A Slow Day's Hunting - Picfic, 6th October

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

It's well after midnight and I have work in the morning. Finishing this was not my most sensible use of time. Ah, well.
Oh, and this is a continuation of The Office Cat which I wrote for an earlier Short Affair.

It was a slow day which for once Napoleon was relishing. Ordinarily he craved action, but following a series of overseas assignments that had taken them away from New York for close to two months he was enjoying the chance to get some breathing space and catch up on the changes around the office.

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"The really unexpected affair"~Chapter 14

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Links to: Chapter 1. Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10
Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13


Thrushies had several bad habits, one was always revealing their plans as they just had to brag about them, and two...they often conveniently left an agent’s weapon and communicator where he could find it once he’d escaped their feathered claws.

Napoleon grabbed their Specials, their backup pistols, Illya’s throwing knife as well as their communicators sitting on a nearby table, right where Friedrich had left them.

“They’ll never learn,” he smiled as he tossed the Russian his weapons.

“Lucky for us,” Illya caught them with ease.

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Falling Leaves - A Little Drabble Do Ya

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

"I just saw the first of the fall colors.  Everything is starting to turn into beautiful shades of Autumn."  April Dancer exuded an enthusiasm not often reflected in the words of a Section II agent.  She was a charmer, no doubt about it.

"You seem excited about it April.  What is about Autumn that makes you so happy?"  Napoleon  could appreciate the change of seasons as well as anyone, but April seemed absolutely euphoric about it.

"Oh, well…', a slight blush overtook her fair complexion.  "I um… I was in Vermont over the weekend with a … friend."

Ah.  A friend.

If Looks Could Kill - A Little Drabble Do Ya! - Oct 7th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

If looks truly could kill, then Napoleon Solo would not only be dead, but every atom in his body would also have been utterly obliterated. He was well used to the many and varied expressions of displeasure which his partner deployed, and they had mostly ceased to have any effect on him long ago. There were times, however, when he was on the receiving end of one which froze his heart. This was one such time.

“It was only a suggestion, Tovarisch,” he soothed, holding his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I simply thought we’d save time by skipping lunch.”
.

The Fortune Cookie Affair - Chapter 21 - Double Drabble

[pactnmmt.livejournal.com]

200 words

Illya brought the car to a halt and all three bailed out of it’s smokey interior onto the sidewalk. Kuryakin helped the other agents up.

They stood across from the bar as the NYFD rushed to extinguish the fire. “This affair is making less sense the more we investigate,” rasped Solo. “What the hell is going on?”

“I’m not sure. April found an unfinished bomb at a warehouse when she followed Angelique.  She was able to dart Angelique and take her back to headquarters along with those two buffoons Ecks and Wye,” Illya replied.

“Who started that fire?” asked Mark. “I could see someone moving about in the shadows before I lost consciousness!”

The NYFD captain shouted, “Gentlemen, over here.” The three agents ran to the alley east of the burning building.  Paramedics were tending to a soot covered, badly burned woman. Napoleon gently turned her over. It was Sylvia Barton, the UNCLE employee who found the message in the cookie that sent Illya running to Mr. Waverly.

Sylvia moaned. “Sylvia? What happened?”

She looked at Solo and laughed maniacally. “You’ll never stop it in time!” She let out her last breath and died.

**********

Tag, you're it, Glenna!

Dying Sans Dignity - A Little Drabble Do Ya 07/10/2015

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

“I'm just saying it lacks a certain something, that's all. Style. Dignity.”

“You are looking for dignity in your convoluted death traps now?”

“It's just that crocodiles are traditional. Lions? Classic. Tigers and bears, I can understand, but - “

“ - are you about to start singing the Wizard of Oz?”

“What? No! What?”

“Ah, well. You know, I do not think I have ever been thrown to the lions.”

“You must have been....Wait, wasn't there that guy in Norway who wanted to sacrifice you to his lion-headed demon?”

“That does not count, that was simply a man in a rather inferior costume.”

“Are you suggesting it would have counted if the costume had been better?”

“Perhaps. At any rate, that does not apply to our present predicament. Those are not costumes.”

“No, but still....I feel as though we're not being taken seriously here.”

“You know, they can run at thirty miles an hour and kill more humans than any other mammal in Africa per year. Humans excepted, of course.”

“Somehow, that doesn't help. It's just...being thrown to the hippos. We can never tell anyone about this.”

“Agreed.”