♠ | 012 | Video + Spam
[Backdated to Saturday! James is looking p l e n t y pissed when he clicks on the camera, and for a moment there is just an incredibly pissed off face - and then he focuses the feed on his other hand, which is holding a book (naval war history). Except on closer inspection, he's not holding it at all. It's actually stuck to the palm of his hand.]
Parker, if you don't get in here and tell me how to turn this off, I swear I'm going to wring your neck.
[It was a lot funnier when he was just hearing about it happening to Peter, okay.]
[Spam for Vesper]
(Continued from here.)
[Take the bloody shot. It echoes in his thoughts, his ears, along with the clink of pressing his glass against Le Chiffre's in a toast, and he can feel his saliva foam, can taste blood (he's bitten into his lip), can taste the drink and it's killing him, killing him--
He doesn't wake until after Megamind's gone, but it feels like a lifetime, time has slowed to kill him a thousand different ways. He's jerking around on the bed, tangling himself up in his sheets, no doubt hurting himself, but instead of the pain waking him up, it's just further fueling the dreams.]
Parker, if you don't get in here and tell me how to turn this off, I swear I'm going to wring your neck.
[It was a lot funnier when he was just hearing about it happening to Peter, okay.]
[Spam for Vesper]
(Continued from here.)
[Take the bloody shot. It echoes in his thoughts, his ears, along with the clink of pressing his glass against Le Chiffre's in a toast, and he can feel his saliva foam, can taste blood (he's bitten into his lip), can taste the drink and it's killing him, killing him--
He doesn't wake until after Megamind's gone, but it feels like a lifetime, time has slowed to kill him a thousand different ways. He's jerking around on the bed, tangling himself up in his sheets, no doubt hurting himself, but instead of the pain waking him up, it's just further fueling the dreams.]
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And Peter is sort of cautiously trotting into the infirmary and comes over to Bond's bed.
Watch him keep out of the way, though.]
So, I know this is kinda ridiculous, but the best thing to do is just stay calm?
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Don't I look calm?
[Calm, just this side of murderous, whatever.]
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Nope. Nope, definitely not. But I'm serious, the more you freak out, the harder you're gonna stick to stuff. Trust me, I almost wrecked a subway car.
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A subway car?
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Shit, I thought you grew out of that phase years ago.
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Very funny, Mr. D'Amico. Anything else you'd like to add?
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[Spam]
But keeping those strange hours mean that she's awake in the middle of the night, and carefully crawled out of bed to check on the cat. Martin's excited to see her, and keeps her occupied for long enough for Megamind to slip in and out of Bond's room and cause that damage. She can hear the rustling of the bedsheets when she gets back, but it doesn't really register as something to be overly concerned about until she actually sees him and the pain in his expression.
She's on the bed and at his side in a moment, shaking him gently, careful not to jostle his injured shoulder.]
James? James, wake up. It's alright, you're safe, wake up-
[Spam]
He's on his feet and staggering a little, though he's not entirely sure how he got there. His chest is heaving, and he looks around like he doesn't know the place, like he doesn't know where he is or who he is, and there's a hideous moment where he can't discern what was real and what was dream.
Have you ever watched someone drown?]
Vesper, [he murmurs, and sits rather abruptly on the bed again, one leg bent under him, one hand pressed against his ribs to keep them still. He's shirtless, shoulder and sternum wrapped tightly to avoid the jostling he just did, for all the good that did, and he grimaces as he flexes his right hand - around his gun. He didn't even notice pulling it out from under the pillow with him.]
[Spam]
It's me. Are you alright? [She's more asking about the stitches, and she's definitely eying the bandages to make sure there's no blood staining through, but there's a part of her that's almost reluctant to get closer until she's certain he's awake and aware, and not going to do anything stupid.]
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Fine, [he mutters, though it's clear enough that he's not. The dream still has him agitated, and his eyes dart through the room, into dark corners, like he's expecting to see cigarette smoke curling into sight. Phantom pains he hasn't felt in years make muscles in his legs twinge, and he reaches down subtly to cup himself through his underwear, half anticipating pain and blood.
There's neither, of course, and he shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. His right arm shakes when he lifts it, hurts too much to do more than keep it curled close.]
I'm fine, [he says again, though it's no more believable this time.] Just a bad dream.
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Finally, she can't take it anymore and gestures for him to come over, because she doesn't want to think about how bad he looked in the hospital after Le Chiffre, or how he looked when he'd come back to the Barge. She wants to focus on the fact that he's safe, he's alive, and he's here, because too often that's been something she's thought she'd never get to enjoy again.]
Come here.
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My day is rapidly improving.
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Glad to be of service. [That tone is just poisonous.]
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Should I drop by with a knife, try to pry that off for you?
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