Prompts - Window / Green
Word Count - 457
This story is basically an exercise in making myself write something. I have many plots in my head, but the ability to form them into words is still proving difficult. I know this isn't a great piece (which is why I'm posting it here, under the cut). I'm invitng constructive critism.
Opening his eyes, Illya became immediately aware of stone walls and steel bars. The last thing he remembered was splitting up from Napoleon, and breaking into the small Thrush outpost, just before being enveloped in a green gas. As was often the case with any Thrush concoction, Illya was left with a sickening headache. He tended to react badly to drugs, which an U.N.C.L.E. medic had postulated was a result of chronic malnourishment in childhood, leading to a compromised immune system. Illya himself put it down to the universe having it in for him.
As he pulled himself into a sitting position, on the filthy cot, he checked for his communicator but, unsurprisingly, he had been relieved of it. He’d also been divested of anything he could use to mount an escape attempt. His only option was to wait. Hopefully, his partner would come for him before his captor. Not that he was going to sit idle.
Carefully, Illya climbed to his feet and waited for the room to stop spinning and his stomach to settle down. When he was ready he gave the cell the once over. It didn’t take long. Other than the cot, there was no furniture. In one corner was a drainage hole, which Illya assumed was for body function. The light for the room came from a barred, glassless window high up on the all opposite the barred doorway. It was big enough for him to get through, if only his explosive putty hadn’t been taken from him. Inspection complete, Illya sat down again.
“If I had a ruble for every cell I’d been locked into, I would be a very rich man,” he muttered.
“Careful Tovarisch, your avarice is showing.”
Illya’s head snapped towards the window, where he saw Napoleon grinning down at him.
“Are you going to help me out of here, or are you going to stand there smiling?”
Solo’s grin got wider in response to Illya’s annoyance.
“Fear not, I’ll have these bars out before you can say ‘have you got those bars out yet?’”
Illya would have rolled his eyes if his head hadn’t been pounding so hard. He was embarrassed and frustrated to have been captured once again, and the last thing he needed was his partner’s sense of humour.
While Napoleon dealt with the bars, Illya moved the cot under the window. Within two or three minutes, he was free. Napoleon contacted Mr Waverly to inform him that the mission was a bust, and the two agents headed back to the office.
A short while later, Illya’s captor entered the cell and stared forlornly at the empty room. He had already informed Central of his high profile prisoner and his future suddenly looked very bleak.