|solo (soloing) wrote in valarlogs,|
@ 2019-10-14 19:27:00
|Entry tags:||!complete, gaby teller, illya kuryakin, napoleon solo|
WHO: Napoleon Solo & Illya Kuryakin & Gaby Teller
WHERE: Napoleon's suite
WHEN: During the power swap
WHAT: Napoleon as near uncontrollable strength -it's causing some problems.
Orange County did appear to be prone to all sorts of weird happenings that some would consider crazy and yet it was an everyday reality for those who loved there. Illya wondered if the Russian government had any idea and if they had was that one of the reasons he’d been assigned?
He was dreaming yes but had thankfully remained untouched by the unf-ailing insanity that seemed to plague those on the network. The same could not be said for Napoleon however but he had reached out to him and Gaby both so it made sense that they both go and give aid.
As promised Illya had swung by and collected Gaby before the pair had made their way to Napoleon’s hotel where he parked up, short work was then made of the distance between lobby and room.
The Russian glanced at Gaby before he unceremoniously opened the door.
Gaby had a bottle of scotch dangling from the fingers of one hand and a bag of Thai food in the other. She followed Illya into the room and lifted an eyebrow at the small displays of Napoleon’s lapse into superstrength that was everywhere. A broken glass here, splintered wooden backrest of a chair there.
She let out a low whistle.
“Well,” she called, “are you as decent as possible, Napoleon?”
Napoleon wasn’t exactly a messy person, no. For the most part he kept a very organised life, probably assisted by the fact that he did live in a hotel. But at the moment that was definitely not the case. He hadn’t exactly noticed until he went to make coffee, the suite having a small kitchenette in it for the odd rummage. Of course picking up the coffee pot had resulted in shattering it instantly, so there was semi-swept glass on the floor there, the handle was off the mini-fridge, the door off the top cabinet, the back of the chair was splintered and decorating the floor too.
There was even a dent in the wall where Napoleon had rested his head a little too hard too. “As decent as can be, Gaby, dear.”
He was sprawled on the floor, still in his sleepwear of comfortable flannels and a loose t-shirt, because the notion of mauling his wardrobe in a bid to dress was not his idea of a good time in the least.
“I rather feel like I’ve been put in a time out mind you.”
Illya regarded the damage in the room with a face that gave nothing away but it was clear from the “crime scene” that Napoleon was struggling with his newfound strength. He thought it best that if it came to handling Napoleon in any way that he be the one to do it, he would rather he suffer an accidentally broken bone than Gaby. He was sure that Napoleon felt the same.
“It is not hard to understand why you feel that way,” he commented as he shrugged out of his jacket and rested it over the back of the chair still in one piece. He made sure the door was closed behind them as the last thing any of them needed were gawkers and onlookers, the worst kind of unwelcome company.
He exhaled and moved over to where the American was sprawled. “We should begin by getting you to your feet.”
Gaby snorted and put the bottle and food on a nearby table. “You look very sorry right now,” she teased, shrugging out of her own jacket and laying it near Illya’s. “I can head into the bedroom; are you looking to wear anything specific today or is today a day where you stay in here and we keep you company, in which case you don’t necessarily need to change from your… fashionable attire.”
She winked at Napoleon.
“You have been busy, Illya and I will be able to at least clean some of this up.”
“I can do that, I can.” He could get to his feet, he’d just been feeling a little sorry for himself when he broke the screen of the phone and that resulted in sulking on the floor. “I’m a little worried I’d actually toss you through the wall this time.” And as interesting as it would be, he wasn’t looking to damage either Illya or Gaby, the mess of his suite was enough to demonstrate he had a very lax control of this strength nonsense.
“Upside is I seem to be impervious too.” He’d walked through the glass after all, not a single cut on his feet. Only bonus in this whole nonsense mess.
“Today is an inside day I think,” if only so that he didn’t need to stop himself from touching anything. He really didn’t think he needed to be anywhere today, so it hardly mattered if he sulked around in his pjs. He just smirked at Gaby’s wink, given the very dressed down appearance. “Well, I can’t exactly sleep in a three piece suit.” But he absently waved his hand as he climbed from the floor, moving slowly and clearly concentrating on not just grabbing something -especially not Illya. “Don’t worry about the mess, I’ll get to it when I’m not going to toss something through the window trying to pick it up. I believe I was promised alcohol?” And no, it was not too early for it.
Illya stood back as Napoleon pulled himself to his feet, hands clasped behind his back, but body poised in such a way that he could if needed move at the drop of a hat. Thankfully it didn’t seem as if his assistance was required. He was quiet in contrast to his more chatty companions but Illya was not a man of many words if he didn’t feel as though they were needed or he could add anything to the dialogue.
He began the cleanup process by collecting the remains of the glass and discarding of them in a nearby bin before he collected up the shattered pieces of wood. Illya was methodical in his approach and efficient more to the point. Napoleon might have told them not to bother but it was something to keep -him busy and it would be one less thing for the other to worry about.
“Gaby has the alcohol,” he supplied helpfully.
