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section7mfuPrompts – Glamour/Sky Blue
Word Count (approx.) - 940
From the second the woman stepped into the room, all eyes were on her, and she knew it. Her silky blonde hair was arranged in an elegant, yet effortless, style and her jewellery was tasteful and understated. What really drew the eye, however, was the figure hugging, floor length gown. The sky blue, sequined fabric perfectly matched her pale eyes, and shimmered as she moved. She slowly glided down the stairs; allowing everyone to appreciate the view.
Two sets of eyes watched a little more closely than the others. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, dressed in identical tuxedos, stood at the far end of the ballroom.
“Is that her?” Illya asked, with incredulity.
“Yep,” replied Napoleon, unwilling to avert his gaze.
“She’s hardly inconspicuous.”
“Subtlety has never been a part of Ingrid’s repertoire.”
Illya found it difficult to believe that this woman was their contact. Ever since she’d requested for them both to meet her, he’d had a bad feeling. It wasn’t the first time a society gala had been used to meet a contact, but making yourself so noticeable didn’t sit well with Illya. He’d tried to dismiss his thoughts as his natural paranoia, but they wouldn’t settle. Now he’d seen the woman, Illya’s suspicious nature went into overdrive.
“Can she be trusted?
Napoleon snorted. “I wouldn’t go as far as that, Partner Mine, but she claims to have important information for us. It might all come to nothing, but we have a duty to check it out.”
Ingrid caught Solo’s eye and, extravagantly, blew him a kiss. Everyone who had been looking at Ingrid turned to see the person her attention was focused on. Napoleon was instantly in play, striding forward with his right hand extended to receive hers.
“Ingrid,” he greeted, kissing her hand. “You look as enchanting as ever. Come and meet my partner.”
Hooking his arm around hers, he escorted Ingrid back to where Illya was still standing, and introduced them to each other. Ingrid presented her hand to the Russian, who simply shook it.
“You and I have a mutual acquaintance, Mr Kuryakin,” she purred, with a soft Swedish accent.
“I very much doubt that Madam,” he replied coldly.
“Believe me,” she countered. “Although he isn’t hosting this little gathering, his money paid for it. All for you.”
“Please don’t play games with Illya, Ingrid,” Napoleon entreated, with a kiss to her cheek. “He doesn’t play well with others.”
“Very well,” she conceded. “I shall tell you who it is and why he asked me to bring you here. He is sorry he couldn’t be here himself, but has commissioned me to do a little job for him.”
Lifting the skirt of her dress, Ingrid pulled a small pistol from an ankle holster, and pointed it at Illya’s head.
“Admiral Volkov* sends his greetings.”
He dived out of the way as she fired, but the bullet still grazed the side of his head. Illya fell heavily to the floor as Napoleon launched himself at Ingrid. The pair of them grappled while everyone in the room stood and watched. Eventually, security arrived and pulled Napoleon from her and allowed her to leave. No-one one had told them that she had been the protagonist. They’d simply seen a man attacking a woman, and by the time they’d been put straight, Ingrid was gone.
Napoleon’s attention, however, was on his partner. Illya was bleeding heavily, but the minor head wounds could bleed profusely.
“You okay?” Solo asked, as Illya sat up.
“I’m fine,” the Russian replied, before slumping forward.
Napoleon laid the unconscious agent back down. He took out his communicator and requested for control to send an ambulance.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Illya had regained consciousness in the ambulance. He’d agreed to go to medical as a purely precautionary matter, but didn’t stay for long. Within an hour, he was sitting at the large table in Mr Waverly’s office. Napoleon was right next to him, surreptitiously watching out for any signs of illness. The Old Man slid a file, marked ‘Admiral Vasily Mikhailovitch Volkov’, over to Illya.
“Since the Admiral’s earlier visit here, we have been putting together a dossier,” Mr Waverly told him. “We haven’t got much as yet, but we do know that he seems to have fallen out of favour with your government. It rather looks as though he is trying to use you to regain his position.”
“A society ball seems a somewhat elaborate way of dispatching Mr Kuryakin,” Napoleon commented.
“There were a number of influential people at that ball, Mr Solo,” Waverly explained. “Many were foreign dignitaries who we know to have links with the Soviet Government. Having them as witnesses to Mr Kuryakin’s murder would have given Volkov enough evidence to prove that he had, indeed, assassinated the, ahem, traitor. Please forgive the use of that word, Mr Kuryakin.”
“There was no offence taken Sir,” Illya assured his boss. “What about Ingrid? Do we know anything about her?”
“Almost nothing,” Napoleon replied. “I’ve dealt with her on and off for a few years, but it’s always been on her terms. Looks like you’ve got a couple more enemies to add to your list.”
“What’s two more?” Illya stated, with a resigned tone, before switching subjects. “Medical says I’m not allowed to drive myself home, so you’ll have to give me a ride.”
“No problem, Tovarisch.”
After they left, Mr Waverly looked again through the Volkov dossier. There wasn’t a lot in it yet, but he had decided to divert some available resources to fill it out. Waverly was going to make damned sure that this man didn’t become a nuisance.
