[ glancing down at his hands as they shimmer in and out of existence, solo finds himself glad that the network does not require actual typing. it's a practical thought, pragmatic, and for a moment it is enough to keep the panic clawing at his throat at bay, even if that realisation has him swallowing laughter that he fears would be hysterical more than anything else.
the text is carefully composed to be utterly casual, of course. ]
[ panic is a fairly comfortable tension in illya chest. like an old friend he can't quite rid himself of. it's his reaction that has changed. his reaction that he can control.
the fact that solo is reaching out to him about it lets him know that at the very least, the American seems to be dealing with the same...curious current state of affairs. illya himself has been trying to figure out some kind of pattern to the odd state of affairs. he's been watching his arms fade in and out for the better part of the last two hours, but had been woken up by finding himself out in the hallway.
that had caused some level of panic. the phasing of his hands were on a much more subdued scale. ]
Telling you defeats the purpose of the question, don't you think?
[ casual. casual.
(the displacement is something solo can cope with far more than the thought of disappearing, of being insubstantial, of being gone. he's not thinking about that.) ]
If you have nothing to say, why did you contact me?
[ it's shorter and more annoyed than illya technically feels. solo reaching out gives him a lifeline, a connection to someone else, rather than the slow descent on his own that he had the potential of slipping into.
napoleon's text forces illya out of his head. out of his ideas. it brings him to whatever this relationship between the two of them is supposed to be, now that they're without country or loyalty (if only temporarily).
that is when it dawns on him - they share this room, much to illya's chagrin. ]
Where are you?
[ if solo reached out, then something must be happening, but behind these things he can avoid any direct answers. illya doesn't have the patience for that today. ]
[ ah. solo had hoped to avoid this, but even through text, illya's annoyance bleeds through and solo finds himself unable to lie.
(he considers that a character flaw, yes, thank you for asking. but he's—stretched thin and scared, not unlike he'd been when uncle rudi'd had him strapped to that contraption, and
[ maybe illya was just getting good at noticing when solo was hiding something. he liked to think he could read the other man a little better than others.
he doesn't bother answering him - getting up from where he'd been sitting and making his way to the bar. without any sort of announcement, he steps into the room and continues on inside, settling into the chair next to the other man.
it doesn't take more than a couple of seconds until he notices what must have solo so worked up, and illya lets out a sigh. ] I haven't noticed a pattern. Or any sort of consistency to when it starts and stops. [ a beat, and his eyes move to solo's face. there's a kind of tension in there, he thinks. something the other man is holding back.
or maybe he's imagining it. it's hard to tell with napoleon solo. ]
[ it would have been too much to hope for illya to just stay away, would it? —solo knows that he shouldn't have reached out if he truly didn't want illya there, didn't want him to see him like this. he doesn't. and he does.
best not to think about that, either.
he's been waiting for a moment when his hand is solid enough to pour more of the space rum into his glass, but he hasn't been having much luck in the last while. ]
Peril.
[ just a friendly greeting, nothing to see here. (he wonders if illya can see how fast his heart is beating, if his pulse shows at his throat. he knows better; illya isn't actually superhuman, and yet.) ]
[ illya was perfectly happy to stay separate and in their room, dealing with whatever is going on, all by himself. he's spent much of his life that way, it is easy to keep it up here.
but solo was the one who texted him. and illya's instincts are the reason he got as far as he did in his life. those instincts, or something in his gut, brought him here.
they were partners, back home, after all. coworkers. he would be wise to learn and take heed of his reading of the other man. he eyes the drink, the fact solo hasn't filled it, and reaches over to do it for him - pouring a generous glass for napoleon before standing to reach across the bar for an empty glass of his own. ]
I woke up in the hallway this morning. The doors were still locked when I went to get back in.
[ solo says he works better alone and that has generally been true-- but the truth is also that he is a hedonist and greedy with it, that there's really no joy in being clever when there's no one to observe it, less joy in decadence when he cannot enjoy it with someone else (or rub their nose in it).
the truth is that he's a social creature. deep down, perhaps, but he is. he's a social creature and that explains more about texting illya than their partnership does. (no, that is not true: he won't admit to it, not even in the privacy of his own head, but the times when he didn't care about illya are gone. have been gone since he made the choice not to drive off in a stolen truck.
he wishes, sometimes, that he were as callous and heartless and autonomous as he may claim to be. it would be easier, wouldn't it?) ]
How fortunate that the doors here are so intelligent.
