#legolandboffin

[rustedsteele-archive]

Mistaken Identity [Closed The Brothers Bond] {@legolandboffin}

A groan escaped him as his body lurched into consciousness. Eyes flickered around the room as he struggled to get free of whatever ties were binding him to the chair he was apparently sitting in. A wave of nausea hit him, the after effects of coming down. He must have been out for several hours if he was in that desperate a need for a fix. He could see nothing passed the brightest light in front of him, his body shivering in withdrawal and the muffled sound of voices only starting to reach his ears. How had he come to be there, and where exactly was he? Everything but the bright light was dark. He could hardly remember a thing.

As the voices became clearer, he understood why he hadn’t been able to make out words. They were there, but they were not in English. Someone to his left to gesturing at the Camera, rambling in Chinese, Sephyr guessed. He’s been kidnapped, apparently, while in London on vacation. He remembered being struck across the head, but where had he woken up, he wondered.

Through the jumble of syllables he did not understand “MI6’ and “James Bond; were words he could make out. Why would they be involving MI6? If they were kidnapping him for his money, surly they would be trying with the Canadian Government? And who was James Bond? What did any of this have to do with him? He was trying to work it out through a haze of possible concussion and definite drug fog. As he tried, his head began to lull and he found himself in darkness again.

A swift punch to the face pulled him fornt his unconscious state, a tall man in black standing in front of him. “James Bond.” The man spoke slowly, easily. “You’re going to tell us who the sleeper agent in our cell is, or I am going to make you wish you were never born.”

“Who the FUCK is James Bond?” Sephyr managed to get out before he was punched again.

“Don’t play stupid with me!” the man growled out. “I know you helped them get in!”

Sephyr didn’t understand, but the more he tried to explain that to the man he more pain he was being put through.  By the time the man was finished, Sephyr was barely clinging to consciousness. “We’ll try again tomorrow, Mr. Bond.”

“I told you, that’s not my name…”

    -

  It was rare that M left her office, and it was even more rare that she ventured into Q branch. She was a very busy woman, and more to the point she had people to make her trips for her. In this case, she felt it was important to make her appearance personally. This was puzzling even for her. Stepping right into the Quartermaster’s office, an air of cool authority about her, she made herself known.

Quartermaster.” She spoke curtly. “I wonder if you have a moment to look at something for me? It is rather urgent.” 

[wintersfrozenheart]

'Chance' Encounter [Closed Sherlock AU] {@Legolandboffin}

At least an hour, he thought to himself. He had been sitting across from that bottle for at least an hour. His eyes had been locked on it, traced the label, traced the glass around the amber liquid inside at least thirty times.  He wanted it. He could have it, certainly he could. He was the master of his own life, his choices, but that small rationality in the back of his mind kept the distance between himself and the bottle. Tearing his eyes away from the object, Scott Winters sighed to himself. Six AM was no time from a bottle of Brandy.

Standing from his seat in his West-end flat’s sitting room, he strolled into the kitchen. Making himself a cup of tea, he did his level best to tear his thoughts from the idea of drinking enough he might actually get some sleep. Tasks for the day. Running his hand through his short brown hair, he stepped along the tile floor toward his bedroom, tea in one hand a small notebook in the other. Flipping it open he lay it out on his desk, pulling a shirt from his wardrobe before reading the items listed on the page aloud.

“Morning routine, finished. Call Alaric, skip, ensure CO is in position, done…” He huffed. He had finished most all of his tasks lined up for that morning. What was a man to do? No one needed killing, no one needed torturing and certainly no one needed charming. Perhaps he was going to have to find his own entertainment? A shudder rang through his body. He did not like the sound of that.

As though sent from a deity he could not fathom, his mobile phone began to vibrate. Picking the phone up from the table he glanced at his messages, a sickening grin forming on his features.

[Received – 00 Faux] We have a new Quartermaster. He has completed training. Shall I approach?

[SMS: 00 Faux] No no darling, don’t trouble yourself. Allow me. I’d like to get to know him first. –SW

He stepped into the washroom, fixing a tie over a dress shirt and a waistcoat over that. Pulling a blazer on to top it off and smoothing out his slacks he brushed his hair and teeth, looking just perfectly presentable. He wasn’t about to try and corrupt a Quartermaster without first getting to know them. That was asking for MI6 to root out his moles.

Scott spent the better part of that morning gathering as much information as possible. This man may have been the technology expert for MI6, but Scott certainly had his own resources. For instance, today the Quartermaster would venture out for lunch. That had come to him from one of the minions he employed within the agency. A Q-branch operative on his side meant he had a very good idea of Agent movements as well as the Quartermasters new habits.

This was of course the reason he found himself seated at a tablet within the Temesis Dock. He rather would admit to finding the place just a bit to quaint for his liking. He preferred lavish restaurants. Still, if this was where the Quartermaster intended to be, then this was where Scott would remain. A plan had already hatched upon arrival. He sat close enough to the entrance that he could see the Quartermaster coming, a picture having already been provided by his man inside. A decoy phone in hand, Scott stepped away from the table he had been occupying for ten minute previous and orchestrated himself to cross paths with the Quartermaster over the water, a man of his ready to move.

He found himself pushed, quite on purpose (Though stage to be an accident) right into the raven-haired boffin. He stumbled, likely causing the other to do so as well, and ‘lost his grip’ on his mobile. He watched it tumble into the water, turning to look as the man who had pushed him took off into a crowd.

“Bugger.” He muttered,  looking back at the other person involved in the crash. “So sorry.” He frowned. “Seems people are having a hard time staying within the walls of manners these days.” He threw a glance back at the area his phone had sunk to. “Are you alright?”