"Figments of the Imagination" for Neuralclone. Happy Halloween!
Your request:
I prefer gen, either Napoleon or Illya centred (or better yet, lots of snarky banter between the two!)
The prompt:
“Napoleon, do you have the slightest idea where you are leading us?” Kuryakin was becoming impatient, especially since his confidence in his partner to not get them lost was quite low.
“I know exactly where this will take us,” Solo pointed to the moss and lichen covered spiral staircase.
“If stones such as these could talk, they would be telling us to not go this way, I think,” Illya said. He was aware of an odd oppressive feeling that seemed to be enveloping him. There was a familiar stench in the air, one of death.
“Everything’s fine, tovarisch...trust me.”
“That is the point; I do not trust you Napoleon. You always get us lost.”
“You know you could just wait behind.”
“Not on your life, I would only have to come rescue you.”
“You rescue me?” Solo laughed. “It’s more like me always rescuing you.”
“Oh and who did the rescuing last week in Italy?” Napoleon stared at him.
“Well, yes I needed to be extricated from that Mafioso’s clutches, but who rescued you from the arms of that bagascia?”
“She wasn’t a whore, though she may have been a bit slutty. Regardless, you barged in just when I was going to make my move and get some answers.”
“More like her making a move on you. You did not see the stiletto in her hand poised above your head.”
“I saw it.”
“Said the blind man! You were letting the wrong head do the thinking for you again my friend,”Illya laughed.
The Russian stopped dead in his tracks. Something suddenly caught his attention and he pointed to the arched alcoves in the walls beneath them.
“There are bodies in there.”
“That’s because this was a Christian burial site back in the good old pagan days, sort of like the Catacombs in Rome.”
“The catacombs were subterranean passageways, this is not. There are Roman ruins...five to be precise, located in Germany, in fact we are not far from the Weiden Roman Burial Chamber, one of the lesser known, but still significant, Roman ruins. It was originally called the Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium, in reference Agrippina, the daughter of Germanicus and the wife of Emperor Claudius. She was born in Cologne and was returned to the area to be entombed/ upon her death.”
“Illya, Illya, enough with the history lesson, please?”
Kuryakin ignored him.”This is not one of those ruins and it is also not as old a site as you think it is, especially because of that.”
He indicated one alcove in particular. “That body looks a bit too juicy to be ancient remains.”
Napoleon peered over the side, looking to where his partner pointed. He scrunched up his face in disgust.
“Only you would describe a body as being juicy, Illya.”
“If you are thinking that I am thinking about food, then you are sadly mistaken my friend.”
“When do you ever not think about food...you’re an eating machine with an insatiable appetite.”
“Napoleon, why are you doing this; you are like a broken record! Should we not be concentrating on the task at hand?”
“You’re right; I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“What, about getting us lost...again?”
“Now who’s the broken record?”
“Fine, no more personal remarks until this assignment is over,” Illya held out his hand.
“Deal.” Napoleon shook it, sealing the agreement just as he looked over his partner’s shoulder. “Whoa! Illya run!”
A gaseous white mist was filling the stairs, quickly coming towards the agents from above.
They dashed down the steps, skipping a few at a time but Illya lost his footing, slipping on some moss and sending him crashing into his partner.
The two of them tumbled downwards, propelling Kuryakin over the edge. At the last second he grabbed the stone railing, hanging on for dear life.
The mist was closing in on Solo, moving as if it were alive and he had to make a quick decision.
Not knowing what this strange cloud could do, he flung himself over the railing and grabbed onto it beside Kuryakin.
“Hang tight tovarisch.”
“That is what I have been doing.”
The dense vapor continued billowing downwards, remaining just along the steps until a cold gust of wind sucked away it in the opposite direction, quickly dissipating it.
Before they could hike themselves up, they heard footsteps marching down the stairs.
The agents held their breath, both silently hoping that whoever was coming wouldn’t see them dangling there.
It was Illya who spotted them first, though he remained silent. He could feel the beating of his heart that seemed now to be in time with their steps.
Stomp-stomp stomp-stomp stomp-stomp
Their boots pounding on the stone steps reverberated as they walked in a single file. They were translucent zombie-like figures, but it was evident who or rather, what they were.
Illya couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing.
The spectral figures faded out of view, disappearing into the depths below.
Once silence returned Napoleon and Illya deemed it safe and they each pulled themselves up with a grunt.
