T'was the UNCLE Round Robin - Chapter 1
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section7mfuIllya lowered the binoculars, his expression sour, as a cloud of smoke obscured his view. “Must you do that here?”
Napoleon looked from his partner to the cigar in his hand. “I’m enjoying the fresh air.”
“It was fresher before you arrived.”
Inured to such responses, Napoleon took another satisfying drag on his Churchill. “You should try one. A civilized end to a magnificent dinner.” He raised a black brogue up to the balustrade, then, remembering his kilt, returned his foot to the terrace floor.
“Thank you for that, at least,” Illya said and resumed his reconnaissance.
Napoleon perched on the edge of the stone railing and followed Illya’s gaze across Loch Awe. “What dost thou see at yonder castle?”
“Just the ‘infernal light show’ Sir Thomas railed against.” The ruined fortress glowed like a foundry, the surrounding loch like a pool of molten metal. “There appears to be some new construction in the center of the courtyard, but what is left of the original castle is untouched.”
“So much for the rumors that the new owner plans to restore it. The old boy certainly had a lot to say about that.”
“Two courses worth.” Illya looked down at his highland evening wear. “Does he really eat this way every night? It seems an unnecessary extravagance.”
“I wouldn't mentioned that to Mr. Waverly, if I were you. After all, Sir Thomas and he are old school chums.” The sweep of his arm indicated the Edwardian architecture and the well-appointed drawing room beyond. “Aye, laddie, we’ve had worse accommodations.”
Illya waved off another cloud of cigar smoke. “If Thrush has indeed purchased Kilchurn, I do not see how a ruined castle furthers their plans for world domination. The location has no strategic value.”
Napoleon, cigar between his lips, held up his hands to frame the castle. “Very picturesque,” he said from the corner of his mouth. “But that’s hardly been of value to Thrush in the past.”
“Watch your ash,” Illya advised.
“Why, is it showing?” Napoleon checked his kilt.
“Your ash, you blockhead. It is about to fall into your lap.”
Napoleon gently rolled the cigar along the outside edge of the balustrade. “Suggestions?”
“Sir Thomas said the lights usually die down about midnight. We should be there when they do.”
“Very good. Plenty of time to finish my cigar.” Napoleon shivered. “Though I think I’ll do it inside. It’s getting chilly.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Illya said smugly.
Napoleon looked from his kilt to the Russian’s tartan trews. “Knock-kneed?” he asked in mock sympathy.
“No, just practical.” Illya surveyed the sky. “It will snow tonight. I hope you brought something more sensible to wear.”
“Are you kidding? The kilt is an all-purpose garment. If a Scot can go to war in one, certainly I could do a little bird hunting.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Illya said. Napoleon only blew a cloud of smoke and smiled innocently.
Illya rolled his eyes and turned toward the drawing room. “I’m going up to make preparations,” he called over his shoulder.
Napoleon strolled behind him, singing quietly, “O ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road, and I'll be in Scotland afore ye.”
Napoleon looked from his partner to the cigar in his hand. “I’m enjoying the fresh air.”
“It was fresher before you arrived.”
Inured to such responses, Napoleon took another satisfying drag on his Churchill. “You should try one. A civilized end to a magnificent dinner.” He raised a black brogue up to the balustrade, then, remembering his kilt, returned his foot to the terrace floor.
“Thank you for that, at least,” Illya said and resumed his reconnaissance.
Napoleon perched on the edge of the stone railing and followed Illya’s gaze across Loch Awe. “What dost thou see at yonder castle?”
“Just the ‘infernal light show’ Sir Thomas railed against.” The ruined fortress glowed like a foundry, the surrounding loch like a pool of molten metal. “There appears to be some new construction in the center of the courtyard, but what is left of the original castle is untouched.”
“So much for the rumors that the new owner plans to restore it. The old boy certainly had a lot to say about that.”
“Two courses worth.” Illya looked down at his highland evening wear. “Does he really eat this way every night? It seems an unnecessary extravagance.”
“I wouldn't mentioned that to Mr. Waverly, if I were you. After all, Sir Thomas and he are old school chums.” The sweep of his arm indicated the Edwardian architecture and the well-appointed drawing room beyond. “Aye, laddie, we’ve had worse accommodations.”
Illya waved off another cloud of cigar smoke. “If Thrush has indeed purchased Kilchurn, I do not see how a ruined castle furthers their plans for world domination. The location has no strategic value.”
Napoleon, cigar between his lips, held up his hands to frame the castle. “Very picturesque,” he said from the corner of his mouth. “But that’s hardly been of value to Thrush in the past.”
“Watch your ash,” Illya advised.
“Why, is it showing?” Napoleon checked his kilt.
“Your ash, you blockhead. It is about to fall into your lap.”
Napoleon gently rolled the cigar along the outside edge of the balustrade. “Suggestions?”
“Sir Thomas said the lights usually die down about midnight. We should be there when they do.”
“Very good. Plenty of time to finish my cigar.” Napoleon shivered. “Though I think I’ll do it inside. It’s getting chilly.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Illya said smugly.
Napoleon looked from his kilt to the Russian’s tartan trews. “Knock-kneed?” he asked in mock sympathy.
“No, just practical.” Illya surveyed the sky. “It will snow tonight. I hope you brought something more sensible to wear.”
“Are you kidding? The kilt is an all-purpose garment. If a Scot can go to war in one, certainly I could do a little bird hunting.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Illya said. Napoleon only blew a cloud of smoke and smiled innocently.
Illya rolled his eyes and turned toward the drawing room. “I’m going up to make preparations,” he called over his shoulder.
Napoleon strolled behind him, singing quietly, “O ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road, and I'll be in Scotland afore ye.”
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Date: 2016-12-06 05:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-06 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-06 11:23 am (UTC)Thank you for a great start to the Round Robin!
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Date: 2016-12-06 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-06 11:57 am (UTC)Classic dialogue! My favorite lines:
"Watch your ash."
"Why, is it showing?"
Absolutely the best!!
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Date: 2016-12-06 10:11 pm (UTC)*wince*
Date: 2016-12-06 07:20 pm (UTC)RE: *wince*
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Date: 2016-12-08 03:22 am (UTC)I apologize for the questions about his outfit but, as a student in Celtic studies as well as someone who volunteers at the local (to me) International Institute, I have some contact with Scottish Highlanders on a semi-regular basis, plus I've gone to the "local" Highland Games
one gets inundated with both "great kilts" and "walking kilts" at the Games.no subject
Date: 2016-12-08 10:24 am (UTC)I love cultural history and researching details. My other favorite genre is Regency, where you can lay on the descriptions of dress, etc, with a lavish hand. I usually struggle against that temptation in the MFU pieces. So as I much as I wanted to wax eloquent about what both boys were wearing, I resisted. :-)
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Date: 2016-12-08 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
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