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lastrat- November 22nd, 2032
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- ♠ | 033 | Spam + Video
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- lastrat
- September 11th, 2014
[Spam/Narration]
[He's been thinking about home a lot, lately.
That's an understatement: he's been thinking about it almost every minute of every day. He's been thinking of it every time he jogs in the gym, every time the CES shows him something like Regents Park or any of his other habitual running spots in London. Sometimes it shows him Skyfall, and even his reaction to that has changed.
He's been thinking a lot about his results for active duty, too. Not the false ones M gave him - not the ones she passed to him, knowing he would need to be buoyed for the coming mission. The true results, shown to him on a series of screens on an abandoned island while he was tied to a chair. It's always alarming when truth comes from your enemies, but recently Bond's found it more alarming when the truth comes from him.
He doesn't belong here. He hasn't belonged here since he graduated.
He knows that, and still he's stayed. For M, he told himself. He's been waiting six months for an inmate, six months hoping he'd have an inmate who didn't just vanish. Six months spent doing nothing but avoid floods or cope with the after effects at his liquor cabinet - he's even stopped going to the pub as of late. Elena was right, he's become a recluse. He hasn't bothered to meet any of the newcomers, really - he hasn't bothered to keep up well with any of the people he could still say he cares about. He hasn't been a presence in anyone's life - not even his own.
It doesn't help that he's sitting in his room now, with a glass of scotch in his hand. He's actually grown used to 50-year Macallan. That's disappointing all on its own, but of course, it makes him think of the psych eval. Substance and alcohol abuse indicated. He throws back the rest of the scotch and runs a hand over his jaw. He needs a shave.
Heading for the bathroom, he finds his razor and shakes his head quietly. Sometimes the old ways....well. Going back in time didn't help much, in the end. That's why he's here.
He thinks, as he drags the cut throat razor over his skin, that maybe that's just the excuse he's been using. Would M thank him for being here all this time, accomplishing nothing, turning into a hollow shell of himself? Silva asked him if there was anything left of the man he was - then, the answer was yes, unequivocally. Now, maybe it wouldn't be so clear.
After the shave, he shrugs off his clothes, kicks off khakis and tosses away his tee shirt. When he dresses again, it's in a tailored suit. Part of him thinks it's ridiculous: suits are for occasions, and there are none here. But as he adjusts his collar, he thinks that maybe it's time to make his own occasion.
He hates it here, he realizes. He really hates it here, where he is never on a mission, where he never has the ability to act. Where, left drifting, he acts badly.
In the end, he heads for the deck, for one last, long look at the stars. He's always enjoyed the view, though mostly because it makes him feel small. Now, it convinces him that this is the right decision. This is no place for a man like him.]
[Public]
[When he finally turns the video on, he's still freshly clean-shaven, still wearing a suit. He's leaning on the rail on deck, eyes on the stars before shifting down to the camera.]
I'm heading off.
[He's tempted to leave it there, even shifts his thumb toward the power button. But he pauses and straightens instead, looking around him.]
Never chose to leave, before. [Well, once, but he kept that a secret then and it still is. At least now he has the spine to say something, first.] To be honest, I never should have come back in the first place. Seems I'm not much for authority figures.
[Pathological rejection of authority based on unresolved childhood trauma. It hadn't really surprised him. He knows how he lives his life. He knows how he copes. And he is not built for making deals with unseen men. He's not built for trusting what he can't see.
Bond exhales through his nose.]
I haven't done any good here.
[James is not one to apologize easily, and he's certainly never apologized to his enemies. He doesn't start now, but the admittance is close, as close as he can come. He knows what he did, here, he knows who he hurt, and he knows he hurt people he never intended by failing to think things through. For that, he's sorry. But it's too general for him to put into words, requires more eloquence than he has to give.]
I'll be around, for a bit.
[A few hours at most, because there are only a handful he'll seek out, if they don't come to him first. He doesn't bother smiling, but he looks clearer than he has in a while. He's needed elsewhere.]
- ♠ | 032 | Video + Spam
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- lastrat
- September 7th, 2014
[The video comes on, and there's a flash of Bond's face - contorted in exertion and annoyance - before the device clatters to the floor. There's what looks like a giant boulder, rolling slowly, and eventually one of Bond's feet. His voice comes at the distance.]
