Illya stalked into their office. Napoleon was behind his desk.

Napoleon looked up, swallowing.

"You..." 'American' wasn't strong enough for this, and aspersions on Napoleon's relations were uncalled for. "manipulative" He slapped down the postcard.

Napoleon picked it up. "P.O.E.M.?" He ignored the addressee area, keeping his expression light.

"'Write the report, Illya?'" Illya walked towards his desk. "'You word things so much better.'" He sat down.

Napoleon swallowed. "Jig's up?" He smiled wanely. Play with fire... He was sitting in the hot seat.

Illya took out the stack of forms and carbons.

"Illya..."

"The Professional Organization of English Majors."