Working Out - Short Affair 1/12

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The prompts are inconformity and purple

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The playing ground was not exactly level, at least not  according to the rulebook to which Napoleon Solo adhered.  Were he to stop the game now, however, the inconformity of the game and its chief architect would be thrown into something even more disturbing; of that he was certain.

Illya Kuryakin was a man whose skills and wit  served him well; he also had a very bad habit of perpetuating an atmosphere of animosity among the THRUSH or whichever villainous type he found himself face to face.  It was a flaw in the Russian's make-up, something that neither experience nor his partner had been able to coax him out of.

Now was a perfect example of that.  The blond's face was bloody from the interrogation, his body, normally spare and pale under the best of circumstances, was now turning a tormented shade of purple as the blood vessels beneath the skin ruptured and gasped for repair.  Illya's expression had not changed in the past hour, a feat of some merit from where the dark-haired American agent sat; he had been afforded a front row seat to the brutality, all in hopes of persuading him to spill the beans, so to speak, regarding the plot so recently plundered by the talented duo from  the U.N.C.L.E.

Napoleon wasn't without some threat to his life, though the spotlight was on his partner.  Behind him sat a man with a very long knife, ready to impale the UNCLE agent should he make any move to help the Russian.  The situation seemed dire, but then some things looked worse than they were.

Illya had endured the pummeling and jabbing, all the while feigning much worse pain than it actually was; every time a  punch was landed he pulled back his stomach muscles, a form of isometrics that was yet to be lauded for its ability to strengthen and tone the body.  The bruising was out of his control, but as he closed his eyes and slumped, giving the appearance of a man not fully conscious, the 'interrogator' leaned in slightly to check on his victim.  Illya spit at him, a vile act to be sure but in this case a method of disarming his tormentor.  A hidden capsule in one of Kuryakin's molars contained a chemical that, when mixed with saliva became a powerful knock-out drug.  It took considerable precision on the part of the person using it in order to not be affected by it himself.

Napoleon took the opportunity and, before the knife wielding THRUSH could react, turned and knocked him in the head with his cuffed hands.  The effect of the  metal along with a curled fist was more than enough to put him out.

Illya was scrambling to undo his bonds, feeling some effect from the drug he had spat out.  Napoleon was inside helping within seconds.

"I think I must have absorbed some.. of … Oh Napoleon, I do not …"  Without finishing the sentence the Russian was down, leaving Napoleon to carry out his friend, slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Fortunately, only those two guards had been left to handle the supposedly vanquished UNCLE agents.  Napoleon was glad that THRUSH never seemed to learn their lessons regarding the ability of Waverly's men to bounce back from a bad situation.  Hauling Illya out had slowed down the American only slightly, and as he emerged from the low slung building that had housed the aspiring satrapy, a familiar car was pulling into the dusty lane that fronted it.

"Hi Ho there fellas, need a lift?"  Mark Slate doffed his cap like a chauffeur, and Napoleon thought he had never been so glad to hear a British accent.  The two men stuffed Illya into the back seat of the little Mini-Cooper, a car that Mark had insisted on having flown to the States on a military transport.  Something about all the Beatles driving one and by jove he would have his as well… Something like that.

"Thanks Mark, you are  once again here just in the nick of time."  Mark smiled, pulling down the front of his ever present corduroy hat.

"My pleasure Napoleon.  Your homing signal finally kicked in and so here I am.  Illya looks a little worse for wear.  I suppose that is merely par for the course though, eh?"

Napoleon thought about that, sometimes it did seem as though his partner caught the brunt of bad treatment, although he could present a list of his own that would rival that record.

"Yeah, good thing we're not competitive, I might suspect him of doing it on purpose."  Both men smiled at that, but deep down, each of them knew it didn't take a competitive nature to find the harsh end of a THRUSH stick.

Illya grunted and tried to sit up.

"I am awake, and I assure you none of this is purposeful.  I do believe my abs are becoming a little better defined however.  As they say, no pain no gain."

That brought a guffaw from the other two.  Right… a Russian exercise regimen.

Come to think of it… Nah.

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I'm trying to get fitter, but I think I skip this particular workout.

Great story :-)

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

I know what you mean, although he's brilliant as usual with the isometrics. I'd like to see those abs :D