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section7mfuPrompt: hope / orange
Word Count: Approx. 900
This piece is a sequel to my Drabble Anything to Declare? and the next installment of Illya and Faustina's rocky road to romance.
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
A Friend in Need
Alone
The Camera Never Lies
UNCLE HQ NY
“Oh, Mr. So-lo. Na-po-leon,” called a voice in a sultry sing-song.
At the other end of the corridor, Napoleon swung around, a pleased smile lighting his face. “Janine.”
The curvaceous blonde, hips swaying behind her cart, sashayed toward him. “I thought you might like your mail before you head upstairs.”
“Thank you,” he said, watching appreciatively as she bent over the cart. “That’s very, ah, big-hearted of you.”
She straightened, shoulders pulled back to display her ample endowments. “If I’m known for anything,” she said with a provocative smile, “it’s the size of my…heart.”
Napoleon took the letters she offered and gave an answering grin. “I’m looking forward to our date tonight.”
“So am I,” she purred. “Would you like Mr. Kuryakin’s mail as well?”
“Yes, please.”
She bent over once more, her yellow blouse grazing the tops of the envelopes. Napoleon looked on with tilted head, captivated.
“Ah-hem. You’ll put your back out like that, Miss Donaldson, if you’re not careful.”
At their chief’s words, Janine bolted upright, letters flying from her grasp. “Yes, sir,” she stammered, as she knelt down to collect them.
Napoleon squatted to assist her. “Janine was just looking for Illya’s mail, sir, at my request.”
“Yes, well, now that she’s found it, I’m sure there are other personnel anxiously awaiting their correspondence.”
Grasping her elbow, Napoleon assisted Janine to her feet. He took the envelopes from her and, with his back to Mr. Waverly, gave her a wink. Janine bit back a smile. Nodding to both men, she steered the cart between them and resumed her deliveries. Napoleon watched her wiggle down the corridor, his brown eyes alight with anticipation.
“I suppose I should find it reassuring that, during my recent absence, very little appears to have changed,” Mr. Waverly said dryly.
Napoleon turned to his chief. “You could certainly look at it that way, sir.”
Mr. Waverly grunted noncommittally and walked away, shaking his head.
With a final glance at Janine’s retreating backside, Napoleon headed for the elevator. He pushed the call button and fanned through the small stack of letters. An orange envelope embossed with the seal of the Duchy of Ingolstein caught his attention. It was addressed to his partner. His lips twisted into a frown.
The elevator arrived, and Napoleon stepped in, still frowning. His fingers hovered by the control panel, his gaze distracted, until finally he nodded resolutely and jabbed a button. Giving the security camera a quick, furtive glance, he opened the envelope.
The letter announced that, at long last, the Ecclesiastical Court of Ingolstein would consider the Petition for Annulment of the Marriage of Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin and Faustina Pemberley Kuryakin. The hearing was scheduled for the end of the month.
“There goes the ol’ ballgame,” he muttered angrily as the doors slid open.
Illya stood outside one of the offices, leaning against the doorframe. Mark Slate’s voice carried down the corridor. “So there I went, arse over elbow, into the horse trough. I’m bloody glad April wasn’t there to see it.”
The Russian turned his head at his partner's approach, amusement in his eyes. His nod of greeting was met by a preoccupied gaze and scrunched mouth. Illya sighed and said, “And it was shaping up to be such a pleasant day. So who is responsible for cutting up our peace this time?”
“Your peace remains intact,” Napoleon assured him, sliding several envelopes into the flap pocket of his coat. “Mr. Waverly keeps finding things to review about my tenure as acting chief. You'd think he'd come back to discover I'd taken a loan from the Swiss and bought a new wardrobe.”
"It is very nice suit, mate," Mark said from behind his desk.
While Illya chuckled, Napoleon acknowledged the quip with a small salute. “Oh, these are yours.” He handed the remaining letters to Illya. “I ran into Janine downstairs. Sorry I didn't grab yours, Mark.”
“I should hope you didn't.”
“What's that?”
“If you had denied Mark the pleasure of seeing Janine, he'd have your teeth for cufflinks,” Illya explained while flipping through his mail. He paused at a particular envelope and tore it open. His expression darkened as his eyes scanned the page. “Chyort.”
“Something wrong?”
“The latest release from my favorite record label was of very poor quality. I felt compelled to relate my disappointment, and their response is less than satisfactory.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “Excuse me. This demands an immediate reply.”
He headed off, leaving Napoleon in the doorway, staring at the floor and patting absently at the envelopes in his coat pocket. Mark cleared his throat. “Not to be rude, but, as they say, ‘Three’s a crowd.’”
“Oh, of course. I'll leave you to it.” He stepped back, and the door began to slide shut. “Remind Janine for me that I'll pick her up at eight sharp.” He smiled as a projectile struck the inside of the doors with a clang.
“Three’s a crowd,” he murmured. “Yes, indeed. And so’s four or five or six.” With a spring in his step, Napoleon headed back to the elevator. He fished a notebook and pencil from inside his jacket and began to sketch a group of stick figures in descending height. “Twins, no triplets. Even better. Robert, Eunice, Edward…”
Word Count: Approx. 900
This piece is a sequel to my Drabble Anything to Declare? and the next installment of Illya and Faustina's rocky road to romance.
