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"The day Illya lost his appetite" for the Writer's and Reader's Choice!
This was written for the 'What's my line'" writing challenge 2/4/16
The prompt: I don’t want to argue about that.
Mary Margaret Houlihan waited in line at the Commissary; the secretary was standing there with her arms crossed in front of her, tapping her rather stylish pump on the linoleum floor.
“Listen there’s nothing wrong with the coffee, I’m telling you it’s fine!”
“And I’m telling you it has a funny taste to it. You drink this and tell me it isn’t off.” She reached for the green coffee cup in front of her.
“Look,” he insisted,”I’m telling you it’s fine Miss Hooligan.
“That’s Houlihan.” Her foot began to tap faster.
“What seems to be the problem?” Napoleon Solo had just stepped up behind her.
“There’s something wrong with the coffee, and he won’t believe me.”
Solo’s eyebrows raised, looking at the man affectionately known as Cookie. He wasn’t exactly known for his culinary prowess as he’d come from a military background and was used to preparing food mess hall style.
“Cookie, why don’t you oblige her and taste the coffee.”
“Look Mr. Solo I don’t want to argue about that. I just made the coffee fresh, the way I always make it and I know it’s fine. Tell you what, you drink the coffee all the time, why don’t you taste it and tell me what you think.”
“Fair enough,” he nodded. Napoleon picked up Mary Margaret’s coffee mug. He glanced into it before taking a sip, but stopped himself.
“Ummmmm, you know what Cookie, as a favor to me, why don’t you just make up a fresh batch and we’ll leave it at that for now, understand?”
Solo’s emphasis on the last word gave Cookie pause. It wasn’t his place to question Napoleon Solo.
“Gee, okay Mr. Solo if you say so.”
“He still didn’t believe me but thanks for intervening Napoleon,” Mary Margaret said.”Are we still on for tomorrow night?”
“Why of course we are, barring any unforeseen circumstances. I’ll pick you up at eight. How does the Purple Unicorn sound?”
“Groovy,” she leaned forward, giving him a peck on the cheek before heading out to the grey corridor and back to her desk in the secretarial pool.
Napoleon watched her walk away, admiring the fit of her skirt as her hips swayed enticingly.
Illya passed her on the way in, and gave her a simple nod before walking over to his partner.
“Ready for lunch? I hear it is spare ribs today?” He clapped his hands together in relish, looking forward to the meal.
Napoleon cringed.“We may want to go out for lunch tovarisch.”
“Why, I like ribs? And Cookie does a fair job preparing them."
Solo held out the coffee cup to his partner.
“Take a look.”
Illya’s eyes went wide, though he said nothing.
“I need to show this to our cook before we head out,”Napoleon said.
“Actually I think I should take it to the lab. This does not look like anything with which I am familiar.”
Just then there was an ungodly shriek followed by a rather crude string of curses coming from the kitchen; that sent Solo and Kuryakin racing in with their guns drawn. Luckily there was no one else in the Commissary except for the two agents.
“What is it Cookie?” Napoleon demanded, he looked around seeing no one but him.
“The..the coffee urn, it's filled with...” He pointed his trembling hand.
Illya carefully lifted the lid and peeked inside, but quickly slammed it closed.
“Yes, we must definitely cancel lunch in the Commissary and I think fumigators are in order.”
“We need to keep this under wraps,” Napoleon whispered. “If anyone gets word of what was in the urn and the coffee...well we just might have a lot of people becoming sick to their stomachs.”
“I do not think this would make anyone sick,” Illya looked in the coffee mug again.
“But the fact that it happened, the psychological effects might do it," Napoleon countered.
"I better notify Mister Waverly."
“Perhaps you are right. You call in the fumigators, and I will examine this,” Illya said. He placed the cup down on the counter, cringing just a little.
”I see what you mean about the psychological effect.”
“You don’t want to go out to lunch? I hear there’s a good rib joint that opened a few blocks from here.” Napoleon asked.
Illya looked at the rather large spider sitting in the coffee mug one more time and swallowed.
“I think I have lost my appetite for the moment.
“For the moment,” Napoleon parrotted.
“I just said that.”
“I wanted to make sure I was hearing things right. I can’t remember the last time you turned down food.”
“It does happen from time to time.”
“Hmm, from time to time, and this coming from a man who's eaten grubs?”
