It's Time For April!

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

It's Wednesday, and that means all eyes are on April Dancer.  What do you have to add today?

Object Lesson - All About April

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

"April Dancer, as I live and breathe!"  The handsome man making that exclamation drew every eye in the room to the object of it.  April, dressed in a stylish ensemble straight from the Paris runways beamed with undisguised pleasure.  She was a woman after all, and a compliment was sure to be next out of Desmond's mouth.  Holding a drink in one hand, he reached for April in hopes of making physical contact.

"Darling, it is you.  I saw your handsome face from all the way over there and just melted inside.  How are you Desmond dear?"  Desmond D'Orville was a man of great taste and even greater fortune... all of it good.  Seeing April here, like this, was just another page in his brag book.

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"Having each others back" ~ for All about April

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

April Dancer sat alone at a table in a crowded Commissary, sipping her mug of tea and nibbling on her tuna fish sandwich.

Having had the distinct impression she was being shunned when she first approached a tableful of Communications specialists and secretaries; she was told the empty chair was being saved for another one of the girls.

She tried several more times, not only asking women but some of her fellow Section II agents if she could join them. The variety of excuses she received told her simply that her company wasn’t welcome.

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Practial Shoes-- All About April

[renn.livejournal.com]

"Practical shoes," April muttered as she tramped in the snow after Kuryakin. She had her hands jammed into her bright orange faux fur jacket—the warmest part of her, really. She had no hat; snow encrusted her double layer of false eyelashes. Her legs, clad only in sheer lime green hose and a pair of until-recently-cute lemon, open-toed kitten-heeled slingbacks, had turned red from the cold. So had her ears and face. "Practical, practical, practical shoes."

"You should have thought of that when preparing for the assignment," Kuryakin admonished. He glanced at the sky, nodded to himself, and adjusted his course across the seemingly-endless field of snow.

"Oh, so now I'm supposed to be psychic in addition to deadly and attractive."

"Who said anything about attractive?"

"Not you, obviously."

"You should have gone with something warmer."

"Darling, I was supposed to be a go-go dancer. I'm lucky I have this coat!"

"Boots?"

April sighed. "Oh, yes, proper snow boots would have made my ensemble."

Kuryakin stopped, turning to face her. "In the labs, we've come up with this thin insulation material that could be inserted into the lining of go-go boots."

"Get me a pair?"

"Of course."

The faint sound of a chopper approaching caught both their ears. Kuryakin unwound his long wool scarf and wrapped it around April's head quickly. He then snatched her up, heading toward the pick-up point even as she reluctantly wrapped her arms around him.

The helicopter landed; Kuryakin stumbled toward it, trying to get April to it as quickly as possible without losing his balance. Mark Slate jumped out of the 'copter, grabbing his partner from the Russian and carefully settling her in the back. He wrapped her legs in several blankets, tucking in an U.N.C.L.E. –issue hot pack in between layers for good measure.

Kuryakin hopped into the front seat next to the pilot; the helicopter took off. The Russian donned a headset. "How's she looking, Mark?"

"Well, pretty good for what she was exposed to. Did things get sorted at the chalet?" Slate's voice sounded tinny over the headphones.

"If you define 'sorted' as 'blown up real good,' yes. Napoleon's there now, directing the clean-up."

April's wail distracted them both, so loud that it could be heard over the blades' grind. Kuryakin looked over his shoulder; Slate immediately cradled April's head in his hands. Dancer mimed donning a headset. Kuryakin passed one back to Slate, who eased it onto his partner's head. "Now, boys," she said into the microphone. "I appreciate your efforts, but aren't you overreacting? I can take care of myself."

"Pratical shoes," Kuryakin commented.

"Duly noted, sweetie."

"Am I missing something?" Slate wondered.

"Not really, just that Miss Dancer will be getting a special delivery from the labs before her next cold-weather mission."

"Ta very." Confusion permeated Slate's voice. April and Illya exchanged winks before the Russian turned his attention to the scenery below them and the woman snuggled deeper into the provided blankets.

Wednesday's Child: Girl Talk

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

Mark and April were walking down the hall from Napoleon’s office where they had just been debriefed about their latest affair. Unlike Mr. Waverly, Napoleon was lavish in his praise when his agents did well and their mission had been a glowing success.

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