I - have had - enough - bloody floods - to last - shit!
[The boulder comes back into view, rolling quickly - then the feed dies.]
[Open Spam]
[James Bond is not one to look for signs in his daily life. He believes in clues, contingencies, solid, physical aspects of the real world. He believes in what he can see and touch; he doesn't believe in signs that are more likely than not, coincidence and nothing more.
That said, he has spent the morning wondering if this flood is a sign. It's been six months since Ellie vanished and his job was left undone. He doesn't like leaving things unfinished, likes it less when he has no control over finishing them. Four months since he was even assigned a temporary inmate, though he's not particularly bothered by that: he still doesn't see the point. It doesn't earn him his deal. He's no closer to it than he was when he first came back with her blood on his clothes.
And there is no denying how similar this week's flood is in that regard. He's bloody Sisyphus, and his muscles are already exhausted with the constant pushing, rolling, of a boulder nearly his own height. He can't leave it, he can only rest for a few moments, and every time he nears the deck, he loses his grip and it goes rolling, tumbling back down to Zero. He can be found at varying levels throughout the flood, always pushing his boulder or chasing it. At some point, he loses his jacket: by the end of the flood, he's thrown off his sweat soaked shirt as well, baring all his scars to the world. The most noticeable are his right shoulder, his abdomen, along the inside of his left arm; he doesn't care. By the time his shirt is gone, overexertion has his muscles shaking.]
- ♠ | 031 | Video
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- lastrat
- July 1st, 2014
[Bond is in the pub, a tumbler in his hand (and no bottle in sight even, this is a semi-healthy indulgence okay) and a fairly clear expression on his face. He takes a sip, licks his lips and smiles a little wryly as he finally settles his attention on the camera.]
Alec's gone.
[He doesn't sound remotely broken up about this. Sorry, Alec.]
That - on top of surviving - seems deserving of a party. I'll open the door for whoever's interested. I might even break out the good food.
[He lifts his glass in a little toast, and downs that's left in one go as he kills the feed.]
[Private to Elena]
Stop by.
[Is he gonna say why? Nope.]
- ♠ | 030 | Spam
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- lastrat
- June 13th, 2014
[The best part about being a vampire - besides the strength and the speed and the senses in general, anyway - is having a little switch in your brain. When your emotions get to be too much - intensified as they are - all you have to do is close your eyes and look inward and flick it to off.
Once, he was going to be married. Once, he was going to have a happy life, even if it was as a vampire. Some things you don't survive, James had always known that. He hadn't always known about vampires, or that they're almost impossible to beat, or that if you die with their blood in your veins, you can wake up from multiple gunshot wounds.
Of course, once he hadn't known that his fiance was a witch, either, but eventually he always learns the important things. There's a silver ring on his left ring finger that she blessed, or magicked, or whatever the hell the proper verb is, that lets him walk in the daylight without burning up. He almost threw it away when she died, thought about burning up beside her - but his sense of self preservation runs deep. And it led him to his humanity switch. Turning it off was the easiest thing in the world.
Now, he doesn't miss her. Now, he doesn't grieve her. Now, he doesn't care about anything except hunger.
And right now, he's hungry.]
(ooc: Super duper affected, sorry for all these backdated posts. He's a vampire from the Vampire Diaries canon, and he's a douchebag because he just don't give a fuck. Picture Elena when she was an inmate but. possibly worse because she's nicer than him on any given day anyway. He's out looking for blood, so any volunteers totally welcomed!)
- ♠ | 029 | Video
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- lastrat
- May 27th, 2014
[Bond is very, very grumpy looking when the video comes on. Very. Very. Grumpy. He's also looking a little ridiculous, because the suit he's wearing - one of his best, Tom Ford in dark gray, with lighter pinstripes - is not fitting him as well as it usually does. It doesn't quite hang off him - James has never been scrawny - but there is noticeable room in his shoulders, at his waist, even in his god damned shirt. And he is not happy about it.
Under his arm, he's holding a navy cap, and behind him there are strewn pieces of his naval uniform. Which may soon be making a reappearance, since it's the only thing that might fit properly.]
I don't suppose the Admiral's considered skipping a week, rather than putting us through something absurd.
