The Quartermaster

Quartermaster: \ˈkwȯ(r)-tər-ˌmas-tər\ Head of Q division, MI6 British Intelligence Unit. New to Q branch? Welcome! Get to work. Interested in working with us? Please, do come speak with me.

[guaranteedinnovation]

Theoccasionaltrigger sauntered into Q-Branch.

[theoccasionaltrigger]

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“007.” Q barely glanced up from his work, a computer model of what looked like the bottom of a shoe. “What a surprise. Is there something you need, or are you simply here to stand around and exude a prickly demeanor?”

“Can I not do both?” James smirked as he walked up to Q’s workstation. “What are you working on?” 

[guaranteedinnovation]

“So you do need something from me, then.” He sighed quietly, standing. “I am working on a shoe sole, 007. The shoes agents tend to wear do not make for good running shoes. Or climbing. Or... Fighting on top of trains, or whatever it is you get into.” He glanced down at Bond’s feet, then finally offered the agent a look. “The grips should keep you from sliding about more than necessary. But I assume you didn’t come here just to see what goodies we were cooking up.”

[guaranteedinnovation]

Amortgageandtwocats is already at your desk.

Tristan paused halfway through his office, only now having looked up. It was nearly five in the morning; no one should be here this early, and they especially shouldn’t be at his desk. But perhaps someone had set a mirror in his chair.

“...Hello?”

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Whiteswann cuts a striking figure.

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Q let a smile cross his face and chuckled. “I’m sure he hopes the same.”

Well, now he felt damn guilty, if she was going to make that face. Q rubbed his neck, sighed. “I’m sorry, I- Didn’t mean to imply you weren’t… That I wouldn’t enjoy dancing with you, simply that I’m not particularly… Adept. At dancing.” People were not his strongest suit, especially at parties. “…I suppose… I could always give it a try.” He glanced at his near-full drink, ad offered a hesitant smile. “I’m fine for the moment. Liquor’s a bit much for me, I’m afraid.”

[whiteswann-deactivated20160906]

Her head shakes, sending curls bouncing around her profile as her look of disappointment turns into a smile. “No need to be sorry. I’d love to  teach you sometime. Perhaps our paths will cross again at another party.” He certainly wasn’t a sociable man but she liked that. He was quite and stuck to the walls of the party instead of the center. She could respect that. “I’ll be  back. Don’t go off anywhere.” She teases with a smile as she walks away from Q and heads to the bar. She orders a dirty vodka martini and once the drink is  in hand she snakes through the crowd and back to her new acquaintance. 

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Q smiled. “Yes, perhaps.” He watched her go, wondering vaguely if he should agree to dance, after all. What was the worst that could happen? He’d trip over his own feet and the higher-ups would chuckle at his expense for a few days. Mm. Well, if she asked again, he supposed he’d agree, but he wouldn’t bring it up if she let it be.

Ah, she was coming back. “Hello again.” Q nodded. “I wondered for a moment whether I’d scared you off.” He sipped his champagne, ignoring the hot scent that tickled the back of his throat. “How long have you been with the department, then?”

[tea-faune]

Ben Whishaw (x)

[guaranteedinnovation]

Q did not usually work on his projects on the tube. There was only half a chance you’d get to sit, anyway, and trying to code on a tablet just wasn’t worth the frustration. But he’d been able to snag a seat, and combined with the fact that he was behind on several important projects, meant he was getting out at his station with his laptop and tablet both in his arms, bag hanging off one shoulder, as he tried to get through the bustle of the station.

Given the number of people there, it was impossible not to be bumped and shoved, but Q nearly fell into someone after a particularly nasty shoulder-check. His bag dropped forward, and his displaced electronics wobbled dangerously in his grip. “Oh, shit, sorry-”

[nattylineinumbrellas]

Can we just talk for a second about Q’s laptop? His very clearly, very personal, very much not MI6 standard issue laptop. I mean, it looks like one corner is being held together with fucking ductape . Looking at that laptop you can just imagine Q in his room at uni at 3am, listening to White Stripes at full volume while hacking the NSA just because he can. Think of all the mods and the upgrades he’s made to it over the years. How much must he love that machine, to have kept it and cared for it all this time? And now it’s just one more bit of him being dedicated to helping Bond.

[guaranteedinnovation]

Whiteswann cuts a striking figure.

