Yet another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary:
In which, during his first spring as a resident of New York, Illya discovers that girl scout cookies are a thing.  Takes place in 1961.

Cross-posted to AO3

Illya’s first spring as a permanent resident of New York,
no longer preoccupied with the Baron of THRUSH case that had take up the
majority of the last year, was able to be spent in a relaxed and casual
manner.  Spring in New York was
lovely—plants returning to bloom, birds nesting in trees, and the sky clear and
blue instead of the wintery gray…  There
was a lot to take in and enjoy.

It was one morning, however, as he sat with a cup of tea on
the stoop of the apartment building (as his kitten, Baba Yaga, chased around
some grass clippings) that Illya was puzzled to see a group of young girls in
uniforms, carrying wagons full of boxes as a chaperone led them from door to
door down the street.  He glanced up at
Napoleon as he walked out onto the stoop, taking in a breath of fresh air.

“Morning, Tovarisch,” Napoleon grinned.

“Morning,” Illya returned.
He indicated the children down the street.  “What exactly is that about?  Some sort of game?”

“Hmm?  Oh, that’s
Troop 144.”

“…What?”

“Girl Scouts.  This
is the time of year where they do their sales pushes.”

Illya scoffed into his tea.

“Sales pushes?
Napoleon, they are children!  Why must your society seek to fill the youth
with capitalistic fervor so soon?”

“Well, for one thing, it teaches them responsibility,
accounting, quick math skills, the value of hard work…”

“Let children be children, I say,” Illya insisted.  “They should be playing games, reading books,
climbing trees, having fun—not being forced into the world of grown-up matters
so soon!”

“No one’s forcing them to do anything!” Napoleon
insisted.  “It’s extracurricular
enrichment—they’re learning valuable life skills, and, believe it or not, are
having fun in the process.”

“Hmm, if you say so,” Illya said, with a shrug.  “And just what is it they are selling,
anyway?  Trinkets from Tiffany’s?”

“Nope—cookies.”

Illya paused, his teacup stopping on its way to his mouth
as the kitten batted at it.

“…What kind of cookies?”

“Oh, multiple kinds… shortbread, peanut butter, chocolate
mint…” Napoleon began, and he grinned as Illya downed the rest of his tea in
one gulp, handed the cup and saucer to him, got up and approached the chaperone
down the street to talk to her.

Illya then handed over some money to the girls and walked
away with two boxes of each kind of cookie, which he carried in a precarious
stack as the girls excitedly celebrated their big sale.

“…Contributing to the… what was the phrase you used?  Capitalistic fervor of our youth?” Napoleon
asked.

“Nyet, to the…
what was the phrase you used?  Da—extracurricular
enrichment.  The chaperone assured me
that the proceeds go to funding the scout program, thus allowing the children
from poorer families to join.  I can live
with that.”

“…And all the cookies don’t hurt, either, hmm?”

“Not at all,” Illya said.
He leaned in.  “They said they
will have more cookies in the coming weeks; excuse me, Napoleon, but I must
determine which of these are the best.
And I would like your opinion, as well.”

“I’ve always been partial to shortbread, myself…”

It would be difficult attempting to keep a straight face as
Illya took his sugary treasure inside with Baba Yaga bounding in behind him,
but Napoleon would do his very best to do so.