Dec. 15th, 2015
Napoleon Solo was a social creature but there were limitations in life because of his line of work. He was often sent on an assignment with or without his Soviet partner sometimes having been given less than twenty-four hours notice. That made for a very haphazard dating schedule, but the ladies of the New York headquarters, and quite a few airline stewardesses seemed willing to accommodate him.
Still, periodically there was a special occasion and tonight was definitely one of those. He was crossing his fingers the call to arms wouldn’t happen. Given it was December the chances of that happening were, thankfully, pretty low.
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Illya Kuryakin was not a fan of the tuxedo. He had no issue with dressing formally, but the tux was too much like a uniform for his liking. Despite the best efforts of his various teachers and commanding officers, there had always been a non-conformist streak in him. Even with U.N.CL.E. Illya eschewed the regulation hair length and wore the expected shirt and tie only when it suited him. Aside from the occasional pointed comment, Alexander Waverly turned a blind eye to the Russian agent’s bending of the rules.
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