The End.
*The Offer.
Word Count (approx.) - 940
From the second the woman stepped into the room, all eyes were on her, and she knew it. Her silky blonde hair was arranged in an elegant, yet effortless, style and her jewellery was tasteful and understated. What really drew the eye, however, was the figure hugging, floor length gown. The sky blue, sequined fabric perfectly matched her pale eyes, and shimmered as she moved. She slowly glided down the stairs; allowing everyone to appreciate the view.
Two sets of eyes watched a little more closely than the others. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, dressed in identical tuxedos, stood at the far end of the ballroom.
“Is that her?” Illya asked, with incredulity.
“Yep,” replied Napoleon, unwilling to avert his gaze.
“She’s hardly inconspicuous.”
“Subtlety has never been a part of Ingrid’s repertoire.”
Illya found it difficult to believe that this woman was their contact. Ever since she’d requested for them both to meet her, he’d had a bad feeling. It wasn’t the first time a society gala had been used to meet a contact, but making yourself so noticeable didn’t sit well with Illya. He’d tried to dismiss his thoughts as his natural paranoia, but they wouldn’t settle. Now he’d seen the woman, Illya’s suspicious nature went into overdrive.
“Can she be trusted?
Napoleon snorted. “I wouldn’t go as far as that, Partner Mine, but she claims to have important information for us. It might all come to nothing, but we have a duty to check it out.”
Ingrid caught Solo’s eye and, extravagantly, blew him a kiss. Everyone who had been looking at Ingrid turned to see the person her attention was focused on. Napoleon was instantly in play, striding forward with his right hand extended to receive hers.
“Ingrid,” he greeted, kissing her hand. “You look as enchanting as ever. Come and meet my partner.”
Hooking his arm around hers, he escorted Ingrid back to where Illya was still standing, and introduced them to each other. Ingrid presented her hand to the Russian, who simply shook it.
“You and I have a mutual acquaintance, Mr Kuryakin,” she purred, with a soft Swedish accent.
“I very much doubt that Madam,” he replied coldly.
“Believe me,” she countered. “Although he isn’t hosting this little gathering, his money paid for it. All for you.”
“Please don’t play games with Illya, Ingrid,” Napoleon entreated, with a kiss to her cheek. “He doesn’t play well with others.”
“Very well,” she conceded. “I shall tell you who it is and why he asked me to bring you here. He is sorry he couldn’t be here himself, but has commissioned me to do a little job for him.”
Lifting the skirt of her dress, Ingrid pulled a small pistol from an ankle holster, and pointed it at Illya’s head.
“Admiral Volkov* sends his greetings.”
He dived out of the way as she fired, but the bullet still grazed the side of his head. Illya fell heavily to the floor as Napoleon launched himself at Ingrid. The pair of them grappled while everyone in the room stood and watched. Eventually, security arrived and pulled Napoleon from her and allowed her to leave. No-one one had told them that she had been the protagonist. They’d simply seen a man attacking a woman, and by the time they’d been put straight, Ingrid was gone.
Napoleon’s attention, however, was on his partner. Illya was bleeding heavily, but the minor head wounds could bleed profusely.
“You okay?” Solo asked, as Illya sat up.
“I’m fine,” the Russian replied, before slumping forward.
Napoleon laid the unconscious agent back down. He took out his communicator and requested for control to send an ambulance.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Illya had regained consciousness in the ambulance. He’d agreed to go to medical as a purely precautionary matter, but didn’t stay for long. Within an hour, he was sitting at the large table in Mr Waverly’s office. Napoleon was right next to him, surreptitiously watching out for any signs of illness. The Old Man slid a file, marked ‘Admiral Vasily Mikhailovitch Volkov’, over to Illya.
“Since the Admiral’s earlier visit here, we have been putting together a dossier,” Mr Waverly told him. “We haven’t got much as yet, but we do know that he seems to have fallen out of favour with your government. It rather looks as though he is trying to use you to regain his position.”
“A society ball seems a somewhat elaborate way of dispatching Mr Kuryakin,” Napoleon commented.
“There were a number of influential people at that ball, Mr Solo,” Waverly explained. “Many were foreign dignitaries who we know to have links with the Soviet Government. Having them as witnesses to Mr Kuryakin’s murder would have given Volkov enough evidence to prove that he had, indeed, assassinated the, ahem, traitor. Please forgive the use of that word, Mr Kuryakin.”
“There was no offence taken Sir,” Illya assured his boss. “What about Ingrid? Do we know anything about her?”
“Almost nothing,” Napoleon replied. “I’ve dealt with her on and off for a few years, but it’s always been on her terms. Looks like you’ve got a couple more enemies to add to your list.”
“What’s two more?” Illya stated, with a resigned tone, before switching subjects. “Medical says I’m not allowed to drive myself home, so you’ll have to give me a ride.”
“No problem, Tovarisch.”
After they left, Mr Waverly looked again through the Volkov dossier. There wasn’t a lot in it yet, but he had decided to divert some available resources to fill it out. Waverly was going to make damned sure that this man didn’t become a nuisance.
The End.
*The Offer.
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