Picfic Tuesday Challenge 10/28: The Shimmering Man

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Sitting in the car’s passenger seat, Napoleon glanced at the outline of the house. A shiver began going up his spine for no seeable reason.( Read more... )

"Twirling his straight razor"~ For the PicFic Tuesday prompt 10/22

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Catching up on my picfics...





             

Illya Kuryakin walked out from their hotel bathroom, clothed in nothing but a bath towel; his hair plastered down, still wet from his shower. His face was covered with shaving cream and in his hand was an old-fashioned straight razor.

He tied a heavy leather strop the door knob and proceeded to sharpen the blade on it.

“Do we go out for dinner or order room service,” he asked, putting the blade to his cheek without aid of a mirror.

“Out,” Napoleon answered, already straightening his tie and readying to put on his suit jacket. ”I’m tired of being cooped up in here.”  He stared at the Russian for a second.

“How can you use that ‘cut throat’ razor? A bit old fashioned isn’t it...why don’t you just get a Remington or a safety razor for that matter…. and while you’re at it, a little bay rum or Old Spice wouldn’t hurt you.”

“There is nothing wrong with my razor, and I prefer using witch hazel, thank you.” Illya turned to go back into the bathroom, but changed his mind, having one more thing to say. “You cannot use your Remington as a weapon or a safety razor, by the way, as I can with my straight razor, since it is essentially, a knife.”  He smiled, not giving his partner a chance to respond and disappeared back through the doorway.

“If you recall that strap has been used as a weapon...like on your back?” Napoleon called out.

“It is a strop, not a strap,” Illya yelled from the bathroom.

“Strap, strop what does it matter.”

Illya stuck his half shaved face out the door. “Excuse me, but you are quick enough to correct my English, so fair play.” He disappeared again.

“Whatever,” Solo mumbled, looking at his wristwatch.” Can you hurry it up in there?”

Ten minutes later Illya reappeared clean shaven, hair dry and combed, and half dressed in his black suit.  His jacket remained on the coat hanger as he’d hung it up in the bath to let the steam get rid of any wrinkles. “Why were you rushing me, it is not like you have a hot date…or do you?” The Russian looked at suspiciously.

He took two steps toward the chest of drawers, on top of which lay his gun and holster.

There was a startling crash and two men broke through the door, catching the U.N.C.L.E. agents off-guard. After a brief scuffle, Napoleon and Illya found themselves bound and abandoned in the bathroom while their hotel room was being ransacked.

After everything became quiet, they assumed the men had found the documents the agents had been safeguarding and took off with them.

The partners managed to get to their feet, though they’d been tied up back to back.

“Move this way,” Illya said, and together they shuffled across the floor like a pair of scuttling crabs.

Kuryakin reached for his black travel case he’d left on the edge of the sink; he worked the zipper open with his fingers, pulling out his razor.

The ropes were cut in no time, allowing them to grab their guns, and take off after the thieves who were still at the end of the hall, waiting for the elevator.  They’d taken their time, thinking the the American and Russian wouldn’t be coming after them.

Napoleon and Illya darted them easily; retrieving the files and dumping the sleeping bodies in a housekeeping closet.

“Time to find a new hotel,” Napoleon said, as they headed back to their room to gather their things.

“Your Remington would not have been able to get us free, would it?” Illya grinned.

“I suppose you’re right,” Napoleon tried not to moan. His partner would milk this one for all it was worth, of that he had no doubt, but he figured he’d check anyway.

“So are we done with this subject?” Solo tossed his suitcase on the bed, tucking his travel kit inside, including his electric razor.

“Not on your life my friend.” Illya nimbly twirled his straight razor in his hand with a definite attitude before closing it and putting it back in its case.

“I didn’t think so… Where did you get your razor, by the way?”

Illya smiled. “Having a change of heart my friend?”

Napoleon said nothing as he picked up his suitcase, heading out the door and leaving his partner standing there.He peeked his head back inside. “Well, you coming?”

“Why are you in such a rush today?” Illya said as he followed the American out to the corridor. He stood in place, staring momentarily at his partner. “You do have a date!”

“So what of it? Maybe I do.”

“Napoleon, could you at least wait until we are done with our assignment?”  Illya caught up with him as he reached the elevator.

“Hey gotta strike while the iron is hot...she’s leaving in the morning.”

“Do not tell me, Heidi the airline stewardess, the one with the big…”

“Exactly,” Napoleon smiled.

“Hmm, perhaps you might want to borrow my razor then...it will give you a much closer shave...women do like that you know,” the Russian smiled, succumbing to the inevitable with his partner.

“No thank you, I’ve had enough ‘close shaves’ for today.” Napoleon knew he could elicit a certain response from his partner like clockwork, and chucked as the Russian rolled his eyes...

