♠ | 006 | Video

[lastrat]

[When the video clicks on, Bond moves away from the screen to sit forward on his bed, scooping something off the comforter in the process. The communicator is propped up on a chair in front of him; the cushion is just barely visible at the bottom of the screen. Both his hands are full - in his right is a glass, with two fingers of a dark, orange-gold liquid; scotch, a gift from Pepper for Christmas. He doesn't have much more left.

And in his left hand is a necklace - specifically, an Algerian love knot. His thumb keeps running over it, his attention settled on the necklace like it's the only thing that matters. He isn't drunk, but he might be heading in that direction.]

Before I came here, I was in a bar, in Bolivia. The man I was meeting was CIA, and I suppose as close to a friend as I have. I don't make friends, generally. I have colleagues, and acquaintances, and enemies. Felix is a good man, though. The CIA had a capture or kill order on me, but he gave me the intel I needed. Greene was meeting Medrano at the Perla de las Lunas. That was my chance. That was our chance.

There was a girl, Camille. Former Bolivian secret service. When she was a child, Medrano killed her father, raped her sister and mother and killed them, too, all in front of her. He set fire to the house, and left her to die with her family. [This isn't just rote information; he sounds in control, but there's anger, under the surface.] Orphans make the best agents. She escaped, obviously. I don't know how long she's waited for this opportunity. [Because he doesn't know exactly how old she is or was, but.]

I wanted her to have her revenge. Because I don't think I'll have mine.

[He takes a long drink, glances down at the necklace, and stands to pocket it. On his way back down, he grabs the communicator, holding it up to eye level now. He holds up the glass - there's less than a finger left now - contemplating it.]

I think I've started drinking too much. That's part of being a double-oh, you know - drinking. So many covers require blending into high stakes environments. But it's different, here. Everything's sedentary. I feel it more.

[He knocks back the rest of the glass with a vague shrug.] But it's better than grieving.

Let's lighten the mood some, shall we? Ivy told me, on my first day here, that I'm featured in a series of books, and movies. Tell me about them. I think they might be absurd fiction, but I'm concerned there will be a degree of accuracy that I'm extremely uncomfortable with.

Comments

[Private]

[myresponsibility]

[... Whaaaaat is happening here.]

Are you okay?

[Private]

[lastrat]

No, but I don't think I've been okay since she died.

I can't decide if I'd like to be very drunk right now or not.

[Private]

[myresponsibility]

Maybe that's not a great idea, if you're worried you're drinking too much.

[Private]

[lastrat]

Perhaps. But I also said it was better than the alternative.

[Private]

[myresponsibility]

[He's kind of afraid of saying too much or pushing too hard, because he knows this is a flood and he doesn't want to have this blow up in his face when things get back to normal.

But.]

I know grieving is hard, [And he has to say it with his jaw almost locked, because it's hard to even talk about it, still, even though it's been weeks.] But turning into an alcoholic isn't gonna change anything.

[megamind]

I admit to going through a Bond phase. I wanted to be suave and sophisticated like you and your villain. It's part of why I cultivated the goatee and learned to dance. Sadly, I fell short if the ideal and the version if you in the books was a but grim for my tastes so I cultivated a different persona.

[lastrat]

I kill people for a living. I would expect them to be grim.

Why a goatee? [Because none of his villains have had goatees, that is very strange to him.]

[megamind]

My father wore facial hair, but I didn't want to co-opt his look, and every Bibd villain had something unique physically about them, and I wanted something mundane to go with my other fantastical features!

[lastrat]

[Well that's interesting and kind of amusing.] Le Chiffre wept blood. More disgusting than unique.

[Private]

[lost_humanity]

Are you in your room, Mr. Bond? [He's going to take your talk box away from you.]

[Private]

[lastrat]

[You're a good friend, Sandoval.]

Yes. Care to join me for a drink? I feel like I owe you, for knocking you out. I should probably apologize for that, but I'm not terribly sorry. You were a bit out of your mind.

[Private - Spam]

[lost_humanity]

Oh, that was you that time. My CVI can kick me back to reality from a hallucination if I'm pushed, for future reference. I was just realizing whoever was on the ceiling couldn't be who I thought they were.

