orbis_non_sufficit: (JB | Strolling)
Bond and the girl had attracted a great deal of strange looks and disdainful stares from the other resort patrons in the lobby. Of course, even Bond had to concede that they had earned them, strolling into the front door of the highest-rated hotel in the ski resort town of Courmayeur looking bedraggled, roughed-up and as though before being through a wringer he and Mia had dressed for more temperate climes. They had, naturally, and the Union Corse kidnappers from whom they had recently escaped had not thought to provide them with warmer clothes.

Still and all, Mia and Bond were relatively unscathed for having exited the small propeller-driven airplane without benefit of parachute. And once the front desk had received confirmation of Bond's Transworld Consortium expense account, their disheveled state became a complete non-issue for the staff. He and Mia were immediately treated with kid gloves and shown to the most lushly-appointed and most secluded private chalet of the hotel.

Locking the door and taking a long minute to stare out of the window to ensure that they need not expect unwelcome visitors any time soon, Bond felt the rush of adrenaline that violence always brought begin to ebb. For a moment, he cursed it as it faded away like a drug addict cursing the end of a high. Forcing back such thoughts, he turned casually toward the opulent living room.

"You're sure you're all right, Mia?"
orbis_non_sufficit: (Bond | Martini)
Bond had been down this selfsame road before. Then, it had been a different time and a different world-- one with a clear-cut adversary whose aims were evil and destructive but specific and more concrete, and for the most part it was one that played by more traditional rules of engagement. The girl had been a Russian cypher clerk, and the story that MI-6 had been given was that she had somehow fallen in love with Bond after seeing a file photograph. So smitten was the young woman with the image and reputation of the dashing British secret agent, she was willing to defect with a special codebreaking device in tow. As it had turned out, the story had been a ruse and the cypher clerk the kind of trap that had once been called in intelligence circles a "honeypot". SPECTRE's machinations had been ruined, the codebreaker had passed into Western hands and the girl had made for an especially enjoyable week or two between Istanbul and Paris and back.

Despite things having generally worked out for the best, the whole affair had left Bond with a finely honed mistrust of any situation that seemed too good to be true. While for most people, such incidents would probably turn out badly. For James Bond, things were always dangerous at best, and so "too good to be true" was likely to turn deadly.

It was with such a dubious outlook that Bond was treating his current predicament. The message had not come in through official channels, but instead had been passed to him by a friend of a friend, both of whom had done some "consulting work" for Bond in the past, making them at least partially trustworthy. But somehow, Bond had decided that it was still worth investigating. He was in-between missions, his least favoured time, which also likely influenced his decision to set up the meeting.

The girl had made the request, but had allowed Bond to set the date, time and place, indicating for all intents and purposes that she trusted him completely. Again, Bond had his doubts, but he made the arrangements anyway. He waited for her in the back booth of a pub not too terribly far from his own apartments. Both the freezing cold martini and the weight of the Walther behind his hip made for reassuring reminders that no matter what the girl had to say, it would be nothing James Bond could not handle.
orbis_non_sufficit: (OOC | Silhouette)
Let's go with the LJ/UTR version.

01.) Full name? James Andrew Bond
02.) Best friend? He'd only name a man as a "best friend", but he is friends with Shannon, which is novel.
03.) Sexuality? Straight. So very straight.
04.) Favorite color? Navy blue.
05.) Relationship status? In relationship with Agent Shannon Weiss, though considering it's James Bond, you know he's a little weird about it.
06.) Ideal mate? Someone who can put up with his obsessive-compulsiveness, demand for detail, mood swings and such?
07.) Turn-ons? Anything that gets his adrenaline up and heart racing.
08.) Last sexual experience? Last night, either for fun or work or both.
09.) Favorite food? One egg, cooked precisely three minutes, served with white toast points, butter and Little Tiptree marmalade.
10.) Crushes? His great love was Tracy, he's definitely in someting with Shannon. All the other women, he loved at least a little, for a little while.
11.) Favorite music? Traditional jazz.
12.) Biggest fear? Being useless.
13.) Biggest fantasy? He doesn't have any. His life is bigger than reality anyway.
14.) Quirks in bed? He's adventurous, but not really kinky. And he sleeps with a gun under his pillow.
15.) Bad habits? Um... smoking, drinking, driving too fast, sleeping around, shooting people, jumping out of moving vehicles and various combinations of those?
16.) Biggest regret? Marrying Tracy Di Vincenzo. He feels that because he did, he made her Blofeld's target.
17.) Best kept secrets? Whatever secrets Her Majesty entrusts him with.
18.) Last thought? "How damn much longer until my next assignment?"
19.) Worst sexual experience? Oh, for sure-- May Day. *shudder*
20.) Biggest insecurity? That he's going to somehow survive his lifestyle and die an old, sick and helpless man.
orbis_non_sufficit: (Bond | Gun Barrel)
OOC: The mun recently received the awesome gift of the James Bond Ultimate Collector's Edition box set-- all 21 official Bond films to date. We're working our way through them, one by one. I had the idea to illustrate one scene or moment in each film through Bond's eyes, using whatever prompt I find that serve. I'll try to do one as we complete each new film, starting from the first.

