advocacy | ❥ 002 spam/voice

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❥ 002 spam/voice

spam - scott.
[Daneca sits in her room for a while, repeatedly closing her eyes. She keeps hoping that every time she does, the thoughts and memories swirling around in her head will stop and every time she opens them again, she hopes they just completely blip out of existence.]

[But unfortunately, what she's thinking and feeling can't be so easily wished away.]

[On the one hand, she can still feel those distant pangs for Barron. The butterflies she felt in his presence mixed with that sense of calm and security where she no longer had to fear what she was sits firmly in the back of her mind. On top of that, she can still feel the loss. The grief she felt--that other Daneca on that other Barge--is so much deeper than what she felt when she found out the truth of what he did to Cassel. She also feels guilt over feeling any of that, over feeling the way she does about Sam, even about Cassel.]

[But even worse is knowing what she did to Scott.]

[She doesn't know how he's handling the idea of her being an emotion worker. Maybe he's as angry as Sam was when he found out she was without hearing it from her directly. Maybe he's furious about her working him at all. Daneca wouldn't blame him if he were; he would be if the situation were reversed. She doesn't go to Scott out of fear of his potential anger though. She's more concerned that he may still be worked or confused.]

[She's also aware that her secret wasn't the only one put out there for people to figure out or learn.]

[She knocks on his door and waits anxiously outside.]

voice.
So that was a flood, right? I read about them over the network, but I never expected it to be... [Her voice fades a little.] ...Like that.

This might seem like a really stupid question, but how do most of you recover from something like that?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not much of one.

[And he's not answering so there.]

Still enough of one. So?

How much?

I'm failing to see how it's any of your concern.

[Daneca reaches over the bar and grabs a glass.]

I'm supposed to catch up, right?

[He snorts, pushes away from the bar so he's less huddled.]

How old are you? Seventeen?

[She just nods.]

How often do you drink?

I'm an underage teenager, James. More than I should.

[Except not really, but she's got a semi-decent poker face for this.]

[Semi-decent, sure. Good for her age, for what he can guess she's gone through. He'd probably guess wrong, but he did have to play poker to save the day, once. He's very good at reading poker faces.]

But less than others. Don't try to catch up.

I can start doing terrible Sean Connery impersonations again instead.

I'm sober enough to throw you out on your arse. [There is the barest hint of a Scottish accent coming through. Barest hint.]

Cassel will probably get jealous. I'm sure he's always dreamed about a sober-enough James Bond throwing him out on his arse.

[She sure is mimicking and exaggerating his accent on purpose.]

[w o w.

He stares at her for a very long second or two, then puts her glass back. He gets a martini glass instead and sets about making her a very, very strong vesper.

He slides it over and lifts his own in a little, ironic toast. He is not above getting pains in his ass wasted.]

Cheers.

[Wow yourself.]

[Daneca immediately makes a face at the first drink and coughs some because holy shit that is strong. Are you trying to kill her? You seem to be.]

How do you drink this?

[Only very, very slowly. He smirks into his glass.]

With relish.

[And with an admonishing glance:] Don't waste it.

[...She'll think about it. For right now, it's not gonna get touched because she still needs a second to recover from that.]

So, do you usually try to get teenage girls drunk? Or is that just something you do when you're not busy saving Great Britain?

I usually try to get teenage girls to leave bloody well alone. [Between her and Elena, he's at his wits end.

He's also still pretty disgusted with himself for hitting on Elena, so. There's that, too.]

[She gets the sense now would be a good time for a topic change, so she takes it.]

So, have you? Saved Britain, I mean. You told me to forget everything about the movies.

[He grunts and takes another sip, settling his forearms on the bar again.]

I protect the Realm and Her Majesty's interests. [It's drawled, just lightly.]

Not usually so simple as saving Britain.

What have you done?

[Tell her all the things, Bond. She's not going to stop asking so tell her a thing.]

[Oh my god what part of 'I like drinking alone' was unclear. He glances at her, and takes a very long sip. You will not stop him drinking, Wasserman.]

There was a rag-and-bone man who tried to deploy an absurd but dangerous weapon in a university in York.

[The alone part. Duh, Bond. I know you've hit your head a bunch of times, but keep up.]

What kind of weapon?

[She's frowning a little, but in interest.]

[Hey, he does admirably with the number of concussions he's had.]

Called a Cutter. Fires razor sharp bits of titanium at hypervelocity. There was a researcher on the verge of a breakthrough. Would've ruined this pharmaceutical company. Hydt was using his company to steal intelligence - got the plans for the Cutter, and the company hired him to build it.

Sounds more absurd out loud than it did in a report.

What did you do then to stop it?

[She rests her chin in the palm of her head, elbow on the bar.]

Posed as a mercenary from Durban. Got inside. All we had then was a scrap of paper. London needed proof.

[He takes another drinking, eying her.] I got it.

I imagine the movies are more thrilling than waste disposal consortium owners. [Though he definitely almost died a few times, so.]

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