[whiteswann-deactivated20160906]

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Ah, one of the doctors. Q nodded and shook. “You as well, Dr. Swann.” A pretty name, Swann. “Gods help you if you ever work with 007. I’m sure the doctors will tell you he’s the most stubborn one here.”

She still hadn’t let go of his hand. Q glanced down at it, then back at her smile. “I’m– oh, no.” His cheeks were heating slightly. “I’m, ah, I.. Don’t dance, I’m afraid.” Why on earth would she want to dance with him? Q was quite content to stay against the wall, watch the mechanics of the dance floor like a clockwork puzzle, rather than getting himself caught between the gears. His fingers toyed nervously with the stem of his drink.

A laugh escaped her lips at his warning. “Well hopefully our  paths don’t cross.” Of course Bond was stubborn, she already knew that about him from the multiple files she had read on him. Madeleine released his hand and reached for her glass of champagne. A slight look of disappointment slips over her features for a moment  before her smile returns. She shook her head dismissively at his words. “It’s probably for the best, I’d only step on your feet.” She looked away from Q and to the couples expertly maneuvering about the dance floor. Her hand raises as she sipped the drink. It’s contents were mostly gone and she was ready for a second drink. “Would you care for another drink?” 

[guaranteedinnovation]

Q let a smile cross his face and chuckled. “I’m sure he hopes the same.”

Well, now he felt damn guilty, if she was going to make that face. Q rubbed his neck, sighed. “I’m sorry, I- Didn’t mean to imply you weren’t... That I wouldn’t enjoy dancing with you, simply that I’m not particularly... Adept. At dancing.” People were not his strongest suit, especially at parties. “...I suppose... I could always give it a try.” He glanced at his near-full drink, ad offered a hesitant smile. “I’m fine for the moment. Liquor’s a bit much for me, I’m afraid.”

[principalvagina]

[guaranteedinnovation]

Theoccasionaltrigger sauntered into Q-Branch.

“007.” Q barely glanced up from his work, a computer model of what looked like the bottom of a shoe. “What a surprise. Is there something you need, or are you simply here to stand around and exude a prickly demeanor?”

[guaranteedinnovation]

Whiteswann cuts a striking figure.

[whiteswann-deactivated20160906]

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Q turned back to watch the crowds. “I’m sure you could find someone willing. But you haven’t, so…” He shrugged, and glanced over to her again. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before. What department do you work in?”

He swirled the champagne in his glass, watching the carbonation slowly bubble away. “I’m Q.” He put out his free hand. “A pleasure.”

A blonde brow arched at his words. “Perhaps.” Her red painted lips part to flash him another smile. “I haven’t been working for MI6 for long. Certainly is an interesting place to work.” The lie slips easily from her lips. It’s unrehearsed, she seemed naturally able to  lie to those she needed to.  “I’m a doctor, psychologist actually.”  Her eyes leave his face and  travel down to his outstretched hand. Her petite hand takes his and  shakes it firmly. “Madeleine Swann. It’s lovely to meet you, Q.” It was pointless to hide her name, if he looked her up he’d fine nothing on her. She was a ghost, her father made her that way. The doctor allows her hand to linger in his grip and she gently gives it a tug in the direction of where the other guests were dancing. “Looks like I’ve found someone I want to dance with.” 

[guaranteedinnovation]

Ah, one of the doctors. Q nodded and shook. “You as well, Dr. Swann.” A pretty name, Swann. “Gods help you if you ever work with 007. I’m sure the doctors will tell you he’s the most stubborn one here.”

She still hadn’t let go of his hand. Q glanced down at it, then back at her smile. “I’m-- oh, no.” His cheeks were heating slightly. “I’m, ah, I.. Don’t dance, I’m afraid.” Why on earth would she want to dance with him? Q was quite content to stay against the wall, watch the mechanics of the dance floor like a clockwork puzzle, rather than getting himself caught between the gears. His fingers toyed nervously with the stem of his drink.

[theaoidos-deactivated20200925]

anyone know the source of this photo? I just randomly saw it on twitter

thanks, @whishawnews! source

[guaranteedinnovation]

Whiteswann cuts a striking figure.

[whiteswann-deactivated20160906]

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It wasn’t often Q had to go to these big formal events. It was usually one of the agents, even if only a lower-level one. But here he was, a wallflower in every sense of the word, tuxedoed to toes with a glass of champagne he didn’t intend to drink in one hand. Men and women swanned around the ballroom, talking, laughing, some starting the dancing. Q was content to watch from the sidelines. Apparently, so was someone else.

