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section7mfu
One minute, they were sitting at a Polynesian luau on a lush, palm tree covered island in the middle of the South Pacific, the next minute Napoleon and Illya were running nearly naked, and for their lives along the windswept tropical beach.
They were weaponless and unable to defend themselves as they heard the threatening beat of the drums, coming from behind them
“Boom boom- boom .”
“What did you do now?” Illya gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“Boom boom- boom.”
Napoleon turned to tell him, and that’s when he saw the restless natives getting too close for comfort. “Run faster!” He yelled instead.
“Boom boom- boom.”
They’d arrived that morning to the tropical paradise of Tuapa, an island that was an elevated atoll, surrounded by deeply eroded coral cliffs. With them, a member of the translations section, fully prepared to help negotiate with the local tribal leader, Ekewaka, in order to prevent T.H.R.U.S.H. from locating their newest satrap on the remote island.
The feasting began, as lovely...scantily clad women carried bowls of food and tropical delights to everyone. Napoleon nodded silently, not knowing a word of their language, accepting what a gorgeous Polynesian beauty handed him, with a smile as the universal language, all the while taking in an eyeful as she bent over.
“What is this stuff,” he asked, leaning over to his partner, making his usual crinkle-nosed face when handed food he was unsure of.
The agents were stripped of their clothes, and everything was confiscated...everything. They were not even left with their skivvies and were each handed a pair of very short grass skirts, some large banana leaves, and had bright floral leis draped over their heads.
Napoleon’s cheeks and forehead were decorated with white face paint ; the meaning of the markings completely unfamiliar to them, and a ring of flowers was placed on his head. They were led back outside to the central courtyard, where the feast was still on going.
Ekewaka stood, now resplendently clothed in a bright red and yellow feathered cape, with an equally spectacular feathered piece on his head. The other elders of the tribe were beside him, all in equally colorful rainment.
Napoleon leaned over, whispering to his partner, “I guess this means they’re going for our offer of protection from T.H.R.U.S.H.”
“One would hope so,” Illya said, eyeing the remnants of the feast, his stomach giving a little growl.
The chiefs daughter Noelani appeared, standing opposite Napoleon. She was dressed in a bright floral sarong, that barely covered what it was supposed to, as her body was voluptuously full figured. She had a pretty tanned round face, with that flawless Polynesian skin coloring and her long dark tresses were crowned with a circlet of fiery red hibiscus flowers, as well a as a garland of white pikake jasmine, and orchids woven through maile leaves draped around her neck.
Napoleon had been introduced to her earlier in the day, and couldn’t understand why she kept giggling at him after they met; perhaps she'd never seen a handsome Caucasian man before?
She held out a brightly colored lei woven out of yellow and white plumeria and white tuberos, offering it to him. He smiled at her most charmingly, as he bent forward to receive it, assuming it was protocol.
“Kaikamahine,” Ekewaka said to Noelani.
“Keikikane,” he then said, looking happily at Napoleon but speaking to him in his native tongue. One Solo didn't understand at all.
The American raised his eyes to Ekewaka, smiling as he nodded. “Of all times for our translator to go back to the boat?” He whispered under his breath.“You’re the linguist Illya, have any idea what he’s saying?”
“I only know a few words,” he whispered back. “That is why we brought someone from translation, remember? But, I will try.”
“Aloha...hello, or it can mean love, maika’i means good...manula, tasi, fa’aaloalo, ‘ave wahine...’aumane kane...’alga.” Illya thought for a second.
“Happiness, love, respect... take this woman, take this man.”
It took a second for it to dawn on both of them.
“Holy crap,” Napoleon blurted out. He grabbed Illya by the arm and took off at a dead run.
“I take it you do not wish to get married to sweeten the deal?” Illya quipped as they trotted side by side, heading toward the beach.
Ominous drums were pounding as an angry mob chased after them; the agents with their grass skirts and banana leaves flying as they headed towards their boat anchored just a few hundred yards away.
“BOOM, boom- boom.”
Napoleon waved his arms frantically, signalling to the pilot to start up the engine.
"Boom, boom-boom."
As they climbed aboard, Gerry, their translator, came up from the cabin, eyeing their get ups with a wicked grin.
