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mrua7.livejournal.comOn the eleventh day of Christmas U.N.C.L.E gave to me, a handsome blond Russian and an equally as handsome brunette American both nicely wrapped up with nothing but a bow....
Dec. 23rd, 2013
mrua7.livejournal.com
mrua7.livejournal.com
Napoleon Solo sauntered into his office, feeling pretty chipper. It was the first day of December and for some reason T.H.R.U.S.H. seemed to always lay off on their usual schemes and take a Christmas vacation for the month, he imagined after all, they had families too. That thought sent him into wondering what life with a man or woman from that nefarious group would be like?"
A little dialogue came to mind, making him chuckle. "Hi honey, how was your day today? Did you conquer the world yet? No? The big bad man from UNCLE ruined your plans again. Oh let mommy make you feel better... poor thing, don't cry."
He stopped dead in his tracks as the office doors opened, seeing a rather large potted plant...no a tree, sitting on top of his desk. As he walked over to it, he realized there was a bird sitting on one of the branches.
He stared at it, and the bird stared back at him, spreading its tail feathers and suddenly flapping its wings, making a low hollow thumping sound that increased with the speed of its wing movement.
"What the hell is this?" He turned to his partner who was sitting in silence, wearing his reading glasses as he looked over a report.
"Is it not obvious?" Illya peered over the top of his glasses, "It is a partridge in a pear tree, and from the actions of the bird, he is quite enamored of you as he just performed his mating ritual." The Russian tried not to smile.
( Read more... )
mrua7.livejournal.com
December 3rd found three porcelain figures of hens and a small replica of the Eiffel tower on Solo's desk. That was at least a relief to Napoleon as he picked up the newspaper he'd spread on the floor.
On the 4th, there was a birdcage on his desk with two pair of blackbirds cawing rather loudly.
"Hey I thought they were supposed to be 'calling' birds," Napoleon complained.
"You are thinking of the Americanization of the original lyrics of 'four colly birds'. Colly is vernacular, meaning black and refers to the European blackbird Turdus merula." Illya answered without looking up from his paperwor
The racket made by the Turdus merula could be heard all the way down the hall as they were taken away by Security.
( Read more... )
glennagirl.livejournal.com
Day 11
It wasn’t enough to just have a nice evening in Montreal with nothing more important to do than enjoy dinner, and perhaps dance with one of the attractive women in the club Napoleon insisted on going into.
The club. That was the problem. Going into the club had been a mistake, and once again two women had made themselves available to the UNCLE agents, and been successful in drugging their drinks before either man caught on.
Now, in another dark room and with matching headaches, UNCLE’s finest were feeling less than fine.
“How stupid are we, Napoleon? How many times are we going to let these Thrush … ces femmes indésirables. I wish I could hit someone…hard.”
Napoleon flinched slightly, his memory serving up an image of him pursuing the women in spite of Illya’s protests.
“Well, just don’t hit me. I feel bad enough as it is. What the heck did they put in our drinks, anyway?”
Illya laid his head back against the wall, his eyelids unwilling to open all the way. He wished fervently to be away from here, without a headache and definitely out of Montreal.
“I have no idea. Whatever it was they gave me enough for both of us.’
( Day 11... )
mrua7.livejournal.comWhat better way for Illya to work through his hangover than to compile data.. The topic: Who brings gifts to Europe;here are the various guises of Santa Claus. (thanks to Laurose for prompting Illya's project) Napoleon, on the other hand is still snoring. There was an incident with a disco ball being used for a volleyball game, but the boys deny any complicity in the incident as they were too inebriated to do so...
What We Leave Behind
Dec. 23rd, 2013 04:07 pmst-crispins.livejournal.comEarly Solo with Clara and Illya recruited into U.N.C.L.E.
Rated E for Everyone.
What We Leave Behind
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. — Anatole France
Somewhere in Manhattan. December 8, 1955.
The call was unexpected, but not really a surprise. He knew who was on the other end of the line before he heard her voice. He also knew he should have just let it ring, but against his better judgment, he answered it anyway.
“Hello, Clara,” Napoleon Solo said, trying to disguise his own weariness. It’d been a tough, nasty mission, and despite a nap on the plane, he was emotionally and physically wrung out — too exhausted to talk to anyone, even her. Especially her. She had a knack for getting him to talk too much, reveal too much, and he had to be terribly cautious with her, which took more energy at the moment than he could muster.
“Hi. I was hoping I’d catch you,” she said casually, but it sounded forced. No doubt, she’d been trying his number since breakfast.
“I just got in.” Which was the truth. A mere two hours earlier, he’d stepped off a private U.N.C.L.E. transport and onto the tarmac at Teeterboro airport.
There was a pause, a hesitation on the line. Then, finally, she seemed to get up enough nerve: “I need to see you.”
( Read more... )
Rated E for Everyone.
What We Leave Behind
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. — Anatole France
Somewhere in Manhattan. December 8, 1955.
The call was unexpected, but not really a surprise. He knew who was on the other end of the line before he heard her voice. He also knew he should have just let it ring, but against his better judgment, he answered it anyway.
“Hello, Clara,” Napoleon Solo said, trying to disguise his own weariness. It’d been a tough, nasty mission, and despite a nap on the plane, he was emotionally and physically wrung out — too exhausted to talk to anyone, even her. Especially her. She had a knack for getting him to talk too much, reveal too much, and he had to be terribly cautious with her, which took more energy at the moment than he could muster.
“Hi. I was hoping I’d catch you,” she said casually, but it sounded forced. No doubt, she’d been trying his number since breakfast.
“I just got in.” Which was the truth. A mere two hours earlier, he’d stepped off a private U.N.C.L.E. transport and onto the tarmac at Teeterboro airport.
There was a pause, a hesitation on the line. Then, finally, she seemed to get up enough nerve: “I need to see you.”
( Read more... )
Writers' Choice: Silent Night
Dec. 23rd, 2013 11:06 pmavery11.livejournal.comTo celebrate the season, I'm reposting a story I wrote for last year's Down the Chimney Challenge:
Merry Christmas to all the Cousins!
http://archiveofourown.org/works/579286
Silent Night
It's Christmas Eve, and Napoleon and Illya are on the run from THRUSH. Illya is injured, and the men are miles from the nearest town. This is a story of friendship, and the miracles it can bring. Merry Christmas to all the Cousins!
http://archiveofourown.org/works/579286
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