A woman in a beautiful dress, blonde hair draped over her shoulder, was against the wall, watching the throngs, too. Q cleared his throat. “Good evening. Not one for dancing?”

Madeleine watched from the shadows as the employees of MI6 danced and indulged in fine alcohol. She had managed to charm her way into the party. Funny how a few flirtatious comments and a flash of red lips curved into a smile was all the persuasion needed to be let in. Her mission wasn’t one for Quantum or Spectre, no, it was for her. A night of freedom from work and her various jobs. The doctor was here to have fun.

Red lips leave a mark along the edge of her champagne flute as a man approached her. Blue eyes scan over him for a moment before she offers him a dazzling smile. “Evening.” She chimes back. Blonde hair bounces as she shakes her head. “Hard to dance without a partner.” She took another sip of her champagne before setting the flute down on a nearby table.

[guaranteedinnovation]

Q turned back to watch the crowds. “I’m sure you could find someone willing. But you haven’t, so...” He shrugged, and glanced over to her again. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before. What department do you work in?”

He swirled the champagne in his glass, watching the carbonation slowly bubble away. “I’m Q.” He put out his free hand. “A pleasure.”

[guaranteedinnovation]

Whiteswann cuts a striking figure.

It wasn’t often Q had to go to these big formal events. It was usually one of the agents, even if only a lower-level one. But here he was, a wallflower in every sense of the word, tuxedoed to toes with a glass of champagne he didn’t intend to drink in one hand. Men and women swanned around the ballroom, talking, laughing, some starting the dancing. Q was content to watch from the sidelines. Apparently, so was someone else.

A woman in a beautiful dress, blonde hair draped over her shoulder, was against the wall, watching the throngs, too. Q cleared his throat. “Good evening. Not one for dancing?”

[guaranteedinnovation]

Quartermaestro walked into the cafe.

Q glanced up over the edge of his laptop, then did a double-take. …Well. It seemed his theories on parallel universes might have just been proven.

“Good afternoon.” What did one say to their reflection? “Not often I find someone quite so…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the whole of the other. “…Similarly enchanting.”

[quartermaestro-blog]

His first thought was another sibling–it’s not unreasonable, such things appear to have a genetic association, and dizygotic triplets aren’t unheard of, if anything they’re more likely than identical higher multiples. Except. Those were his glasses, his sweater, his intonation. Q’s eyes widened, and he pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t say it’s a common occurrence, myself–Q?”

[guaranteedinnovation]

The moment stretched, both of them staring at the other. “...You are, or I am?” Tristan took a hesitant step forward. “Well, then. I don’t suppose we’d cause too much more damage to the universe if we touched.” He put out a hand. “Q.”

[guaranteedinnovation]

Send a flower for even more AUS!

Rose: Bookshop AU

Violet: Shape-Shifter AU

Tulip: 1940s Noir AU

Bluebell: Detention AU

Sunflower: Boarding School AU

Daisy: Group Project AU

Peony: Truth or Dare AU

Delphinium: School Rivals AU

Gardenia: Roadtrip AU

Poppy: Record Store AU

Orchid: 1920s Con Artists AU

Snapdragon: Apocalypse Survivors AU

Chrysanthemum: Arranged Marriage AU

Lilac: Fallen Angel AU

Pansy: Sex Line AU

Marigold: Amnesia AU

Carnation: Mobsters AU

Daffodil: CIA AU

[guaranteedinnovation]

[Open RP]

It was raining.

This was not an uncommon occurrence in London, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasantly wet. Q had sequestered himself in the corner of the cafe, bulky duffle jacket lying over the computer bag next to him, while he typed away at his keyboard. Some less-important memos, revising some of the technicians’ weapons drafts. A mug of hot chocolate steamed gently on the table. Near the door, the windows were beginning to steam up in protest of the rain tapping against the panes.

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causeforallyourpain stepped onto the platform.

Q nearly ran into him, lost in his thoughts. He grabbed the strap of his bag, keeping it from swinging into the stranger. “...Good evening, sir. Taking the tube as well?” Of course he was taking the tube, stupid question. That’s what people did on the underground. Q cleared his throat, trying to act as if the moment hadn’t happened.

Something about this one, niggling at the back of his brain. Q pushed it away.