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section7mfuNote: Forgive me, I wrote this quickly tonight because I felt terrible for missing weeks when I'd been doing so well. That being said, I've already got next weeks story written and waiting. I've just been dealing with a quite strong bout of "everything". I never wrote a thing from about the 6th of December till the 2nd or 3rd of this month, even though deep down I've wanted to.
The holidays are over, I feel a bit better and I began writing again.
Oh! And I've been trying to make all my stories connect, so there's that to watch out for. (All on AO3 in order)
Title: The Agent That Sparkled Affair
Author: Supesfan (Eclecticace)
Prompts: Oil, Purple
Word Count: 1000
Angela had special hair oil that had to be put on after every bath to help fortify her scalp and hair. She’d been born one of the unlucky ones, her hair had always been incredibly thin, dry and oh-so-brittle, but because she was blonde the thinness didn’t show as much, the lack of length never bothered her, and the fact that she “shed” at an almost alarming rate amused her. Her mother, on the other hand, was a different story.
Hence the hair oil.
This hair oil had been created especially for Angela by a joint team that consisted of Section VIII chemists and her dermatologist. Which meant that, not only was it her favourite colour, purple, but it had the added attraction of containing an ungodly amount of multi-coloured sparkles.
And, because it was so important in the fight to make sure at least some hair stayed on her head, it went with her everywhere.
Illya and Napoleon, being both UNCLE agents and uncles, were each given a bottle by Rose to keep in their apartments for whenever Angela had to stay the night in either apartment. Napoleon had, helpfully he’d thought, reasoned that because they worked so closely together, one never watched Angela without the other and they literally lived a block apart, wouldn’t it have been easier to just give them one big bottle to share instead? That was quickly shot down as nonsense by the woman as she handed the agents their bottles.
Two of the largest and less embarrassing factors of said bottle was that it was an opaque white glass and shaped like the bottle of Vitalis Napoleon used everyday. So, Napoleon thought, if anyone saw him with the bottle before he got it home he didn’t have to explain anything – the gaudy purple sparkled concoction would not be seen.
Though Angela hardly ever had to stay over at either apartment, her hair oil still took pride of place on the bathtub ledge in both apartments, right beside their shampoos and hair oils.
Now, usually this was fine. The bottle sat untouched and undisturbed, just waiting for its rightful owner.
However, one day, a day that held both a briefing for a week-long mission at the end of the week, as well as a debriefing for the mission they’d just returned from days prior, Napoleon’s alarm had failed to go off. Instead of him waking at his usual time of 6 to make it to work for 7:30, he woke up himself at exactly 7:07.
After finally kicking free of his sheets in an absolute panic, he shot up threw his legs over the edge of the bed and promptly stubbed his toe on the nightstand. He then grabbed for his suit, socks and underwear on the chair in the corner and ran for the ensuite. He threw the clothes on the counter, turned the shower on and, without even checking the temperature jumped right in.
Almost before he’d managed to get his whole body under the water he grabbed the bar of soap and began rubbing it across his shoulders, down his arms and underneath them, etc. And like he always did before reaching for the shampoo, he closed his eyes as tightly as he could and forced his head under the spray. His eyes were still closed when he squirted some shampoo on to his hand and put it on his head. Napoleon usually kept his eyes shut while he worked the shampoo into a lather.
However, two things became almost immediately, and painfully, apparent a couple seconds later; one, it wasn’t lathering at all, no matter how much his fingers worked, and two, his shampoo didn’t smell like a bubble gum.
His eyes shot open as panic gripped his heart and he looked down at the ledge, at the opened bottle. The opened bottle sat beside his bottle of Vitalis. The opened bottle still had an errant trail of purple muck streaking down the bottle from the rim.
The opened bottle wasn’t his.
“Oh, my god!” he cursed, yanking back the shower curtain to stare into the mirror across the from him, above the sink. There it was. Reflecting in the early morning light coming in from the frosted window beside the mirror was the multitude of sparkles that now stuck like sweet glue to almost every strand of hair on his head. Though he was still in a hurry, now the idea of doing so actually made him ill. He’d just added more to his already full plate.
Napoleon cursed again and drew the curtain back around, “Illya’s going to have a field day.”
And have a field day Illya did.
When the Russian’s eyes finally laid upon his late partner when Napoleon finally dropped into the chair beside him, he frowned when he realised Napoleon still wore a fedora. Napoleon never really wore hats. Especially not inside.
“Napoleon,” he whispered so their boss wouldn’t hear from his perch across the table, “hat.”
“Leave it,” his partner warned quietly, keeping his eyes trained on Mr. Waverly.
Mr. Waverly finally looked up when he refilled his pipe. “Ah, Mr.-“ he paused when he noticed the fedora, “I was unaware of the change in protocol.” The old man taped his head, “I shall overlook your tardiness, but do take it off, Mr. Solo.”
The agent looked nervously toward his partner and then back to his boss, grimaced, lowered his head and acquiesced.
The reactions from both young and old man was instantaneous. He raised his head in a flash only to met the jovial, grinning face of his boss. Mr. Waverly looked quickly then to Illya and Napoleon swiftly followed suite.
