Faux Pas de Deux - Short Affair 5/18

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

As it happens, this turned into a multi-chapter story.  This then, is the first chapter.

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Prompts: Fashion, Offend, Orange

Word Count: 968

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The setting was becoming familiar to the duo of Solo and Kuryakin.  Once again they were being sent into the world of fashion in order to catch THRUSH in the act of another attempt to snatch the world from its axis and set it into a motion engineered by the megalomaniac du jour.

The last outing of this sort had involved a crazy print that held the actual blueprint for a THRUSH strategy, a bizarre and dizzying cast of characters amidst the villains, and not a little bit of frustration for the UNCLE agents.  Hopefully this time, in this setting, things would not be quite so …

“Oh my gawd! You cannot be serious darling, that is the most dreadful thing I have ever seen approaching a runway.”  The man speaking was dressed in brocade and silk, a flouncy jabot down the front of his shirt in the manner of the faux Edwardians whose style permeated Swinging London. His objection to the garment on his model was magnified by the exclamation.  The dress was in a popular fashion; a mini-skirt topped by an over sized blouse that had an orange sash that hung down, as though to accentuate the short skirt.  It was awkward.

Napoleon was hesitant to approach, although the man, Hugo Lambert,  was the target of this mission.  Noting how his partner was reluctant to dive into their ‘act’, Illya decided to take the plunge.  He was in his familiar garb of black; jeans, turtleneck, shaggy blond hair. 

“Excuse me, but are you certain that you can’t make this work?” The affectation of knowledge was convincing, and the curious designer swung around dramatically to look at the source of the buttery, sexy voice he heard behind him.

“Oh, my … aren’t you a deliciously cool drink of water.” He was an American, his tone decidedly East Coast, no matter how drenched in the facade of elegance he mistook for authenticity.

“Thank you…’ Illya smiled, just a little, lowering his eyes slightly.  Oh to be sure, he always knew what he was doing.

“I don’t mean to interject unwanted opinions, you understand.  However, I think the orange is, umm… titillating. If you do not mind me saying so.” Did he wink? Napoleon was watching with a nearly unbelieving eye.  Illya Kuryakin never failed to amaze the American,

Sir Oliver Smith (his name, not his title), turned his head in a coquettish mannerism intended to suggest a willingness to explore the beautiful man’s opinions slightly farther than this room might allow.  He could only hope for some sort of encouragement.  Illya was only willing to go so far with the charade, but he continued to give his opinion with only a hint of anything more.  Beneath the foppish exterior, this man was dangerous, and dealing with him would require a deft hand, so to speak.

“I believe that the problem with this particular design, if you will allow me…’  Illya reached around the model, who was equally enchanted with him, and wrapped the billowing orange sash around her waist several times, letting his face brush against hers slightly.  It served to agitate Hugo, and to cause the model to blush.

“There, what do you think?” It was a simple fix, something a real designer would have seen instantly.  There was some value to the effect, and as Illya stepped back he found himself pleased with his recreation of the garment.

“Well, you do have a knack, I’ll give you that.”  Knack indeed… Illya figured he could do a better job of designing than this fellow.  It had to be a THRUSH invention, making this man something he clearly wasn’t.

At this point Napoleon stepped forward, receiving a nearly equal amount of lascivious looks, something to which he merely smiled and held out his hand.

“Napoleon Solo, from the Unctuous Apparel Company.’ Someone had come up with that name, surely to test Solo’s ability to say it without laughing.

“We, umm… we have noticed you Mister…” Now there was a wink from Hugo.

“Oh, call me Hugo darling, and I shall call you…?”  Illya almost choked as Napoleon recalled his nickname from the Deadly Toys Affair.

“Call me Nappy.” Hugo laughed out loud.

“Oh my, you are daring.  I think I love you Nappy!”  The model giggled at the name, and Illya wished for all the world that he could have warned his friend about the name the British reserve for diapers.  Come to think of it, they had discussed it after that affair, but Solo seemed to have forgotten.

Until the moment he said it.

“Yes, well, I figure if anyone can wear it I can.” Now Illya did laugh out loud, and later Napoleon would describe it as a cackle.

“Oh, umm… sorry…’ choking back more laughter, Illya managed to regain some composure.

“So tell me Hugo, what do you say to my friend’s inquiry about your brand?  Are you looking to expand?” Illya had to get things back on track, otherwise the entire meeting would revolve around Napoleon’s faux pas.  Hugo collected himself and directed his attention back to Illya.

“So, you think my work is unctuous?  I am flattered, definitely flattered by that.  Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner?” Hugo looked at Illya, then back to Napoleon.  It wouldn’t be awful to be seen out with these two.

Illya cut his eyes to see Napoleon’s reaction.  He had to remind himself that they were sent here to investigate what THRUSH was doing in London with Hugo Lambert as the front guy.  He smiled his best imitation of being pleased.

“Yes, I say yes.  What do you say … Nappy?

Napoleon shot his cuffs and put on a megawatt smile.

“I say, what time and where should we dine?”