"Boom, boom-boom." The drums continued to sound just down the strand.
“I had a bad feeling you two were going to get in trouble without me. Don’t tell me, the chief tried to marry off his daughter to one of you.”
“No kidding,” Napoleon snapped.”You should have warned us.”
The captain quickly navigated the powerful boat away from shore, leaving the mob of natives far behind, waving their deadly needle like spears and pounding their drums in protest. "BOOM, boom-boom."
“Did you say anything, touch her in any way?” Gerry asked.
“I took her hand and kissed it when I met her...really it was done in all innocence,” he insisted.
“Mr. Solo, given your reputation, I wonder if you do anything in all innocence when it comes to a woman.”
“Hey smart aleck, I could have you busted to translating from a closet in Iceland.”
“I hate to tell you, but touching her that way was showing a formal intention to marry the girl.” Gerry tried not to laugh.
“Seriously? How was I supposed to know?” Napoleon shrugged his shoulders.”Come on, I didn’t know!”
Illya snickered. “Well I suppose this is going to complicate negotiations.” He pulled off the grass skirt, mindlessly scratching his itching zhopa before he wrapped himself in a towel.
“Negotiations? You think I’m going back there to face that, then you’re out of your crazy Russian mind.” Napoleon grabbed another towel, wrapping it around his waist before discreetly freeing himself of his equally itchy grass skirt, tossing it in his partner’s face.
Illya caught it, throwing it overboard with his own; not missing a beat.
“Well I suppose we could just wait for T.H.R.U.S.H. to build the satrapy and then go in and blow it up?” Illya smiled at the prospect.
“Good idea chum,” Napoleon grinned, thinking it better than going back to the island at the moment.
“Then you will pass it by Mr. Waverly, along with your report of what happened here today.” Illya grinned back at him, pleased he had out-maneuvered the American for once.
“Gee, thanks a bunch, tovarisch.”
“You are welcome.”
________
Mood music:
“Boom boom- boom .”
“What did you do now?” Illya gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“Boom boom- boom.”
Napoleon turned to tell him, and that’s when he saw the restless natives getting too close for comfort. “Run faster!” He yelled instead.
“Boom boom- boom.”
They’d arrived that morning to the tropical paradise of Tuapa, an island that was an elevated atoll, surrounded by deeply eroded coral cliffs. With them, a member of the translations section, fully prepared to help negotiate with the local tribal leader, Ekewaka, in order to prevent T.H.R.U.S.H. from locating their newest satrap on the remote island.
Things seemed to be going well, the natives were very friendly, Napoleon had remarked. And there was to be a formal feast to be held in their honor.
The feasting began, as lovely...scantily clad women carried bowls of food and tropical delights to everyone. Napoleon nodded silently, not knowing a word of their language, accepting what a gorgeous Polynesian beauty handed him, with a smile as the universal language, all the while taking in an eyeful as she bent over.
“What is this stuff,” he asked, leaning over to his partner, making his usual crinkle-nosed face when handed food he was unsure of.
“It is roast pork, now eat it before you insult our hosts.”
Illya was sitting cross-legged on the ground, enjoying a mouthful of the Kalua Pua'a and was reaching for a bowl of Poi, when two burly, tattooed natives approached him and Napoleon, literally lifting them up without warning and carrying them off like sacks of potatoes into the main hut.
The agents were stripped of their clothes, and everything was confiscated...everything. They were not even left with their skivvies and were each handed a pair of very short grass skirts, some large banana leaves, and had bright floral leis draped over their heads.
Napoleon’s cheeks and forehead were decorated with white face paint ; the meaning of the markings completely unfamiliar to them, and a ring of flowers was placed on his head. They were led back outside to the central courtyard, where the feast was still on going.
Ekewaka stood, now resplendently clothed in a bright red and yellow feathered cape, with an equally spectacular feathered piece on his head. The other elders of the tribe were beside him, all in equally colorful rainment.
Napoleon leaned over, whispering to his partner, “I guess this means they’re going for our offer of protection from T.H.R.U.S.H.”
“One would hope so,” Illya said, eyeing the remnants of the feast, his stomach giving a little growl.
