Drabble: Food Fight
Okay, the second dw100 challenge word was "food" - pretty obvious who I'd be writing about for that one, eh? ;D It actually took me some time to come up with this particular idea, and I apologize wholeheartedly for stealing the concept (and the foods) from a 'Gatefic of which I do not remember the author.
Title: Food Fight
Summary: Illya's first food fight in the UNCLE cafeteria.
Notes: Gen, double drabble i.e. 200 words. Early partnership. Blue Jello courtesy of the SGC. ;-)
Splat! Something wet and gooshy hit Illya on the side of the jaw.
Closing his book quickly, the Russian glanced around the cafeteria, then scraped the substance off his neck with his fingers and looked at it speculatively. It appeared to be mashed potato.
“Food fight!” Napoleon Solo whooped, flinging a handful of Illya's blue Jello across the room.
“Hey!” Illya protested, then ducked a piece of flying meatloaf. “What is going on?”
Napoleon knocked the table over and crouched behind it. “Food fight... yeah, you wouldn't have those in Russia, I guess. It's a wasteful American custom where grown men throw food at each other.” He hurled a fistful of mashed potatoes over the table. “After a while, you get an instinct for them.”
Illya scowled for a moment, then his slow half-smile quirked across his face.
“Do not throw away any more food yet, please,” he requested. "I may have a better idea."
Finishing his Jello with a gulp, he took the bowl in one hand and popped his head up past the barrier. “Here I am!” he called.
He fielded the answering barrage perfectly and settled down to eat.
Title: Food Fight
Summary: Illya's first food fight in the UNCLE cafeteria.
Notes: Gen, double drabble i.e. 200 words. Early partnership. Blue Jello courtesy of the SGC. ;-)
Splat! Something wet and gooshy hit Illya on the side of the jaw.
Closing his book quickly, the Russian glanced around the cafeteria, then scraped the substance off his neck with his fingers and looked at it speculatively. It appeared to be mashed potato.
“Food fight!” Napoleon Solo whooped, flinging a handful of Illya's blue Jello across the room.
“Hey!” Illya protested, then ducked a piece of flying meatloaf. “What is going on?”
Napoleon knocked the table over and crouched behind it. “Food fight... yeah, you wouldn't have those in Russia, I guess. It's a wasteful American custom where grown men throw food at each other.” He hurled a fistful of mashed potatoes over the table. “After a while, you get an instinct for them.”
Illya scowled for a moment, then his slow half-smile quirked across his face.
“Do not throw away any more food yet, please,” he requested. "I may have a better idea."
Finishing his Jello with a gulp, he took the bowl in one hand and popped his head up past the barrier. “Here I am!” he called.
He fielded the answering barrage perfectly and settled down to eat.