What's My LIne?

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Introducing something new: What's My Line?


Section VII is a writing site, and so our challenge here is to find prompts and subject matter that jumpstart the process.  Song Stories have been interesting and fun, but perhaps not universally favored as a prompt, so here's something a little different.
Every other week there will be a scenario prompt, the suggestion of a situation for which a story needs to be told.  It should be interesting to see how people do this, the contrasts and similarities that emerge.

This week the prompt is:
The men from UNCLE need to find transportation because...

Posting will be on Sundays, and will also be the new posting day for Song Stories.  As in all things Section VII, gen is the rule of thumb with consideration for content and suitability for all readers of all ages.  Please use tags to help identify the writer, the content and challenge being written for.

Feedback is welcome, so please let me know if this will be of interest to you.

Section VII is in search of a banner...

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Is there anyone out there who knows how to do that type of thing?  I'm clueless, and am hoping someone who passes through our doors might be able to design and implement a nice new banner for the comm.

Your Communicator or Mine

[alynwa]

Illya and April hadn’t seen each other in weeks. They kept missing each other as he and Napoleon had affairs that took them to the mid – West, then south to Atlanta followed by a conference in UNCLE’s Barcelona Headquarters while she and Mark had been in Argentina, Colombia and Belize. Neither would have admitted it under torture, but they missed each other’s company.
April and Mark were walking down the hall toward the elevator bank after being debriefed by Napoleon when one of the elevators opened to reveal the Russian carrying two cups of coffee. “Illya, Darling! How are you?” April exclaimed with a smile on her face.
“There is a familiar face I have not seen in a while. I am fine, April, how are you?” He stepped off the elevator and looked at Mark. “And how are you, Mark?”
April was saying “Fine” at the same time Mark was extending his hand and replying “’Ello, Illya.” He was still a little leery of Illya since their conversation in the cafeteria a couple of months earlier.* He had seen a side of the Russian that he hoped to never have pointed in his direction again.
Illya smiled shyly and said, “April, can I interest you in dinner tonight?”
“I would be more than interested, Darling. I’ll meet you in Reception at seven; Mark and I have to write up our mission reports.”
As the two moved past Illya into the elevator, he bowed his head slightly and replied, “Seven, it is.”
Hours later, April and Illya finally came up for air in her bedroom. Dinner had gone off as planned, but they both knew what they wanted for dessert and wasted no time downing their appetizers and entrees. They were wrapped in each other’s arms catching their breath when the familiar chirp chirp chirp of a communicator reached their ears.
“Oh, no,” April moaned.
“What is wrong?”
“We got out of our clothes so fast, Darling, both of our communicators fell onto the floor and I don’t know whose is whose. Do you?”
“No, that is a replacement. Again. Does it matter?”
“Of course it does, Darling! What if Mr. Waverly is calling me and you answer? It’s two in the morning!”
“So?”
“So? So? I don’t want Mr. Waverly to know we’re having sex!”
“Number one, he probably already knows and number two, we are consenting adults. Are you ashamed of what we are doing?”
“Not at all, Illya Darling; never.”
The Russian smiled enigmatically, “Then choose a communicator and answer it.”
Her hand hovered over first one and then, the other. Choosing the one on the left, she assembled it quickly and said, “Dancer.”
A laugh came through the device. “Agent Dancer, may I ask why you are answering my partner’s communicator at two fifteen in the morning?”
Illya reached over and plucked his communicator from April’s hand. “Stop it, you blockhead, you are embarrassing her. What do you want?”
“Sorry to interrupt, Tovarisch, but the Old Man just told me that we have an affair in Alaska. We’re booked on a ten AM flight to Seattle tomorrow morning. Come prepared to leave.”
“Will do, Napoleon.”
“Excellent. Good night to you and April.”
Illya disassembled his communicator and placed in on the nightstand on his side of the bed. “I cannot stay. Let us make the most of the time we have left,” he said as he pulled her close.
“Until next time, Darling,” she said right before her mouth covered his.

*ref. "Personally Speaking”

The Mommy Question: A Sugar & Spies Tale

[alynwa]

It was a dreary, drizzly, cloudy Sunday; the kind of day that is perfect for staying inside relaxing with the family. Four and a half year old Leona Nicole was lying on the floor propped up against her Daddy’s side. She was watching “Wonderama” while he was stretched out on his stomach reading the Sunday New York Times. The paper was so thick, he thought it easier to sprawl on the floor with it. Her Papa was sitting in the recliner with his feet up rereading David Copperfield. The entire family was happy, full and quietly enjoying each other’s company.( Read more... )

Free of body, free of soul Part Seven and good news for a change

[rosywonder.livejournal.com]

At last, for those still reading, this is the last part of my story. You can read it here (I would love you to do that!)
http://archiveofourown.org/works/1585751

The happy news is that I 'chatted' to Suzee yesterday on FB and am glad to say that things are moving on. She tells me that she thinks she will soon be able to get out and about (although her usual three mile walks might have to wait a bit). After all the horribleness of the past weeks, it was lovely to chat about ordinary things (like whether the fascinator I am going to wear to a wedding next week will suit my hair - serious things) and to reminisce about the last time we met and all the great things we got up to. I pray that there may be many, many more chats like that one to come.