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♠ | 032 | Video + Spam
[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.]
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.]
no subject
[Offering has been hard, lately, but he'll do it for Bond.]
no subject
[Good, Peter, get the hell out of your room. Thought Bond, utterly hypocritically.]
no subject
Where are you?
no subject
Level five. [And he grimaces.] On my way up.
Spam
What the hell are you supposed to be?
Spam
Someone Greek, I'm sure.
Spam
Spam
Look up - the story of Sisyphus.
Spam
Why don't you just stop pushing on it?
Spam
[The sarcasm is over 9000. Probably because the veins in his neck are starting to stand out as he pushes again.]
Spam
Do you want me to knock you out? You'd at least get some rest.
Spam
Thanks. But I think I'll pass.
Spam
[spam - third day]
He doesn't notice Bond at first but when he does he starts, eyeing the other man as he holds the blade with both hands now instead.]
Who goes there? Who are you, stranger?
[spam - third day]
Oh, no, he's started calling it his.
Instead of pausing to rest and let his muscles start to seize up, Bond keeps pushing, teeth grit.]
Man with a bloody big boulder. Get out of the way.
[spam - third day]
Where are you going with that thing? And...why?
[spam - third day]
That will need some thinking about, later. For now, he just scowls at Derek.]
I'm pushing it. Because I can't stop. [He could not sound more condescending if he tried.]
[spam - third day]
Cursed, then. Is there nothing that can be done for you? I'm already on my way in search of - another matter. But if there's anything I could do to be of help...
[spam - third day]
Nothing, [he snaps.] In another day, it'll all be done.
[And maybe he will, too. Bond doesn't look for signs in his life, doesn't believe in them, but sometimes you can't write things off as coincidence.]
[spam - third day]
How can you be so certain? Unless it's not the curse you're referring to. [Tired as Bond looks, he genuinely considers it possible the statement was meant to indicate he might drop dead of this in another day or so.]
[spam - third day]
Call it foresight. [He grimaces, turns to push with his back against the stone.] A perk of being cursed.
[spam - third day]
[spam - third day]
You could get me a god damn bottle of water.
[spam - third day]
[And reaching down he unhooks a leather pouch from his swordbelt - an old-fashioned travelling canteen, as it turns out.]
And I will. [He offers it to Bond, coming closer. It won't be ice cold but it's cool water, and the canteen is almost completely full at that.]