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section7mfuNapoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had been given a couple of days to themselves before their return to HQ, so had decided to enjoy as much of Mardi Gras as they could. As it was the so called ‘Super Sunday’ they had chosen to go and see the amazingly spectacular costumes of the many Mardi Gras Indian tribes. Illya had been somewhat surprised to learn that the Indians were actually black Americans, and not Native American.
The two agents had found themselves a sweet spot where they would be able to take in the splendour of the parade, though they still had twenty minutes to wait.
“Do you have anything like this back home?” Napoleon asked his partner, who was munching on a beignet he had picked up on their way to the parade route.
“Not like this,” the Russian replied, after swallowing. “We have parades of course, which are just as big a celebration as this, but they are much less of a carnival. In fact, they are usually militaristic.”
“I imagine that this sort of thing would be seen as frivolous.”
“Absolutely,” Illya agreed. “Although, most towns and village have their own celebrations for various public events, and they tend to be more like this. Not that such intricate costume would be worn, other than traditional dress. I am very much looking forward to the show these Mardi Gras Indians will give us.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Napoleon’s communicator started beeping. As the American moved to somewhere less crowded to answer it, Illya sighed. He got the sudden feeling he wasn’t going to see the parade after all.
“We’re wanted back at HQ as soon as possible,” Solo told him when he returned. “Something big has apparently cropped up, and Waverly wants his best team on it.”
“I suppose we should be flattered,” Illya muttered. “How soon is as soon as possible? Have we got time to see some of the parade?”
“Afraid not, Tovarisch,” Napoleon replied, “Or plane leaves in an hour.”
Illya shrugged in acceptance; vowing to himself that, next year, he would take his annual leave to coincide with Super Sunday.
.
The two agents had found themselves a sweet spot where they would be able to take in the splendour of the parade, though they still had twenty minutes to wait.
“Do you have anything like this back home?” Napoleon asked his partner, who was munching on a beignet he had picked up on their way to the parade route.
“Not like this,” the Russian replied, after swallowing. “We have parades of course, which are just as big a celebration as this, but they are much less of a carnival. In fact, they are usually militaristic.”
“I imagine that this sort of thing would be seen as frivolous.”
“Absolutely,” Illya agreed. “Although, most towns and village have their own celebrations for various public events, and they tend to be more like this. Not that such intricate costume would be worn, other than traditional dress. I am very much looking forward to the show these Mardi Gras Indians will give us.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Napoleon’s communicator started beeping. As the American moved to somewhere less crowded to answer it, Illya sighed. He got the sudden feeling he wasn’t going to see the parade after all.
“We’re wanted back at HQ as soon as possible,” Solo told him when he returned. “Something big has apparently cropped up, and Waverly wants his best team on it.”
“I suppose we should be flattered,” Illya muttered. “How soon is as soon as possible? Have we got time to see some of the parade?”
“Afraid not, Tovarisch,” Napoleon replied, “Or plane leaves in an hour.”
Illya shrugged in acceptance; vowing to himself that, next year, he would take his annual leave to coincide with Super Sunday.
.
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Date: 2019-03-15 12:31 pm (UTC)