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Entry tags:
- [comm] lastvoyages,
- a train that will take you far away,
- ain't nobody got time for this,
- bond why,
- bond your life,
- but it doesn't matter because we'll be,
- but loving her was red,
- but you don't know for sure,
- dad. james dad.,
- death by vampire sucks,
- death doesn't stick,
- did james bond just have an emotion,
- do not ever follow this man's example,
- elenabanana is too innocent a nickname,
- fellow spies,
- god he needs therapy,
- he's going drinking after this,
- healthiest lifestyle,
- i really hate this ship,
- i'm having a feel please make it stop,
- in the 40s he smoked 70 a day,
- kinda deserves it,
- losing her was blue like i'd never known,
- m would be really disappointed right now,
- missing her was dark gray all alone,
- prepare for the healthiest coping,
- so much therapy,
- stealth dad,
- stop doing dumb things bond,
- ugh the worst,
- when did i have kids,
- why am i bothering with cassel,
- why am i bothering with chris,
- why did i have kids,
- worst at apologies,
- you're waiting for a train
♠ | 020 | Voice + Spam
[Private to Elena]
Asked your warden for my gun back. [A beat, then he adds:] I didn't mention the rest.
[Which is his way of apologizing for being gross and trying really hard not to blame her for killing him. It's hard knowing he deserved it and still having memories of that fear.]
[Private to Cassel]
[He could play it light. Ask him to lunch, take him on a jog. But the idea of food makes him queasy, and he wouldn't last a minute jogging before falling flat on his face. He sounds - well he sounds like he's been drinking, and that at least covers the fact that he's been death tolling.]
Do you know your way around a gun?
[Good job, Bond, great topic.]
[Private to Chris]
You've been quiet. [It's unnatural. This is not James playing parent at all. Obviously.]
[Private to Selina & Natasha, separately]
If you need peace of mind, tell me. [That's it, that's the almost-apology.]
[Pub Spam]
[He really ought to be in the infirmary, but don't try to tell him that. Bond died an ugly, bloody death, and stayed that way for a day or two. It's an ugly knowledge, and it coils tight in the pit of his belly. Liquor doesn't soothe it, just eases it for a while. It sits a little looser, quieter. And the burn warms him, settles and spreads. It hurts his throat, though the burn has always been pleasant before.
He remembers Elena's teeth sinking into his skin, tearing, and fixes another martini.
He's far gone, drunker than he's ever been on the Barge, and he can't bring himself to care. He usually only gets this pissed on planes, or in the safety of his own flat at home: not when there are dangers around any given corner, not when there are vampires, werewolves, people who have every right to strip reparations for bad memories from his hide.
Not that he'd let them - not that he could do much, like this.
He sits at the bar, a martini in one hand, the other rubbing his aching eyes. Sleep would do him good, but he can't bring himself to leave yet. Not until the ache in the side of his neck fades, not until everything becomes a low buzz and nothing else.]
[Spam for Vesper]
[It's very late, and James is very drunk. He might be swaying on his feet, but for the moment, he's pressed his forehead against the smooth wood of Vesper's door. He doesn't touch his room: he went back in there to wash the blood from his neck and change his clothes once he woke up again. It doesn't help that their rooms are practically identical: he doesn't want to see the inside of the Montenegrin hotel again.
He's not even sure he wants to see Vesper, after what happened on that other Barge. He's drifting, tired and drunk and a sorry excuse for - everything. Wetting dry lips with a dry tongue, James keys into the room, pushing the door open and stepping in.
He looks a mess, between the booze and death; his mouth feels too dry, his head too packed. If he'd known where his cigarettes had disappeared to, he might have smoked half a carton by now. It's easy to fall back on old habits. He'll have an ugly hangover in the morning, with a pounding head and aching eyes, but for now he has enough clarity and courage to do this.
Closing the door quietly behind him, he walks inside, glancing down when Martin appears from whatever dark corner he was hiding in. He even pets the cat when he jumps up on the table near his hand, debating whether he should call for Vesper and risk waking her up or just - wait for her to come out. With the cat rubbing against his fingers, as if nothing happened, he exhales slowly.]
Vesper?
Asked your warden for my gun back. [A beat, then he adds:] I didn't mention the rest.
[Which is his way of apologizing for being gross and trying really hard not to blame her for killing him. It's hard knowing he deserved it and still having memories of that fear.]
[Private to Cassel]
[He could play it light. Ask him to lunch, take him on a jog. But the idea of food makes him queasy, and he wouldn't last a minute jogging before falling flat on his face. He sounds - well he sounds like he's been drinking, and that at least covers the fact that he's been death tolling.]
Do you know your way around a gun?
[Good job, Bond, great topic.]
[Private to Chris]
You've been quiet. [It's unnatural. This is not James playing parent at all. Obviously.]
[Private to Selina & Natasha, separately]
If you need peace of mind, tell me. [That's it, that's the almost-apology.]
[Pub Spam]
[He really ought to be in the infirmary, but don't try to tell him that. Bond died an ugly, bloody death, and stayed that way for a day or two. It's an ugly knowledge, and it coils tight in the pit of his belly. Liquor doesn't soothe it, just eases it for a while. It sits a little looser, quieter. And the burn warms him, settles and spreads. It hurts his throat, though the burn has always been pleasant before.
He remembers Elena's teeth sinking into his skin, tearing, and fixes another martini.
