londoncallingrpg

Entry tags:

OTA

Hunting down these sorts of men, the kind who bought and sold the innocent, seemed to be a pet project for Bond, and while Q wasn't totally sure what had inspired the man's mission, he respected it.

The first time they'd followed a lead like this, it hadn't gone as hoped. Though this time around at least Q was prepared to play the part. Currently he was alone in the bar, deliberately dressed a bit younger than usual, his glasses swapped out for contacts, and his hair styled in a way that made him look younger.

Q looked young anyway, but like this he truly looked too young to be a bloody quartermaster.

This was just reconnaissance though. They knew their target frequented the bars on this street, and Q's job tonight was to simply catch his interest. He had tanner in his ear, Eve on his phone sending texts, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Bond was listening or watching as well. Though he was sure they were all bored out of their mind right now. There was no sign of their mark, and he was yet to be approached by anyone who might be involved in the ring. ...Or anyone, for that matter.

(OTA! Q is kinda on the job right now, so expect him to play a part, even if you know him. Your pup can be mistaken for the target, an associate of the target, or just get have a nice chat. If you're in the mood your character can even mistake Q for an actual possible victim/target. The choice is yours.)

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There were some things that, as an agent, you were trained to do subconsciously. Admittedly, once he'd had enough alcohol, Oliver was a lot less able to do these things. But the night was still young, and he noted the comings and goings in the bar without having to think about it.

Until, of course, he noticed the young quartermaster touching his ear.

He only had to think back to know that the older man with him had come into the bar after he and the quartermaster had exchanged a few words. So when he stopped Q from leaving, that offered Athos an array of options. Not knowing whether the bar staff was involved narrowed them down, however.

He downed the rest of his glass, paid for it, then headed over to the two. "I'm ready for you now," he told Q, and gave the older gentleman a polite smile. "I'm afraid he and I had a prior engagement."

Q could feel his wrist starting to swell slightly. Sprained, most likely. Though he remained still, only barely showing any signs that he was in pain. However, he couldn't stop himself from gasping as the man briefly tightened his grip before letting go.

"Of course," the stranger replied, holding Olvier's gaze for a long moment. "He's all yours, I was just saying goodnight."

The man paid for his drinks, then Q's as well. "I hope to see you again, Quinton. Tomorrow, maybe?"

Q nodded a bit, but stayed silent as he got to his feet to leave with the other agent.

"Have a good evening," Athos told him with another polite smile, then put a hand on Q's back and drew him outside.

Q kept close and didn't look back, even though he could feel the man watching him.

It wasn't until they were outside that he spoke up.

"Thank you," he said simply and quietly.

"Don't mention it," Athos told him easily, and hailed a cab. Best if they were seen to leave together. "Were you there without in back-up?" he asked, his voice low enough to be only audible by Q. He had left them ample time to intervene instead of him, if needed.

"Earpiece, but the bloody thing cut out for no reason. No immediate backup," Q admitted. "I don't know how things are at five, but six is stretched thin at the moment. This was a low ranking assignment where contact was to be minimal. Though if I'd been able to send a distress call, I know they had someone in the area."

It wasn't perfect, but given that every mission felt like a fight against bureaucracy lately, it was the best they could do.

"Things are tight, but not that tight," Oliver replied, frowning at the news. "You could ask us for help," he added, or offered, depending on how you took his words. Joint operations had been known to work out. "For your local operations, at least."

Five wouldn't sent its agents all over the world, but they would help when they could, on their territory.

"I don't get to make that call, I'm afraid, but I am glad you were here tonight," Q replied, nursing his wrist as he spoke.

he offered a nervous laugh then, quiet and tight. "I feel like I need a very stiff drink. Funny, since I've been sitting in a bar for ages now."

"You ought to get that checked out," Oliver remarked with a nod at his wrist, even as a cab slowed to a stop beside them. He opened the door for Q.

"Only a sprain, I'll be fine," Q assured him, climbing into the cab as it stopped. "Wouldn't mind going back to my lab and seeing just what the hell happened to this rubbish though," he frowned, removing the tiny earpiece and turning it over in his hand.

"Want to join me?" he asked.

It was a rare invitation. Not very many people were invited to see the Quartermaster's lab.