The chiefs daughter Noelani appeared, standing opposite Napoleon. She was dressed in a bright floral sarong, that barely covered what it was supposed to, as her body was voluptuously full figured. She had a pretty tanned round face, with that flawless Polynesian skin coloring and her long dark tresses were crowned with a circlet of fiery red hibiscus flowers, as well a as a garland of white pikake jasmine, and orchids woven through maile leaves draped around her neck.
Napoleon had been introduced to her earlier in the day, and couldn’t understand why she kept giggling at him after they met; perhaps she'd never seen a handsome Caucasian man before?
She held out a brightly colored lei woven out of yellow and white plumeria and white tuberos, offering it to him. He smiled at her most charmingly, as he bent forward to receive it, assuming it was protocol.
“Kaikamahine,” Ekewaka said to Noelani.
“Keikikane,” he then said, looking happily at Napoleon but speaking to him in his native tongue. One Solo didn't understand at all.
The American raised his eyes to Ekewaka, smiling as he nodded. “Of all times for our translator to go back to the boat?” He whispered under his breath.“You’re the linguist Illya, have any idea what he’s saying?”
“I only know a few words,” he whispered back. “That is why we brought someone from translation, remember? But, I will try.”
“Aloha...hello, or it can mean love, maika’i means good...manula, tasi, fa’aaloalo, ‘ave wahine...’aumane kane...’alga.” Illya thought for a second.
“Happiness, love, respect... take this woman, take this man.”
It took a second for it to dawn on both of them.
“Holy crap,” Napoleon blurted out. He grabbed Illya by the arm and took off at a dead run.
“I take it you do not wish to get married to sweeten the deal?” Illya quipped as they trotted side by side, heading toward the beach.
Ominous drums were pounding as an angry mob chased after them; the agents with their grass skirts and banana leaves flying as they headed towards their boat anchored just a few hundred yards away.
“BOOM, boom- boom.”
Napoleon waved his arms frantically, signalling to the pilot to start up the engine.
"Boom, boom-boom."
As they climbed aboard, Gerry, their translator, came up from the cabin, eyeing their get ups with a wicked grin.
"Boom, boom-boom." The drums continued to sound just down the strand.
“I had a bad feeling you two were going to get in trouble without me. Don’t tell me, the chief tried to marry off his daughter to one of you.”
“No kidding,” Napoleon snapped.”You should have warned us.”
The captain quickly navigated the powerful boat away from shore, leaving the mob of natives far behind, waving their deadly needle like spears and pounding their drums in protest. "BOOM, boom-boom."
“Did you say anything, touch her in any way?” Gerry asked.
“I took her hand and kissed it when I met her...really it was done in all innocence,” he insisted.
“Mr. Solo, given your reputation, I wonder if you do anything in all innocence when it comes to a woman.”
“Hey smart aleck, I could have you busted to translating from a closet in Iceland.”
“I hate to tell you, but touching her that way was showing a formal intention to marry the girl.” Gerry tried not to laugh.
“Seriously? How was I supposed to know?” Napoleon shrugged his shoulders.”Come on, I didn’t know!”
Illya snickered. “Well I suppose this is going to complicate negotiations.” He pulled off the grass skirt, mindlessly scratching his itching zhopa before he wrapped himself in a towel.
“Negotiations? You think I’m going back there to face that, then you’re out of your crazy Russian mind.” Napoleon grabbed another towel, wrapping it around his waist before discreetly freeing himself of his equally itchy grass skirt, tossing it in his partner’s face.
Illya caught it, throwing it overboard with his own; not missing a beat.
“Well I suppose we could just wait for T.H.R.U.S.H. to build the satrapy and then go in and blow it up?” Illya smiled at the prospect.
“Good idea chum,” Napoleon grinned, thinking it better than going back to the island at the moment.
“Then you will pass it by Mr. Waverly, along with your report of what happened here today.” Illya grinned back at him, pleased he had out-maneuvered the American for once.
“Gee, thanks a bunch, tovarisch.”
“You are welcome.”
________
Mood music:
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no subject
Date: 2014-08-26 01:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-08-26 03:17 pm (UTC)...Or maybe the translator was a Thrush mole and wanted to get U.N.C.L.E. in trouble with the natives... Hmmm... interesting possibility.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-08-26 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-26 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-26 10:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: