Sliding - Short Affair 11/10
Nov. 10th, 2014 11:07 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuPrompts: orange, slide
:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:
"What are you eating?" Napoleon was slurping down the last of a frozen confection that Emily, a secretary from Translations, had insisted he try. The cafeteria was full of employees and many of them were enjoying the same treat, a new feature from the dessert tray.
"It's called a Dreamsicle, made from vanilla ice cream and orange sherbert. You ought to have one."
Illya considered it, then declined. Something about it ...
"Perhaps another day. I prefer my coffee and apple pie. Isn't it rather chilly to be eating ice cream?" Why was everyone eating a cold item on such a blustery day?
Napoleon detected something off, something a little melancholic in his partner's demeanor. Not that coffee and apple pie was a bad thing, but refusing to try the Dreamsicle was indicative of something else.
"Anything wrong Illya? You seem a little... maybe a little down?" Autumn had come in with a gust of wind and cooler temperatures than normal. Illya's response to weather was often related to whatever memories the man possessed, none of which he shared willingly unless under the influence of a substantial amount of vodka.
Napoleon's memories were not all happy either, but his natural ebullience seemed to offset whatever difficulties his life had presented to him early on. The Russian was not quite so well endowed with a predisposition to happiness. He now considered the question posed by his friend, careful to respond without delving too deeply into the past. His past.
"'We did not have citrus in Russia, not among the general population. I suppose there were those who were fortunate, or powerful enough to obtain delicacies such as fruit. Something about eating an artificial form of it is... I cannot explain it, Napoleon. I slide from East to West and back again, and sometimes it is difficult for me to recognize myself amidst so much that is foreign to me, to my upbringing." The blue eyes, deep and sad, searched his friend for some type of understanding.
"And you get all of that from an ice cream confection? Illya... Tovarisch, it's all right to enjoy your life here, to indulge a little. The people back in Russia won't be any better off for your denying yourself something as innocent as orange sherbert." Napoleon had hit the proverbial nail on the head. Illya sometimes battled with a type of survivor's guilt at having escaped the tyranny of his country's current leaders. Not everyone was so fortunate, or so gifted. His natural abilities, superior in so many ways, had afforded him this rare opportunity; never mind the fact that his life was in peril a great deal of the time.
"Thank you, my friend. Once again you added perspective to my outlook. Just the same, I shall eat my pie for now. Perhaps when the weather is warm again I shall try your ... um, Dreamsicle." That shy smile crossed the blond's face, a momentary lowering of the learned defences.
Napoleon had to wonder at the life of his partner, and the impact of orange sherbert on a man who regularly faced down death.
"Okay Illya. Enjoy your pie. I take it you had apples?"
Illya laughed at that as he dug into his pie.
:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:
"What are you eating?" Napoleon was slurping down the last of a frozen confection that Emily, a secretary from Translations, had insisted he try. The cafeteria was full of employees and many of them were enjoying the same treat, a new feature from the dessert tray.
"It's called a Dreamsicle, made from vanilla ice cream and orange sherbert. You ought to have one."
Illya considered it, then declined. Something about it ...
"Perhaps another day. I prefer my coffee and apple pie. Isn't it rather chilly to be eating ice cream?" Why was everyone eating a cold item on such a blustery day?
Napoleon detected something off, something a little melancholic in his partner's demeanor. Not that coffee and apple pie was a bad thing, but refusing to try the Dreamsicle was indicative of something else.
"Anything wrong Illya? You seem a little... maybe a little down?" Autumn had come in with a gust of wind and cooler temperatures than normal. Illya's response to weather was often related to whatever memories the man possessed, none of which he shared willingly unless under the influence of a substantial amount of vodka.
Napoleon's memories were not all happy either, but his natural ebullience seemed to offset whatever difficulties his life had presented to him early on. The Russian was not quite so well endowed with a predisposition to happiness. He now considered the question posed by his friend, careful to respond without delving too deeply into the past. His past.
"'We did not have citrus in Russia, not among the general population. I suppose there were those who were fortunate, or powerful enough to obtain delicacies such as fruit. Something about eating an artificial form of it is... I cannot explain it, Napoleon. I slide from East to West and back again, and sometimes it is difficult for me to recognize myself amidst so much that is foreign to me, to my upbringing." The blue eyes, deep and sad, searched his friend for some type of understanding.
"And you get all of that from an ice cream confection? Illya... Tovarisch, it's all right to enjoy your life here, to indulge a little. The people back in Russia won't be any better off for your denying yourself something as innocent as orange sherbert." Napoleon had hit the proverbial nail on the head. Illya sometimes battled with a type of survivor's guilt at having escaped the tyranny of his country's current leaders. Not everyone was so fortunate, or so gifted. His natural abilities, superior in so many ways, had afforded him this rare opportunity; never mind the fact that his life was in peril a great deal of the time.
"Thank you, my friend. Once again you added perspective to my outlook. Just the same, I shall eat my pie for now. Perhaps when the weather is warm again I shall try your ... um, Dreamsicle." That shy smile crossed the blond's face, a momentary lowering of the learned defences.
Napoleon had to wonder at the life of his partner, and the impact of orange sherbert on a man who regularly faced down death.
"Okay Illya. Enjoy your pie. I take it you had apples?"
Illya laughed at that as he dug into his pie.
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Date: 2014-11-10 05:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-10 06:40 pm (UTC)(I agree with Illya. Apple pie ftw.)
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Date: 2014-11-10 07:00 pm (UTC)Thanks for joining the challenge.
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Date: 2014-11-10 07:11 pm (UTC)Thanks for commenting :D
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Date: 2014-11-10 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-10 07:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-10 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-10 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-10 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-10 11:49 pm (UTC)I found this very enjoyable. Thanks.
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Date: 2014-11-11 05:35 am (UTC)