1
THE REESE'S AFFAIR
2 Question: How would Napoleon Solo eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?
Answer: Charismatically.
In a large room with rich, red walls and an Oriental feel about it, a still- wrapped peanut butter cup on a china plate sits on a finely carved mahogany table. It is not your standard, candy-bar type two pack, but only a single. A solo, if you will.
The door opens and Napoleon Solo strolls in, his hands casually thrust into his trouser pockets. He is wearing a perfectly-tailored Madison Avenue suit, the exquisite cut setting off his broad shoulders and narrow hips and hiding the gun you know is in a shoulder holster underneath.
He sees the candy and starts over, a look of idle interest on his handsome face. He starts to reach for it and realizes you are there, invisible, watching him. He freezes in mid-movement. A slow smile lights his face and warms his deep brown eyes. He glances up, without raising his head, and finds the hidden camera. The smile turns mischievous.
So, you want to know how I eat a Reese's, hmmm?
Deliberately, he approaches the table, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, watching you watch him. He reaches down and runs sensitive fingertips over the candy. Ever so gently he turns it over and slowly, very slowly, he uses one finger to break the glue and open the wrapper.
He knows what you're thinking.
He sets aside the cardboard base and carefully peels the paper cup away, leaving the chocolate lying there naked on the plate.
Finally he raises his head and looks directly into the camera, grinning at you. Without breaking eye contact he raises the candy to his lips and eats it slowly and with obvious enjoyment. When he has finished the last bite he very carefully licks the chocolate from his fingers. His grin widens as he takes out a pocket-handkerchief and wipes his hands. Pushing his hands back into his pockets he breaks into a quiet laugh as he turns and saunters casually away.
3 Question: How would Illya Kuryakin eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?
Answer: Enigmatically.
Yet another single wrapped peanut butter cup sits on a lab bench in a well- equipped laboratory whose walls just happen to be the perfect shade of blue to bring out a certain Russian's eyes. The door opens and Illya Kuryakin walks in. He is wearing black jeans and that adorable black turtleneck, the dark colors making his golden-blond hair almost white by comparison.
He sees the peanut butter cup and freezes just inside the door. His baby- blue eyes scan the room carefully, then return to focus on the candy. Carefully, stealthily, he approaches the lab bench. He moves like a cat, sensible, obviously, to the possibility that this innocent-looking candy may, in fact, be a well-disguised infernal device.
As he reaches the bench he ducks out of sight, stooping down to check under the bench for trip wires or timing mechanisms. Finally the top of his head comes into view, followed by his forehead, a pair of blond eyebrows and (have I mentioned them yet?) baby-blue eyes. He freezes there, peering intently at the peanut butter cup. Reaching out, he takes a scalpel from a nearby instrument tray and carefully lifts the candy, one corner at a time, until he is satisfied that it is not attached to the bench.
Standing again, he uses the sharp blade of the scalpel to carefully slit an x in the top of the candy wrapper. Taking up a pair of forceps, he delicately pulls aside the paper and lifts the peanut butter cup out without touching it. He uses the scalpel to slit a small edge off of the candy and, leaning in close, sniffs at it experimentally. Blond eyebrows knit in thought. He pulls over a microscope and peers through it at the candy.
Finally, he pushes the microscope aside, picks up the sliver of candy and cautiously tastes it. His eyebrows rise in mild, pleasant surprise. He disposes of the rest of the candy in two bites and casually sucks the chocolate from his fingers as he heads for the door.
Just as he reaches it he turns and you realize he's smirking. That is, when you raise your eyes back to the level of his face where they belong – work with me here! – you realize he's smirking. He finds the camera without having to look for it. Blue eyes peer through the lens and directly into yours.
He winks once and is gone.
And then, only then do you realize he knew you were there all along. Of course he did! He would, wouldn't he? And the whole performance was an act for your benefit and his amusement.
4 Question: How would an evil Thrush villain eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?
Answer: Unsuccessfully.
