Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary:
In which Napoleon prepares a disguise for an extremely stuffy, high-class party.

Not cross-posting this because I’m just too lazy rn.

Disguises were always an intriguing part of the job with
U.N.C.L.E.; the process of becoming someone else was a fascinating
metamorphosis.  Clothes made the man,
most of the time—but, often, another touch or two was required.

Napoleon glanced at his reflection as he ran some gray dye
through his hair with the bristles of a hairbrush.  It was as though he had aged ten years in ten
seconds—though the result wasn’t as bad as one would expect.

He chuckled to himself as he glanced at his reflection.

“What’s so amusing?” Illya asked, preparing the
communication equipment he’d be using to keep in contact with Napoleon.  He was determined to avoid the party
scene—the fancy do that Napoleon would be attending would be even stuffier than
the ones he usually attended in his spare time, and it was therefore something
he didn’t want any part of—wasteful extravagance, like gold-dusted foods…  He cringed at the very thought.  And even Napoleon found gold-dusted food
excessive, though his mind was, at the moment, still on his appearance.

“I just can’t help but think that if this is how I’m going
to look ten years from now, then I’ll have aged magnificently.”

Illya rolled his eyes at his partner’s vanity.

“Well, as long as you’re happy…” he said.  “But while your mind wanders to the future,
don’t forget to focus on the here and now.
Speculation is fine, but not to the point of distraction.”

“Duly noted,” Napoleon said.

“…You do look quite dashing, though,” Illya admitted.

“High praise,” the American grinned.  “Well, I’ll see you in a bit—I’ll be in
touch.”

Illya was right; he would have to keep his wits about
him—for as amusing as looking old was, he knew the end goal was, always, to
actually grow old.

Still, with his partner watching his back, he knew his
chances were excellent indeed.