Feminine Wiles for Short Affair

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Prompts: Enter, Pink

Word count: 998

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The dress was a fluffy concoction of pink tulle and satin, most of it in the bulbous skirt that flounced and swayed as she walked into the room.  The bodice was quite tame in comparison, a simple silhouette augmented only with the rhinestone spaghetti straps that mirrored the earrings she wore.  It was, according to Kuryakin’s scathing review, one of the ugliest outfits he’d ever seen.

“That’s rather harsh, Illya.  What makes you an expert on women’s fashion?”  Napoleon Solo agreed wholeheartedly with his friend’s estimation of April Dancer’s dress.  It reminded him of one of those snack cakes with the marshmallow skin.  Pink and sticky, the dress was very much like one of those.  What were they called?

“Snowball.  It’s a snowball.” Napoleon laughed out loud as he imagined April wrapped inside of the …

“What are you talking about?” Illya’s interruption saved Solo from his imagination.

“I’m just, it’s… nevermind.”  Napoleon watched as his agent glided along on the arm of Mark Slate, who seemed to be taking it all in stride. April had intended to enter the ballroom without making a scene, but the dress was just too obnoxious to not gain attention.

“Where did that dress come from? Is it the intention of those in charge of such things to utilize it as a weapon?”  Illya thought it might serve the purpose quite well.  The skirt was probably capable of smothering an unsuspecting victim.  April could simply wrap a person’s head in a portion of the voluminous skirt and still maintain her modesty.  He shook his head in disbelief that someone had actually designed such a hideous piece of clothing.

April and Mark found their table just across from the two senior agents, smiling as they played their parts as members of this elite crowd of social climbers.  The four of them were wearing the newest UNCLE device; an earpiece with a sensitive microphone that enabled them to converse.

“Darling, is this not the most adorable confection of fabric.  I simply adore it.” Mark held back a guffaw.  They’d already had that conversation, and April had almost refused to wear the garment she now flaunted as a Paris original from the House of Something or Other.  Just saying the words kept other women enthrall at the prospect of wearing such a glamorous gown.

“I am actually appalled at the gullibility of women where fashion is concerned.”  Illya had lived in Paris and been exposed to the fashion scene through various friends among his Sorbonne classmates.  One girl had modeled part time to help pay her tuition, another was an aspiring designer herself.  Illya’s looks had attracted them both, while other aspects of his attributes had held their attention and affection.  He had fond memories of his time in Paris.

“Oh, it’s not so bad, now that I’m actually wearing it.  The skirt is huge though, although it feels like a cloud.  Honestly, you ought to try it on and see what I mean.” Napoleon smirked at that.

“Really Napoleon, you’d never guess how nice it feels to have all of this fluff just sort of floating around you.  Why, it’s almost like treading water in a pool.”

All three men responded with a smile.

“Have you seen our target anywhere?” Mark was scanning the ballroom in search of a face.

“Not so far.  She has to be here though.  Our information came from a very reliable source, and she’s been sent to retrieve a microdot from the woman in the big pink dress.” April frowned at the description.  As long as it was understood the only thing big was the skirt of the dress, and not the person wearing it.

Just then Illya spotted her, a lanky blonde in a skin tight lame’ gown that showed every curve as she made her way towards April and Mark’s table.  THRUSH seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of beautiful women willing to do their dirty work, and as he watched her approach, a familiar twitch alerted him to the danger of getting too close.

Napoleon was having a similar reaction.  If April’s dress was like a wedding cake on steroids, this woman was a flute of champagne.  She was sleek and glamorous, more enticing with each step she made in his direction.

The woman sat down across from April, the smile on her face the stuff of ad men’s dreams.  If there were such a thing as being too perfect, she would be just that.  Illya and Napoleon were both studying her, and as she sat across from April and Mark, her expression never changed.

“Illya, do you remember…?”

“Fembots. But how? This one is … she’s so lifelike.” Illya remembered those strange mechanical creatures and shuddered.  Napoleon’s experience had been especially troubling.

“What do you want to do?  If we try to stop her…” Illya recalled how seemingly indestructible the fembots had been.  It wouldn’t do to create a scene here among this crowd.

“Let’s just see where it goes.  April, just play along.” A smile was the only signal she could send that the command was heard.

The Fembot reached out with an open palm, apparently expecting to have the microdot placed there.  April did just that, handing over the false information that would go to THRUSH Central.  Napoleon and Illya watched the transaction, content to let the Fembot leave as she had come into the room.  They couldn’t interfere, it would ruin a plot that had taken months to engineer.  Alexander Waverly was confident that the information would be used by THRUSH to mount an assault, and would be met by a contingency of UNCLE agents ready for the encounter with unsuspecting THRUSH.

When the coast was clear, the four agents convened at Napoleon and Illya’s table.  After expressing disbelief that the woman she had met was not real, April merely shook her head and sank down into the dress that had brought her here.

The men each wondered privately about things … very strange things.

Comments

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Interesting, and the dress===LOL