"See How High She Flies"~ for the Song Story Challenge 11/27

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

The prompt: The Eagles song: Witchy Woman. Warning: just a hint of mild het. (very little)

     

It was the night of Halloween that found our brave U.N.C.L.E. agents, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin stuck in a small town somewhere in Massachusetts.

Of course it was pouring like cats and dogs, and the cracks of thunder were so loud they sounded like artillery to Illya, sadly reminding him of the assault on Kyiv during the war when he was but a child.

Before exiting the car, Napoleon reported their situation to headquarters, stating the weather had turned so bad it was forcing them to stop until it cleared up. The partners exited the car, running between the raindrops, as Napoleon's Aunt Amy used to say, and headed to the closest refuge, an establishment called, Upton Tavern. It was a simple building, two story with a weather-worn sign in front showing and old style coach and four.

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Crossing Hearts - QuoteMe Challenge for October

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men

alone are quite capable of every wickedness.

Joseph Conrad

“Is he dead?” Napoleon Solo stood back and watched as his partner checked the body for a pulse.  He already knew Illya wouldn’t find one, but they went through the charade of hoping.  Illya shook his head; that quick, impossibly succinct motion that was uniquely his.  The Russian stood, a sigh almost as indistinguishable as the negative sign to Solo that the man was another statistic in the continuing roll call of victims.

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The Witchy Woman Affair - Song Story 10/27

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The prompt is Witchy Woman by The Eagles.  The phrase I latched onto is below.

She held me spellbound in the night
Dancing shadows and firelight
Crazy laughter in another room
And she drove herself to madness
With a silver spoon
:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:


Illya Kuryakin could feel the drug coursing through his veins, a viscous veil of something not unlike euphoria battling with his will to remain cognizant of the surroundings, and of the dangerous woman wielding the needle.

She was mad, or so it seemed to the Russian as he plummeted farther and farther into an abyss filled with dark memories and horrifying demons wearing jackboots and overcoats.  He could hear marching in the background as it competed with the sound of her laughter.  She was laughing at him, and he was powerless to stop her.

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