Some Halloween Fun for Olden Fan
Title: All Gather Round
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,093
Image Prompt:
olden_fan, I hope you have a great Halloween! Thanks for playing along and to nursesparky for her beta help.
“Once, just once, I’d like to spend Halloween in the comfort of a hotel ballroom, celebrating with the rest of my costumed colleagues.” Napoleon Solo was not a happy man. Instead of his usual suit, he was bedecked in a set of canvas overalls. It smelled a bit like a herd of camels had camped in it at one point, a smell that defied its removal.
“You’d die of boredom before an hour was out.” Illya Kuryakin half answered. He was more interested in spotting their quarry than Napoleon’s grumbling. “I’m not the one who makes the assignments, after all. I would have been happy with a junior agent.”
“Yanni Kimper is one of the fastest upcoming names in THRUSH’s hierarchy. I want to know why.”
“His rivals seem to have a funny way of disappearing. That’s what I’m wondering about.” Illya shifted position slightly. His overalls were tighter than he liked and they pinched in uncomfortable spots. “The reports have him sighted here on the last night of every month.”
“I just hope he shows… speak of the devil.”
“Appropriate for the night, have you spotted him?”
“Or someone who look a lot like him. I thought he was tall.”
“He is,” Illya said. “Like six four tall.”
“Not this guy. He’s not even your height.”
“I’m not short,” Illya protested, dropping the binoculars to glare at his partner.
“I didn’t say that, but you aren’t six four. Neither am I. Maybe THRUSH is checking him out as well.”
Illya returned to his surveillance. “If I were his next-in-command, I would be.”
“Should we follow?”
“We have been deprived of a Halloween party, let’s try to get some fun out of the night.”
For several long moments, they tailed the man until he disappeared into a cemetery.
“Wasn’t expecting that,” Napoleon said. He reached inside his coverall. “Open Channel D, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Solo, do you have news?”
It shouldn’t have surprised him that his boss answered. After all, Waverly never slept. “Sir, we believe we have our target, Yanni Kimper.”
“Well, do you or don’t you, man? This isn’t the time to be wishy washy.”
“We have sighed a target we believe to be the THRUSH agent and he’s just gone into a cemetery.”
“And?” The expectation hung heavy in the chill October air.
“And we are about to follow him inside.”
“See that you don’t mess this up, Mr. Solo.”
The communicator fell silent and Napoleon made a face. “Sounds like someone had his Milk Duds confiscated from his bag.”
Illya honestly looked confused. “Milk Duds?”
“A candy, caramel covered in chocolate. Tasty, but hell on fillings.”
Illya nodded sagely. “Shall we?”
“Sure, just because it’s Halloween night and the veil between our world and theirs is the thinnest, why wouldn’t I want to wander among the dead?”
“Dead people can’t hurt you, Napoleon. It’s the living we must fear. Lead on.”
“After you, my dear Alfonse.”
The various gravestones and shrubs gave them as much cover as they needed. The cemetery was gated, protected by a high wall, so there was only one way in or out.
“How could we lose him?” Illya was growing more frustrated by the moment. “He was just here.”
“We haven’t lost him. We just haven’t found him again,” Napoleon said. “There seems to be a glow coming from behind the mausoleum.”
“That’s not something you see every day.”
Peeking around the corner of the stone structure, Napoleon said, “That’s not something you see every day.”
On a raised dais, stood five robed stone figures. Candles had been placed around them and the path leading up to the platform. The candlelight danced in the cold breeze, casting eerie shadows around them.
At the center of the dais was Yanni Kimper, naked, his arms up reaching to the sky. He was chanting something, but they were too far away to hear the words.
“What is he doing? He’s going to catch his death of pneumonia.” Napoleon shivered in spite of himself.
“If we were in another time or place, I’d say that he is casting some sort of spelling.”
The man bent, then held up a knife. He cut the palm of one hand and then another, lifting them to the moon and letting the blood run down his arms. Neither UNCLE agent moved, rooted to the spot by their confusion and fascination.
There was a scraping sound, rock against rock and Illya grabbed Napoleon’s arm. “Napoleon, the figures, they are moving.”
“But they are stone. They can’t…” he protested even as his eyes told him something different. The figures crept slowly forward until they surrounded the man. Then, abruptly, with a horrible grinding sound, they attacked him, but he did nothing to escape the blows. He looked more as if he welcomed them.
Napoleon stood and fired at the nearest figure. The bullet chipped the stone and the figure looked in their direction. It shuffled forward, then toppled from the dais, crashing to the ground. The other figures reacted, coming to the aid for their fallen brethren, until they crashed down upon him, the force of their landing breaking them apart.
“No, don’t leave me! Not like this. Not… like…” The man took a step and collapsed.
“Illya, call for an ambulance and some back up.” Napoleon sprinted the hundred yards to the dais and to the fallen man. He was curled up in a fetal position among the stone and wax.
“Come on, we’ll get you to the hospi--” Napoleon’s voice trailed off then at the sight of the man. He was bleeding from a hundred wounds and looked as old as the surrounding granite. “What? Who are you?”
The man was beyond talking. In fact, he seemed to be aging by the second.
Napoleon watched, impassively, as the THRUSH agent was taken away on a stretcher, his face covered.
“Dead?” Illya asked, holding handful of clothes.
“If not, he soon will be. Do we know who he was?”
“Yanni Kimper, according to this.”
“Illya, that guy had to be at least a hundred years old. How could he…?”
“I remember my skillful friends, the gypsies, talking about such spells. It was a sort of magical fountain of youth. The price exactly was quite high, though. The person had to be killed to be reborn as a young person. I guess he was using it to stay ahead of his competition. There’s a thing about spells, though.”
“What do you mean?”
Illya handed Napoleon Kimper’s clothes. “With magic, there’s always a price. Always.”
