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section7mfu2017-03-27 06:37 pm
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Entry tags:
"Modern Marvels" (Short Affair Challenge 3/27)
Short Affair 3/27
Prompt: Easy
Color: Brown
Title: Modern Marvels
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~750
Takes place in early 2011; any and all references to Hustle and NCIS are intentional, and this follows the ever-popular Albert-is-Napoleon and Ducky-is-Illya headcanons.
“Look at this!” Illya exclaimed. “Just look at this, Napoleon! We had nothing like this back in the ‘60s!”
He was holding up a contact lens with a pair of tweezers; an iris was colored brown to look as though it was a cosmetic lens to change a person’s eye color. It looked nondescript enough, but, evidently, there were miniature fibers in the brown part of the lens that would record what the wearer saw and would send it to the U.N.C.L.E. computer—a concept that intrigued Illya very much.
“George told me that the ions in the salt water from tears keep it charged,” Illya said. “Every time you blink, you provide enough tears to keep it going. It couldn’t be any easier!”
“…Whose idea was this?” Napoleon asked, tilting his head in curiosity as he glanced at the small device.
“Mandy’s; she gave the idea to George, and he brought it to life.”
“…Ah. Of course. She’s been utilizing contact lenses for our work since…”
“Since the time you inadvertently sent her on a field mission,” Illya finished.
“…That was 47 years ago, Illya. Are you seriously telling me that I’m never living that down?”
“Not if I can help it,” Illya said, cheerfully. “Now, hold still; I want to get this on you.”
“What!? George didn’t mention we’d have to test it out!”
“Well, of course we need to test it!”
“Well, why me?” Napoleon asked, balking at the contact lens. “Why not have one of the greenhorns be the guinea pig?”
“Because Blanche trusts us to be more brutally honest than the probies,” Illya said, referring to Waverly’s granddaughter, the current Number I of Section I.
“‘Probies?’” Napoleon repeated.
“A colloquialism I’ve picked up while undercover,” Illya said. “Now stop fidgeting and let me put this on you! You can relax; I know how anatomy works, after all!”
“Oh, sure--for the dead!”
“The living are built the same as the dead, Napoleon—they just complain a lot more, as you are illustrating,” Illya tutted. “Now, for the last time, hold still!”
Napoleon let out a quiet growl, but allowed Illya to place the contact lens on his eye. He blinked a few times, surprised.
“Wow, I hardly feel it.”
Illya responded with an annoyed snort and then removed his glasses to place a similar contact lens—this one colored blue—onto his own eye.
“And there we are,” he said, placing his glasses back on. “We just go about our normal business, and George can see whatever we do as long as he activates the feed. …I think he will find your exploits in London far more entertaining than my autopsies.” He paused, and the smile faded from his face. “Speaking of which… I will need to return to DC by the end of the week. My absence will be difficult to explain if it goes for longer than that.”
“Oh… Well, it can’t be helped…” Napoleon’s disappointment couldn’t be hidden, even in spite of how he tried to do so. “But why don’t I go to DC with you for a week or two before I head back to London?”
“I would enjoy that very much, Napoleon. But would your band of thieves manage without you for that long?” Illya asked.
Napoleon put on a mock affronted look.
“Really, Illya, we are so much more than just a band of thieves!”
But Illya was smiling.
“Very well, then tell me all about your latest exploits over dinner, and I shall share you some of mine, as well—minus the autopsy details, of course.”
“And I’ll appreciate that very much,” Napoleon said, with a relieved smile. “Come on; I’ll buy.”
“Music to my ears,” Illya mused.
The two partners headed out of the building and onto the familiar streets, talking with each other as memories of decades past floated in their minds—of conversations long ago on the same streets, when they were young and ready to take on anything that THRUSH had to throw at them.
They were much older and wiser now, not as fast or agile as their younger years, but still as sharp as ever—and as devoted to each other now as they had been during those nights of their younger years, when the city and the world had been theirs to discover together.
The world wasn’t really new to them anymore, even with a newfangled invention like the new contact lenses. But, in the end, it didn’t really matter.
After all this time, they still had each other.
