The Fat Tuesday Affair Part Three
Feb. 20th, 2012 04:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuThe men suddenly turned to Illya. “Engarde!” One of them shouted, drawing his sword, the other following suit. Together they charged the U.N.C.L.E. agent, making him skid to a stop, bunching the carpet beneath his feet and nearly tripping himself.
Illya drew his sword, diving to the side as they both lunged at him, but his quick reaction parryied their blades out of the way. “C’est passé,” he snickered boastfully, then lunged out with his rapier, nicking one of them in the bicep.
“Et là!_and there!” The Russian shouted in French, a typical term used when scoring a touch during a fencing match. Except this was no fencing match.
Two more Musketeers appeared behind his opponents; Illya deciding that it was best to make a hasty retreat, thinking of the old proverb... Beda nikogda ne prikhodit odna_trouble never comes alone.
He swept out again with his rapier, turning his wrist to envelop both his opponents blades, disarming one of them in the process before running, heading towards the ballroom door.
Illya charged through. “NAPOLEON!” He shouted, “Company is coming!”
The four men were hot on Kuryakin’s tail, coming through the door right after him with their sharp weapons in hand.
Napoleon jumped to his feet, drawing his own sword, engaging two of the men in a duel while Illya took on the others.
The costumed crowds remaining in the ballroom watched, gasping in fear yet fascinated as the the men dressed as Scaramouche and Jean Lafite battled four swordsmen.
Illtya and followed by his opponents climbed across one of the buffet tables sending food and exploding champagne bottles flying in every direction.
Illya performed the coupé, an indirect attack of deception that passed around the tip of one of his opponent's blade. Following a feint, he pulled his rapier up and over the parrying blade, but his thrust was blocked as well.
Thy leapt from one table to another, finally Illya jumped down to the floor, staertling one of the young debutantes as he landed beside her. “Pardon me, “ he said out of breath, when one of the swordsmen charged him.
Standing on the tips of his toes and arching his back, the Russian evaded him using displacement and slammed the pommel of his sword against the back of the man’s head as he moved past, knocking him out cold. This delighted a crowd of onlookers who cheered and applauded.
Napoleon would leave the athletic antics to his partner, holding his ground, he parried, thrust and feinted while standing in place. Evading every offensive move with the deft turns of his wrist. One of the men lunged at him and he used a parry that moved from a high line to a low line, making a semi-circular movement enveloping and trapping the attacking blade.
Finally, when he saw an opening, he lunged in the classic French style, turning his hand in pronation _the position of the hand with the palm facing down, stabbing one of the men in the shoulder, taking him down. He finished off his other opponent with a beat-parry, displacing the man’s blade, lunging quickly and stabbing him in the thigh, ending his efforts as well.
Illya in the meantime had just made a running charge at his remaining opponent, a move typical of the Russian style of fencing. He leapt forward performing the classic ballestra, a leaping lunge that gained the ground he needed to reach the Musketeer, when suddenly the man went down, without Illya having even touched him.
He looked to Napoleon; the Russian seeing his partner standing there with a smile on his face as he held his Walther in his hand, giving him a little wave and a nod.
“Why did you dart him?” Illya demanded.” I was having fun. You did order me to have fun and indulge myself, did you not?”
“Sorry, would you like me to revive him for you?”
“No thank you, I have lost the mood.” Illya huffed, wiping the blood from his blade on one of the white table napkins, then tossing it to a table without a second thought.
Local police arrived; the U.N.C.L.E. agents showed their identification and the four men were arrested for the attempted murder of Samuel Thom, who had been whisked off to the hospital and would recover.
The culprits were apparently members of one of the Krewes that had fallen into disfavor and had a personal grudge against the current Rex in regards to some substantial gambling debts they owed him. Their logic was to eliminate Samuel Thom and the debts would go away...
As the agents left the mansion they found the night streets still filled with costumed revellers and plenty of Dixieland Jazz.
“Well that was interesting,” Napoleon said.” “So now what, back to the hotel room? Or we can hit one of the bars and you can listen to some jazz. Will that make you happy?”
Just then a pair of blonde belles dressed in pristine white gowns walked up to them, each taking them by the arm.
“You gentlemen were so très galant back there, we have never seen such skills with a blade.” They purred with delightful Louisianan drawls.
“Oh there’s quite a few other skills we could show you.” Napoleon smiled charmingly at them as they giggled behind their feathered fans. Now this was more the type of over-indulgence he had in mind.
“So still don’t like Mardi Gras tovarisch?”
“I think it is beginning to grow on me,” the Russian smiled as he and his partner strolled off into the night with their comely companions, heading toward their hotel in the French Quarter.”
C'est fini
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