It's All About April - Drabble Tale - What Happens in Vegas, Pt 2

[avirra.livejournal.com]

It took a few minutes of staring at the view of Vegas through the window for April to get up the nerve to take in her surroundings. She was on a king sized bed in a suite that was both large and gaudily decorated. Her traitorous brain supplied the words 'Honeymoon Suite'.

Taking a deep breath, she took a good look at herself and found she was wearing black lingerie - absolutely nothing like anything she actually owned. A noise drew her attention then. Running water. Someone else was in the suite, apparently taking a shower. Her morning wasn't improving.

A Little Drabble Do Ya - Awkward Positions

[avirra.livejournal.com]

(Reaching way back to my very first MFU drab for this one.  I accept no responsibility for where folks' thoughts may wander)

"This is not going to work."

"It's going to work. I've done this hundreds of times, I'll have you know."

"Were any of those attempts successful?"

"Oh ye of little faith. Just - sort of angle that arm there and then put that leg there. Okay - that should work."

"It seems to be a terribly unnatural position that you are attempting to put yourself in."

"Perhaps it is a bit more awkward than what I was aiming for."

"For pity's sake, Napoleon - just go and rent another hammock."

"See if I bring you to the beach again."

Never A Good Bye - A Little Drabble Do Ya

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The action was fierce, and when it was finally over Napoleon was found in the far corner of the old warehouse, slumped over and barely breathing.

“What happened Mr. Kuryakin?  This was intended as a simple exchange of information.”  Mr. Waverly disapproved of his men being near death, not that he was sentimental.

“I cannot explain it, sir.  We were handing off to Comrade... to Mr. Petrovsky, when suddenly we were being attacked from all sides.  Mr. Solo attempted to shield Yuri but..”

“But they were both shot.  KGB?”  Illya nodded ever so slightly.

“I am sorry Mr. Kuryakin.”

“Spacibo.”

Tennis - A Little Drabble Do Ya

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Please forgive me for the abject silliness of the following drabble.


MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUM


“What on Earth were you thinking?” Mr Waverly shouted.

The Old Man rarely raised his voice, but Illya Kuryakin’s latest escapade had angered him greatly. The Russian sat opposite his boss with his head hung in shame. He hadn’t meant it to happen. Not really. He’d just gotten caught up in all the excitement.

“You only needed to stay in for the first round, in order to make contact with our courier.” Waverly continued. “You weren’t supposed to become the Wimbledon Men’s Champion.”

Illya simply smiled.

The Randomness of Life~Chapter 87 for "A Little Drabble Do Ya!"

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

                             

a double drabble today

Prompted by: Epitaph For A Darling Lady~Dorthy Parker

All her hours were yellow sands,
Blown in foolish whorls and tassels;
Slipping warmly through her hands;
Patted into little castles.

Shiny day on shiny day
Tumble in a rainbow clutter,
As she flipped them all away,
Sent them spinning down the gutter.

Leave for her a red young rose,
Go your way, and save your pity;
She is happy, for she knows
That her dust is very pretty.

.

Illya Kuryakin stared at his partner, not sure if he wanted to give him

a bear hug or to slug him. He reached down, giving Napoleon a hand up.

Solo said nothing, dusting off his suit, seeing the seam on his left shoulder shredded beyond repair.

"Waverly is going to kill me," he mumbled.

"That is all you have to say,"Illya snapped" Angelique tries to kill you after you made love to her and that is it?"

Napoleon sniggered. "If she wanted to really kill me...I'd be dead." He flashed a grin at the frowning Russian. "What can I say... the Solo luck."

"There will come a day when your luck fails you and I will not be nearby to save you from that...woman."

"Hey, you know I could easily kill her myself...and leave her to turn to pretty dust."

"I think not. It would most likely be me who does the deed and not you."

"Well hopefully tovarisch that day won't come anytime soon..."

Illya would never understand Napoleon's fascination with the THRUSH temptress; wondering if it were better if he eliminated her before she killed his friend.

That thought he would keep to himself...

Chapter 7 of the Gen Round Robin is now up on MFUWSS for the MFU 50th Anniversary celebration.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Links to chapter     1: http://mfuwss.livejournal.com/484057.html by mrua7
                           2: http://mfuwss.livejournal.com/484387.html by Avrovulcan
                           3: http://mfuwss.livejournal.com/486213.html by Avirra
                           4. http://mfuwss.livejournal.com/490345.html by Franciskerst
                           5. http://mfuwss.livejournal.com/490345.html by Renn
                           6.  http://mfuwss.livejournal.com/491673.html by Glennagirl

Chapter 7 written by Lindafishes8 is another clever addtion to the challenge.

You can find her chapter here: http://mfuwss.livejournal.com/493774.html


         

A Little Drabble Do Ya: Pitch Black, Part 2-the Conclusion

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Link to A Little Drabble Do YA- Pitch Black, Part 1:

<ahref="http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/646695.html">http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/646695.html

Pitch Black, Part 2: a double drabble and the conclusion.

‘Who’s there?” A faltering voice came from the weakened patient.

“Mr.Waverly. It’s just a power failure and the backup generator should start up momentarily.”

“Where’s mama? Is she all right?”

A pause and then, “She’s fine. Close your eyes now and rest.”

Sheets rustled.

“It….it hurts..”

A wrinkled hand reached out in the blackness to soothe a fevered brow.

“Shhhh. We’ll give you some medicine soon. Just lie still and I’ll watch over you.”

“I will try... .”

Together they waited, one in the past, the other in the present, for the return of the light.



Emergency bulbs above the door colored the room with pale, amber light; the door opened and a nurse entered.

I.V. opiates quickly erased the lines on Illya’s face. He fell quickly and quietly asleep.

“The drugs should start working soon, sir. He’ll make more sense in a few hours. Perhaps you should come back then.”

“He’s not likely to remember any of this, is he?”

“No,” she replied, “I’m sure he won’t.”

Waverly paused in the doorway, looked back and smiled at the agent to whom he’d given a brief moment of comfort in the darkness.

“That’s probably for the best.”