lastrat | ♠ | 017 | Voice + Spam

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♠ | 017 | Voice + Spam

[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?

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You should try running low on pain sometime.

I'll remember to make the effort.

Is that a no?

Are you allergic to the variety of analgesics supplied by the Infirmary?

Terribly. I break out in hives when I walk in the door. Must be something in the air.

[nope]

[Alice :|

Fine, some hours later when he finally decides to leave the CES, he's heading right for his door to bang his fist against it, it's kind of like a knock. He was going to go take a shower but apparently he has to check on attention whores first.]

[She glances up from where she's sitting on her bed, back against the wall, reading.]

I'm not here. Terribly sorry. Try again later.

Edited 2013-09-04 17:45 (UTC)

[He contemplates for a second demanding that she open the door, but she's obviously alive and he obviously smells. Scratching at his jaw decides it for him: he needs a shave.

So he pushes away from her door and heads down the disturbingly short distance to his own. BE THAT WAY, ALICE.]

[Vesper looks up from the book she's been reading and turns to him with curiosity. She's no stranger to the new scars, but they're still something she finds herself taking note of in times like these. They're not just marks of an old injury, but a lingering one, and he's lucky she doesn't realize the full extent of the damage they've done. She suspects it, though.

And really, she's seem him bleeding and semi conscious too many times. Far too many.]

Yes?

[He's usually better about bouncing back. The months he spent in the villa were the longest he ever spent recovering, and he never wants to do that again. Not to mention, the Barge is a far cry from Italy. He smiles when she turns to him, and he knows exactly what she's looking at and why, but he knows how to play it off. He even flexes his arms slightly at his sides, a smirk on his mouth.]

Thought you might want to do me a favor.

[You're impossible, James, and there's certainly some of that expressed in her face before she softens because, well. She does love you. A lot, actually.]

What is it?

[Terribly impossible, but she still loves him for some reason or another. He walks over, leans forward with his hands on the arm rests of her chair and kisses her quickly. Then he holds up the folded razor.]

don't suppose you know how to use this.

I might. [She reaches out to take the razor from him, trying to ignore the small worry flaring in her chest, because she'd seen his arm shake even if he tried to hide it from her.

It's easier to pretend that this is just a sign of trust and affection, because she knows it's not something he'd let just anyone do.] Where should we do this?

[He smiles in the close distance, and wraps his hand around her wrist, pulling her up gently with him.]

Pull a couple of chairs over. [He nods toward the table.] I'll lather up. [He's already heading for the bathroom, because he doesn't want her to rethink this, or ask why he's not doing it himself. Let it be just that sign of trust and affection.]

[There's going to come a time where she's not going to be able to hold her tongue anymore about her concerns, but that day isn't quite here yet. So she sets up the chairs without complaint and waits for him to return from the bathroom.]

[He comes back with a brush and a canister of shaving cream; he's brushing it over his jaw as he comes over. She'll ask about this, if he keeps it up; he needs to sort out his shoulder.

But not today. Today he'll make like, make it cute, a gesture of trust. He sits, sets aside the brush and the cream, his jaw covered.]

I'm laying my life in your hands.

[That gets a small, genuine smile out of her, and she's willing to set her concerns aside as she takes the razor and gets ready to get to work.]

I appreciate that you're willing to trust me with something so valuable.

Flatterer, [he says, just a little dryly. He's cocky and arrogant and would never throw away what he has - but a man who values his life highly doesn't throw himself into enemy fire on a regular basis. Sitting forward, elbows on his legs, he tilts his jaw up for her, looking faintly smug without smiling. Wouldn't want her nicking him.]

Well, I think it's valuable, so whether or not you do doesn't really matter right now, does it?

[Although she wishes it did matter a little more to him. She can't help but think of how hard it would be to go home and spend some time together, only for him to go off on some mission to God knows where for God knows how long and never come home. She'd probably be contacted discretely, and there would be a quiet funeral, if they even allowed her to have one, and then she'd be expected to just move on with her life.

Or come back here, for who knows how long, to graduate another inmate. Probably alone.

The thought makes her kiss him gently on the forehead before carefully starting to get him cleaned up. She's slow and methodical, and there's a part of her that almost can't believe he still uses one of these to shave. It's very classic British Imperialist of you, James.]

[He lets her work, a quiet satisfaction resonating from him. It's simply not something he thinks about - but to consider that she does, well. It's pleasant. It feels like having a home, not just a flat he sleeps in.