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
A Friend in Need
Alone
The Camera Never Lies
UNCLE HQ NY
“Oh, Mr. So-lo. Na-po-leon,” called a voice in a sultry sing-song.
At the other end of the corridor, Napoleon swung around, a pleased smile lighting his face. “Janine.”
The curvaceous blonde, hips swaying behind her cart, sashayed toward him. “I thought you might like your mail before you head upstairs.”
“Thank you,” he said, watching appreciatively as she bent over the cart. “That’s very, ah, big-hearted of you.”
She straightened, shoulders pulled back to display her ample endowments. “If I’m known for anything,” she said with a provocative smile, “it’s the size of my…heart.”
Napoleon took the letters she offered and gave an answering grin. “I’m looking forward to our date tonight.”
“So am I,” she purred. “Would you like Mr. Kuryakin’s mail as well?”
“Yes, please.”
She bent over once more, her yellow blouse grazing the tops of the envelopes. Napoleon looked on with tilted head, captivated.
“Ah-hem. You’ll put your back out like that, Miss Donaldson, if you’re not careful.”
At their chief’s words, Janine bolted upright, letters flying from her grasp. “Yes, sir,” she stammered, as she knelt down to collect them.
Napoleon squatted to assist her. “Janine was just looking for Illya’s mail, sir, at my request.”
“Yes, well, now that she’s found it, I’m sure there are other personnel anxiously awaiting their correspondence.”
Grasping her elbow, Napoleon assisted Janine to her feet. He took the envelopes from her and, with his back to Mr. Waverly, gave her a wink. Janine bit back a smile. Nodding to both men, she steered the cart between them and resumed her deliveries. Napoleon watched her wiggle down the corridor, his brown eyes alight with anticipation.
“I suppose I should find it reassuring that, during my recent absence, very little appears to have changed,” Mr. Waverly said dryly.
Napoleon turned to his chief. “You could certainly look at it that way, sir.”
Mr. Waverly grunted noncommittally and walked away, shaking his head.
With a final glance at Janine’s retreating backside, Napoleon headed for the elevator. He pushed the call button and fanned through the small stack of letters. An orange envelope embossed with the seal of the Duchy of Ingolstein caught his attention. It was addressed to his partner. His lips twisted into a frown.
The elevator arrived, and Napoleon stepped in, still frowning. His fingers hovered by the control panel, his gaze distracted, until finally he nodded resolutely and jabbed a button. Giving the security camera a quick, furtive glance, he opened the envelope.
The letter announced that, at long last, the Ecclesiastical Court of Ingolstein would consider the Petition for Annulment of the Marriage of Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin and Faustina Pemberley Kuryakin. The hearing was scheduled for the end of the month.
“There goes the ol’ ballgame,” he muttered angrily as the doors slid open.
Illya stood outside one of the offices, leaning against the doorframe. Mark Slate’s voice carried down the corridor. “So there I went, arse over elbow, into the horse trough. I’m bloody glad April wasn’t there to see it.”
The Russian turned his head at his partner's approach, amusement in his eyes. His nod of greeting was met by a preoccupied gaze and scrunched mouth. Illya sighed and said, “And it was shaping up to be such a pleasant day. So who is responsible for cutting up our peace this time?”
“Your peace remains intact,” Napoleon assured him, sliding several envelopes into the flap pocket of his coat. “Mr. Waverly keeps finding things to review about my tenure as acting chief. You'd think he'd come back to discover I'd taken a loan from the Swiss and bought a new wardrobe.”
"It is very nice suit, mate," Mark said from behind his desk.
While Illya chuckled, Napoleon acknowledged the quip with a small salute. “Oh, these are yours.” He handed the remaining letters to Illya. “I ran into Janine downstairs. Sorry I didn't grab yours, Mark.”
“I should hope you didn't.”
“What's that?”
“If you had denied Mark the pleasure of seeing Janine, he'd have your teeth for cufflinks,” Illya explained while flipping through his mail. He paused at a particular envelope and tore it open. His expression darkened as his eyes scanned the page. “Chyort.”
“Something wrong?”
“The latest release from my favorite record label was of very poor quality. I felt compelled to relate my disappointment, and their response is less than satisfactory.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “Excuse me. This demands an immediate reply.”
He headed off, leaving Napoleon in the doorway, staring at the floor and patting absently at the envelopes in his coat pocket. Mark cleared his throat. “Not to be rude, but, as they say, ‘Three’s a crowd.’”
“Oh, of course. I'll leave you to it.” He stepped back, and the door began to slide shut. “Remind Janine for me that I'll pick her up at eight sharp.” He smiled as a projectile struck the inside of the doors with a clang.
“Three’s a crowd,” he murmured. “Yes, indeed. And so’s four or five or six.” With a spring in his step, Napoleon headed back to the elevator. He fished a notebook and pencil from inside his jacket and began to sketch a group of stick figures in descending height. “Twins, no triplets. Even better. Robert, Eunice, Edward…”
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