Prompts: fluid, orange
Word count: 385
Illya Kuryakin was a man who drank his vodka ice cold and in copious quantities, when the occasion called for it. Tonight was such an occasion, his head pounding from the recent mission yet calling out for a glass of his nation's most famous export.
"Illya darling, why don't you let me fix you a drink." April Dancer was tending bar in the empty restaurant the foursome of agents had just shut down after an encounter with THRUSH. Mark Slate and Napoleon Solo sat at a table with the ailing Russian, a victim of some minor abuse from a hefty grunt who now lay unconscious and bound. Two other minions of the Hierarchy were tied back to back in the corner of the room, their ankles bound together with those of the other assailant.
Illya nodded his agreement to April's proposal, a low mumbling sound accompanying the gesture. She smiled, glad to be able to help her compatriots recover from the ruckus she had come upon as she entered the room in the waitress uniform she wore as part of the assignment. It was all but over by the time she arrived on the scene, so that now they had nothing more to do save to wait for a clean up crew to finish the job.
She poured the drinks and delivered them to the table where all three men looked up expectantly.
"What is this? It is not vodka." Illya spoke with a strong blend of Russian intonation and disgust. His head hurt and he wanted nothing to do with pretty mixed concoctions.
April smiled and sighed while Napoleon and Mark reached for their drinks. Illya glared at the glass, unwilling to yield.
"Have you never had a Screwdriver? Tovarisch… " The glare shifted to the man's partner while Napoleon smiled at his own teasing remark.
"Of course I have, but I prefer my vodka straight and cold and not mixed with orange juice. And my head hurts and … prinesi mne." Finally he relented, holding out his hand to April in a gesture of surrender as he asked for the glass of orange fluid.
He downed it in one long gulp, setting down the glass with a thud and demanding, without words, that it be filled again, but this time with only vodka.