Film: Dr. No, 1962
Prompt: Exit


The four or five thousand volts of electricity I'd taken from the vent grille should have been my first clue that the immediate future held very little in the way of comfort for me. But a little discomfort, even a little pain, was a pittance of a price to pay if the reward was going to be a swift and painful end for one Dr. Julius No, especially if it was at my hands. Pain would be what I got, and in spades.

A long way to go )
orbis_non_sufficit: (BGirl | Male Chauvinist)
OOC: A conversation between Bond and his version of [insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie. He's mentioned he might actually be aware of and concerned about Shan's feelings.

[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: Aware? Concerned? Shan gasps and says, "No. Not James Bond!" With a wink.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: "If I'm bad at anything," Bond replies, "it's dealing with an upset woman."
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: I honestly wouldn't know. I've never been that upset.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: And don't think I don't thank goodness for that.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: You do know how to treat a woman.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: Absolutely. Pay attention, give her compliments and apply a firm hand when the situation warrants.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: *raises an eyebrow* Especially when she appreciates that firm hand.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: Yes, I recall. We never did finish that sparring session after getting... distracted, did we?
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: No. But it was a nice distraction and I'm afraid that any further sparring sessions would result in the same... distraction.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: Well, then we should make sure to reserve the time slots after ours, just to make sure we're not disturbed.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: I look forward to our next session then. Eagerly.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: As do I. I promise to stretch properly beforehand this time.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: Explaining the sore muscles NOT something you're looking forward to?
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: No. I had to tell service's massage therapist that I had been rock climbing.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: I bet she didn't mind the flimsy excuse.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: HE didn't believe me, and nearly put me in traction, thank you very much.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: Oh, poor honey. I wish I didn't find that as funny as I do.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: Next time, I'll just bribe you to do it. Then I won't have to explain.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: You DO KNOW that it'd take precious little to bribe me?
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: I do, dear, but I find it curiously enjoyable bribing you anyway.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: I mean, VERY little. Almost nothing at all. I might do it for nothing?
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: Oh, no. I firmly believe in repaying services rendered.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: Repayment is much different than bribery.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: Then you'll accept quid pro quo? I think that's more than fair.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: Of course.
[insanejournal.com profile] orbisnonsuficit: Then I think we have an arrangement.
[insanejournal.com profile] sexyspybarbie: I'll meet you there.
orbis_non_sufficit: (Head Tilt)
((application sample for [insanejournal.com profile] undertherainbow))

The plate arrived piled incredulously high with meat, all glistening and criss-crossed with grill marks. A smaller plate with thick slabs of toasted white bread accompanied it, along with a brown longneck bottle of Budweiser. Bond blinked once, twice, then looked up at the waitress, a dessicated woman of indeterminate age, as if the smoke that had cooked the food served to preserve her, as well.

"What," he asked slowly, "is this?"

"Dinner plate, hon," the woman drawled back impatiently.

"But I haven't ordered."

With a snap of her gum, "Glynnis" rolled her eyes. "Said you was here for dinner. There's dinner."

When Bond's junior agent had driven them here and pronounced "Bobby's Smokehouse" as having the "best steaks in the county", Bond had been looking forward to a petit cut filet adorned with sauce Bèarnaise, or at least a thinly crusted au poivre and a bottle of fine Cabernet Sauvignon to wash it down with. Not... this pile of meat.

Sighing, Bond eyed his food and then his beer forlornly. "Then can I at least get a mar--"

From the corner of his eye, Bond caught the suspicious glance of some of his fellow diners.

"More toast?"

"Comin' right up, sugar."

Bond took a drink, winced, and swallowed the ice-cold Bud. He was happy to find a fork beside his plate, at least.

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James Bond

May 2010

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