Aug. 17th, 2016

OTA

Aug. 17th, 2016 03:17 am
0_0_7: (Default)
[personal profile] 0_0_7
Q was missing.

It wasn't unusual for him to not come home, or for he and Bond to pass like ships in the night. But when he didn't answer his texts or emails and when Bond found out he hadn't been to Q Branch in two days, he began to do some digging on his own. He certainly wasn't as adept at Q at hacking and such, but he knew his way around. He still could manage a few new tricks. And so he hacked into the CCTV near the last ping of Q's GPS and watched intently. What he saw was Q being snatched off the street on his way to a tube stop, likely on his way home.

Bond had lost precious time and knew Q could be anywhere. He resolved not to panic. Instead, he steeled himself and began to work methodically through contacts and back channels, trying to track down the white van. He finally narrowed it down to a rental agency at Heathrow.

Going there only got him so far. A bogus credit car, a fake name. But he did know when it had been dropped off and he began to pull up flight data of planes that had taken off within a four hour window of when the van had been returned. He was casting a wide net. He knew he needed help.

And so he opened his phone and scrolled through the numbers until he found someone he thought could help. Hitting call, he rang them.

"This is Bond. I need a avour. Meet me at Piccadilly in a half an hour."

Nothing more, no details. He made the call and then went to the meet.

He'd find Q if it was the end of him.

(A bit different of an OTA...especially looking for spies but if Bond knows you and he thinks you'd be of use then do tag in! Excited to kick off a new plot!)
finlay_flynn: (v_v)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
He didn't like how familiar this was, the steady tap of his cane, the weight of sunglasses on his face. He hated how easily his body remembered it all. ...Though this time it was, at least, a little different. It was as if his magic had been prepared for this long before he had. As if it had known what would happen.

As he walked down the street, making his way to the cafe he still preferred to visit when he was writing, his magic offered him a shimmering image of the world around him. Less a vision, more a painting. Some details ignored to simplify the image, others done in almost photo realistic detail. So while he couldn't see the face of the woman who passed him on the left, his magic did show him a newspaper stand nearby. Specifically a tabloid with a headline speculating on his sudden vision loss being tied to drug abuse.

Usually that would have annoyed him, but today he found he didn't care. He'd take being blind over being hunted any day, and the press could think whatever they liked. 

When he reached the cafe he instinctively reached for the door, only to have someone open if for him.

"Oh, thank you," he said, trying to make his magic focus on the face of the person in question.

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London Calling RPG

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