And let's be real, he's pretty classic British Imperialist in his way. When she finishes, he pulls the towel from his shoulder, wiping excess cream from his face and leaning forward to kiss her soundly.]

Thank you.

[She sets the razor aside before kissing him back with unmistakeable fondness.]

You're very welcome. What do you want to do for dinner?

Take you out, ideally. [He smiles that small, sly smile of his, staying close enough.] Italian, perhaps, or good pub food. A night out with good wine, and back to my flat.

[Dream dates are...mostly healthy?]

[Uh are you kidding, that is probably the most healthy, normal person thing you have ever suggested they do.]

That may have to wait for a few weeks.

[Enjoy it!!]

I'm not one for waiting.

I don't know what our other options are.

Shutting down the pub for a night might be nice.

It might be. Do you think they would go for it?

Maybe. Not like it's that busy.

[Though he'd want a better waiter than Alpha.]

I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask.

Or just set up. [He is not good at asking.]

[And the voice comes from somewhere up in the tree just as he pulls away:]

How long has that been bothering you?

[Ceiling Ivy is watching you, etc.]

[He clenches his teeth around a quiet fuck, continuing a few steps as if knowing how close she is doesn't set the hair at the back of his neck on end.]

Such concern. I'm touched. [He turns, looks up at her with a bland expression and raised eyebrows.]

[She moves onto a lower branch, peering down at him like a green less-amused Cheshire Cat.]

Not a fan of the Infirmary?

I've toured it enough. [He knows how to look calm in the middle of danger and he's very good at it - but his eyes follow her every movement. His gun is in a holster under his sweatshirt - not as easily accessible as he'd like it to be, around her.]

With your help, I might add.

[She looks singularly apathetic about that.]

You could let me help you. Consider it my apology.

[Ha ha ha like she's sorry.]

[He just gestures to his face with a circular motion.]

You ought to work on your expressions. Doesn't look very apologetic.

[Ivy shrugs.]

They do say actions speak louder than words, anyway.

Fortunately, your actions say the same as your words. Unless you really are turning over a new leaf? [He's super funny.]

[Peter usually comes into the CES looking for something to climb. Trees and cliffs and whatever are never, ever as satisfying as scrambling up buildings and swinging from rooftop to rooftop, but it's something, and it's better than just sitting in his room staring at the same four walls.

So it's in a quest for something to climb that he runs into Bond - not literally, obviously, because even he's not inept enough to crash into someone when there's a giant ass, largely empty moor to explore. But he does spot him and jog to catch up with him, calling over when he's close enough.]

Hey.

[He slows when he hears Peter, but doesn't stop entirely. Not yet, anyway; Parker is more than capable of keeping up.]

What brings you out here?

[He doesn't mind; it's kind of nice, actually, to have someone around who's definitely not afraid of pushing him, or just pushing his buttons. Not that he's ever probably going to admit to that.

He gives him an easy shrug.]

Looking for something to climb.

[There is plenty they will never admit to each other. Bond grunts, jerks his head at the mountain looming ahead.]

That one's not bad. Think I've climbed some of it before.

[There's no 'think' about it. He climbed it the summer before university, like it would conquer his fear and bring his parents back, or at least give him peace. He wasn't afraid by the time he'd come back down, at least.]

You've been here before?

[It's not accusatory, or really prying or anything. Peter's not going to be offended if Bond doesn't want to tell him where they might be, although he's maybe got his suspicions. He knows enough about Scotland to think this approximately lines up with the pictures he's seen of it before.]

[He grunts, settles into his jog.]

Grew up a few miles away. [And he trusts Peter not to ask further than that; he knows about Skyfall.] It's a solid climb.

[He keeps up easily, even though he's not really one for jogging. Or, at least, he never thought he was, really, but ever since the spider bite, this kind of thing is so, so easy for him. Definitely a nice side effect.

And he is so not asking. He's not stupid.] I mean, if you want to come with...

I've already been to the top. [It's an excuse, even if it sounds solid enough; he doesn't want Peter knowing how bad his shoulder is.]Nice view, if you like clouds.

[People who come to the CES a lot should be used to it, by now - the large wolf, and the giant snake that follows her. Sometimes she shifts back into a human to say hello, but that's not why she really comes to the CES - no. She comes to run, and yes to hunt.

It's as much for Ophion as her. A snake as thick as a sewer pipe needs a lot of food, and Medua was a big believer in having him hunt for himself. Rabbits beware, though the people are safe.

Still, it's probably a big surprise to have a wolf and a snake bursting out of the trees in front of you.]

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