"What rhymes with uncle," asked Napoleon.
He was sitting in the passenger seat of their hired car with a pad and pen, while his partner drove.
Illya glanced over to his partner and tried not to sigh. He had known from the moment they had been sent to Limerick, in Ireland, that Napoleon would eventually attempt to write one of the five line poems of the same name.
"Carbuncle," he suggested.
"Perfect!"
He fell silent for a minute or two before dramatically clearing his throat.
"There once were two agents from U.N.C.L.E.
Who to Thrush were a major carbuncle
They did all they were able
Against birdies so unstable
Those handsome, brave agents of U.N.C.L.E."
"Very clever," Illya replied, with a deadpan tone.
"You do better!" Napoleon challenged.
Illya thought for a while.
"Very well," he said.
Solo, who was a man who had flair
Was obsessed by his clothing and hair
His partner gave sighs
And rolled both his eyes
But Solo never noticed his glare."
"That isn't funny," Napoleon huffed, unconsciously teasing his hair into place.