"Who knocks at my door?" For the PicFic Tuesday prompt challenge on Section VII 10/29

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

                       

“Napoleon, I do not like the look of this. I have a bad feeling…”

The American stopped in his tracks, as he’d learned to take the Russian’s instincts seriously. He raised his eyebrows contemplating his partner’s warning. He stared at the decrepit door,

“Hmm, well unfortunately we have no choice. This is where we’re supposed to meet our contact.”

“Our contact?” Kuryakin repeated.

“Okay, fine. 'My'contact,” Napoleon surrendered.

Illya gave the double doors a careful once over, not seeing the hinges...it looked as if everything were held in place by years of whitewash and stucco.

“I think this will fall apart if we dare touch it,” he concluded.

“Your feelings aside partner mine; we still have to go inside. Those were our...my instructions.”  Napoleon shrugged his answer. “Maybe we could look for another way in?”

Illya bit  his lower lip. “That will still not ease my apprehension.”

( Read more... )

Entering the Void - PicFic 10/29

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Under a cloudy sky that made the day seem even colder than it was, two men approached a battered doorway that was bleached by the sun from its former aqua hue and set almost haphazardly within a crumbling façade.  The wall looked as though ready to collapse into itself if not for the support of the decrepit doors.

( enter... )

Haunted House for picfic Tuesday 10/29

[dixiebelle2013.livejournal.com]

Originally posted by dixiebelle2013 at Haunted House for picfic Tuesday 10/29

"It doesn't really look like a haunted house to me," Napoleon remarked. "Abandoned and dilapidated, yes, but not haunted. He and Illya stood at the entrance of the dwelling they'd been sent to investigate. There was an overhead arch with a curved design inside, and the door frames looked as if they'd come completely loose from the wall at some point and had been very sloppily glued back into place with spackling paste. The wooden doors, which had been painted white and light blue and were in a similar state of disrepair, were slightly open. Residents of the area had complained of high-pitched inhuman wailing noises coming from inside the building.

"I tell them that we are investigators, not exorcists, but they will not listen," Illya complained as his partner pushed the door open.

The inside of the old house was indeed creepy, with spiderwebs and layers of dust everywhere. It was obvious that no living person had been on the premises in a very long time. One section of the interior had, at one time, been blocked off by a brick enclosure, behind which had been stored God-only-knew what. A few of the bricks had fallen away, leaving an opening that a petite human could possibly barely squeeze through.

Once inside the long-deserted building, the two agents suddenly heard the inhuman wailing sound they'd been told of, and it was evident to both men that it came from behind the brick enclosure.

"I'm too big to fit through that hole, so it looks like it's up to you to solve this one, partner mine," Napoleon said, the relief he felt obvious in his voice.

Illya scowled but obediently approached the opening. By twisting his limbs into seemingly impossible angles, he was barely able to make it through the opening.

All was silent for a moment, and then Napoleon heard movement, a slight scuffle, from behind the wall.

"Here is your 'ghost'." A tiny orange cat appeared at the opening. Its fur was filthy, and it was very skinny. Napoleon took the animal from his partner's hands, and a moment later, Illya reappeared, covered in dust and grime.

"Her paw was caught in a crack in the wall, and she could not get it out," the Russian explained. "There was a puddle of water on the floor from which she had been drinking, but if I had not found her, she would have starved to death soon."

"Looks like it's your lucky day, kitty," Napoleon said to the tiny creature, who mewed hungrily. "Now that our 'mystery' is solved, we can go find you some nice warm milk. How does that sound?"

The cat jumped out of his hands and began to weave in circles around Illya's legs.

"She certainly seems to prefer you," Napoleon remarked. "It's as if she knows you're the one who rescued her."

Illya grinned and picked the cat up. "I shall call you Malinka," he decided. "That means 'little berry.'" The cat purred and rubbed the top of her head against his shirt.

QuoteME: Challenge 6

[carabele.livejournal.com]

There's a chill in the air and we're heading toward the seaon of "goodwill toward men and peace on earth". And it's that vibe the quote for the final QuoteME challenge calls to mind.

THE QUOTE:	If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.
MADE BY:	Mother Teresa

CHALLENGE: Write an MFU fanfic story regarding the idea embodied in the above quote. The quote doesn't have to verbally appear within the context of the story; the idea it embodies just needs to be captured in that story. The quote, however, should be placed separately at the top of the story.

STATISTICAL STUFF: Minimum of 500 words (no drabbles) with no set maximum. Must fit into the overall concepts of this community, i.e., contain no explicit adult material and reflect the 1960s series in style and content.

POSTING: To this forum (and on dreamwidth and fanfiction dot net), starting on December 15th and ending on December 21st.