Illya proudly raised his chin. “Grubs are a good source of protein.”
“Yeah right…”
The prompt: I don’t want to argue about that.
Mary Margaret Houlihan waited in line at the Commissary; the secretary was standing there with her arms crossed in front of her, tapping her rather stylish pump on the linoleum floor.
“Listen there’s nothing wrong with the coffee, I’m telling you it’s fine!”
“And I’m telling you it has a funny taste to it. You drink this and tell me it isn’t off.” She reached for the green coffee cup in front of her.
“Look,” he insisted,”I’m telling you it’s fine Miss Hooligan.
“That’s Houlihan.” Her foot began to tap faster.
“What seems to be the problem?” Napoleon Solo had just stepped up behind her.
“There’s something wrong with the coffee, and he won’t believe me.”
Solo’s eyebrows raised, looking at the man affectionately known as Cookie. He wasn’t exactly known for his culinary prowess as he’d come from a military background and was used to preparing food mess hall style.
“Cookie, why don’t you oblige her and taste the coffee.”
“Look Mr. Solo I don’t want to argue about that. I just made the coffee fresh, the way I always make it and I know it’s fine. Tell you what, you drink the coffee all the time, why don’t you taste it and tell me what you think.”
“Fair enough,” he nodded. Napoleon picked up Mary Margaret’s coffee mug. He glanced into it before taking a sip, but stopped himself.
“Ummmmm, you know what Cookie, as a favor to me, why don’t you just make up a fresh batch and we’ll leave it at that for now, understand?”
Solo’s emphasis on the last word gave Cookie pause. It wasn’t his place to question Napoleon Solo.
“Gee, okay Mr. Solo if you say so.”
“He still didn’t believe me but thanks for intervening Napoleon,” Mary Margaret said.”Are we still on for tomorrow night?”
“Why of course we are, barring any unforeseen circumstances. I’ll pick you up at eight. How does the Purple Unicorn sound?”
“Groovy,” she leaned forward, giving him a peck on the cheek before heading out to the grey corridor and back to her desk in the secretarial pool.
Napoleon watched her walk away, admiring the fit of her skirt as her hips swayed enticingly.
Illya passed her on the way in, and gave her a simple nod before walking over to his partner.
“Ready for lunch? I hear it is spare ribs today?” He clapped his hands together in relish, looking forward to the meal.
Napoleon cringed.“We may want to go out for lunch tovarisch.”
“Why, I like ribs? And Cookie does a fair job preparing them."
Solo held out the coffee cup to his partner.
“Take a look.”
Illya’s eyes went wide, though he said nothing.
“I need to show this to our cook before we head out,”Napoleon said.
“Actually I think I should take it to the lab. This does not look like anything with which I am familiar.”
Just then there was an ungodly shriek followed by a rather crude string of curses coming from the kitchen; that sent Solo and Kuryakin racing in with their guns drawn. Luckily there was no one else in the Commissary except for the two agents.
“What is it Cookie?” Napoleon demanded, he looked around seeing no one but him.
“The..the coffee urn, it's filled with...” He pointed his trembling hand.
Illya carefully lifted the lid and peeked inside, but quickly slammed it closed.
“Yes, we must definitely cancel lunch in the Commissary and I think fumigators are in order.”
“We need to keep this under wraps,” Napoleon whispered. “If anyone gets word of what was in the urn and the coffee...well we just might have a lot of people becoming sick to their stomachs.”
“I do not think this would make anyone sick,” Illya looked in the coffee mug again.
“But the fact that it happened, the psychological effects might do it," Napoleon countered.
"I better notify Mister Waverly."
“Perhaps you are right. You call in the fumigators, and I will examine this,” Illya said. He placed the cup down on the counter, cringing just a little.
”I see what you mean about the psychological effect.”
“You don’t want to go out to lunch? I hear there’s a good rib joint that opened a few blocks from here.” Napoleon asked.
Illya looked at the rather large spider sitting in the coffee mug one more time and swallowed.
“I think I have lost my appetite for the moment.
“For the moment,” Napoleon parrotted.
“I just said that.”
“I wanted to make sure I was hearing things right. I can’t remember the last time you turned down food.”
“It does happen from time to time.”
“Hmm, from time to time, and this coming from a man who's eaten grubs?”
Illya proudly raised his chin. “Grubs are a good source of protein.”
“Yeah right…”