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,093
Image Prompt:
olden_fan, I hope you have a great Halloween! Thanks for playing along and to nursesparky for her beta help.
“Once, just once, I’d like to spend Halloween in the comfort of a hotel ballroom, celebrating with the rest of my costumed colleagues.” Napoleon Solo was not a happy man. Instead of his usual suit, he was bedecked in a set of canvas overalls. It smelled a bit like a herd of camels had camped in it at one point, a smell that defied its removal.
“You’d die of boredom before an hour was out.” Illya Kuryakin half answered. He was more interested in spotting their quarry than Napoleon’s grumbling. “I’m not the one who makes the assignments, after all. I would have been happy with a junior agent.”
“Yanni Kimper is one of the fastest upcoming names in THRUSH’s hierarchy. I want to know why.”
“His rivals seem to have a funny way of disappearing. That’s what I’m wondering about.” Illya shifted position slightly. His overalls were tighter than he liked and they pinched in uncomfortable spots. “The reports have him sighted here on the last night of every month.”
“I just hope he shows… speak of the devil.”
“Appropriate for the night, have you spotted him?”
“Or someone who look a lot like him. I thought he was tall.”
“He is,” Illya said. “Like six four tall.”
“Not this guy. He’s not even your height.”
“I’m not short,” Illya protested, dropping the binoculars to glare at his partner.
“I didn’t say that, but you aren’t six four. Neither am I. Maybe THRUSH is checking him out as well.”
Illya returned to his surveillance. “If I were his next-in-command, I would be.”
“Should we follow?”
“We have been deprived of a Halloween party, let’s try to get some fun out of the night.”
For several long moments, they tailed the man until he disappeared into a cemetery.
“Wasn’t expecting that,” Napoleon said. He reached inside his coverall. “Open Channel D, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Solo, do you have news?”
It shouldn’t have surprised him that his boss answered. After all, Waverly never slept. “Sir, we believe we have our target, Yanni Kimper.”
“Well, do you or don’t you, man? This isn’t the time to be wishy washy.”
“We have sighed a target we believe to be the THRUSH agent and he’s just gone into a cemetery.”
“And?” The expectation hung heavy in the chill October air.
“And we are about to follow him inside.”
“See that you don’t mess this up, Mr. Solo.”
The communicator fell silent and Napoleon made a face. “Sounds like someone had his Milk Duds confiscated from his bag.”
Illya honestly looked confused. “Milk Duds?”
“A candy, caramel covered in chocolate. Tasty, but hell on fillings.”
Illya nodded sagely. “Shall we?”
“Sure, just because it’s Halloween night and the veil between our world and theirs is the thinnest, why wouldn’t I want to wander among the dead?”
“Dead people can’t hurt you, Napoleon. It’s the living we must fear. Lead on.”
“After you, my dear Alfonse.”
The various gravestones and shrubs gave them as much cover as they needed. The cemetery was gated, protected by a high wall, so there was only one way in or out.
“How could we lose him?” Illya was growing more frustrated by the moment. “He was just here.”
“We haven’t lost him. We just haven’t found him again,” Napoleon said. “There seems to be a glow coming from behind the mausoleum.”
“That’s not something you see every day.”
Peeking around the corner of the stone structure, Napoleon said, “That’s not something you see every day.”
On a raised dais, stood five robed stone figures. Candles had been placed around them and the path leading up to the platform. The candlelight danced in the cold breeze, casting eerie shadows around them.
At the center of the dais was Yanni Kimper, naked, his arms up reaching to the sky. He was chanting something, but they were too far away to hear the words.
“What is he doing? He’s going to catch his death of pneumonia.” Napoleon shivered in spite of himself.
“If we were in another time or place, I’d say that he is casting some sort of spelling.”
The man bent, then held up a knife. He cut the palm of one hand and then another, lifting them to the moon and letting the blood run down his arms. Neither UNCLE agent moved, rooted to the spot by their confusion and fascination.
There was a scraping sound, rock against rock and Illya grabbed Napoleon’s arm. “Napoleon, the figures, they are moving.”
“But they are stone. They can’t…” he protested even as his eyes told him something different. The figures crept slowly forward until they surrounded the man. Then, abruptly, with a horrible grinding sound, they attacked him, but he did nothing to escape the blows. He looked more as if he welcomed them.
Napoleon stood and fired at the nearest figure. The bullet chipped the stone and the figure looked in their direction. It shuffled forward, then toppled from the dais, crashing to the ground. The other figures reacted, coming to the aid for their fallen brethren, until they crashed down upon him, the force of their landing breaking them apart.
“No, don’t leave me! Not like this. Not… like…” The man took a step and collapsed.
“Illya, call for an ambulance and some back up.” Napoleon sprinted the hundred yards to the dais and to the fallen man. He was curled up in a fetal position among the stone and wax.
“Come on, we’ll get you to the hospi--” Napoleon’s voice trailed off then at the sight of the man. He was bleeding from a hundred wounds and looked as old as the surrounding granite. “What? Who are you?”
The man was beyond talking. In fact, he seemed to be aging by the second.
Napoleon watched, impassively, as the THRUSH agent was taken away on a stretcher, his face covered.
“Dead?” Illya asked, holding handful of clothes.
“If not, he soon will be. Do we know who he was?”
“Yanni Kimper, according to this.”
“Illya, that guy had to be at least a hundred years old. How could he…?”
“I remember my skillful friends, the gypsies, talking about such spells. It was a sort of magical fountain of youth. The price exactly was quite high, though. The person had to be killed to be reborn as a young person. I guess he was using it to stay ahead of his competition. There’s a thing about spells, though.”
“What do you mean?”
Illya handed Napoleon Kimper’s clothes. “With magic, there’s always a price. Always.”