lastrat | ♠ | 002

[Much different from the man who posed skepticism and disbelief a few days ago, Bond is now smiling. He looks at ease, and for once like he isn't constantly on guard. It erases some lines from his face, makes him look a little younger, a little lighter.]

I never was much for Christmas, you know. Can't understand why now. It's nice, isn't it? The coming together, the gaiety of it all. I think I've been rather rude since I got here, and I'd like to apologize to you all. I'm sure you've only been trying to help, and I ought to have been more receiving. That's what this season's all about, isn't it? Setting aside your disbelief and believing in miracles.

[Another warm smile, and he nods.] I think I like that.

[Private to the Admiral]

[This list will be angrily replaced later, but for now, happiness and good will towards man and all that.]

Haven't written one of these since I was a boy, but if you insist:

For Ivy, a beautiful dress. Green, naturally. With a leaf motif, since she seems so fond. For Castiel - I think he could use a halo, don't you? For Lark - Mm. I'm not very good at this. Aftershave, or cologne, something expensive that he'll enjoy.

And for Vesper-- [He trails off, thinking hard.] A necklace, I think. With a key on it. [A pause, then a smile. Yes, that'll do nicely.]

[Spam for Vesper]

[When he ended the post, he realized he was just sitting here alone, with Vesper only next door. Why shouldn't he believe miracles? She was dead, and now she was alive. And he'd attacked her. James hung his head for a moment, and reached into his jacket pocket, where he could turn her Algerian love knot over in his hand. This was stupid; he ought to apologize. He ought to go and enjoy her company. He ought to let her soothe the ache in his chest. Why shouldn't he?

So a moment later, he was at her door, knuckles tapping against the wood quickly.]

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Thank you. [She smiles at him, head slightly ducked; it's one of her more honest, vaguely shy expressions. Which of course she feels compelled to make up for.] I have a feeling you'll get along here. Any Warden lined up to tell you what floors to scrub, yet?

No, not exactly. [Vesper is a warden, but not his warden, and that seems like it would be terribly, terribly damaging in the long run. He smirks.]

I hope, when I do, they'll realizing that floor scrubbing isn't one of my talents.

I hope so, too, we have too many domestic types around as it is. [She sips her drink, watching him over the rim all the while] What are your talents?

[He can't quite help but smirk over his glass, once he's poured his own share.] I take it you aren't one, then.

[Shrugging - he always hated his covers, and he certainly doesn't think it's necessary here, now - he looks around her room again, wandering a few feet in.] Many and varied. Yours?

[She returns the smirk; no, domesticity is not something she strives for.]

The same. The best thing to be is everything.

What's your opinion on this exciting new approach to rehabilitation?

Exciting, [he drawls, and takes another sip.] That's one way to put it. Let's just say I have my doubts.

Well, one thing we do know: it's going to be a hell of a ride.

Has anyone told you who the problem children are?

Not in so many words. Don't suppose you have a list worth looking at?

I do. But Ladd Russo is top of the list. Apparently he'll have it out for anyone hard to kill.

There's a few more; ask Bruce Wayne for details, he keeps more extensive tabs than I do.

Bruce Wayne. [Like. Batman? But he remembers what Ivy said - he's the subject of novels and movies - and keeps that to himself, instead nodding, like he repeated it to memorize it.] I'll speak with him. And keep Russo in mind.

[Selina has heard that tone before, but not because of comic book or movie fans. Bruce is famous and eccentric, a legend and a joke at home. She assumes Bond is just another person who has benefited from Wayne tech at some point.]

I mean it about Russo. He's some sort of psychotic mongoose, if I were you I'd get my hands on a weapon and fast.

[His mouth curves upward.] Mongoose. There's an interesting way to describe someone.

[But he nods, and takes a sip from his glass.] I will. What's he done to you?

But apt. He only goes after the difficult cases. Like me; let's say I have a hard time dying. He takes that as a personal challenge.

[But that's not why she hates him, and she leans back on her hands.] Anyway, he killed a friend of mine. If I didn't hate him I'd thank him. Revenge gets me all...warm inside.

Hard time dying. [It's a question, though it's not phrased as one. The hell is that supposed to mean, lady.]

Oh, I could show you scars... [Her smile is one part seductress, one part bitter woman hellbent on revenge.]

[Which is the part to be afraid of, frankly, and Bond might have been a bit more wary of that, if not for the flood. He leans in, just a little, a smile quirking his lips.]

The better question is, would you?

[She tips her head, licks her lips--the bright red lipstick has smudged off a bit onto her glass.]

Would you ask me nicely?

I can ask very nicely. [This has always been his favorite sort of game, the back and forth leading up to the enjoyable.]

Tit for tat? [She asks this as she looks at him, seeming to look right through his clothes.] Show me how nice you can be, Mr. Bond.

[Well, he's never been shy; the look doesn't bother him at all. It makes him smile just a little more, actually.]

Somewhere more comfortable, perhaps.

Was that a shot at my cleaning? [But her eyes are bright, teasing, and she sips her drink.]

I'm not picky, but if you've found a feather bed somewhere on board...

No shot at all. [He can see the tease, though, and gives her a half smile, reaching out to slide a hand around her waist.] But it just so happens that I have a very nice bed in my room.

Do you play rough in that nice bed? [Her fingers walk up his chest, until she can trace his mouth. Now that he's close, her flirting has shifted to something more predatory.]

[It's interesting, to say the very least; James is the hunter, usually. He catches one of her fingers, nipping the pad of her finger tip lightly beofre leaning in toward her ear.]

Always.

Then sweep me away, let's see where we go.

[She steps back, at the last second her hand snapping out to grab his shirt and pull him with her.]

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