We are in yet another laboratory, this one of the "mad scientist" persuasion. A package of peanut butter cups – a two-pack this time – is fastened into one of your standard evil machines. This one looks like a cross between a big, clunky record player and a particle accelerator. The villain stands before it gloating and rubbing his hands together.
"Nyeh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!"
He is a short, stout, balding man with big, thick glasses and he is dressed unbecomingly in a grungy white lab coat with a stylized thrush on the pocket. Engrossed in his evil plans, he does not see two ropes coil down from the ceiling behind him.
Feet first, Our Heroes appear.
(Please feel free to imagine this part as slooowly as you like . . .)
Napoleon is still wearing the Madison Avenue suit, but now he is ever so slightly mussed up. His tie is crooked and the act of sliding down the rope distorts the hang of his clothing. A single lock of hair has fallen over his eyes, giving him the rakish look of an elegant pirate or a mischievous little boy who was supposed to stay neat and did not.
Illya is wearing black jeans once again, but he has exchanged the turtleneck for a black T-shirt that is slightly too small and just tight enough to highlight his bulging biceps and detail every perfect muscle on his hard, sexy torso.
Their feet touch the floor. Um, excuse me? Their feet touch the floor? Okay, look, I know what I said, but you have to stop ogling them and let them come down eventually!
Okay?
Okay!
So . . . their feet finally, at long last, touch the floor! The villain, intent upon his evil scheme, does not notice their cute, adorable, sexy . . . ahem . . . does not notice their presence behind him.
He turns on his machine and a high pitched whining fills the air. The candy begins to vibrate. Suddenly the wrapper flies off. The part of the device with the peanut butter cups begins to revolve, slowly at first but picking up speed.
Behind the mad scientist's back a silent conversation is going on.
Illya looks at Napoleon, eyebrows canted very slightly. It is clearly a question.
Napoleon wriggles his shoulders, settling his jacket snugly, and smartly straightens his tie.
The Russian's forehead wrinkles in concern. Are you sure?
Solo shrugs carelessly. Why not?
Kuryakin tilts his head to the side and raises one shoulder. If you think so, very well.
Napoleon comes up on the scientist's left side and taps him authoritatively on the shoulder. Startled, the villain spins to confront him, turning his back on Illya who swiftly steps up and deals him a stunning karate blow to the back of the neck. He drops like a stone and they stand there for an instant looking down at him. As one they lean forward, heads close together, to peer intently at the poor, defenseless candy that is trapped on the evil machine.
This has got to be a close-up
Napoleon glances sideways at Illya, one eyebrow raised. Can you stop the machine?
Illya nods very slightly. Of course.
Searching around the edge of the machine he locates a black cord. He traces it to a wall outlet. He pulls the plug.
The high-pitched whining increases in volume. Smoke begins pouring out of the machine. Looking surprised the two agents hit the floor.
The machine explodes.
One after another the peanut butter cups arc through the air. Napoleon does a tuck-and-roll, winding up perfectly positioned to catch the first piece of candy. Standing gracefully, he half turns and snags the other one out of the air behind his back. You know he's just showing off. He could have just as easily caught it in front of him.
Illya knows too, and he scowls disapprovingly at his partner. It's only a sham, though; his blue eyes are dancing. They start towards one another. Suddenly the evil scientist stirs and pushes himself to a sitting position. His head wobbles on his shoulders, his gaze is unfocused and his glasses are askew on his face. Like a flash Illya is behind him, in a crouch, his hand raised for another karate chop.
Before he can strike our evil villain passes out again, falling limply like a rag doll and leaving Illya poised to fight but with no opponent.
Napoleon looks at Illya, eyes dancing. Well?
Illya relaxes and straightens, glaring at Solo. Well what?
Napoleon grins and tosses his partner one of the peanut butter cups. Illya catches it easily. They fall in together and leave the room side by side, snacking in companionable silence.
5 THE END
(Sorry. Sorry! Justin wouldn't stop singing Sponge Bob Square Pants. Next time I'll write a real story. I promise! )
2 Question: How would Napoleon Solo eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?
Answer: Charismatically.