[This glare is all for the Admiral.
And anyone who brings on the mockery. He's already shrugging the jacket off, dropping the hat in the process.]
Don't bloody wish for anything! [Rocking Tom Ford means he can throw that jacket on the ground before reaching out to kill the feed.]
(ooc: replies will come fromjumpedup!)
- ♠ | 028 | Voice
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- lastrat
- May 4th, 2014
[Private to Mindy]
Let's get on with this sham. I don't have a file, so there's not much point to this. Unless you're prone to detail your life's story.
[A beat. No? That's what he thought.]
Didn't you have a warden? [As if he doesn't know.]
[Public]
Seems like everyone's woken up and returned just in time. Or just in time for the Admiral to pull one over on us. How long do you think we'll be waiting, really? A few more days? A week?
[He's already annoyed (when isn't he). He's been carrying around extra ammunition, an extra pistol, and he'd like the penny to just bloody drop already.]
Maybe he'll even stretch to a month.
[There's some clinking, a stopper coming loose, and the sound of something being poured.] Cheers for the forewarning, Admiral.
[Private to the Admiral]
Not that I expect a reply, but I don't suppose you'd care to weigh in on this?
- ♠ | 027 | Video + Spam
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- lastrat
- April 15th, 2014
[Bond has a lot of weapons. A lot. He has a small gun locker filled with guns for all occasions. He has a small arsenal. And what is he armed with? Not his Walther, not an assault rifle or a sniper, but a plastic sword.
He's also dressed in a beautifully fitted Tom Ford suit. He thinks it's a suit of armor, but you can trust James Bond to look damn good while he larps.
When he holds the communicator up, it's clear he's standing near the gym's entrance. The look on his face is very serious as he looks up into the camera, fake sword propped on his shoulder.]
In the name of all that's Holy, [and wow he will be laughing at this later], none will pass into this realm.
[And there's a bit of fumbling for a moment, while he finds a place to set the communicator up. Drama and staging are important. Backing up a few steps, he points his (very fake, did I mention how fake it looks) sword at the screen.]
Any who try shall regret crossing blades with - wait--
[He pulls a die from his pocket and crouches down to roll it. When he sees the result, he nods definitively and rises again, pocketing his token.]
None who cross blades with Sir Shieldhart shall live.
- ♠ | 026 | Voice + Spam
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- lastrat
- March 29th, 2014
[Bond's comm clicks on, and he sounds terribly exasperated, bored, and maybe a touch annoyed. It's mostly so he can talk over any questions coming through the network, so he doesn't have to answer anything. Just in case.]
I remember this flood. I'll be in the pub, if anyone feels like having their mouth taped shut. [Or jaw broken. Whatever.]
Chris, do us a favor and stuff a bar of soap in yours. [Or he could get earmuffs and do it himself, he would not be opposed!
And he is probably going to be leaving his communicator in his room, because no thank you, he enjoys his secrets. There's a very small window for catching him on the network.]
[Spam]
[Because he is not, in fact, going to the pub. In actuality, Bond is heading for the pool, where he is changing into blue trunksthat are too short to be actual trunks what the helland starting the first of many, many laps. Eventually, he'll tire and float in the deep end for a time.
He came here instead of the pub mostly because the pool is quiet, because he's not certain if he's affected, and because he doesn't know what answers would come out of his mouth if certain questions were asked. Why is he here? He knows that answer. But is it worth it? A mystery. Why did he fuck up so badly with Esther, with Ellie? He doesn't know. Why doesn't he just return to a world where his way of dealing with things is utterly acceptable?
It's too tempting. So he deafens himself with the water as he cuts through it, planning how best to avoid the Barge for the next few days.]
- ♠ | 025 | Voice
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- lastrat
- March 24th, 2014
[No video, this time, because he's still fucking angry. He can control the edge in his voice just barely - he can't control the glower. And he has yet to clean up his shattered Item, the second time he's broken it against a wall of his flat.
When he clicks on the audio, he sounds angry, but you might believe that he's managing it just fine. Might.]
Ellie's vanished.
[And that's all. He's not one for elaboration.]
[Private to Natasha]
Busy?