It was a rare opportunity, and Oliver considered it as such. "Have you got scotch?"

He cultivated his image as an alcoholic almost more than he was one. It paid to be underestimated, although he hoped it would never have to pay from Q.

"It's possible Bond has a bottle stashed somewhere," Q offered, raising a brow, but not judging.

"Let's go," Oliver agreed, ignoring that brow as he settled in beside Q, and let him give the address to the driver.

Q gave the address to the dock, since they'd have to take a short boat ride to reach the lab, then returned to nursing his wrist.

Oliver was content to spend the drive in silence; most of what he would want to say, he did not want the driver to hear. He paid for the fare, rather than force Q to use his hands to get some money out - besides, he was - hopefully - about to keep him in drinks, then walked out of the cab and fell in stride with the quartermaster, letting him take the lead.

"I'll need a hand," Q admitted as he started towards the boat. "Were just heading under the bridge there. Very short ride."

"Of course," Oliver agreed evenly, taking the lead once they were on the boat, to get them underway.

The ride was smooth, and brief as Q had promised.

When the rest of six had been moved into the shiny new office, Q had, instead, insisted on building his lab in the bunker, safe from prying eyes and bureaucratic meddling.

"This is it," he said, carefully getting out of the boat and leading the way to the lab.

It was a massive space, full of ongoing projects and tech, as well as various cars and weapons that were being redesigned and rebuilt. He made his way to his desk, but walked past it and reached for what looked like an ammo box.

"Ah, here we are," he said, pulling out a bottle of something very old and amber coloured. "Will that do?"

Oliver had been making his way through the cars, thinking that if there was one thing he missed about Six, it was them. Then again, if they spent less on them, they might be able to afford sending in back-up.

But they were beautiful.

The question pulled him out of his nostalgia, and he headed over to survey the bottle. "Nicely, yes," he noted, a hint of approval in his voice.

If Oliver had asked, Q would have explained that the cars, for the most part, were currently all in limbo. All lacking the funds for their repairs to be completed. Only two were actively being worked on. One for nine- a necessity for an upcoming mission, and one for Bond, which the double-o had been funding himself.

As it was, however, Q simply set to work. Placing the earpiece on his desk, Q cleaned his glasses before setting up the microscope for a better look.

"I should have insisted on taking one of my own prototypes," he tutted to himself.

'Prototype' didn't necessarily sound like something reliable to Oliver, but he supposed that when you were the one designing the tech, you knew whether you could rely on it or not. Especially when you had Q's skills. "Why didn't you?" he asked as he pulled a couple of glasses out of the drawer the bottle had come from, and poured them.

"New rules," Q frowned, starting to disassemble the device with slow, elegant movements.

"New head of joint security wants to shut down the double-o program," he said, briefly glancing up to look at Oliver, then looking back down at his work. "M, obviously, thinks that's a terrible idea. The scuffle has resulted in a lot of problems for, well, people like me. Budget cuts, new rules, double the paperwork... I understand bureaucracy has its place, especially here, but it's becoming a pissing contest, and it's only a matter of time before it results in tragedy."

Oliver was quiet a moment, setting one of the glasses down beside Q, and taking a sip from his own. Then he offered, as despondently as he did everything else, "It could be up to you, whether you have back-up on operations like tonight's."

The Musketeers weren't exactly known for religiously following the rules.

Q wanted the drink, and nodded his thanks, but he didn't stop working just yet.

"That's a very kind offer," he said, picking up a dainty looking pair of tweezers as he carefully plucked the circuitry from it's casing. "I may take you up on it one day- Though I have to admit, I'm wary of getting you involved in the mess."

He swore softly under his breath, dropping the tweezers and rubbing his eyes. He hated wearing contacts, and though he knew he ought to be a bit more careful, he took them out and dropped them directly into the trash.

"There's a spare pair of glasses on that table behind you. Can you pass them over?"

"Will they blow up in my hands if I put my finger on the wrong place?" Oliver could joke about the MI6 tech because he had once worked with it. But even as he said so, he picked up the glasses and handed them to Q. "We're grown men, you'll find. And we have a very hard time doing anything we don't want to do."

He couldn't see any of them turning down the opportunity to help bring down a sex ring.

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