“I wouldn’t have put it past you to have managed to have something designer to sleep in,” Gaby teased as she moved around looking for something sturdier - or at least less breakable - than a glass tumbler for her to pour a drink for Solo into. “Do you have any plastic- never mind,” she waved a hand and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom, finding one of the thick, plastic-wrapped cups in the bathroom and emerging a moment later, stuffing the wrap into her pocket and collecting glasses for herself and Illya.
She tipped her head, pouring three glasses - well, two glasses and a cup - of the alcohol, she waved her hand again but this time towards the bag of food.
“Hopefully you can eat this without crushing the cardboard beneath your fingers.”
Napoleon would try to tell Illya not to bother again if he didn’t think he’d be wasting his breath, besides, the Russian mentioned alcohol and Napoleon felt his attention focus on that more than anything. “Comfort, Gaby, even I succumb to it sometimes.” That and he didn’t have to put on any airs and graces when he wasn’t with someone, so why not just be his armourless self.
The joys of living in a hotel suite meant all the luxury of a hotel; including little plastic bathroom cups. “You are a genius.” Since he had no intention of being utterly uncouth and drinking it with a straw, thank you very much.
“I make no promises, but I dare say I can give it a fair shout.” He was sure he could balance the Thai on his hand and just poke at things with the utensils. “The alternative is definitely not worth thinking about. How do people live with this?”
“They are accustomed to it,” Illya offered as he glanced up from where he was collecting the handle of the fridge from where it was on the floor. “It is something they live with day in day out so it is not a burden in the same way it is to you.”
The door of the cupboard was picked up next until what had once been a scene of carnage was now a tidy collection of organised chaos.
Much easier to deal with.
“What Illya said,” Gaby murmured, dishing out the food and frowning a little. “Illya, we can finish off once we’ve had something to eat, come and sit down?”
She chewed her lower lip and handed off a glass of scotch to Illya, giving him a small smile and bumping his arm gently with her shoulder as he approached the table.
“Napoleon, perhaps you should try… not being more gentle but considering varying the pressure behind your touch? You’re breaking things because your new basic level of strength is much higher than your previous one. So imagine that you’re picking up a fragile piece of paper to pick up something sturdy. Perhaps that will help?”
It did make sense that people who were used to this level of strength dealt with it easier, maybe it just took a little getting used to. But so far any time Napoleon just forgot and went to touch something he was putting the force of a tank behind it.
“That’s all well and good, when I remember to focus on being gentle with things,” it was a lot of concentration to constantly be aware of what he was doing at all times, and the few times it slipped after he worked on that… Well his phone was going to need replacing thanks to that. “But it is the main goal, however long this lasts.”
He didn’t mean to be short or clipped, frustration was a nuisance sometimes.
Illya turned his head ever so slightly as Gaby approached, with a glass of scotch, and accompanied it with a small nudge of his arm. “Then you make a decision to remember it all the time until whatever this has passed,” the Russian offered, sipping at his drink before he took a seat. “It does not seem like you have much choice in the matter.”
He considered Napoleon over the rim of his glass.
“It is inconvenient but a necessity.”
“And we can make sure that you do not accidentally tear your expensive wardrobe to shreds when you forget,” Gaby pointed out, a slight tone to her own voice being the only indicator that she was displeased with the sharpness that slipped into Napoleon’s voice. After all, they were only trying to help.
She sat down and took a plate of food; the one which had the least piled on it. After all, Illya had an appetite befitting a man who could rip the trunk off of a car and Napoleon currently was running on super strength. They both needed far more to eat than she did.
“I suppose, Napoleon, that work is out of the question?”
Knowing that both Gaby and Illya were trying to help, with suggestions and just by being there, Napoleon bit the inside of his mouth to curb the next frustrated snap. They didn’t deserve his frustration, it wasn’t their fault that this had happened to him and not to them, so he wasn’t going to make things worse by being rude right then.
“As tempting as it would be to get assistance in that department, I don’t think anything from that expensive wardrobe will be going on for the duration of this particular predicament.” No, he didn’t think gaining the help of nimble fingered Gaby to ensure his suits were worn properly would be a terribly smart idea.
Given how hard it was to not forget he had super strength, how exhausting basically everything was, Napoleon didn’t think ‘work’ was a good idea. Even if he was just in a boardroom or whatever they thought he did, it would be too risky that he’d accidentally throw a desk through a wall. Breaking into somewhere? That might be a bit too literal at the moment. “No, I don’t think I’ll be working for a while. I think hermit-tude is the best option at the moment.”
“Provided you do not go… what is that saying,” Illya murmured as he turned a plastic fork over in his fingers as if he were twirling a knife. “...Stir crazy?”
Yes, that was the saying. Or at least he hoped it was.
“But I am sure that Gaby and I can assist in that regard.” Gaby was likely to be better company than Illya but that was a fact regardless of the situation. The Russian was a man of few words though he could speak volumes through facial expression alone.
It was not as though Illya’s social life was bursting at the seams.
Gaby smiled a little. “We’ll do our best to make sure you avoid going stir crazy,” she reassured, “Eat up. Once we have finished, Illya and I will pick up around the room and then we can work out what to do next.”
Films were likely a good idea. They would, of course, inevitably talk about their dreams as that was something it was hard to avoid thinking about, especially under the current circumstances.
At the very least, she thought, he won’t be alone. That was, after all, what friends were for.