[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
The battle between Amarande and Illya was over as quickly as it began. Despite having broken through her power slightly, her strength was still superior, both physically and mentally. Illya’s will drained away and Amarande let him drop to the floor. He landed heaving on the wooden coffee table, which broke under him.

“On your knees,” she instructed, disdainfully.

Illya obeyed immediately and, crawling over the splintered wood, he got into position at her side. He hung his head submissively. Amarande stroked his hair as though he were a dog, and smiled at Napoleon. The pride in her victory was clear for all to see.

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[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
The sight of the blood immediately caught the attention of both Illya and Amarande. They stared in fascination as it slowly ran down Napoleon’s cheek. They each licked their lips and started to move towards the dazed agent who, noting the looks of hunger on their faces, scrambled to his feet. He desperately scanned the floor in search of the gun he had lost during the fight with Illya.

“Stay back,” he instructed.

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[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
Napoleon didn’t like the imperious way the black-haired woman was staring at Illya and, when he turned to his friend, he saw he was now on his feet and his eyes were cast down subserviently. Solo had no idea what was happening to the Russian, but he was beginning to think he was under the influence of another insidious chemical; possibly Thrush, but there were plenty of other bad guys out there. He didn’t know how or why Illya had been compromised, but he wasn’t about to let it continue.

“Would you care to introduce me to your charming friend, Illya?” he asked, conversationally; not wanting to let on just how unnerved he was with the situation.

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[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
By the time Illya arrived at his apartment, his energy levels had plummeted to almost zero. Without bothering to remove his jacket or holster, he flopped down on the sofa, utterly exhausted. He remained there for another hour, doing nothing outwardly, other than breathing. Inside, however, his mind was in turmoil over what was happening to him, and his stomach felt like a deep, empty pit. The steaks at lunchtime had sated him a little, but it hadn’t been anywhere near enough. He knew he had to take what he needed from something living. He needed freshly drawn blood.

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[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com

In his Summa Theologica, Saint Thomas Aquinas defined sloth as "sorrow about spiritual good" and as "sluggishness of the mind which neglects to begin good... It is evil in its effect, if it so oppresses man as to draw him away entirely from good deeds.

Napoleon was a bit surprised when he discovered his partner had called out sick the next day. Unfortunately he was busy with his duties as Chief Enforcement Agent and couldn’t fine a free moment to call him.

Normally Illya would be here to help him with his paperwork and agent evaluations, so without Kuryakin, things became a bit bogged down.

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