Writer's Choice: Lost In Translation

[avery11.livejournal.com]

Illya and Napoleon are lost somewhere in Scotland, and probably a bit hung over. Ridiculousness ensues. This is Illya at his most impish.

If the Gaelic slang is too daunting, just slide over it, and think of poor Napoleon trying to translate it!)

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Napoleon Solo steered their rental car around another blind curve, praying that they wouldn't collide with another vehicle approaching from the opposite direction. A cloud of dust rose in the little Trident's wake. Beside him in the passenger seat, Illya scowled at the tall, thorny hedgerows looming on either side of the narrow dirt road.

“Between the dust and the hedgerows, I cannot see a thing,” he grumbled. “I think we may be lost.”

“How can we be lost? We have a map.”

“This is not a map,” Illya snapped, waving the glossy, folded pamphlet. “It is a brochure for a Bed and Breakfast."

READ ON:  http://archiveofourown.org/works/444661

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Och fair brillant t'was. Could ken it'all, if ever there's a word'a truth een it. Good on ye Lassie!
Co-gháirdeachas aríst!

Thanks for joining in the Writer's Choice.

[avery11.livejournal.com]

I was fair knackered after I finished, I can tell ye that! Thanks!