lastrat

[When the feed comes on, it's to Bond's back, moving away from the camera. It only takes a moment for him to get far enough away that it's clear where he is - an empty, Barge standard room - and that he is not alone. Esther is sitting in a chair facing the camera. Bond steps around her, pulling off his tie and tugging her hands up to bind them in front of her. When he looks up at the camera, it's brief, and only to assure himself that the recording light is on.

As Esther rouses, she focuses, and immediately begins to tear up.] What are you doing? Let me go!

Stop that. [Bond is short with her, his patience gone. He's been back less than an hour; of course Esther would be the first to run into him.

When Esther shows no intention of obeying, Bond steps in front of her - not to hide that he backhands her, because that much is clear even without direct line of sight. He starts speaking without looking at the camera, moving around behind Esther again. He ignores her tears, and more than that, her cries for help.]

Usually I don't mind a good lie. [He reaches for the ribbon around her neck, and grabs a fistful of her hair when she shrieks and tosses her head. When he tears it away, there's a scar around her collar. He has to raise his voice, because the moment he pulls it free, she starts screaming like a wild thing, not the prim little girl she's been pretending to be.] But I think this one's gone far enough.

[Her wrists are next, and Bond pulls her arms up. Esther struggles, half rising; Bond shoves her back into the chair, and rips away the ribbons on her wrists, revealing more scars.]

Most of you will remember a flood where the Admiral thought it would be a good laugh to send us back to our youth. [He throws her arms back down, glaring a warning, and pulls a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. Bending over her shoulder, he drags the cloth over her face, holding up the makeup stained pocket square for the camera. He returns to the task, hand tight in her hair to keep her still, acting as though her shrieks don't phase him. The more makeup he wipes away, the less child-like she looks.] Esther tried to convince us that she'd been aged up instead of down. [Grabbing her by the jaw, he forces her mouth open so he can shove the handkerchief in as a temporary gag.]

She's a grown woman, responsible for the fire, my death and near death, and Ellie's attack. These scars are from a straitjacket - the one she wore when she was a teenager. She's been pretending to be eight for god knows how long - long before the Admiral decided she deserved a second chance. [He sneers.] I'd certainly disagree.

[There aren't many who would bother to know the travels of one explorer, even if he fancies himself a little more important than he really is. There aren't many who would know that he was gone months longer than he was meant to, or that half his expedition returned empty handed weeks ago, claiming that the other half was dead, and Bond with them. They called him mad, and some of them were shocked to make it home alive at all, but there was admiration in some others, even when they spoke of his undoubted insanity.

Of course, James doesn't know about any of that, so when his video feed clicks on, he's looking as arrogant and cocksure as ever. The fact that there's a bandaged wrapped around his head, only half hidden by a hat meant for colder weather than Oxford is experiencing, doesn't seem to bother him - that or the makeshift sling his right arm is in.]

You heard north for a few months, and somehow you forget how damnably crowded streets here can get. I don't suppose anyone would care to treat a poor explorer to a very fine drink? [Anything to put off settling back in at the College; he's not a man for being closed in anymore.