shallow, gnarled roots
The cafe Sanders brings Napoleon to is situated by a river, running water babbling and bouncing off the tiled floor like a message: We know your weaknesses, vampire. Best you know your place. Napoleon wouldn't share the fact that running water only gave him goosebumps, providing he was well fed. (He was always well fed, not a man to deny his needs, not even a man who denies his wants.) Napoleon glances around the table, cataloguing Sanders' measured sips of coffee, the kind of swallows Napoleon might take to disguise his wandering eyes. Sanders wouldn't make a very good spy. But he didn't need to. That's why Napoleon was here.
"You've given me a babysitter," he says, a half-accusation that he does little to disguise. "I offer you the perfect spy, and you assign him a babysitter. He's Russian."
"Mr. Solo, you are a con, not a spy. You're not even human."
(originally a one-shot, can still be read as such!)
- Part 1 of shallow, gnarled roots
“This isn’t exactly a private venue though. I thought you had better sense than that.”
“Convenient, then, that I do not answer to your kind,” Oleg presents a folder to Illya, an exchange so blatantly obvious it hurt. Napoleon forces his expression to remain neutral. From the ram-rod angle of Illya’s back, Napoleon gathers Oleg isn’t worth his time.
“Of course. Lovely seeing you again.”
- Part 2 of shallow, gnarled roots