- ♠ | 024 | Video
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- lastrat
- March 17th, 2014
[Adept as Bond may be in his own world, there is only so much he can wrap his mind around. Space operas do not number, and he has a fairly blase look on his face when he turns on the camera. He's in the CES, on a hill overlooking a wide valley. There is a very long gun resting against his shoulder.]
Now that's over with, I'm setting up a fullbore range in the CES. Targets are spread around this side of the hill.
[He turns the camera, and in the distance there are indeed targets set up, borrowed from the firing range.]
There's plenty of space between here and the entrance. Try not to wander through my line of sight.
[Private to Ellie]
Have you ever used a sniper rifle?
[Open Spam]
[True to his word, Bond is working on his sniping. Clad in forest colored clothes, a step up from actually wearing proper camouflage, Bond lays prone at the top of the hill. His rifle is steadied on a bag of ammo and supplies, kickstand folded up; he knows how the recoil can work against the ground too well to bother.
The firing isn't frequent; any one in the CES might hear a shot every ten minutes at best. His patience needs practice, too.]
- ♠ | 023 | Video
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- lastrat
- February 6th, 2014
[When the feed comes on, it's to Bond's back, moving away from the camera. It only takes a moment for him to get far enough away that it's clear where he is - an empty, Barge standard room - and that he is not alone. Esther is sitting in a chair facing the camera. Bond steps around her, pulling off his tie and tugging her hands up to bind them in front of her. When he looks up at the camera, it's brief, and only to assure himself that the recording light is on.
As Esther rouses, she focuses, and immediately begins to tear up.] What are you doing? Let me go!
Stop that. [Bond is short with her, his patience gone. He's been back less than an hour; of course Esther would be the first to run into him.
When Esther shows no intention of obeying, Bond steps in front of her - not to hide that he backhands her, because that much is clear even without direct line of sight. He starts speaking without looking at the camera, moving around behind Esther again. He ignores her tears, and more than that, her cries for help.]
Usually I don't mind a good lie. [He reaches for the ribbon around her neck, and grabs a fistful of her hair when she shrieks and tosses her head. When he tears it away, there's a scar around her collar. He has to raise his voice, because the moment he pulls it free, she starts screaming like a wild thing, not the prim little girl she's been pretending to be.] But I think this one's gone far enough.
[Her wrists are next, and Bond pulls her arms up. Esther struggles, half rising; Bond shoves her back into the chair, and rips away the ribbons on her wrists, revealing more scars.]
Most of you will remember a flood where the Admiral thought it would be a good laugh to send us back to our youth. [He throws her arms back down, glaring a warning, and pulls a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. Bending over her shoulder, he drags the cloth over her face, holding up the makeup stained pocket square for the camera. He returns to the task, hand tight in her hair to keep her still, acting as though her shrieks don't phase him. The more makeup he wipes away, the less child-like she looks.] Esther tried to convince us that she'd been aged up instead of down. [Grabbing her by the jaw, he forces her mouth open so he can shove the handkerchief in as a temporary gag.]
She's a grown woman, responsible for the fire, my death and near death, and Ellie's attack. These scars are from a straitjacket - the one she wore when she was a teenager. She's been pretending to be eight for god knows how long - long before the Admiral decided she deserved a second chance. [He sneers.] I'd certainly disagree.
- ♠ | 022 | Video
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- lastrat
- December 20th, 2013
[This is not the face of a man well content with life. This is the face of a man pissed off at having slept for God knows how long.]
First he puts me to sleep for weeks, then he asks me to look after a child. I'm beginning to wonder if he actually expects redemption.
Weren't we just in port? [Fuck this ride, fuck the Admiral, grump grump grump.]
[Private to Ellie]
Meet me in the gym.
[Private to the Admiral]
I would comment on the fact that I'm a grown man and haven't written a letter to Father Christmas in decades, but I've the feeling it will fall on deaf ears.
Take your letters and sod off.
[And because he literally cannot resist, a check list.]
( a list! )
- ♠ | 021 | Spam
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- lastrat
- November 20th, 2013
( spam for vesper )
[Open Spam]
[Later, much later, he cleans up. He showers, finds clean clothes. He pulls himself together the way he always does: he buries what he feels. There was grief, and now he needs to put it aside. Now, he needs to do his job, - or at least cope until he can do his job.
