[identity profile] rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] section7mfu
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Choices

Illya gradually became aware that he had been standing, staring blankly at the display, for some time.

He was rapidly thinking that coming here had been a mistake.

He’d been in the United States for five days. Five bewildering days. He had been focussing on settling into his new position at the New York office, which was taking some doing, and had neglected such niceties as shopping. However that morning he had run out of tea and it had put him in such a foul mood that he had decided he’d have to brave the concept that was the supermarket.

The man who had shown him his apartment when he’d arrived had also pointed out the nearest of these shopping conveniences. U.N.C.L.E. had provided him with some food but it was fast running out and the morning calamity had brought the matter to a head. It was seven o’clock in the evening and he had spent the entire day without tea. Coffee he had learned to appreciate in Paris, but it was no tea.

He needed tea.

The problem was, there was such a damned lot of it.

How could anybody need this many types of tea when there were really just two, green and black.

He scanned the shelves again. He was starting to feel a little panicked. How was he supposed to choose? What could possibly be the difference? They were brightly labelled and different prices. Why did they have to have so many?

He glanced to his right and saw a shop assistant looking at him curiously from the end of the aisle. It was the same young man that had approached him soon after he had entered the store.

Illya had been standing in the entrance trying to process the sight before him. Aisle upon aisle of things to buy. His ability to read English momentarily deserted him and he simply stood and stared. Suddenly a man was beside him. He was dressed in some sort of a uniform and was smiling broadly. After a moment Illya realised that he was saying something about trying to help.

‘Tea,’ Illya had blurted out.

‘Aisle nine, sir.’

Illya had hurried away a little disconcerted by the young man’s enthusiasm.

Now the same man was coming towards him. Illya worried that he was doing something wrong, drawing attention to himself. He grabbed a box of tea and hurried away. Turning a corner he realised there hadn’t been a lot of tea, only two shelves in fact. Coffee on the other hand...

He kept going, glancing nervously at the rows upon rows of bottles, jars and tins, until he’d lost the shop assistant. He found himself surrounded by cans of soup. Hurriedly he stuffed a couple into his basket and continued on.

He came to a halt at the end of the aisle.

Slowly he looked left, then right.

Meat.

So much meat.

He picked up a pack and did a quick calculation.

That couldn’t be right...at that price he could eat steak every day.

He realised he was grinning inanely and glanced to each side to make sure the young man hadn’t followed him. No...he was alone.

He read the label. Rib eye. What the heck was that? Another said T bone. Illya almost cried out in frustration. Why was it all so complicated?

He put both in his basket and turned. The shop assistant was watching him again...unless he wasn’t a shop assistant...

Illya bolted.

In the line to pay he chastised himself heartily. He was a trained agent for crying out loud, spooked by a supermarket. He handed over his money with some relief and hurried out of the store. By the door a man was reading a newspaper. Was he smirking? Illya was fairly sure he was smirking. He walked passed and memorised his face. The Americans were undoubtedly having him followed and this man seemed the most likely candidate. Only a couple of minutes later he was hurrying up the steps of the U.N.C.L.E. owned apartment block. Once through security he made his way to his basement apartment and unlocked the door. Inside he deposited his shopping on the kitchen table. One box of tea, two cans of clam chowder and two pieces of meat.

What the hell was clam chowder?

Ten minutes later Illya sat on his couch and sighed contentedly. He might have no idea how to make a meal out of what lay scattered on his kitchen table but he did have a nice cup of tea.

Date: 2013-08-06 11:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jkkitty.livejournal.com
Oh the confusion. We take it as normal, but this opens another point of view. Nicely done

Date: 2013-08-07 12:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
Oh my Lord, this was hysterical. Yes too many choices for a slightly paranoid Russian. One of the last lines..."What the hell was clam chowder?" Made me burst out laughing. This was a great take on the picfic. Thanks for joining in!

Date: 2013-08-07 01:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
That is great to hear! Don't you love it when you can finally do something with what's been rattling around inside your head?

When I posted the pic I had second thoughts, thinking it was just OK (as was my fic) but there's been a really nice turnout for this one and I especially enjoyed your story!

Date: 2013-08-07 01:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
I'm behind in my reading, but since I host the picfic...i need to read everything and comment... So understand, being behind though. Sleep well!

Date: 2013-08-07 03:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] alynwa.livejournal.com
Oh, great minds think alike! It seems we took different approaches to a very similar subject. I really like your story a lot.

Date: 2013-08-07 06:51 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] injj.livejournal.com
Bravo! Whatta nice little thing you've brought us, thank you very much!:)
And yeah, what is "clam chowder", actually?

Date: 2013-08-07 12:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] avrovulcan.livejournal.com
Great story! I know how he feels, sometimes there is just too much choice.

Date: 2013-08-08 12:57 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] glennagirl.livejournal.com
It becomes analogous to the American experience in many ways, something I'm sure IK would have faced. So much available, and not all of it necessary for a satisfying life. Does he or does he not yield to conspicuous consumption?
Nice response to the prompt.

Date: 2013-08-25 06:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] glennagirl.livejournal.com
He wears nice suits and drinks martinis, so his adjustment seems favorably inclined towards the Western ideals. Of course I'm one of those who believes he actually opened House of Vanya, so... :D I enjoy swimming into the oncoming tide.

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