In a large room with rich, red walls and an Oriental feel about it, a still- wrapped peanut butter cup on a china plate sits on a finely carved mahogany table. It is not your standard, candy-bar type two pack, but only a single. A solo, if you will.
The door opens and Napoleon Solo strolls in, his hands casually thrust into his trouser pockets. He is wearing a perfectly-tailored Madison Avenue suit, the exquisite cut setting off his broad shoulders and narrow hips and hiding the gun you know is in a shoulder holster underneath.
He sees the candy and starts over, a look of idle interest on his handsome face. He starts to reach for it and realizes you are there, invisible, watching him. He freezes in mid-movement. A slow smile lights his face and warms his deep brown eyes. He glances up, without raising his head, and finds the hidden camera. The smile turns mischievous.
So, you want to know how I eat a Reese's, hmmm?
Deliberately, he approaches the table, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, watching you watch him. He reaches down and runs sensitive fingertips over the candy. Ever so gently he turns it over and slowly, very slowly, he uses one finger to break the glue and open the wrapper.
He knows what you're thinking.
He sets aside the cardboard base and carefully peels the paper cup away, leaving the chocolate lying there naked on the plate.
Finally he raises his head and looks directly into the camera, grinning at you. Without breaking eye contact he raises the candy to his lips and eats it slowly and with obvious enjoyment. When he has finished the last bite he very carefully licks the chocolate from his fingers. His grin widens as he takes out a pocket-handkerchief and wipes his hands. Pushing his hands back into his pockets he breaks into a quiet laugh as he turns and saunters casually away.
3 Question: How would Illya Kuryakin eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?
Answer: Enigmatically.
Yet another single wrapped peanut butter cup sits on a lab bench in a well- equipped laboratory whose walls just happen to be the perfect shade of blue to bring out a certain Russian's eyes. The door opens and Illya Kuryakin walks in. He is wearing black jeans and that adorable black turtleneck, the dark colors making his golden-blond hair almost white by comparison.
He sees the peanut butter cup and freezes just inside the door. His baby- blue eyes scan the room carefully, then return to focus on the candy. Carefully, stealthily, he approaches the lab bench. He moves like a cat, sensible, obviously, to the possibility that this innocent-looking candy may, in fact, be a well-disguised infernal device.
As he reaches the bench he ducks out of sight, stooping down to check under the bench for trip wires or timing mechanisms. Finally the top of his head comes into view, followed by his forehead, a pair of blond eyebrows and (have I mentioned them yet?) baby-blue eyes. He freezes there, peering intently at the peanut butter cup. Reaching out, he takes a scalpel from a nearby instrument tray and carefully lifts the candy, one corner at a time, until he is satisfied that it is not attached to the bench.
Standing again, he uses the sharp blade of the scalpel to carefully slit an x in the top of the candy wrapper. Taking up a pair of forceps, he delicately pulls aside the paper and lifts the peanut butter cup out without touching it. He uses the scalpel to slit a small edge off of the candy and, leaning in close, sniffs at it experimentally. Blond eyebrows knit in thought. He pulls over a microscope and peers through it at the candy.
Finally, he pushes the microscope aside, picks up the sliver of candy and cautiously tastes it. His eyebrows rise in mild, pleasant surprise. He disposes of the rest of the candy in two bites and casually sucks the chocolate from his fingers as he heads for the door.
Just as he reaches it he turns and you realize he's smirking. That is, when you raise your eyes back to the level of his face where they belong – work with me here! – you realize he's smirking. He finds the camera without having to look for it. Blue eyes peer through the lens and directly into yours.
He winks once and is gone.
And then, only then do you realize he knew you were there all along. Of course he did! He would, wouldn't he? And the whole performance was an act for your benefit and his amusement.
4 Question: How would an evil Thrush villain eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?
Answer: Unsuccessfully.
