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 The young photographer sighed. There were hundreds of people cheering, clapping, swaying. Hundred of people waving cameras, flashes and perhaps, somewhere, evil birds plotting evil tricks. “Perhaps” was the problem. They were watching over the staircase to the Palais du Festival, in Cannes, jurors, actresses, actors, directors parading on the red carpet. “Perhaps”... He shrugged his shoulders. Wrong reports, mistakes.. red herring... They were wasting time and energy... Probably...

Hey... Young man?”

A man in his fifties, thinning on the top, in a tuxedo was studying him with interest. “ I'm preparing a movie...” He tilted his head. “It's about POW planning to escape from a German camp, during World War II and there is a character...” He bit his lips and nodded, “a young English officer, blond, rather short in stature... You're... you're exactly him...”

But a wave of people was dragging him forward and he just held out a card to the young blond.

The reporter joined the photographer. His clenched jaws betrayed his annoyance. “Nothing. It was a wrong track!” He pointed his chin at the group on the red carpet; “Who was he?”

Illya Kuryakin peeped at the card. “A movie director... John Sturges...”

Napoleon Solo raised an interested eyebrow, “ Sturges? Oh, yes! You saw The Magnificent Seven, last year?”

The remake of Kurosawa's Seven Samurai?, yes... not bad.”

Napoleon Solo knew this face. “And? What did he want?”

Illya Kuryakin smiled innocently. “Oh... he just wanted me to play a part in his next movie...”


Apr. 17th, 2013 08:52 pm
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“Are you sure you want to keep going?”

The voice was slightly trembling and the man looked at them expectantly.

“Of course, we want to! You're the one who called for us!”

“Yes, but... but...”, he bit his lips, “I thought you'd be more...”

“Are you afraid?”, the blond man asked flatly.

“Hem... no... I mean... no...”

“You are...”, the blond stated. “Napoleon, we should leave him here.”

“Here?” The man yelped in a panic; “Alone?” He was on the edge of bursting into tears.

Napoleon Solo frowned and leaned forward, with the hardly benign expression he held in store for the villains. The man shivered and for a split second, he considered the idea of running away, as far as possible... But... twilight gave way to night. So... no.

“Get in the car. We'll be back in a few hours.”

“Ye...e...s, sir”

“And don't even think of it...” The blond man was waving the key. “Don't try to start it up. It won't work!”

The two agents walked up the slope. At the very top of the hill, they looked around at an amazing landscape, gray stones, white sand gleaming by the moonlight, spotted with dark bushes. Twinkling stars...

“I wonder why the Old Man sent us here...” Napoleon muttered.


The older agent rolled his eyes. His partner was looking up, studying the sky with... Oh, no, Napoleon thought... with this very special boyish delight, blue eyes wide open...

“Frankly, Illya, this... this is just a bad joke!”

The Russian sighed. “ We are not the only living creatures in the universe, Napoleon. It's probably full of intelligent beings and it's fascinating to think that some day...”

“Illya, please...”

The blond shook his head theatrically. Suddenly, he pointed a finger at a spot, somewhere behind Napoleon who shrugged his shoulders in dismay.

“Please... Illya...”

“Look... No, it isn't a UFO... Just headlights... It's a car. I wonder where they are going, though. I saw it... It's a dead-end... Napoleon?”

Gaping, Napoleon Solo was staring at a spot, behind his partner who shrugged his shoulders in dismay.

“Napoleon, please...”

Said Napoleon put his hand on the blond head and forced the Russian to pivot.

It was circular. Silvery. It looked like a... a very big flying... saucer. It flew in the air, both slowly and incredibly fast, unexpectedly silent, except for a strange whirring.

“Fascinating...”, Illya whispered.

“Napoleon took his communicator; “Open chann... What the hell...?”

Two men in black suits and sunglasses appeared from nowhere. They stood in front of them, smiling.

“Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?” The older man waved a strange device. “Your attention, please?”






The two UNCLE agents walked down the slope.

“At least, it was a nice stroll...”

“A stroll? Wasted time, that's what it was!” Napoleon pulled the car door open and barked, “Hey, where are you?”

A head craned from the backseat.

“Did... did you see them?”

The blond agent put his finger on his lips and the man cowered hastily on the seat, while a fuming Napoleon got in the car.

“Nothing! We just saw... nothing! Hope you enjoyed yourself, guy, because, let me tell you...”

“Shhh, Napoleon... you're terrifying him...”




“So, you didn't see anything, gentlemen? Really?” Alexander Waverly was almost disappointed.

“No, sir. They were probably fried and had hallucination... We watched the sky for hours and... nothing.”

“Not even a shooting star...”, the Russian added softly.

Alexander Waverly dismissed his agents and sighed, taking a newspaper from a drawer


Flying Saucers: The Invaders are here?

An architect, David Vincent has seen them. For him, it began one lost night on a lonely country road, looking for a shortcut that he never found....”

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“Magic Mirror... who is the fairest in that land...”


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written for section 7MFU picfic challenge

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This is an answer to the prompt #086 from slashtheimage

 They huddled in the doorway to get out of the blast, his partner taking him in a tight embrace. He couldn't say how it happened. His lips brushed a warm neck, feeling blood pulsation, a scruffy cheek... and suddenly... lips. Ravenous lips. In the midst of apocalypse, they kissed passionately.

Then... they raced towards the reinforcement, came back to the HQ and... his partner acted as if nothing had happened.

The pencil he had been chewing, tormenting for hours broke.

Everyone make mistakes. That's why there is an eraser on every pencil.”

But some mistakes couldn't be fixed.

Stupid proverb.

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Drabble for a prompt from slashtheimage...

Go. Now!”

He shook his head. He couldn't run away, leaving the man he loved with this bomb.

It's no use. I'll take it out of the gallery...” Illya cracked a smile, “See you later.”

Napoleon persisted in shaking his head but the Russian crept in the narrow passage, the threatening box in his hands.

As Napoleon was about to go out, dust devils sprang from the walls and everything vibrated. He closed his eyes, breathless, the unbearable reality dawning on him.

Warm hand on his cheek.

I found an embrasure...”

Blues eyes, dusty face, boyish contentment...

Saved the world...”

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Christmas picfic challenge..; from section VII mfu...

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This is the story I wrote for the Down the Chimney challenge! It was for Spikesgirl. The prompt were cats, cherished Christmas ornament, Santa cookies...
Thanks to Sparky955 for betaing...


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She chuckled. “Spiders? Probably! Fish soup, so?” And she left the room. Illya waved a pompous finger. “Ts ts... Spiders aren't insects! They're arthropods... Arachnids have...” He paused, waiting for the usual reaction but the other man was lost in thought. “Eight legs... Napoleon?”

He rested his hand on his friend's wrist, “We should have gone back home... I'm sorry. You're tired and...”

Napoleon shook his head, suddenly aware of his partner's worry. Stupid. He was stupid. He smiled, “I'm fine.” - Eyes rolled. “It's just... I had a strange nightmare and... Illya?”

The Russian frowned. “No... I thought... Oh, no....”


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They walked along the pier, lost in thought. Napoleon usually enjoyed to sail alone, free from work, free from the world...

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