Climate of Negatives
mfuwss drabble challenge: Santa Lucia
The Martyrdom of St. Illya
(slightly blasphemous txt)
Illya sat with his elbows on the rickety table, head cradled in his hands. Napoleon's cheerful "Good Morning!" was answered by a sustained groan.
"My eyelids feel like sandpaper."
"Ah. You got a pretty bad whiff of that THRUSH tear gas. How about some breakfast? A reward for a job-- if not well-done-- well-survived." He slid a laden plate under his partner's nose.
"I think this may be the first time I have said these words in my life, but I am not hungry." He looked down at the two poached eggs Napoleon had prepared and groaned again. "Ah. A Santa Lucia special. How entirely appropriate."