We are in yet another laboratory, this one of the "mad scientist" persuasion. A package of peanut butter cups – a two-pack this time – is fastened into one of your standard evil machines. This one looks like a cross between a big, clunky record player and a particle accelerator. The villain stands before it gloating and rubbing his hands together.
"Nyeh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!"
He is a short, stout, balding man with big, thick glasses and he is dressed unbecomingly in a grungy white lab coat with a stylized thrush on the pocket. Engrossed in his evil plans, he does not see two ropes coil down from the ceiling behind him.
Feet first, Our Heroes appear.
(Please feel free to imagine this part as slooowly as you like . . .)
Napoleon is still wearing the Madison Avenue suit, but now he is ever so slightly mussed up. His tie is crooked and the act of sliding down the rope distorts the hang of his clothing. A single lock of hair has fallen over his eyes, giving him the rakish look of an elegant pirate or a mischievous little boy who was supposed to stay neat and did not.
Illya is wearing black jeans once again, but he has exchanged the turtleneck for a black T-shirt that is slightly too small and just tight enough to highlight his bulging biceps and detail every perfect muscle on his hard, sexy torso.
Their feet touch the floor. Um, excuse me? Their feet touch the floor? Okay, look, I know what I said, but you have to stop ogling them and let them come down eventually!
Okay?
Okay!
So . . . their feet finally, at long last, touch the floor! The villain, intent upon his evil scheme, does not notice their cute, adorable, sexy . . . ahem . . . does not notice their presence behind him.
He turns on his machine and a high pitched whining fills the air. The candy begins to vibrate. Suddenly the wrapper flies off. The part of the device with the peanut butter cups begins to revolve, slowly at first but picking up speed.
Behind the mad scientist's back a silent conversation is going on.
Illya looks at Napoleon, eyebrows canted very slightly. It is clearly a question.
Napoleon wriggles his shoulders, settling his jacket snugly, and smartly straightens his tie.
The Russian's forehead wrinkles in concern. Are you sure?
Solo shrugs carelessly. Why not?
Kuryakin tilts his head to the side and raises one shoulder. If you think so, very well.
Napoleon comes up on the scientist's left side and taps him authoritatively on the shoulder. Startled, the villain spins to confront him, turning his back on Illya who swiftly steps up and deals him a stunning karate blow to the back of the neck. He drops like a stone and they stand there for an instant looking down at him. As one they lean forward, heads close together, to peer intently at the poor, defenseless candy that is trapped on the evil machine.
This has got to be a close-up
Napoleon glances sideways at Illya, one eyebrow raised. Can you stop the machine?
Illya nods very slightly. Of course.
Searching around the edge of the machine he locates a black cord. He traces it to a wall outlet. He pulls the plug.
The high-pitched whining increases in volume. Smoke begins pouring out of the machine. Looking surprised the two agents hit the floor.
The machine explodes.
One after another the peanut butter cups arc through the air. Napoleon does a tuck-and-roll, winding up perfectly positioned to catch the first piece of candy. Standing gracefully, he half turns and snags the other one out of the air behind his back. You know he's just showing off. He could have just as easily caught it in front of him.
Illya knows too, and he scowls disapprovingly at his partner. It's only a sham, though; his blue eyes are dancing. They start towards one another. Suddenly the evil scientist stirs and pushes himself to a sitting position. His head wobbles on his shoulders, his gaze is unfocused and his glasses are askew on his face. Like a flash Illya is behind him, in a crouch, his hand raised for another karate chop.
Before he can strike our evil villain passes out again, falling limply like a rag doll and leaving Illya poised to fight but with no opponent.
Napoleon looks at Illya, eyes dancing. Well?
Illya relaxes and straightens, glaring at Solo. Well what?
Napoleon grins and tosses his partner one of the peanut butter cups. Illya catches it easily. They fall in together and leave the room side by side, snacking in companionable silence.
5 THE END
(Sorry. Sorry! Justin wouldn't stop singing Sponge Bob Square Pants. Next time I'll write a real story. I promise! )