The Russian's expression was near identical to their boss’s. “Congratulations, Napoleon,” he paused and looked to Mr. Waverly momentarily before he looked back to Napoleon and started snickering as he finished his statement, “you’re Angela’s long overdue first victim.” Illya then made a show of sniffing loudly, “you smell lovely too!”
The holidays are over, I feel a bit better and I began writing again.
Oh! And I've been trying to make all my stories connect, so there's that to watch out for. (All on AO3 in order)
Title: The Agent That Sparkled Affair
Author: Supesfan (Eclecticace)
Prompts: Oil, Purple
Word Count: 1000
Angela had special hair oil that had to be put on after every bath to help fortify her scalp and hair. She’d been born one of the unlucky ones, her hair had always been incredibly thin, dry and oh-so-brittle, but because she was blonde the thinness didn’t show as much, the lack of length never bothered her, and the fact that she “shed” at an almost alarming rate amused her. Her mother, on the other hand, was a different story.
Hence the hair oil.
This hair oil had been created especially for Angela by a joint team that consisted of Section VIII chemists and her dermatologist. Which meant that, not only was it her favourite colour, purple, but it had the added attraction of containing an ungodly amount of multi-coloured sparkles.
And, because it was so important in the fight to make sure at least some hair stayed on her head, it went with her everywhere.
Illya and Napoleon, being both UNCLE agents and uncles, were each given a bottle by Rose to keep in their apartments for whenever Angela had to stay the night in either apartment. Napoleon had, helpfully he’d thought, reasoned that because they worked so closely together, one never watched Angela without the other and they literally lived a block apart, wouldn’t it have been easier to just give them one big bottle to share instead? That was quickly shot down as nonsense by the woman as she handed the agents their bottles.
Two of the largest and less embarrassing factors of said bottle was that it was an opaque white glass and shaped like the bottle of Vitalis Napoleon used everyday. So, Napoleon thought, if anyone saw him with the bottle before he got it home he didn’t have to explain anything – the gaudy purple sparkled concoction would not be seen.
Though Angela hardly ever had to stay over at either apartment, her hair oil still took pride of place on the bathtub ledge in both apartments, right beside their shampoos and hair oils.
Now, usually this was fine. The bottle sat untouched and undisturbed, just waiting for its rightful owner.
However, one day, a day that held both a briefing for a week-long mission at the end of the week, as well as a debriefing for the mission they’d just returned from days prior, Napoleon’s alarm had failed to go off. Instead of him waking at his usual time of 6 to make it to work for 7:30, he woke up himself at exactly 7:07.
After finally kicking free of his sheets in an absolute panic, he shot up threw his legs over the edge of the bed and promptly stubbed his toe on the nightstand. He then grabbed for his suit, socks and underwear on the chair in the corner and ran for the ensuite. He threw the clothes on the counter, turned the shower on and, without even checking the temperature jumped right in.
Almost before he’d managed to get his whole body under the water he grabbed the bar of soap and began rubbing it across his shoulders, down his arms and underneath them, etc. And like he always did before reaching for the shampoo, he closed his eyes as tightly as he could and forced his head under the spray. His eyes were still closed when he squirted some shampoo on to his hand and put it on his head. Napoleon usually kept his eyes shut while he worked the shampoo into a lather.
However, two things became almost immediately, and painfully, apparent a couple seconds later; one, it wasn’t lathering at all, no matter how much his fingers worked, and two, his shampoo didn’t smell like a bubble gum.
His eyes shot open as panic gripped his heart and he looked down at the ledge, at the opened bottle. The opened bottle sat beside his bottle of Vitalis. The opened bottle still had an errant trail of purple muck streaking down the bottle from the rim.
The opened bottle wasn’t his.
“Oh, my god!” he cursed, yanking back the shower curtain to stare into the mirror across the from him, above the sink. There it was. Reflecting in the early morning light coming in from the frosted window beside the mirror was the multitude of sparkles that now stuck like sweet glue to almost every strand of hair on his head. Though he was still in a hurry, now the idea of doing so actually made him ill. He’d just added more to his already full plate.
Napoleon cursed again and drew the curtain back around, “Illya’s going to have a field day.”
And have a field day Illya did.
When the Russian’s eyes finally laid upon his late partner when Napoleon finally dropped into the chair beside him, he frowned when he realised Napoleon still wore a fedora. Napoleon never really wore hats. Especially not inside.
“Napoleon,” he whispered so their boss wouldn’t hear from his perch across the table, “hat.”
“Leave it,” his partner warned quietly, keeping his eyes trained on Mr. Waverly.
Mr. Waverly finally looked up when he refilled his pipe. “Ah, Mr.-“ he paused when he noticed the fedora, “I was unaware of the change in protocol.” The old man taped his head, “I shall overlook your tardiness, but do take it off, Mr. Solo.”
The agent looked nervously toward his partner and then back to his boss, grimaced, lowered his head and acquiesced.
The reactions from both young and old man was instantaneous. He raised his head in a flash only to met the jovial, grinning face of his boss. Mr. Waverly looked quickly then to Illya and Napoleon swiftly followed suite.
The Russian's expression was near identical to their boss’s. “Congratulations, Napoleon,” he paused and looked to Mr. Waverly momentarily before he looked back to Napoleon and started snickering as he finished his statement, “you’re Angela’s long overdue first victim.” Illya then made a show of sniffing loudly, “you smell lovely too!”
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