“Did you see what I saw?” Illya asked.
“If it was Nazi stormtroopers, then yes.”
“That is what I saw,” Illya shivered as a case of the goosebumps hit him. ‘Though they appeared rather corpse-like.”
“Let’s get out of here tovarisch. I’m willing to tell Mister Waverly this assignment was a bust.”
“You want to call it quits?” Illya asked.
“I know your history with the Nazis, what they did to you, your family and how you suffered as a child in that concentration camp.”*
“And what does that have to do with our assignment?”
“Didn’t what you just saw frighten you?”
“Because they appeared to be images of stormtroopers? No, they did not.”
“Heck they scared me,” Napoleon admitted.
“I must confess,” Illya said,” I did feel a knot in the pit of my stomach as seeing them brought back a few very unpleasant memories. Perhaps they were just a hallucination brought on by something in that mist, some sort of chemicals?”
“So we both imagined the exact same thing? Come on Illya, that just won’t fly.”
“I am not willing to give in to whatever that was. I want to finish the job.”
“Well this job better not finish us,” Napoleon grumbled.
They continued down the steps until they reached the bottom. The floor there was white marble with strange symbols inlaid into it; they were nothing that either agent recognized.
There in the last alcove sat what they were sent to retrieve, it was a wooden box trimmed in leather and aged brass tacks.
Solo carefully raised the lid, revealing something wrapped in a red velvet bag. He lifted it and reaching inside, he withdrew a large black leather bound book.
Embossed on the front of it in gold letters was the title written in Greek.
“Η Διαθήκη του Σολομώντα.”
“The Testament of Solomon,” Napoleon said, “one of the oldest magical texts in existence.”
“Attributed to Solomon but possibly written in Babylonia or Egypt in the first five centuries A.D. and over one thousand years after Solomon’s death. Purported to contain spells to raise the dead,” Illya added, “0f course its magical content is utter nonsense.”
“Utter nonsense? Then how do you explain our Nazi visitors.”
“I cannot. Napoleon, how can you connect those figments of our imagination with this book?”
“Hitler was into occultism. It was said he had possession of this book but until now it had gone missing after the war. Maybe one of his loyal followers tried to raise them from the dead but was unsuccessful; perhaps the ritual was interrupted. And what about the more recent body in the alcove above us? A price has to be paid for raising the dead, maybe whoever that was, was a sacrifice? The mist, I’m not so sure what that was all about. Surely you can’t argue against the evil of Adolf Hitler tovarisch?”
“I have heard occultist claims he was possessed by a demon, but that I find ridiculous. Some want to make an excuse for his murderous ways. He was nothing more than an evil, twisted little man who seduced people into thinking he was more than he was.”
“Possessed, I’ve never heard that one before,” Napoleon said.
“Napoleon, I am convinced it must have contained some sort of hallucinogenic chemical. Perhaps there were projectors that displayed the images we saw... that and the mist being part of a security system to scare off unwanted visitors.”
“Illya, let’s save this discussion for another time. I want to get this book out of here before those Nazis-things, whether they were real or not, return. Maybe they and that mist are truly guarding this book; I don’t want to wait around to see if anything else is going to happen.”
Napoleon said nothing as he watched his ever skeptical partner roll his eyes.
They quickly headed up the stairs, and as they reached the top, exiting to the fresh air, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders.
The sun was shining through the trees, birds were singing and all seemed right with the world, but that was interrupted by a growing moan coming from below.
The earth shook and the well collapsed into itself sending dust and debris into the air.
For a brief second, the Nazi phantams reappeared; they hung in the air, like motionless rag dolls.
Beneath them a gaping chasm opened in the earth, the smell of sulphur emanating from it.
One by one the wraiths disappeared down into it and just as quickly as it had appeared, the opening was gone.
“Care to explain that tovarisch?”
“Figments of our imagination, perhaps brought on by a bit of undigested Meerrettichfleisch mit Sylter Kartoffeln we had for lunch in Cologne.” **
“Tsk,” Napoleon clicked his tongue.” Really Illya? That’s the best you can do? That sounds like a line from Dickens’ Christmas Carol.”
Kuryakin merely shrugged as he turned away, not letting his partner see him bite his lower lip. He would never admit what he saw had frightened him.
His stoic Russian nature would not permit it…
* ref to my Illya backstory “Beginnings”
** Meerrettichfleisch mit Sylter Kartoffelner: horseradish beef with Sylt potatoes
I prefer gen, either Napoleon or Illya centred (or better yet, lots of snarky banter between the two!)