[ illya pours and solo narrows his eyes, reaching for the glass but stopping before his fingers can connect. he's not sure he wants to know whether he's solid enough to hold it. he's not sure he wants the misery and humiliation of the glass shattering on the floor or the liquor over his suit. ]
[ illya could say the same, if he wanted to be honest, and it would probably be more true. because alongside his proficiency in working alone, illya did not have the personality that attracted attention. he did not have the need to show off to anyone but napoleon and he did not need the company.
( what did it say about him, then, that the moment he was forced to work with a partner - the moment that a team was brought into the picture - he couldn't bring himself to turn away? not from gaby, even when he thought she'd betrayed him. not from solo, in the torture chair and then again when they faced each other in solo's room, their missions between them, their lives on the line. )
but here he was all the same, and despite his best efforts, comforted to at least not be alone in this. he watches solo reach for the glass and then hesitate. his eyes go from solo's hand to his face, and then illya turns forward again. pointedly not calling attention to whatever moment solo is trying to decide for himself. ]
We'll see if you feel the same when you wake up out in space.
[ it's a harmless threat, a jab without any mallace to it, and solo takes a sip of the rum, making a face as he swallows it back. ]
Where do you find this shit?
[ apparently it's not good rum. or at least- not what illya wanted to taste when he took his sip. ]
Right behind the bar. [ in a moment of being able to grasp, he'd taken hold of the first thing he could without checking the label. ] And trust me when I say that it doesn't meet my standards.
[ he's a man of refined taste. a well-aged whiskey, a good glass of wine, these things are more to his liking than this space rum.
(the truth of it is that he doesn't care right now, just wants to feel the burn of it down his throat and get drunk enough to dull the fear that is clawing at him each time his fingers go through an object instead of meeting it, but if he admitted as much, where would they be?) ]
You'd like that, wouldn't you? If I ended up spaced. But I'm not planning on letting you get a single that easily. [ is a decent show at giving as good as he gets, at volleying back illya's jab. it's normal, or close enough to it, and that settles something inside solo.
Your standards are shit, but this is bad even for you.
[ again, another easy lie. illya knows enough about napoleon solo, both from his research and his time with the man, to know about solo's impeccable taste. would illya prefer a strong russian vodka to dark liquor any day? yes. does that mean he's going to stop drinking whatever this is supposed to be? absolutely not.
he stares at the cup for a few more moments before sighing, accepting the fate he's now placed upon himself, and knocks back half, if not the whole, pour in one go. he's not going to be sipping whatever this is, and if the point is what he believes it to be, taking it as a shot will do the same work.
it may be the alcohol, or maybe it's something in what solo volleys back to him, but illya coughs - once - before lifting a wrist to wipe at his mouth. coughing once more and then giving a shake of his head. ]
I'm unsure. From the tests we had been privy to back in Russia, a death by being spaced [ he'll use solo's word for that, though it feels odd on his tongue. ] is quick but painful. [ illya shakes his head, as if trying to ignore the sudden cold that washes over him. trying to push beyond the flash of an image, of solo adrift out one of the windows, from his mind. ] No, I don't think I would let space take that from me. If you are to die, Napoleon Solo, it will be at my own hands.
[ except that there is not a single hint of actual malice to his words. if anything, what hovers somewhere between the spaces of the letters is a fondness. a joking tone. he can tell something is off in the other man, and it's an attempt to lighten that weight. so much that illya may even have a small smile on his face if napoleon turns to check.
[ somewhere between illya's cough and his words, solo starts chuckling. it's better, probably, than letting his gaze track a drop of liquor on illya's lips, wiped off, smeared across mouth and wrist.
it's better. it's not good. he's still cuckling when illya tells him that if he is to die, it'll be at illya's hands.
