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section7mfu2014-10-16 11:47 pm
jantojones.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2014-10-16 11:47 pm
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The Winner Loses - What's My Line Challenge - Oct 16th
“Which part of the word no are you having the difficulty with, Napoleon?” Illya demanded. “Let me try some other languages. Nein, non, and my personal favourite, nyet.”
“Fine,” Solo snapped back. “I just thought you might enjoy a little female company.”
Illya sighed. “I do enjoy female company,” he responded. “But on my own terms. The only reason you set me up is because your date will only have dinner with you if you find a date for her sister.”
“Please Illya,” Napoleon begged. “It’s taken me months to finally get Cherie to agree to a date. I’ll even do my own paperwork for a month.”
“What is the sister’s name?”
Solo mentally cheered. “She’s called Monique. They’re twins.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
The date began at 7:30 and by 8:30 it was clearly a disaster. At least, it was for Napoleon. Illya and Monique were getting along swimmingly. They’d hit it off immediately due to their shared love of European jazz, and her study of particle physics. The two of them were so involved in their conversation that they failed to notice the frosty atmosphere at the other side of the table.
Cherie had never liked Napoleon Solo. She was probably the only woman in U.N.C.L.E. HQ, possibly the world, not to be swayed by his charms. In fact, she found him to be incredibly smarmy and arrogant. She had only agreed to the date to get him off her back once and for all. Cherie had insisted on her sister joining them because she did not relish spending a few hours alone with him.
Napoleon was at a complete loss. He’d never failed this badly before. There had been dates which had gone sour on him, but this one was in a league of its own. To make matters worse, the chemistry between Illya and Monique was palpable.
“So, Cherie,” he said, trying once again to engage her in conversation. “Which part of France are your parents from?”
“Dieppe,” she replied, without looking at him.
“And were you born there?”
“No.”
Napoleon gave up, something he very rarely did. He’d given her his best charm offensive, but the woman seemed to be impervious. The two of them sat in silence for a while, listening to the discussion between Monique and Illya.
“Where in Russia are you from?” Monique asked, staring deeply into sparkling blue eyes.
“The Ukraine,” he told her. “Kiev.”
“I would love to visit Russia,” she continued. “I simply adore Dostoevsky.”
Cherie suddenly slammed her fork down and, grabbing her purse, she stood up.
“I’ve had enough,” she announced. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta here! Are you coming, Mon?”
Monique turned away from Illya, for what seemed to be the first time that evening, and glared at her sister.
“I haven’t finished my dinner, Cher,” she practically hissed. “You go home if you want.”
Napoleon tried to follow Cherie as she stormed off, but she shouted at him not to bother seeing her to a taxi. Solo went back to the table and sat down, dejectedly. He sat for a further five minutes, before realising his partner and Monique were too into each other to care about him. Fishing out his wallet, he left enough money on the table to cover his half of the bill, and a good proportion of Illya’s. He didn’t say a word to his dinner companions as he left.
A short while later, Illya turned to say something to Napoleon, only to find him gone. He noted the cash which had been left and felt a small pang of guilt. It only marginally took the edge off the feeling of triumph at having seen Solo crash and burn, for once.
“What’s wrong?” Monique asked him, noticing his frown.
“I’ve got some apologising to do to Napoleon.”
“I have the same problem with Cherie,” she answered. “Although, to be truthful, I didn’t want to come tonight.”
“I did not either,” Illya said, with a slight chuckle. “In that case, I would suggest they only have themselves to blame.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
The following morning, Illya was heading to Waverly’s office when he caught up to Napoleon.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he apologised. “You did not have a good evening,”
Solo shrugged. “You win some, you lose some, Tovarisch. Did you get Monique home safe?”
“I dropped her off this morning, on the way in.”
Illya suppressed a grin as he stepped into the office, leaving Napoleon no time for a comeback.
The End.
“Fine,” Solo snapped back. “I just thought you might enjoy a little female company.”