The prompt:
“Napoleon, do you have the slightest idea where you are leading us?” Kuryakin was becoming impatient, especially since his confidence in his partner to not get them lost was quite low.
“I know exactly where this will take us,” Solo pointed to the moss and lichen covered spiral staircase.
“If stones such as these could talk, they would be telling us to not go this way, I think,” Illya said. He was aware of an odd oppressive feeling that seemed to be enveloping him. There was a familiar stench in the air, one of death.
“Everything’s fine, tovarisch...trust me.”
“That is the point; I do not trust you Napoleon. You always get us lost.”
“You know you could just wait behind.”
“Not on your life, I would only have to come rescue you.”
“You rescue me?” Solo laughed. “It’s more like me always rescuing you.”
“Oh and who did the rescuing last week in Italy?” Napoleon stared at him.
“Well, yes I needed to be extricated from that Mafioso’s clutches, but who rescued you from the arms of that bagascia?”
“She wasn’t a whore, though she may have been a bit slutty. Regardless, you barged in just when I was going to make my move and get some answers.”
“More like her making a move on you. You did not see the stiletto in her hand poised above your head.”
“I saw it.”
“Said the blind man! You were letting the wrong head do the thinking for you again my friend,”Illya laughed.
The Russian stopped dead in his tracks. Something suddenly caught his attention and he pointed to the arched alcoves in the walls beneath them.
“There are bodies in there.”
“That’s because this was a Christian burial site back in the good old pagan days, sort of like the Catacombs in Rome.”
“The catacombs were subterranean passageways, this is not. There are Roman ruins...five to be precise, located in Germany, in fact we are not far from the Weiden Roman Burial Chamber, one of the lesser known, but still significant, Roman ruins. It was originally called the Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium, in reference Agrippina, the daughter of Germanicus and the wife of Emperor Claudius. She was born in Cologne and was returned to the area to be entombed/ upon her death.”
“Illya, Illya, enough with the history lesson, please?”
Kuryakin ignored him.”This is not one of those ruins and it is also not as old a site as you think it is, especially because of that.”
He indicated one alcove in particular. “That body looks a bit too juicy to be ancient remains.”
Napoleon peered over the side, looking to where his partner pointed. He scrunched up his face in disgust.
“Only you would describe a body as being juicy, Illya.”
“If you are thinking that I am thinking about food, then you are sadly mistaken my friend.”
“When do you ever not think about food...you’re an eating machine with an insatiable appetite.”
“Napoleon, why are you doing this; you are like a broken record! Should we not be concentrating on the task at hand?”
“You’re right; I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“What, about getting us lost...again?”
“Now who’s the broken record?”
“Fine, no more personal remarks until this assignment is over,” Illya held out his hand.
“Deal.” Napoleon shook it, sealing the agreement just as he looked over his partner’s shoulder. “Whoa! Illya run!”
A gaseous white mist was filling the stairs, quickly coming towards the agents from above.
They dashed down the steps, skipping a few at a time but Illya lost his footing, slipping on some moss and sending him crashing into his partner.
The two of them tumbled downwards, propelling Kuryakin over the edge. At the last second he grabbed the stone railing, hanging on for dear life.
The mist was closing in on Solo, moving as if it were alive and he had to make a quick decision.
Not knowing what this strange cloud could do, he flung himself over the railing and grabbed onto it beside Kuryakin.
“Hang tight tovarisch.”
“That is what I have been doing.”
The dense vapor continued billowing downwards, remaining just along the steps until a cold gust of wind sucked away it in the opposite direction, quickly dissipating it.
Before they could hike themselves up, they heard footsteps marching down the stairs.
The agents held their breath, both silently hoping that whoever was coming wouldn’t see them dangling there.
It was Illya who spotted them first, though he remained silent. He could feel the beating of his heart that seemed now to be in time with their steps.
Stomp-stomp stomp-stomp stomp-stomp
Their boots pounding on the stone steps reverberated as they walked in a single file. They were translucent zombie-like figures, but it was evident who or rather, what they were.
Illya couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing.
The spectral figures faded out of view, disappearing into the depths below.
Once silence returned Napoleon and Illya deemed it safe and they each pulled themselves up with a grunt.
“Did you see what I saw?” Illya asked.