(it's a joke, illya's kidding, he gets that, he does, but it's also--
he's laughing because it's a comfort.) ]
Careful, Peril. [ he chances letting his fingers connect with his glass. solid, for the moment. risks lifting it to his mouth and taking a sip, controlled and slow, not rushing it even though he doesn't know how long he'll be able to hold something this time, when his body will turn insubstantial again, a ghost instead of man. ] It almost sounds like you care.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
event text, not a misfire, private.
Date: 2021-03-12 09:40 pm (UTC)the text is carefully composed to be utterly casual, of course. ]
Have you been noticing anything unusual?
did you miss him. c:
Date: 2021-04-02 01:28 pm (UTC)[ panic is a fairly comfortable tension in illya chest. like an old friend he can't quite rid himself of. it's his reaction that has changed. his reaction that he can control.
the fact that solo is reaching out to him about it lets him know that at the very least, the American seems to be dealing with the same...curious current state of affairs. illya himself has been trying to figure out some kind of pattern to the odd state of affairs. he's been watching his arms fade in and out for the better part of the last two hours, but had been woken up by finding himself out in the hallway.
that had caused some level of panic. the phasing of his hands were on a much more subdued scale. ]
so much, always
Date: 2021-04-02 02:00 pm (UTC)[ casual. casual.
(the displacement is something solo can cope with far more than the thought of disappearing, of being insubstantial, of being gone. he's not thinking about that.) ]
so needy, cowboy
Date: 2021-04-02 02:39 pm (UTC)[ it's shorter and more annoyed than illya technically feels. solo reaching out gives him a lifeline, a connection to someone else, rather than the slow descent on his own that he had the potential of slipping into.
napoleon's text forces illya out of his head. out of his ideas. it brings him to whatever this relationship between the two of them is supposed to be, now that they're without country or loyalty (if only temporarily).
that is when it dawns on him - they share this room, much to illya's chagrin. ]
Where are you?
[ if solo reached out, then something must be happening, but behind these things he can avoid any direct answers. illya doesn't have the patience for that today. ]
he is, please love him
Date: 2021-04-02 02:42 pm (UTC)(he considers that a character flaw, yes, thank you for asking. but he's—stretched thin and scared, not unlike he'd been when uncle rudi'd had him strapped to that contraption, and
look. it doesn't matter.) ]
The bar.
no subject
Date: 2021-04-02 05:08 pm (UTC)he doesn't bother answering him - getting up from where he'd been sitting and making his way to the bar. without any sort of announcement, he steps into the room and continues on inside, settling into the chair next to the other man.
it doesn't take more than a couple of seconds until he notices what must have solo so worked up, and illya lets out a sigh. ] I haven't noticed a pattern. Or any sort of consistency to when it starts and stops. [ a beat, and his eyes move to solo's face. there's a kind of tension in there, he thinks. something the other man is holding back.
or maybe he's imagining it. it's hard to tell with napoleon solo. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-02 06:02 pm (UTC)best not to think about that, either.
he's been waiting for a moment when his hand is solid enough to pour more of the space rum into his glass, but he hasn't been having much luck in the last while. ]
Peril.
[ just a friendly greeting, nothing to see here. (he wonders if illya can see how fast his heart is beating, if his pulse shows at his throat. he knows better; illya isn't actually superhuman, and yet.) ]
So it's been happening to you, too.
no subject
Date: 2021-04-02 09:13 pm (UTC)but solo was the one who texted him. and illya's instincts are the reason he got as far as he did in his life. those instincts, or something in his gut, brought him here.
they were partners, back home, after all. coworkers. he would be wise to learn and take heed of his reading of the other man. he eyes the drink, the fact solo hasn't filled it, and reaches over to do it for him - pouring a generous glass for napoleon before standing to reach across the bar for an empty glass of his own. ]
I woke up in the hallway this morning. The doors were still locked when I went to get back in.
no subject
Date: 2021-04-03 05:42 pm (UTC)the truth is that he's a social creature. deep down, perhaps, but he is. he's a social creature and that explains more about texting illya than their partnership does. (no, that is not true: he won't admit to it, not even in the privacy of his own head, but the times when he didn't care about illya are gone. have been gone since he made the choice not to drive off in a stolen truck.
he wishes, sometimes, that he were as callous and heartless and autonomous as he may claim to be. it would be easier, wouldn't it?) ]
How fortunate that the doors here are so intelligent.
