A blonde woman, with a seductive wiggle, smiled softly at the two men she was passing. The brunet returned the smile with a dazzling one of his own. The surly blond, however, merely glanced up before returning to his food.
“There’s only one word for a woman like that,” Napoleon sighed.
“Pulchritudinous,” replied Illya.
“That’s a bit of an ugly word.”
“On the contrary. It means beautiful.”
“Then say ‘beautiful’?” demanded Napoleon. “Why be so pretentious?”
“The English language has many ways of expressing the same thing,” Illya told him. “Why limit yourself to using the same ones?”
“Anyway, you barely looked at her,” Solo stated. “You hardly had chance to see her beauty.”
“Napoleon, as a spy, I have learned to take in a great amount of detail very quickly. I assumed you had the same ability.”
“Some things shouldn’t be rushed,” the American replied, with an almost lecherous expression on his face. “Your sex life can’t be much if you do everything with speed.”
Wiping his mouth on a napkin, Illya stood up to leave.
“You should ask Penelope whether I do everything with speed.”
“Did you date Penelope?!” Napoleon exclaimed. “She told me she was saving herself.”