PSL with red_peril

[abyssum_invocat]

It wasn't uncommon at all to see Sinthia in the offices U.N.C.L.E. used, most usually in the spot of an analyst and whenever she was there working quite diligently on something new, and often urgent. (As if anything ever wasn't in that world.) She would disappear for periods, varying in length, but she would come back somehow different; it took her longer to answer the hellos and little things that still passed around as they would at any office, and she seemed somehow...less. Less herself, at any rate.

And things might have passed that way relatively unnoticed for a long time, had not she vanished from her desk for almost three months one day. People might have wondered where she'd gone until, on an otherwise unremarkable morning she walked out of Waverly's office and very early into Illya, to whom she had to back up a step and look directly up at.

"Ah, yes, Kuryakin," came the faint British voice. "You'll know Miss Schmidt. You're going to be working together. Solo is, well, solo for the moment. You'll be picked up for New York at eight tomorrow."

Comments

[red_peril]

"Pardon me, Miss Schmidt," he said softly, looking down at the smaller agent. Some people in the office still referred to him as the Giant, or Russian Bear. The blond agent stood almost a foot taller than the agent in front of him. "Yes, he frequently is," he said. He inclined his head toward her. "Yes, sir." There was no argument from him. He was still new to the fledgeling agency. While he knew who she was, Illya didn't know her very well. If she was acting strangely, he'd have no way of knowing.

[abyssum_invocat]

At the moment, she wasn't particularly acting any way; Sinthia was looking up at him with a strange expression, as if for a second she was trying to see through him.

But it was over in a moment as she stepped aside for him, with only the quiet acknowledgement of her name. "It's Sinthia," she said, and with one last glance at Waverly turned to leave at least for her desk; she had some paperwork to finish, though she could have sworn she'd completed analyses just like them a month ago. It was odd, how often she had the feeling of déjà vu with these assignments.

Two hours later and she was leaving, shrugging into a coat and belting it, and frowning at the rain coming down in sheets just past the glass door to the outside world. For someone who didn't have a umbrella--and didn't particularly feel like making a spectacle of herself with an ability a human shouldn't have had--it presented something of a challenge.

[red_peril]

"Illya," he replied. It was only polite, she had given him her first name. He watched her walk away before following Waverly into his office to be briefed on the upcoming mission.

"Miss Schmidt... Sinthia," he said as he walked up behind her. He had a large umbrella in one hand. "Would you like me to walk you to your car?"

[abyssum_invocat]

Well. That presented an interesting conundrum; Sinthia didn't drive. She never really had; sure, she knew how to drive a car, or much of anything else involving an accelerator and brake, but she hadn't seen the point in driving every day to a place she could just as easily teleport to.

Which was what she did, every morning from her home to three blocks away, from whence she walked. (And normally paid attention to the weather report.) She'd have remained silent, simply not answering his question, except Illya was still staring. Watching, staring, close enough.

"I...don't drive," she murmured, surprising even herself with the honesty. "I don't own a car."

[red_peril]

"Ah, I see. In that case, Sinthia, would you like a ride home?" he couldn't in good conscience let her walk home in this horrible downpour. "It would give us an opportunity to discuss the mission."

[abyssum_invocat]

She blinked at him once, glances flicking between Illya and the rain outside, and for the first time a flicker of curiosity streaked through her conscious thought: what if you told him what you are? But she shook herself out of it, and nodded.

"If you want. I don't mind the rain." It happened, and there was little else to do but put up with it. "Do you usually offer a ride to someone you don't know?"

[red_peril]

Illya opened the door and held it for her while opening the umbrella. "Considering that we will be working closely together tomorrow, I think we should get to know one another."

[abyssum_invocat]

"Do you know how closely?" she asks; he does know at least the gist of what they're supposed to be doing; there's a photographer connected to an experimental film technique that of course everyone wants a piece of. Their job is to convince him to share his technology with U.N.C.L.E. before he does it with anyone else, and while that might be accomplished somewhat quicker with only Illya doing it, getting him to actually cooperate without fear of death is why Sinthia is involved.

That and the fact that she has no objection to being potentially nude in a room full of strangers.

Sinthia tosses a semi-careless look up at the falling rain as he holds the door for her, making sure he doesn't get wet. The barrier she creates, though, is high enough up that the little curved blur of air shouldn't be noticed. Either way he wouldn't be able to trace it to her.

[red_peril]

"You are posing as a fashion model and I will be your manager and also we are to be romantically involved. This photographer is Is known to be... inappropriate with his subjects. He thought my being there and acting as your boyfriend as well as your manager would discourage that behavior."

The russian didn't notice the odd behavior of the rain, as he is focused on keeping Sinthia dry. "Have you worked in the field before?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"Not particularly," she answers honestly, turning the collar of her coat up; it isn't hard to stay under the covering of the umbrella when the Russian is easily tall enough to comfortably hold it above them both and their shoulders aren't getting in the way of occupying the same space.

"I'm assured it isn't very difficult." Evidently it had been noticed that she had an attractive enough body and face, and being female was accustomed to the layers of restrictive clothing and undergarments required. "What do you think you'd act like if we were involved?" she wondered aloud, watching the raindrops splatter on the concrete. "You don't know what I like in men." And truth be told she didn't either, though objectively speaking Illya was doing fine so far.