[ illya pours and solo narrows his eyes, reaching for the glass but stopping before his fingers can connect. he's not sure he wants to know whether he's solid enough to hold it. he's not sure he wants the misery and humiliation of the glass shattering on the floor or the liquor over his suit. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-08 04:41 pm (UTC)to anyone but napoleonand he did not need the company.( what did it say about him, then, that the moment he was forced to work with a partner - the moment that a team was brought into the picture - he couldn't bring himself to turn away? not from gaby, even when he thought she'd betrayed him. not from solo, in the torture chair and then again when they faced each other in solo's room, their missions between them, their lives on the line. )
but here he was all the same, and despite his best efforts, comforted to at least not be alone in this. he watches solo reach for the glass and then hesitate. his eyes go from solo's hand to his face, and then illya turns forward again. pointedly not calling attention to whatever moment solo is trying to decide for himself. ]
We'll see if you feel the same when you wake up out in space.
[ it's a harmless threat, a jab without any mallace to it, and solo takes a sip of the rum, making a face as he swallows it back. ]
Where do you find this shit?
[ apparently it's not good rum. or at least- not what illya wanted to taste when he took his sip. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-17 08:38 pm (UTC)[ he's a man of refined taste. a well-aged whiskey, a good glass of wine, these things are more to his liking than this space rum.
(the truth of it is that he doesn't care right now, just wants to feel the burn of it down his throat and get drunk enough to dull the fear that is clawing at him each time his fingers go through an object instead of meeting it, but if he admitted as much, where would they be?) ]
You'd like that, wouldn't you? If I ended up spaced. But I'm not planning on letting you get a single that easily. [ is a decent show at giving as good as he gets, at volleying back illya's jab. it's normal, or close enough to it, and that settles something inside solo.
he's not going to examine that too closely. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-07-29 02:20 pm (UTC)[ again, another easy lie. illya knows enough about napoleon solo, both from his research and his time with the man, to know about solo's impeccable taste. would illya prefer a strong russian vodka to dark liquor any day? yes. does that mean he's going to stop drinking whatever this is supposed to be? absolutely not.
he stares at the cup for a few more moments before sighing, accepting the fate he's now placed upon himself, and knocks back half, if not the whole, pour in one go. he's not going to be sipping whatever this is, and if the point is what he believes it to be, taking it as a shot will do the same work.
it may be the alcohol, or maybe it's something in what solo volleys back to him, but illya coughs - once - before lifting a wrist to wipe at his mouth. coughing once more and then giving a shake of his head. ]
I'm unsure. From the tests we had been privy to back in Russia, a death by being spaced [ he'll use solo's word for that, though it feels odd on his tongue. ] is quick but painful. [ illya shakes his head, as if trying to ignore the sudden cold that washes over him. trying to push beyond the flash of an image, of solo adrift out one of the windows, from his mind. ] No, I don't think I would let space take that from me. If you are to die, Napoleon Solo, it will be at my own hands.
[ except that there is not a single hint of actual malice to his words. if anything, what hovers somewhere between the spaces of the letters is a fondness. a joking tone. he can tell something is off in the other man, and it's an attempt to lighten that weight. so much that illya may even have a small smile on his face if napoleon turns to check.
he's kidding cowboy. give him credit. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-10-10 09:20 am (UTC)it's better. it's not good. he's still cuckling when illya tells him that if he is to die, it'll be at illya's hands.
(it's a joke, illya's kidding, he gets that, he does, but it's also--
he's laughing because it's a comfort.) ]
Careful, Peril. [ he chances letting his fingers connect with his glass. solid, for the moment. risks lifting it to his mouth and taking a sip, controlled and slow, not rushing it even though he doesn't know how long he'll be able to hold something this time, when his body will turn insubstantial again, a ghost instead of man. ] It almost sounds like you care.