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27 November 2015 @ 09:16 am
I apologize for being absent so much lately.  A new job, family responsibilities and this week a knock-out cold that had me chained to my bed on Wednesday; I think I slept 20 out of 24 hours.
But that's all gone, I'm almost out the door to work but wanted to say we're still in business here in Section VII.  Thanks to everyone who keeps it chugging along with great stories and challenges.  And to those who read and encourage us... you're all awesome.
During December we'll have something special going on, and I'll be getting those details into a post in the next couple of days.  We do something every year and this is no exception, so I encourage all of you to leave a little space in your day to create and enjoy the season with MFU.
As a prelude to the Christmas activities and our Reading Room entry, here is a fine story from pactnmmt written for Down the Chimney Affair 2013.
The Last Commandment Affair on AO3


It had been months since Illya last visited the Bowery Mission and his friend Claire Shaw.

Assignments had been coming in rapid succession, some lasting weeks at a time. It seemed as though he barely had time to finish his written reports when he and Napoleon were whisked off yet again to some other part of the world.

Thanksgiving was fast approaching, which was an anniversary of sorts for the Russian. That was the first time he’d gone to the Bowery Mission to roll up his sleeves and help feed the less fortunate.

It was there he met Claire. She was an older woman, still handsome in her own right and not afraid of getting her hands dirty while knuckling down to handle whatever job that needed tackling. It was she who ran the place.

They became fast friends over the years, and though the Mission was also geared towards preaching the Christian word; Claire never tried to force it upon her Soviet friend.

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I'm especially thankful to you, the cousins, for your friendship and support.
It means a lot to me.
Hope your day is a warm and fuzzy one
full of prosperity, family and comradeshiip.
Thanksgiving clip art
25 November 2015 @ 05:25 pm
“Mr. Waverly was quite clear about mixing business with pleasure.”

Napoleon stood before the large glass panel, hands in pockets, head tilted, captivated by the extremely pretty girl floating before him, her glittering tail undulating in time to the music. “Hmmm?” he responded distractedly.

Illya turned his back to the glass. “We're here to discover what THRUSH wants with this aquatic attraction.”

The mermaid blew a kiss, and Napoleon smiled in delight. “I can imagine all sorts of possibilities.” He glanced at Illya. “If you don't hurry, they may fill that opening for a tank cleaner.”

“Perish the thought.” As Illya walked away, he added, “You do realize that most fish species reproduce by external fertilization.”

25 November 2015 @ 10:00 am
A drabble and a half sequel to yesterday's PicFic- "The things we do for U.N.C.L.E." (this story makes sense if you read the picfic)

Solo and Kuryakin were temporarily out of commission after their solution in retrieving a certain capsule Illya had tossed into a lobster tank for safe keeping ....backfired.

Finding the capsule swallowed by one of five lobsters by cooking and eating them was ‘inventive’ as Alexander Waverly called it.

The accounting section did not see it that way...

The restaurant not only laid claim to the price the lobsters, but to damages previously done when the agents cavorted through the place, disrupting customers, staff, damaging crockery and cookware.

It was an unexpected result to Solo’s honesty at leaving his business card, stating UNCLE would pay for the eaten lobsters. Something else unexpected was a case of...well, to put it rather delicately, gastrointestinal distress for both men.

“Should have just killed them,” Illya’s snarled his bloodthirstiness.

“Hey you went along with it,” Solo barked as he dashed to the bathroom.
25 November 2015 @ 02:42 pm
The silence was so palpable that he began to wonder if he had somehow gone deaf in the last few seconds. Every one of those seconds felt as though it was being stretched into minutes; or was it hours? How long had he been waiting? How much more time would pass before he knew whether his message got through?

The silence continued for what he could have sworn was an eternity until, finally, the radio crackled to life. The noise had startled him, but he smiled at the next sound.

“We’ve got your location Illya. We’ll soon have you home.”

24 November 2015 @ 11:02 pm

It started with a woman opening a can of lobster bisque and almost choking on a broken tracking chip. A tracking chip which had been previously to be found in the upper right molar of Simon Bailey, an UNCLE agent who had been missing for three weeks.

“Moderately disgusting,” Napoleon declared. “I guess she's just lucky not to have found the rest of the tooth.”

“Unless she had already swallowed it,” Illya suggested darkly, and Napoleon pulled a face at the thought.

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The prompt:

Solo and Kuryakin ran along the sidewalk, dodging the many shoppers or those out for an evening stroll. In pursuit of the brave UNCLE agents were two rather large goons, hell bent on catching them and taking back what Napoleon and Illya had stoen.

“There!” Illya pointed to the entrance to a nearby restaurant.

The two ducked inside, and without regard for the patrons, they ran through the dining are; in the process  knocking over a waiter or two.

“Beg pardon,”Illya called back; he paused for a split second beside a large fish tank containing at five rather lively lobsters

“Come on! We can have dinner later! “Napoleon shouted, waving his partner toward the kitchen just as the goons appeared.

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24 November 2015 @ 05:46 am

Closing time was approaching. A few stragglers were all that remained of the customers that had filled the aisles, jostling and maneuvering, haggling for the best deals. The calls of the retailers, hawking their wares in various accents, had dwindled to near silence. Several booths were packing up for the day.

On a stand toward the rear of the market stood a large glass tank, alive with dark, alien forms, crawling and tumbling over each other. Illya crouched at its base and stared into it with fixed intensity. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and work pants, both too large. Napoleon leaned against a nearby pillar, finishing a sandwich and watching his partner in bemusement.
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23 November 2015 @ 09:26 pm

Prompts Wipe/Gold
Word Count (Approx.) - 476

Illya squinted against the golden, early morning sunlight and yawned himself into full wakefulness. It took him a few seconds to remember he had gone to sleep in the back of Mark Slate’s car.

“It’s morning,” he mumbled, stating the obvious.

“There’s no flies on you, mate,” Mark replied. “How are you feeling this morning?”

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