He wanders the Barge, rather than announce his return. He knows there are people he ought to tell, but he's in no mood to field questions or deal with much of anything. He visits the CES, lingers on the deck, and hits the gym to eat a punching bag until his already exhausted muscles can take no more. Eventually, he makes himself visit the mess hall to have a bite, even though his appetite is gone. Some things you get used to in life: eating while grieving is not something Bond is used to, only something he knows he has to do.]
- ♠ | 020 | Voice + Spam
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- lastrat
- November 4th, 2013
( Private notes to Elena, Cassel, Chris, Selina, & Natasha )
[Pub Spam]
[He really ought to be in the infirmary, but don't try to tell him that. Bond died an ugly, bloody death, and stayed that way for a day or two. It's an ugly knowledge, and it coils tight in the pit of his belly. Liquor doesn't soothe it, just eases it for a while. It sits a little looser, quieter. And the burn warms him, settles and spreads. It hurts his throat, though the burn has always been pleasant before.
He remembers Elena's teeth sinking into his skin, tearing, and fixes another martini.
He's far gone, drunker than he's ever been on the Barge, and he can't bring himself to care. He usually only gets this pissed on planes, or in the safety of his own flat at home: not when there are dangers around any given corner, not when there are vampires, werewolves, people who have every right to strip reparations for bad memories from his hide.
Not that he'd let them - not that he could do much, like this.
He sits at the bar, a martini in one hand, the other rubbing his aching eyes. Sleep would do him good, but he can't bring himself to leave yet. Not until the ache in the side of his neck fades, not until everything becomes a low buzz and nothing else.]
( Spam for Vesper )
- ♠ | 018 | Video
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- lastrat
- September 22nd, 2013
[There aren't many who would bother to know the travels of one explorer, even if he fancies himself a little more important than he really is. There aren't many who would know that he was gone months longer than he was meant to, or that half his expedition returned empty handed weeks ago, claiming that the other half was dead, and Bond with them. They called him mad, and some of them were shocked to make it home alive at all, but there was admiration in some others, even when they spoke of his undoubted insanity.
Of course, James doesn't know about any of that, so when his video feed clicks on, he's looking as arrogant and cocksure as ever. The fact that there's a bandaged wrapped around his head, only half hidden by a hat meant for colder weather than Oxford is experiencing, doesn't seem to bother him - that or the makeshift sling his right arm is in.]
You heard north for a few months, and somehow you forget how damnably crowded streets here can get. I don't suppose anyone would care to treat a poor explorer to a very fine drink? [Anything to put off settling back in at the College; he's not a man for being closed in anymore.
- ♠ | 017 | Voice + Spam
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- lastrat
- September 4th, 2013
[Private to Alice]
Still alive? [He is the most caring warden. Obviously.]
[Private to the Admiral]
I'm running low on painkillers.
[Open CES spam]
[He's wearing navy sweats, jogging along a path through the woods. Most of the run has been thick with trees, and he's had to hop over more roots to avoid turning an ankle than he cares to count. James has been at it long enough that his breathing is rough and sweat has soaked into the front and back of his sweatshirt, turning the dark blue fabric even darker. There's a chill in the air, and he knew where the CES brought him the moment he stepped inside. He's spent the entire jog running away from Skyfall.
The trees are thinning, though, and he slows and drops to a walk, stopping to lean against the last tree. Ahead is one of the moors, and beyond that, one of the mountains he grew up around. He tilts his head back, considering its peak and rotating his right arm, rubbing at his shoulder. He wouldn't mind a climb, but doubts he'd get very far. It turns his expression even more sour, and a scowl settles on his brow before he starts forward again, down into the moor.]
[Spam for Vesper]
[He's sweaty and he smells when he comes back to the room, and the door isn't quite closed before he starts pulling off his sweatshirt. It gets tossed in the vague direction of the hamper, pants following as he heads directly for the shower. His usual shower process has been a pain since he was shot; the hot water eases the tension in his shoulder, soothes, but the cold doesn't just wake him up, it tenses his muscles and starts the ache back up again. He steps out of the shower, smelling much better than he did ten minutes ago - and with a slowly throbbing arm.