[And he goes to his room and knocks on the door.]

[Private - Spam]

[lastrat]

I'll remember, next time someone sets off a hallucinogen in the mess hall. I hope there isn't a next time.

[Oh hey, a knock at the door. Bond's just leaving the communicator on the bed and going to answer, stepping aside so Sandoval can enter.]

Are you a scotch man?

Private

[theonlyresponse]

I've seen all the films. The man who was like a father to me was a huge fan.

I don't know about the accuracy. It's highly probable they refer to double-oh agents who had the codename before you did.

Private

[lastrat]

That's possible. The code names just get recycled when the agents die. What did they teach you about MI6?

Private

[theonlyresponse]

About as much as comic books tell you about me, I imagine.

Private

[lastrat]

I never read them. Always seemed like wastes of time.

I'm really hoping the movies are terribly inaccurate. Do you design nipples on the suits?

[Spam]

[bitteraftertaste]

[Vesper hated this flood.

She hadn't talked to many people since it started, but she'd said enough, and so it was easier to just hide away in her room and wait for it to end, to go back to pretending like everything was fine, even though it clearly wasn't and wouldn't be, especially not after this.

It was hard not to just sit up and tell Bond to leave when he came over to use her shower on the third day, but that would mean letting him know she was awake, and would risk her saying something awful, like I don't actually want you to leave, or something else, and so she just stayed curled under the covers, back to the door, and hoped he'd just leave without trying to talk to her.]

[Spam]

[lastrat]

[He'd seen the pile of sheets and comforter when he'd slipped in, and there had been a moment when he'd considered waking her, asking her to stop this, to talk to someone, because he hated seeing her like this. It took a supreme effort not to, but through the shower it ate at him.

She was dead. She was depressed. Because of him?

That was the worst of it. Toweling off and pulling on slacks, he left the bathroom as he pulled in the white button down shirt, ignoring the buttons and hesitating at the side of her bed.]

Vesper.

[Spam]

[bitteraftertaste]

[The temptation to just lie there and pretend she hadn't heard anything was strong, but she still sat up and swept her hair back, looking up at him reluctantly.]

Yes? [It was almost tempting to just ask if he needed something, because that seemed to be the only reason they talked anymore. Not that she blamed him for it, because it was her own fault.]

[Spam]

[lastrat]

[He doesn't know how to say what he wants to say - normally, he'd have said nothing. But the flood helps, and soon enough, he's just talking.]

I hate seeing you sleep all the time. This isn't you, this is so unlike you that I actually find it alarming. I want you to talk to someone.

[ukan]

I do know. [About the drinking.] I haven't had a drink in twelve years. I used to drink to fall asleep, I'd put a little bourbon in my coffee on the way to court, I drank after work.

My secret is making people think I'm drinking. You walk into a bar and order ginger ale, all anyone will see is you drinking beer. People automatically loosen up when they think you're going to get as shitfaced as they are.

[lastrat]

That's some impressive willpower. Most alcoholics can't stand to be around that much temptation. I don't drink to fall asleep yet. I'd have a tall drink after being shot at, or attacked. Now there are no missions, and I'm still drinking.

What sort of lawyer were you?

[ukan]

Well, I do it because it's hard. Think of how much energy you can channel into other projects with the frustration of not getting that one goddamn drink you're craving.

[The whole of Lark's existence, summed up there. He is a monk.]

I was criminal defense, but when I started my own firm I started dabbling in corporate entities. The big money. I have hunches about you, but what do you really do?

[lastrat]

I can appreciate a man who takes the difficult road because it's difficult. I do the same; it's a matter of pride more often than not.

Ah. [He smiles a little, and pauses, thinking baout switching it over to private - but it seems well known already. Anyone doing their homework may as well know. It's too small a ship for cover identities, anyway.]

I work for MI6, O Branch, 00 Section. I take care of foreign threats to Her Majesty's Realm. I kill people.

I kill a lot of people.

[Monk, meet hitman.]

Were your hunches right?