There was an exchange of gunfire, then silence.
"I think I'm hit."
Napoleon scowled. Concern competed with irritation at what seemed like a predictable outcome for the Russian.
"You need to cut your hair, it makes you too much of a target."
Now it was Illya's turn to scowl.
"You know, Santa won't bring you presents if you're not nice to the poor Soviet orphan boy."
"What? Now you're using my Santa Claus as a threat?"
The irritation lost out as Napoleon spotted a bloom of red on his partner's shirt.
"Where's a sleigh and reindeer when you need them?"
