"Escape from Alamería"

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

~from "Snapshots"  my collection of short fics posted on fanfction.net under Mlaw,  They're just that, a snapshot of a moment in time, taken from a bigger picture of the boy's lives. All are unrelated stories and some will be made into longer fics.

This brief story was inspired by the following you-tube video of an all woman fiddle group called the "String Sisters."  The tune, called "Rumble thy Bellyful," was composed by Liz Carroll. (the woman with the short hair in the video)  The cool thing is that I've played in sessions with Liz Carroll and the guitarist Pat Broader...

This recording said to me...'horses, Moorish Spain and a bit of Russia too.'


               

Watch on YouTube

                                                                      Escape from Almería

           


They galloped along shifting sands on their two horses; a blond man riding a black horse and a dark-haired fellow on a white stallion. He rode more elegantly as if he were a trained rider, while the blond sat astride his horse more loosely, as if he were one with the animal, his longer hair and the mane of the horse blowing in the hot wind.

( ride one... )

Escape from Almería

[mlaw]

~from "Snapshots"  my collection of short fics posted on fanfction.net under Mlaw,  They're just that, a snapshot of a moment in time, taken from a bigger picture of the boy's lives. All are unrelated stories and some will be made into longer fics.

This brief story was inspired by the following you-tube video of an all woman fiddle group called the "String Sisters."  The tune, called "Rumble thy Bellyful," was composed by Liz Carroll. (the woman with the short hair in the video)  The cool thing is that I've played in sessions with Liz Carroll and the guitarist Pat Broader...

This recording said to me...'horses, Moorish Spain and a bit of Russia too.'

                                                                 "Escape from Almería"
                                                               

             


They galloped along shifting sands on their two horses; a blond man riding a black horse and a dark-haired fellow on a white stallion. He rode more elegantly as if he were a trained rider, while the blond sat astride his horse more loosely, as if he were one with the animal, his longer hair and the mane of the horse blowing in the hot wind.

( Ride on... )

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALYNWA!

[mlaw]

 Another hypnocat commands that all wish you a very very happy birthday!

Picfic... The Late Again Affair

[svetlanacat4.livejournal.com]

“You're late.”
“Napoleon...”
“This innocent face won't fool me. You knew I...”
“Mr Waverly asked me about a formula and I worked in the lab... Sorry, my friend.”
“Sorry? You did it deliberately! You knew I had a rendez-vous with Angelique...”
“You're grumpy...”
“Grumpy? Grumpy? And... What is this? Lipstick? Lipstick on your cheek? And... powdered sugar?”
“There was a party for Lisa's birthday... She gave me something for you... but you don't deserve it, Napoleon!”
“What is it I don't deserve, exactly?”
“I was talking to the cat!”
“Had you to call him “Napoleon”? Hurry, you're late!”

Happy Birthday Alynwa

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Originally posted by glennagirl at Happy Birthday Alynwa

So, two men are walking down a long grey corridor when one of them stops suddenly.
The other man, dark haired and impeccably dressed, continues on a few steps before realizing that his blond friend isn't walking beside him any longer.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
The blond blushes slightly, an involuntary and irksome characteristic that he can't manage to avoid.
"I ... I seem to have forgotten an engagement.  I need to be gone for ... oh, about an hour or so..."
The brunet examines his friend's expression, squinting his eyes as he does so, as though he might see more clearly.
"What kind of engagement, exactly, have you forgotten tovarisch?  I don't remember seeing anything on our schedule..."
Realization dawns on Napoleon Solo even as his sneaky Russian partner is turning back towards reception, his pace quickening as he hurries towards the doors that will lead him out of HQ, on to his desired destination.
Napoleon will having nothing of it, so he yells after the blond and takes off at a run behind him.
"Illya, hey wait up!  I know where you 're going, you sneaky Russian ... Wait for me!"
The two men arrive at the door and wait impatiently for it to open.
"Thought you'd pull a fast one on me, eh?  Well, think again Illya."
Kuryakin considers the options: Find a way to lose his friend in the Manhattan traffic and try to beat him to the door of this someone special; Accept that it will be impossible to keep Napoleon from arriving at the same front door, and just share a cab.
"I give, Napoleon.  Shall we go together and share in the occasion?"
The American thinks about it, decides to let the deception pass ... this time.
"Very well, I suppose it's best, especially if it will make her happy."
The ride is mercifully short, the anticipation shared by the two agents palpable.  When the cab stops in front of her apartment building, Napoleon shoves the cab fare into the hand of the driver and sprints up the steps behind the nimble Russian who has already rung the doorbell.
With minimal self-control at the happy prospects of spending the afternoon with the birthday girl, hugs and kisses await her as the door opens to her two most ardent admirers.
"Happy Birthdayalynwa!  Your boys are here, let the celebration begin."
The Birthday Girl is only too happy to welcome them inside.
The rest of the story is hers to tell.

C'est La Vie - chapter 6

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Originally posted by glennagirl at C'est La Vie - chapter 6

part 1
~~~~:

It was nearing four o’clock in the morning by the time Napoleon told Janice Friday to go home and get a few hours sleep.  The normally perky assistant was reluctant to go, but the night had been a traumatic one for her, and she wisely accepted that rest would be a better choice; her duties were not over, perhaps only now truly beginning.

Illya had convinced his daughter to lie down on the sofa in Sir John’s … Napoleon’s office retreat.  The girl had yet to truly deal with her mother’s death, something Illya dreaded to confront for both their sakes.  Losing Marion was still something like a dream, or a nightmare.  The recurring image of Gervaise Ravel as she drew close to the beautiful blonde sent shivers down the Russian’s spine as he remembered the final gasps of life from Marion’s lips.  He was unsure of his feelings for her, at once grateful and ashamed that they had shared a bed less than twenty-four hours earlier.  He now understood why Marion had wanted to shield Nicolette from their on again, off again affair.  The girl’s parents had loved each other, and yet neither of them had the courage to make a life together, not even for their daughter’s sake.
( Read more... )