“If it was Nazi stormtroopers, then yes.”
“That is what I saw,” Illya shivered as a case of the goosebumps hit him. ‘Though they appeared rather corpse-like.”
“Let’s get out of here tovarisch. I’m willing to tell Mister Waverly this assignment was a bust.”
“You want to call it quits?” Illya asked.
“I know your history with the Nazis, what they did to you, your family and how you suffered as a child in that concentration camp.”*
“And what does that have to do with our assignment?”
“Didn’t what you just saw frighten you?”
“Because they appeared to be images of stormtroopers? No, they did not.”
“Heck they scared me,” Napoleon admitted.
“I must confess,” Illya said,” I did feel a knot in the pit of my stomach as seeing them brought back a few very unpleasant memories. Perhaps they were just a hallucination brought on by something in that mist, some sort of chemicals?”
“So we both imagined the exact same thing? Come on Illya, that just won’t fly.”
“I am not willing to give in to whatever that was. I want to finish the job.”
“Well this job better not finish us,” Napoleon grumbled.
They continued down the steps until they reached the bottom. The floor there was white marble with strange symbols inlaid into it; they were nothing that either agent recognized.
There in the last alcove sat what they were sent to retrieve, it was a wooden box trimmed in leather and aged brass tacks.
Solo carefully raised the lid, revealing something wrapped in a red velvet bag. He lifted it and reaching inside, he withdrew a large black leather bound book.
Embossed on the front of it in gold letters was the title written in Greek.
“Η Διαθήκη του Σολομώντα.”
“The Testament of Solomon,” Napoleon said, “one of the oldest magical texts in existence.”
“Attributed to Solomon but possibly written in Babylonia or Egypt in the first five centuries A.D. and over one thousand years after Solomon’s death. Purported to contain spells to raise the dead,” Illya added, “0f course its magical content is utter nonsense.”
“Utter nonsense? Then how do you explain our Nazi visitors.”
“I cannot. Napoleon, how can you connect those figments of our imagination with this book?”
“Hitler was into occultism. It was said he had possession of this book but until now it had gone missing after the war. Maybe one of his loyal followers tried to raise them from the dead but was unsuccessful; perhaps the ritual was interrupted. And what about the more recent body in the alcove above us? A price has to be paid for raising the dead, maybe whoever that was, was a sacrifice? The mist, I’m not so sure what that was all about. Surely you can’t argue against the evil of Adolf Hitler tovarisch?”
“I have heard occultist claims he was possessed by a demon, but that I find ridiculous. Some want to make an excuse for his murderous ways. He was nothing more than an evil, twisted little man who seduced people into thinking he was more than he was.”
“Possessed, I’ve never heard that one before,” Napoleon said.
“Napoleon, I am convinced it must have contained some sort of hallucinogenic chemical. Perhaps there were projectors that displayed the images we saw... that and the mist being part of a security system to scare off unwanted visitors.”
“Illya, let’s save this discussion for another time. I want to get this book out of here before those Nazis-things, whether they were real or not, return. Maybe they and that mist are truly guarding this book; I don’t want to wait around to see if anything else is going to happen.”
Napoleon said nothing as he watched his ever skeptical partner roll his eyes.
They quickly headed up the stairs, and as they reached the top, exiting to the fresh air, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders.
The sun was shining through the trees, birds were singing and all seemed right with the world, but that was interrupted by a growing moan coming from below.
The earth shook and the well collapsed into itself sending dust and debris into the air.
For a brief second, the Nazi phantams reappeared; they hung in the air, like motionless rag dolls.
Beneath them a gaping chasm opened in the earth, the smell of sulphur emanating from it.
One by one the wraiths disappeared down into it and just as quickly as it had appeared, the opening was gone.
“Care to explain that tovarisch?”
“Figments of our imagination, perhaps brought on by a bit of undigested Meerrettichfleisch mit Sylter Kartoffeln we had for lunch in Cologne.” **
“Tsk,” Napoleon clicked his tongue.” Really Illya? That’s the best you can do? That sounds like a line from Dickens’ Christmas Carol.”
Kuryakin merely shrugged as he turned away, not letting his partner see him bite his lower lip. He would never admit what he saw had frightened him.
His stoic Russian nature would not permit it…
* ref to my Illya backstory “Beginnings”
** Meerrettichfleisch mit Sylter Kartoffelner: horseradish beef with Sylt potatoes