He's far gone, drunker than he's ever been on the Barge, and he can't bring himself to care. He usually only gets this pissed on planes, or in the safety of his own flat at home: not when there are dangers around any given corner, not when there are vampires, werewolves, people who have every right to strip reparations for bad memories from his hide.
Not that he'd let them - not that he could do much, like this.
He sits at the bar, a martini in one hand, the other rubbing his aching eyes. Sleep would do him good, but he can't bring himself to leave yet. Not until the ache in the side of his neck fades, not until everything becomes a low buzz and nothing else.]
[Spam for Vesper]
[It's very late, and James is very drunk. He might be swaying on his feet, but for the moment, he's pressed his forehead against the smooth wood of Vesper's door. He doesn't touch his room: he went back in there to wash the blood from his neck and change his clothes once he woke up again. It doesn't help that their rooms are practically identical: he doesn't want to see the inside of the Montenegrin hotel again.
He's not even sure he wants to see Vesper, after what happened on that other Barge. He's drifting, tired and drunk and a sorry excuse for - everything. Wetting dry lips with a dry tongue, James keys into the room, pushing the door open and stepping in.
He looks a mess, between the booze and death; his mouth feels too dry, his head too packed. If he'd known where his cigarettes had disappeared to, he might have smoked half a carton by now. It's easy to fall back on old habits. He'll have an ugly hangover in the morning, with a pounding head and aching eyes, but for now he has enough clarity and courage to do this.
Closing the door quietly behind him, he walks inside, glancing down when Martin appears from whatever dark corner he was hiding in. He even pets the cat when he jumps up on the table near his hand, debating whether he should call for Vesper and risk waking her up or just - wait for her to come out. With the cat rubbing against his fingers, as if nothing happened, he exhales slowly.]
Vesper?
spamwish
Oh for God's sake, how long are you going to mope about this? It was a flood. That wasn't you. You're the guy that lets me make fun of his stupid over-sized ears and how much you have a tendency to get your ass handed to you. You're the guy that gets turned into a rat in a feud between Cassel and me and doesn't even take a swing.
You're the guy covering for my ass with my warden when I don't deserve it.
You're Bond. Jimmy Bond. Lost boys and all behind you.
spamwish
And he turns away. Because nothing he's done so far has mattered a damn bit to her, and he'd rather sink into a bottle than get into it now. And besides--]
He deserved worse. [So she deserves having her ass covered.]
spamwish
[Elena reaches out and grabs Bond's arm, turning him back towards her at least some of the way.]
Maybe he did. But that doesn't mean you do.
spamwish
If I didn't know better, I'd say you gave a damn.
spamwish
I'd just like at least one other person on this Barge to not be in the middle of a breakdown. All the self-flagellation on the network is nauseating at this point.
But if you wanna take it personally, go ahead.
spamwish
[He goes quiet, knowing he should continue on his way, get back to his barstool, shake himself another martini. Instead he stays.]
I remember what you were like, too. You'd be half-way decent if you let yourself.
spamwish
You remember a ghost.
Everyone thinks that girl's still in here and all I have to do is flip the switch again and she'll come back, but she's not going to. She was human and she was weak. And she died a long time ago. I didn't smother her and I'm not trying to hide her now. She just isn't here.
Even if I could or wanted to bring her back, she'd never survive this. But I can. And I don't understand why that's such a problem for everyone.
[Except for maybe Abigail and Two-Face. Hell, even Cassel seems more okay with the way she is than anybody else and she'd think he'd have more motivation to have her snap back than most considering her grudge against him and guys like him.]
spamwish
[There was a boy who played with toy soldiers in hotel rooms that was kind and attentive and precocious. James didn't smother him, either: he died in a priest's hole.
But he's not about to share that, so he shakes his head.]
But surviving has a price, too.
spamwish
[Her parents. Jenna. Uncle John. Isobel. Alaric. Jeremy.]
[And that was just her family. She watched her friends lose their lives, their families, all for her sake. It was a wonder Bonnie ever kept speaking to Elena or that Caroline didn't get pissed enough to try and exact some kind of revenge after she turned.]
spamwish
[They all cope in their own ways. Elena had friends, bits of family. She had comfort and weaknesses, and they were taken from or sacrificed for her. James cut himself off from comfort to keep those same weaknesses away, but they found their way in again anyway.]
Maybe you should have died. Would that have saved your friends, your family?
spamwish
[She folds her arms.]
Mikael was looking for me when I was a baby because he knew Klaus needed the Petrova doppelganger to become invincible. If he hadn't been stopped by Bonnie's mom, do you realize how many people would still be alive?
My parents, Aunt Jenna, Jeremy, Alaric, Bonnie's mom and grandmother, Caroline's dad, Caroline wouldn't be a vampire, Tyler wouldn't be a hybrid, and his dad and uncle wouldn't be dead. The list just goes on and on and on of people who have died or suffered because of me.
[Elena pauses, pursing her lips.]
Is it really that crazy that I wouldn't want to turn it back on?
spamwish
No.
But none of that was your fault. [He's bad at comforting, so it's not that: she doesn't need it.]
You don't apologize for surviving.
spamwish
But that's why nobody back home likes me. And why everyone here is trying to make me change.
spamwish
So he walks away again, scratching at the stubble on his jaw.]
Whatever satisfies you.
spamwish
[She disappears back inside her room.]