For Whom The Phone Rings - A Little Drabble Do Ya

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The phone was ringing. He cursed beneath his breath that he could hear the blasted thing.   Water poured down his back and legs, hot and therapeutic like only water can be.

Still the phone rang.

Then the sly silver contraption started its warble.

A series of scenarios ran through his head; the caller would think him not at home, or lying dead in the floor, apparently the only two that ever occurred to those who rang him up.

The communicator was, no doubt, his partner.

The solace of the shower was making it difficult to decide a course of action.

'Ha!" for A Little Drabble Do Ya!

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

It was the moment Solo was dreading as he rose, turning slowly and walking forward.

Eyes focused on from either side as gawkers stared and pointed, laughing at him.

He wanted to run but his feet like being were mired in mud as he took one painful after the other.

“How had it come to this? He was UNCLE’s best... Where was Illya when he needed him to swoop in to the rescue?

“Having fun my friend?” He finally heard the Russian snickering from behind him.

“Last time I dress up as Bozo the Clown for the UNCLE children’s party.”

The Solace of Solitude - A Little Drabble Do Ya! - Nov 11th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Every day, at 4pm, Lisa Rogers made sure that no calls, save for emergencies, got through to Mr Waverly. For fifteen minutes, she fielded everything and everyone, allowing the Old Man a small amount of peace within his day. He hadn’t asked her to do it, but appreciated her for it all the same.

Whatever was happening in the world, whatever disaster or looming terror, Alexander Waverly was grounded by this daily ritual. It was a simple thing, the importance of which had been instilled in him from a young age, by his mother. He rarely missed his afternoon tea.

.

Disaster of his own making - A little drabble do ya

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Napoleon had known seeing Marie and Suzanne in the same week would end disastrously. Still, he thought, surveying his green-paint spattered apartment, he'd never thought it would be this bad.

At least the girls had made up through agreeing what a pig he was.

He couldn't stay here tonight, the fumes were too bad.

"Open channel D please....Illya? Can I stay on your couch tonight?"

"What's in it for me?"

"The pleasure of saying I told you so. I have paint in my hair."

Silence. Then - " I will be waiting."

Non-Challenge Fic: The Deadly in My Fashion Affair, Ch. 3

[ssclassof56.livejournal.com]

Chapter 1 here. Chapter 2 here.

Chapter 3
"She must have marvelous organizational skills."

Michael Leary stepped from the afternoon sunlight into the narrow stairwell and allowed his pale eyes to adjust to the gloom. The door to his left proclaimed the services of a palm reader in hand-painted letters. Next to the doorframe hung a sign marked "Vanya's," with an arrow pointing up the steps. Popping a mint in his mouth, Leary began to climb.

The information he had on this designer was sparse, but typical in its content. Vanya had debuted a collection in Paris a few years earlier. The Russian's talent was widely acknowledged, but his stubborn refusal to alter the simplest detail to the whims of his rich clients prevented his acceptance. He had disappeared in anger, only to re-emerge in New York City this month. Leary wondered to what extent his seclusion had affected his abilities or his personality.
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