Napoleon looked at his partner who was in the middle of pushing his Beatle style haircut out of his face. The ruffled strands kept falling into his eyes.
“You need a haircut.”
“I like this length.”
“It’s longer than regulation.”
“Waverly has not said anything,” he said finger-combing it into order.
“It’s hardly gives the impression that you’re an UNCLE agent.”
“Great cover though.”
“It needs a trim.”
“I do not need a trim.”
“Do you realize Mr. Waverly is due back from Paris today?”
“In that case, do you mind stopping at the barber on the way to headquarters?”
“I thought you’d see it my way.”
Picking up his partner outside the barbershop, Illya shook his head.
“What?”
“Why were you in there?”
“It was time for a trim.”
“Trim, Napoleon your hair does not grow that fast in a week.”
”My hair needs to be under control, not like someone else’s.”
“We are not discussing my hair. That style makes you look like an executive.”
“Thank you.”
“Except for that small lock that keeps falling on your forehead.”
Napoleon frowned as he pulled the strand back in place.
Minutes later, it fell again.
“What’s the matter?” Illya said smiling.
“Just hand me the Brylcreem, will you.” Napoleon growled.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-02 04:54 pm (UTC)