avery11: (white cat)

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen


THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 1



The Night Before Christmas

Christmas Eve, 1963.

   Illya poured the last drop of Stolichnaya into his glass and downed it, grimacing at the bitterness. He tossed the bottle to the floor. It rolled across the carpet, colliding with a litter of empty vodka bottles and dirty dishes. He winced at the sound.

   “Shhh...”    


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avery11: (basset hound)
Genre: Gen
(Posted in two parts due to LJ size constraints. This is Part 2 To read Part 1,  GO HERE)






a



Gehenna

(Part 2)

Once again, he seemed better in the morning, although his cheeks were flushed and he looked rather glassy-eyed. Napoleon seemed to possess an unnatural store of energy, practically bounding across Regents' Park, as though he couldn't wait to get to work.

“Why the hurry?” Illya called after him. “We are not due at Lilù until nine.”

“Time and tide, tovarisch. Time and tide.”

Illya fell back, his mind occupied with the residue he had discovered on the collar of Napoleon's discarded shirt that morning -- two perfect circles of dried blood. He had seen such a mark once before, as a young child wandering in the company of the Gypsies.

Strigoi.

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avery11: (basset hound)

Genre: Gen
(Published in two parts due to LJ size constraints. This is Part 1. Part 2 follows.)






dennis-hopper-david-mccallum



Gehenna

(Part 1)

“This is ridiculous,” Illya whispered furiously as they sat in the outer offices of the House of Lilù, portfolios in hand. “We are enforcement agents, not fashion models.”

“We are whoever UNCLE says we are, tovarisch,” Napoleon whispered back. “HQ suspects that THRUSH is somehow using this fashion house as a conduit for disseminating classified information here in London. It's up to us to find out how they're doing it.”

“As male models?” Illya rolled his eyes. “Why couldn't they send us undercover as buyers? Or tailors? I would rather sew a garment than prance in it.”

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avery11: (Default)

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen-ish
For Sparky, who wanted a funny story based on this clever cartoon.




ANOTHER FINE MESS



Another Fine Mess

      Napoleon woke.

     They were in a stone cavern, chained back to back on some sort of platform suspended over water. The chains were wrapped around them so tightly as to make any but the smallest movement impossible. Long, dark shapes lurked, half-submerged, in the water below, watching their prey with cruel fascination.

     Crocodiles, Napoleon thought to himself. Well isn't that just dandy?

     

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avery11: (Default)

Author: Avery11
Genre: GenAngst
Apologies for the repost. I wasn't entirely satisfied with the original version of Mayday! so I've revised it by adding a concluding scene that, I hope, makes it feel more complete.
  






MAYDAY!
  

    “Mayday! Mayday! This is Alpha Tango Foxtrot one-one-four.” Napoleon's voice, steady and professional, filled the Communications room of UNCLE's New Delhi HQ. “Losing altitude. Repeat, losing altitude. I am southwest of Ceylon -- bearing six degrees, three minutes North by seventy-seven degrees, forty-five minutes East. Airspeed is dropping; attempting to troubleshoot the problem, but --” A burst of static drowned out the last part.

    “Blast!” Waverly tapped his briar pipe against the communications console in frustration. A dusting of ash fell, unnoticed, upon the sleek chrome counter. “Mr. Solo should know better than to broadcast his position on the public airwaves. Now every THRUSH agent within a hundred miles will be on his scent.”  


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avery11: (white cat)

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen-ish
(The story takes place a few days after Solo/The Vulcan Affair)
Spikesgirl, this one's for you and the kitties.

 



BUILDING BRIDGES  

    Napoleon was feeling uncommonly cheerful as he strolled down the long corridor to his apartment, his jacket slung jauntily over one shoulder. He and Illya had been granted an unprecedented three days off, their reward for thwarting a plot to destabilize the newly independent African nation of Western Natumba. Three days -- in a row! It was an unheard of luxury, the more remarkable because Waverly had actually offered it. To celebrate, he'd bought Chinese takeout from Panda Palace, including double portions of the Kung Pao Chicken he loved. The spicy aroma of chile powder and peanut oil wafted up from the paper bag he carried; his mouth watered in anticipation of the feast.  

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avery11: (Default)
Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM

(being a comedy of tragic proportions)


 
     The forest was pleasantly cool and quiet, an intimate, sacred place. The man felt safe there. Gentle breezes, rich with the scent of heliotrope and moonflower, rippled the soft, grassy bower upon which he slept. They stirred his soft, silken hair, kissed his ripe lips, and raised tiny goosebumps of pleasure upon his naked skin. Above him, the full moon shone brightly, evening stars sang their songs, and the leaves of the hawthorn trees whispered, the sound of their rustling like words, like a language, a sibilance teasing at the drowsy corners of his mind.

     The man sighed, and opened his eyes.

 
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