(Untitled)

[callitavesper]

Table.

Vodka martini.

Constant chain of cigarettes.

If he also had freedom, Bond would be set, but his occasional glances towards the door--or the wall, in his case--tell him he must be content with his table, his martini, and his rapidly vanishing cigarettes. If he at all feels annoyed about this (he does), he doesn't show it.

Comments

[andy_wainwright]

Incoming trash can.

IT WASN'T ANDY WE SWEAR.

But really. It wasn't.

Okay, maybe it was.

But it wasn't intentional!

He slipped and fell, and it launched over to where Simon lookalike is sitting.

Yeah.

See, Andy's even sprawled out on the floor.

It was unintentional.

Really.

[callitavesper]

Where a loud wail would be (were this Skinner) is spat a forceful, hissing curse.

The person hissing out such a curse is now looking furiously for the source of that trash can. This place is very odd indeed if it occasionally rains trash cans!

[andy_wainwright]

Andy is going to go with the 'raining trash cans' theory, thank you very much.

He stands a bit unsteadily before squinting at the stache-less Skinner.

"Who're you?"

[callitavesper]

Bond leans back in his chair, rubbing his head. "Bond, James Bond," he says distractedly. "Why do you ask?"

[hapan_heiress]

Allana pauses in her walkings to wrinkle her nose at his smoking.

"You smell!!" She tells him after a moment.

[callitavesper]

Bond looks down at the redheaded girl, setting his cigarette atop an ashtray on the table. He says nothing, but he's on the verge of quiet laughter.

[hapan_heiress]

She continues to wrinkle her nose. "Those are bad for you."

[callitavesper]

"Lots of things are bad for you."