.
"It is pink. Pink is not the color of harvest. Oranges and browns and … What?"
Now he was surrounded by a gaggle of little girls, or at least that was how he would later describe them. Each of them stood with hands on hips, which was also how April was standing. Illya backed up two steps and found he was standing against a large scarecrow. He gingerly sidestepped the straw-filled creature until he had a clear shot out of the stage area.
"I was merely pointing out…"
"That you don't know what we're doing here?" April sounded upset.
"Perhaps. But also that pink is definitely not the color of harvest." Truth was he didn't know what they were doing, but there were pumpkins and all of the telltale signs of Autumn. Save for one thing: it was pink.
"April, the pumpkin is…"
"Pink. I know what color it is Illya. This is a theater set, for a group of young people who raise money for a homeless shelter. It isn't supposed to be realistic."
"Oh." This was absolutely the last time he was going to accompany April to one of her projects. He had opened his mouth once more only to be corrected and …
"I apologize. I thought it was … harvest. You all look very pretty." A last gasp at saving himself. The little girls all forgave him and surrounded the handsome blond man. Miss Dancer was so lucky to have such a pretty boyfriend.
"Girls, girl… let him go. He's sorry and I know you all have to get back to your rehearsal. Bye now… yes, b'bye." The girls all sighed and giggled their way back to the rehearsal, leaving Illya to ponder why exactly he was here, why she wanted him here…
''Illya, don't let them bother you. Little girls always assume there is romance in the air." April was so tempting, still… They had had their tryst and come out on the side of all work and no more play. Neither of them could afford to feel anything, and this ridiculous setting just made it that much more difficult to concentrate.
"So, why did you bring me here?" Legitimate question. He needed an answer.
"Someone, I don't know who, wrote a note threatening to disrupt the play so that the money couldn't make it into the hands of the shelter. This person disapproves of the location, so we can assume that it is someone who lives in the neighborhood, probably close to it."
"I see. And you thought we might do a little sleuthing and discover who this person is?" April nodded, a smile replacing the frown she had worn while reprimanding him.
"The shelter is a necessary element for helping women with children get off the streets, possibly away from an abusive environment. The building was donated, and it is in a well to do area. I think someone doesn't want it affecting the real estate market, or disturbing some fairy tale existence where no one is without food or shelter. We need to make sure this doesn't fail. Will you help me?"
Illya was quick to start an investigation into the origin of the anonymous letter. It didn't take long to track down the person, there was nothing clever in how he had done it nor did he take any measures to truly hide his identity.
April was thrilled and grateful. She could have done this on her own, but Illya's resources were deeper than her own and time was an issue. The play was in two nights, and public response and good will were key to its success. A visit from two men in black suits and sunglasses served to deter the letter writer from pursuing his prejudices, along with assurances that his tax returns would be under the strictest scrutiny for as long as he sought to halt the shelter from opening. Profuse apologies and promises to behave were collected and recorded.
As for the play, it was a success and no one objected to pink pumpkins and a harvest full of glitter and pastels. It seems the fairy kingdoms prefer those colors during all seasons. Illya let it pass without any more comments while April cheered on the players onstage. At the end of it the audience was happy and generous.
As the two agents were leaving the venue it seemed only natural to consider a drink, or a cup of coffee.
"Would you like to come over and toast the evening? I even have something that qualifies as a meal, in case you're hungry." The gleam in her eye was infectious, the invitation tempting.
"I would enjoy that very much. I fear it would be a mistake, however, to put ourselves in a position to … "
A raised eyebrow challenged him to finish the sentence.
"We tried being, um… lovers. We have barely succeeded at not being … lovers. If I accept your invitation, what do you think are our chances of …"
He didn't finish asking before April had her arms around his neck, kissing him from a depth even she hadn't anticipated. When they came up for air it was obvious that the chances weren't good. Or they were, depending on one's point of view.
"I don't gamble darling. We're not like those little girls, wearing pink and living in a world of make believe. We're real, and we don't get that many chances at happiness. Tonight is one of those times when we can be happy."
Illya caressed her cheek with a finger, angled his head just so… kissing her again, drawing her closer to his body. April suddenly pulled back, aware of what he was doing.
"You're right Illya. Goodnight darling…' April was breathless, and sad and … relieved.
"You know, even when we win we lose. Why is that Illya?" She hailed a cab and climbed in, taking some of his happiness with her.
........................................................................
April Daze
In With A Bang, Out With A Whimper
April's Dream
House of Monkeys
Moving In
Sorting Remnants
Seamless
The Morning After
The Mission's The Thing
A Timely Intervention
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