The New Girl In Town - PicFic 1/26

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

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"A Snowy Day Surprise"~ For PicFic Tuesday 1/26

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Napoleon Solo was usually a composed man, but given he’d let his partner convince him to take a walk in Central Park in the middle of a damned snowstorm, his patience was now wearing thin.

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Rest a Weary Soul [Abridged] (PicFic Tuesday 1/26)

[rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com]

(Please note that this is an abridged version of the fic, as I'm only posting the part relevant to the image; the full version can be found here on fanfiction.net, but the expanded version gets a bit angsty (because give me snow for a prompt, and I inevitably think "avalanche")



Napoleon wanted nothing more than to be able to rest—to temporarily escape from his aches and pains in the numbing blanket of sleep. Having escaped from a THRUSH hideout in the Cascades thanks to the help of his trusted partner Illya, he had already been weary as they made their escape on snowmobiles in the middle of a snowstorm. But THRUSH hadn’t been ready to give up their prize prisoner so quickly; a THRUSH grunt had pursued them on a snowmobile, as well, first attempting to take out Illya with a luger. Napoleon had run the side of his snowmobile into the grunt’s, spoiling his aim just in time.

The grunt had turned his attention to Napoleon after that, running his snowmobile into the side of Napoleon’s. Napoleon returned the maneuver, and the exchanged continued for some time until the grunt knocked Napoleon into the path of a large tree.

What had happened next remained a bit of a blur to Napoleon, but Illya had later described it as, “You dented the tree, and then the tree dented you.”

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The Rendezvous - Picfic for 01/26

[avrovulcan.livejournal.com]

The note just said:

'The Mall, 19:00'

It was typed on standard UNCLE memo paper. Illya flipped it over, but there was nothing else written on it.


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The First Day of Winter - Picfic, 26th Jan

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

The snow had began falling again. Already the streets were covered in a thick blanket of white, which would be unlikely to clear before spring. It was beautiful right now, before it became muddy and trampled, and covered with soot as people turned to burning anything they could get their hands on in an attempt to stave off the cold.

Illya breathed in the cold air and tried to capture the scene in his head; the warm glow of the electric street lamps reflected across the snowy park, the icicles hanging from the gates of the metro station, the faces of the people passing by, bundled up in thick coats and scarves as they hurried along the wide path, the sound of balalaika music, the smell of roasted fat coming from the shashlyk stall...this would all be part of his enduring memories of home.

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