Prompts Spice, Green
Word count: 949
The sound of screaming was what greeted the returning agents of the U.N.C.L.E. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin entered from Del Floria's and heard the screeches of someone on the other side of the pneumatic doors that separated the rest of Headquarters from the small Receptionist Kiosk.
"What the … Who is that?" Napoleon was surprised that Wanda, tasked with tending to Reception today, acted as though nothing was out of order, in spite of the noise.
"Is someone dying on the other side of the door?" Illya's question was monotone, void of the emotion shown by his partner. Wanda took care of their badges and nonchalantly explained the commotion.
"It's just Pearl Kazowsky.' At the lack of recognition from either men, Wanda elaborated.
"She's the woman from wardrobe, the one who thinks she's an artiste." The emphasis on artiste was accompanied by a knowing expression, something that failed to inform the two agents.
''I have no recollection of her." Illya was curious but not so much so that he cared to stay much longer to discuss it. Napoleon, on the other hand, leaned in to try and get a handle on the situation.
''I don't think I… Oh… " Wanda nodded her head.
"Yep, she's the one." That caught Illya's attention.
"The one what, or who?" He had hoped to get to the commissary in time for lunch, but in all probability a green salad was all that would be left.
Wanda motioned for Napoleon to come in a little closer, then raised an eyebrow at Illya as though to question whether or not he was interested. Both men were now fully invested in this new quest for information.
"Pearl put together a wardrobe for Miss Dancer, for an assignment in Paris. Apparently the new color this season is Spice, which is basically the color of April's hair. She doesn't want to wear that color, and Pearl is having a hissy fit over it. She started yelling and screaming about thirty minutes ago and hasn't slowed down one bit. Poor Miss Dancer, April… well, she's been trying to appease our Wardrobe Queen but so far, it's looking pretty hopeless."
Napoleon started to laugh, but instead took on the attitude of his title as CEA. This nonsense had to end immediately. He wondered that Mr. Waverly hadn't already put a stop to it.
Illya saw the transformation in his friend and stepped aside, extending an arm as though to usher Napoleon past him and into the fray.
It was a quirk in the design of the ground floor that Wardrobe was located just beyond Reception. The thinking had been for agents to be able to pick up garments and accouterment necessary for a mission as they were leaving the facility. At the moment, it seemed unfortunate; Pearl was still having a tantrum directed at April Dancer, and the auburn haired agent was still refusing to wear the color Spice. Napoleon intended to settle the matter once and for all.
He and Illya walked the corridor, past Accounting and into Wardrobe. The two women were on opposite sides of a large table where several garments were strewn across it, the literal threads of contention.
"What's going on here? We can hear you all the way into Reception." Pearl blanched slightly at Napoleon's question. April just smiled, confident now of coming out of this victorious.
"Hello Mr. Solo. I am attempting to outfit Miss Dancer with her wardrobe for Paris. As you can see, it has yet to be packed for the trip." Pearl was good at her job. She could dress an agent for any region, any kind of culturally sensitive costuming needs. She was on top of current styles and trends, including what stylish women were wearing in Paris.
"Miss Dancer, I understand you are objecting to the color choices. Why, exactly?" April had felt entirely justified in her refusal to wear the color chosen by Pearl. That was before Napoleon walked in. Now she was feeling as though her complaint was petty, and that the entire hubbub was her fault.
Illya was examining the outfits on the table, comparing the fabrics and colors to what April was wearing. She had on a pale pink mini dress trimmed out in black, with black patent leather boots. It was suitable for a young woman, but not a socialite in Paris.
"You have some lovely things here Pearl. I can see what you have in mind for Miss Dancer.' Illya caught sight of April's expression, and the glimmer of something in Pearl's.
''What you need, perhaps, is to accent the color you've chosen with something that will alter the effect of Miss Dancer looking all one color. Do you see what I'm talking about?" And it hit, all at once. Pearl did see it, and she realized that her insistence on the monochromatic ensemble had been largely because of April's immediate refusal to wear it.
"I do, Mr. Kuryakin. We just need to add something that will soften the color, jewelry perhaps, or a scarf…" And with that she went in search of the accessories that she should have had ready from the beginning.
April looked at the two men and resisted the urge to curl up in a ball. This was embarrassing, and being the new girl, quite literally, had perhaps put her on guard against being pushed around. How on earth did she manage to pick a fight with the Wardrobe Mistress?"
"Oh Mr. Solo, I am so sorry. I … And thank you Mr. Kuryakin, for making those suggestions. Do you have a background in fashion?"
That made Napoleon laugh out loud.