Illya sighed. “I do enjoy female company,” he responded. “But on my own terms. The only reason you set me up is because your date will only have dinner with you if you find a date for her sister.”
“Please Illya,” Napoleon begged. “It’s taken me months to finally get Cherie to agree to a date. I’ll even do my own paperwork for a month.”
“What is the sister’s name?”
Solo mentally cheered. “She’s called Monique. They’re twins.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
The date began at 7:30 and by 8:30 it was clearly a disaster. At least, it was for Napoleon. Illya and Monique were getting along swimmingly. They’d hit it off immediately due to their shared love of European jazz, and her study of particle physics. The two of them were so involved in their conversation that they failed to notice the frosty atmosphere at the other side of the table.
Cherie had never liked Napoleon Solo. She was probably the only woman in U.N.C.L.E. HQ, possibly the world, not to be swayed by his charms. In fact, she found him to be incredibly smarmy and arrogant. She had only agreed to the date to get him off her back once and for all. Cherie had insisted on her sister joining them because she did not relish spending a few hours alone with him.
Napoleon was at a complete loss. He’d never failed this badly before. There had been dates which had gone sour on him, but this one was in a league of its own. To make matters worse, the chemistry between Illya and Monique was palpable.
“So, Cherie,” he said, trying once again to engage her in conversation. “Which part of France are your parents from?”
“Dieppe,” she replied, without looking at him.
“And were you born there?”
“No.”
Napoleon gave up, something he very rarely did. He’d given her his best charm offensive, but the woman seemed to be impervious. The two of them sat in silence for a while, listening to the discussion between Monique and Illya.
“Where in Russia are you from?” Monique asked, staring deeply into sparkling blue eyes.
“The Ukraine,” he told her. “Kiev.”
“I would love to visit Russia,” she continued. “I simply adore Dostoevsky.”
Cherie suddenly slammed her fork down and, grabbing her purse, she stood up.
“I’ve had enough,” she announced. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta here! Are you coming, Mon?”
Monique turned away from Illya, for what seemed to be the first time that evening, and glared at her sister.
“I haven’t finished my dinner, Cher,” she practically hissed. “You go home if you want.”
Napoleon tried to follow Cherie as she stormed off, but she shouted at him not to bother seeing her to a taxi. Solo went back to the table and sat down, dejectedly. He sat for a further five minutes, before realising his partner and Monique were too into each other to care about him. Fishing out his wallet, he left enough money on the table to cover his half of the bill, and a good proportion of Illya’s. He didn’t say a word to his dinner companions as he left.
A short while later, Illya turned to say something to Napoleon, only to find him gone. He noted the cash which had been left and felt a small pang of guilt. It only marginally took the edge off the feeling of triumph at having seen Solo crash and burn, for once.
“What’s wrong?” Monique asked him, noticing his frown.
“I’ve got some apologising to do to Napoleon.”
“I have the same problem with Cherie,” she answered. “Although, to be truthful, I didn’t want to come tonight.”
“I did not either,” Illya said, with a slight chuckle. “In that case, I would suggest they only have themselves to blame.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
The following morning, Illya was heading to Waverly’s office when he caught up to Napoleon.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he apologised. “You did not have a good evening,”
Solo shrugged. “You win some, you lose some, Tovarisch. Did you get Monique home safe?”
“I dropped her off this morning, on the way in.”
Illya suppressed a grin as he stepped into the office, leaving Napoleon no time for a comeback.
The End.
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I really enjoyed this story a lot, and the fact that Illya, though reluctant at first, gets the girl in the end, the details of which you very nicely left up to our wicked imaginations. "D
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I don't think I need to tell anyone what happened after that dinner. I've got a good idea of exactly how wicked the imaginations of people here are, lol.
As for Napoleon, I think he would usually jump at the chance of twins, but he couldn't even get Cherie :-)
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And hey, are you calling us wicked? You're right...
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