[red_peril]

"It may not be difficult to pose as a model, it can be very dangerous though, working in the field," he was already starting to worry for her safety. "Truthfully, I do not know your taste in men. If we were involved? I'm not sure how I would act. But I know I would not like this photographer to take advantage of you," he said, his lips becoming a thin line. Just thinking about the photographer made him worry for her.

[abyssum_invocat]

She looked out of the corner of her eye at him, studying his incredibly displeased expression. "You don't have to worry about me," she murmured.

"I'll be fine. As, I expect, will you." She could handle herself perfectly well--a fact that would be demonstrated at some point, that was assured. People never knew what was good for their own self-preservation when dealing with unknown quantities, especially female quantities. "I like tall men."

The little joke, meant to tease him a little bit, was slipped out quietly, without calling much attention to the sentiment. Just to see if he'd noticed.

[red_peril]

"I am certain that if Waverly chose you for this job that he thought you would make a capable agent," he said. He was quiet for a moment, until she made her joke. "Well, I believe I have that covered," he said in all seriousness.

[abyssum_invocat]

"You are very easily convinced, then," Sinthia replies, and a flash of a quick smile appears, half-hidden by virtue of his height and her collar.

"Best to start with the easy things," she says. "What do you like in women?" She knew--everyone knew--what his sometime partner's preferences were; breathing, usually, and legally old enough. But there were few such rumors about the Russian's tastes, and if for no other reason than that it would help their cover, she found herself curious about him.

"I hope you won't say blonde."

[red_peril]

"Let's say I trust Waverly's judgement," he did see the corner of her mouth raise, barely. Unlike Solo, Illya worked to keep his love life out of the public eye. In reality, his tastes were not unlike his partner's. His sense of humor, however, was entirely different. "It is a shame you are brunette. We could always buy you a wig." He tried hard to hide a smirk.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Mmm," she hummed as if considering, or politely declining, though the sound bobbled just enough to let slip the mask of her laughing; it was a little blip, nothing more, but if heard more fully it would have been a pleasantly throaty sound, all in all. "I think a wig would make me look strange. Black eyelashes," Sinthia murmurs, looking up at the fabric of the umbrella covering them and using it as an excuse to stretch her neck. Her shoulders were often tense after the hours spent leaning over reports and translations.

"And then they might think we were siblings."

[red_peril]

"Many women bleach their hair," he teasingly suggested. "I do not think they would bleach their eyelashes." Illya let out a soft chuckle, "That would be very strange, sestrenka!"

[abyssum_invocat]

"You don't?" she asks, a little mischievous light dancing behind the tiny upturn of her mouth as she looks up and over at him.

"Many women are told that if they want to be beautiful they must be something else," Sinthia says, halfway an explanation and halfway not. She shrugs it out of the way fairly quickly; now is not the time to get into a discourse on how the world--especially their world--treats women. There will be enough demonstration of that tomorrow, she thinks.

"What about your eyelashes?" she queries. "Do they match your hair, брат?"

[red_peril]

"I would not care to have something that dangerous close to my eyes," he teased back. There were no ends to some people's vanity. "True. A woman who is truly beautiful doesn't need to change anything."

"My eyelashes? I don't know I haven't looked that closely at them."

[abyssum_invocat]

"That's a pity. Maybe you should," she says, admirably straight-faced for such a request. Illya had a handsome face, and pretty eyes, though Sinthia would have been willing to bet not many people had ever told the man that.

They were almost to his car--or what she assumed was his, he'd been leading her and Sinthia hadn't normally opted to pay attention to what other people drove; if it was important, she'd have had the information. "Thank you for the ride."

[red_peril]

"I will take your suggestion under advisement," he said, opening the door of the powder blue 1960 Ferrari 250 Gt for her. The small sports car seemed tiny with the large Russian standing next to it. "You are most welcome."

Once she was seated, he closed the door and moved around to the other side. Folding the umbrella, he tucked it behind the seats as he climbed into the car with very little trouble. His own seat was a few inches lower and pushed back a little to accommodate his long legs. "So, where shall I drop you off?"

[abyssum_invocat]

She gave him her address; it was a very nice building, and she lived in the small apartment on the top floor; the balcony was large, and she liked the light the windows let in, and she was rarely bothered. Although, her being dropped off by a man in a Ferrari would certainly get some looks thrown her way, Sinthia thought idly.

On the way she leaned her head back and over to one side to watch the rain past the glass, comfortable in the car herself, if occupied by thoughts of what she would need for tomorrow. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then. I hear the weather in New York is nice."

[red_peril]

"I will pick you up promptly at eight in the morning," he said as he pulled to a stop in front of her building. "Our flight for New York leaves at nine-thirty." It would be a short flight. They would be landing in less than an hour. They would have just a couple of hours to prepare for the job. "Sithia, have you done any modeling before?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"I have no worries about your punctuality," she says with a gentle smile, one hand on the door pull before he asks her if she's ever modeled before.

Sinthia shakes her head once, negative. "I have not. But I know what to do," she says; and she does, she simply doesn't remember learning it. Implanted memories do their job admirably, if sometimes...soullessly. It's an unavoidable side effect. For now.

[red_peril]

He nodded and smiled, "I think you will do fine. You're a very attractive woman, Sinthia." The compliment was given without flirtation or guile nor with the expectation that he would get anything in return. "Good night," he said as she got out of the car.