When he's dry, he wraps a towel around his waist, and stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, prodding at his scruffy jaw and trying to ignore how gray that stubble is. When he reaches for his razor and holds his arm up, though, it trembles. And he doesn't fancy shaving over his throat like that.
Clenching his fist around the folded blade, he exhales, then steps out into the suite.]
Vesper?
- ♠ | 016 | Voice
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- lastrat
- August 15th, 2013
[His first transmission comes just after the Admiral's announcement, before he's had a change to read his dossier.]
I've heard of a drinking game they play in Fethiye involving a live scorpion. I meant to give it a go, before I came back here. [But being shot off a train puts a damper on things.] What sort of drinking games do you lot have at home? I can't imagine a wider crowd to ask.
[This is Bond doing his impression of a man ignoring the crap out of the last flood. He's so not bothered by it, can't you tell.
BUT MAYBE TWENTY MINUTES LATER, he's back and sounding very sour and probably a bit bothered and can he go back to being unpaired again.]
The woman calling herself Zoe Luther is an inmate named Alice Morgan. [He won't share why he thinks it's gross that she picked that name, you're welcome Alice, but man he does not approve.] It's a shame this lie never pans out.
[Private to Alice]
[So he was going to broach the awkward apology stage of things so that it could never be brought up again, but then the Admiral dumped a file in his lap and he got to reading and wow, Alice. Wow.]
'Zoe Luther?' [Exactly how bugnuts are you, ma'am.] Well done with that. [THIS IS SARCASM.]
[Private to Vesper]
At least your coping mechanisms are predictable. [Translation: how you doing :c]
[Private to Esther]
I'd like to talk to you.
- ♠ | 015 | Video + Spam
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- lastrat
- August 11th, 2013
[Private to the Admiral]
Zoe Luther's not going back to what ever shit world she's from. She's going to come back with me, so...make that happen. [and the most grudging:] Please.
[Public]
[This broadcast is coming to you from...the pub. James has slipped in and found himself a glass, and though he really wants a martini, he does not yet know how to make one. He's holding a glass with two fingers of gold liquor in it instead, and toasts silently when the feed comes on.] I know you've tried to be just super kid friendly here, [and wow he could not sound more sarcastic], but pool parties? Fruit and juice in a greenhouse? Fucking wasted on those of use older than the age of seven. Thanks for letting us know this place was here, though. At least it's not too late to have a decent time.
Cheers.
[He knocks back the drink...and cuts the feed before it's obvious he can't finish it all in one gulp.]
[Spam for Esther]
[James Bond is, contrary to every image he's displayed here, capable of minding his own and not being a shitheel. That's what he's doing, when he walks down the hall, in a jack that's clearly too big for him. It looks dumb, but he's been making the sacrifice: it keeps the gun shoved down the back of his pants hidden. He's worked out how to use it, though he can't figure out what, exactly, made his hands move of their own accord to get it done. He's not sure about aiming, but arrogance says he's shot his father's rifle enough, he can work it out fine. He hasn't had to test that yet, and he'll never admit it, but that's definitely a relief.
It won't be soon.]
[Spam for Vesper]
[He's bleeding so much more than he thought he was. The glass shard got him in the stomach, and he knew it was bad when it happened, but his every thought had been on escaping. When he managed that, he'd run, hand tight against the burning in his side. Blood slipped between his fingers, coated them, but he barely noticed. Not until he just couldn't move anymore, at least.
He collapsed in the corner of a common room; he's not sure which. Things have been getting a bit blurry. When he looks down at his stomach, his shirt is tacky and wet; he thinks, really distantly, that it's ruined. Letting his head knock back against the wall, James closes his eyes and let's out a breath that's half a groan, half something much too close to a sob for him to admit to. He's not going to cry. He's not going to cry.
But you might die whispers a little voice in his head, and he doesn't believe in God or Heaven anymore, but he hopes he sees his parents again.]
- ♠ | 014 | Voice + Spam | backdated to port
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- lastrat
- July 29th, 2013
[Private to Elena]
Enjoying yourself? [But it's said in the tone of 'are you killing people in clubs, really']
[Private to Peter]
[WHY DOES HE HAVE CHILDREN, HE DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS.]
Stop.
[YOU KNOW WHAT.]