Illya tugged and pulled at the dark green tights he was wearing, over them he was clad in a long sleeve white shirt, and a tight short sleeved brown leather jerkin. Covering his blond locks was a green felt huntsman’s cap, sporting a long pheasant feather.
He was armed with his Special, tucked beneath the jerkin, but carried a dagger in a scabbard on his belt. Slung over his shoulder was a quiver of arrows, and a longbow. He was carrying a small turtle-back mandolin and was softly strumming on it, between the tugs at his leggings.
“Look, Robin Kuryakin, will you leave those things alone,” Napoleon said out of the side of his mouth. Solo too was dressed in a period costume, dark blue velvet, with billowing white sleeves and grey leotards, along with an oversized velvet cap that looked like a beret with a white ostrich plume tucked in it. His weapon too, concealed within one of his sleeves.
“I cannot help it...they are bunching up in the wrong places, if you know what I mean. It is very uncomfortable and I am hot in this ridiculous get up. I swear, the wardrobe department knows my size, yet still they manage to give me clothing that is too small.”
Napoleon snickered knowingly. “Stop complaining, at least you’re not dressed in velvet...talk about hot.
An auburn haired woman stepped up to them dressed in a magnificent burgundy and gold lamé gown.
“Illya will you leave your tights alone, you look ridiculous pulling at them,” April whispered.
“They are bunching and I am hot,” the Russian continued to complain.
“Oy, you think you’re uncomfortable mates, try moving about with extra padding in a Father Tuck costume, not to mention the tonsure headpiece I’m wearing. Why of all places but a Renaissance festival would THRUSH decide to set up shop?” Mark pointed out.
“It gives them a week of being costumed undercover to distribute the new drug their mad scientists have developed to the local operatives...” Illya whispered, still tugging at the back of his tights.
“Thank you for reminding me Illya, like I forgot the mission, “Mark snapped back at the Russian.
“Come on now darlings, play nice. I think we need to scatter and keep an eye out for any new bird sightings.”
“Good point April,” Napoleon agreed, let's scatter. Illya you continue troubadouring, Mark keep by the tent where they’re selling mutton, April you keep pretending to shop and I’ll continue to look like I’m wenching,” Napoleon said the last with a wicked smile.
“Well just do not get so distracted with said wenching that you miss what is going on at the apothecary tent,” Illya warned.
Napoleon responded with a “Tsk.”
They’d had already taken down three THRUSH agents who’d made their pickups at the apothecary, carrying a vial of the drug in a small red velvet pouch tied to their belts.
An UNCLE van parked out of sight in the woods was ready and waiting to receive any new prisoners they were sent by the four Section II agents.
Once the faire was coming to a close, they’d be able move in and take possession of the Apothecary and all his wares without disturbing the crowds, as they’d be gone for the most part.
They thought it would be a cinch but the Thrushman pulled up his long robes and ran toward the woods. Before anyone could draw their pistols, Illya swung round his bow, notched an arrow and got off a shot...hitting the bird in the right buttock.
He went down to the ground with a yelp.
“We could have darted him,” Napoleon said as they took the man into custody.
“I thought since there were still some innocents around, they might think it just part of the day’s show.”
“Hmmm, clever darling,” April said, not able to help herself; she kept looking down at Illya’s nether regions.
“Might we get out of here so I can change,” Illya practically growled,” I cannot stand these tights any longer.”
April took note as Napoleon tried to hide his amusement. “Do you know something I don’t know goose?
“I told wardrobe to give him a pair of extra small tights...”he whispered.
“Oh you are rotten,” April blurted out, “ but have to admit, I did enjoy the view.”
“Why April Dancer!” Napoleon smiled.
“Hey, you can wench, so why can’t I admire a cute Russian in a pair of revealing tights.’’
“Fair play, but mum’s the word to Illya.”
“My lips are sealed.”