Prompt: Easy
Color: Brown
Title: Modern Marvels
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~750
Takes place in early 2011; any and all references to Hustle and NCIS are intentional, and this follows the ever-popular Albert-is-Napoleon and Ducky-is-Illya headcanons.
“Look at this!” Illya exclaimed. “Just look at this, Napoleon! We had nothing like this back in the ‘60s!”
He was holding up a contact lens with a pair of tweezers; an iris was colored brown to look as though it was a cosmetic lens to change a person’s eye color. It looked nondescript enough, but, evidently, there were miniature fibers in the brown part of the lens that would record what the wearer saw and would send it to the U.N.C.L.E. computer—a concept that intrigued Illya very much.
“George told me that the ions in the salt water from tears keep it charged,” Illya said. “Every time you blink, you provide enough tears to keep it going. It couldn’t be any easier!”
“…Whose idea was this?” Napoleon asked, tilting his head in curiosity as he glanced at the small device.
“Mandy’s; she gave the idea to George, and he brought it to life.”
“…Ah. Of course. She’s been utilizing contact lenses for our work since…”
“Since the time you inadvertently sent her on a field mission,” Illya finished.
“…That was 47 years ago, Illya. Are you seriously telling me that I’m never living that down?”
“Not if I can help it,” Illya said, cheerfully. “Now, hold still; I want to get this on you.”
“What!? George didn’t mention we’d have to test it out!”
“Well, of course we need to test it!”
“Well, why me?” Napoleon asked, balking at the contact lens. “Why not have one of the greenhorns be the guinea pig?”
“Because Blanche trusts us to be more brutally honest than the probies,” Illya said, referring to Waverly’s granddaughter, the current Number I of Section I.
“‘Probies?’” Napoleon repeated.
“A colloquialism I’ve picked up while undercover,” Illya said. “Now stop fidgeting and let me put this on you! You can relax; I know how anatomy works, after all!”
“Oh, sure--for the dead!”
“The living are built the same as the dead, Napoleon—they just complain a lot more, as you are illustrating,” Illya tutted. “Now, for the last time, hold still!”
Napoleon let out a quiet growl, but allowed Illya to place the contact lens on his eye. He blinked a few times, surprised.
“Wow, I hardly feel it.”
Illya responded with an annoyed snort and then removed his glasses to place a similar contact lens—this one colored blue—onto his own eye.
“And there we are,” he said, placing his glasses back on. “We just go about our normal business, and George can see whatever we do as long as he activates the feed. …I think he will find your exploits in London far more entertaining than my autopsies.” He paused, and the smile faded from his face. “Speaking of which… I will need to return to DC by the end of the week. My absence will be difficult to explain if it goes for longer than that.”
“Oh… Well, it can’t be helped…” Napoleon’s disappointment couldn’t be hidden, even in spite of how he tried to do so. “But why don’t I go to DC with you for a week or two before I head back to London?”
“I would enjoy that very much, Napoleon. But would your band of thieves manage without you for that long?” Illya asked.
Napoleon put on a mock affronted look.
“Really, Illya, we are so much more than just a band of thieves!”
But Illya was smiling.
“Very well, then tell me all about your latest exploits over dinner, and I shall share you some of mine, as well—minus the autopsy details, of course.”
“And I’ll appreciate that very much,” Napoleon said, with a relieved smile. “Come on; I’ll buy.”
“Music to my ears,” Illya mused.
The two partners headed out of the building and onto the familiar streets, talking with each other as memories of decades past floated in their minds—of conversations long ago on the same streets, when they were young and ready to take on anything that THRUSH had to throw at them.
They were much older and wiser now, not as fast or agile as their younger years, but still as sharp as ever—and as devoted to each other now as they had been during those nights of their younger years, when the city and the world had been theirs to discover together.
The world wasn’t really new to them anymore, even with a newfangled invention like the new contact lenses. But, in the end, it didn’t really matter.
After all this time, they still had each other.
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All the lines are good: I'll confine my quoting to “The living are built the same as the dead, Napoleon—they just complain a lot more,"
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I love writing for Illya's witty lines.
Glad you liked it!
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Glad you liked it!