paradisa | 7 -(Voice)

[Really? He'd been rather enjoying his respite away from your madness, Silva. Why must you ruin it?

He sighs dramatically]

Yes because my primary concern in life is your feelings.

[He misses you bro...you complete him spiritually after all.]

Oh thank goodness you are ok...I was starting to get so worried.

The thought of you just leaving without so much as a goodbye note just breaks my heart.

Edited 2013-10-28 22:47 (UTC)

[That's a decidedly disturbing thought, Silva]

Worried that I left? Or worried that you weren't the instrument of my departure?

[Oh he has plenty of those.]

But if you were to leave...who would I have such riveting conversations with?

There are only a few here who can truely...get me as the kids might say.

Edited 2013-10-28 23:18 (UTC)

[So deadpan]

Aren't I the lucky one.

[Is there a point to all of this, Silva?]

Perhaps if you tried tactics other than kidnapping and explosions you might make more friends.

[He'll get there...eventually.]

Oh I must disagree James...my little quirks and ways have a habit of keeping people entertained.

You cannot tell me that you have not found my presence here boring after all?

Of all the things that might be said about you, Silva, boring is certainly not one of them. Although a few other phrases come to mind.

[Psychotic, homicidal, insane, Oedipal.......]

You flatter me my good man.

And because of that reputation for excitement...and because of our almost brotherly connection we share that I put this idea to you.

[He claps his hands together.]

Let us play a game.

[That's not suspicious at ALL]

A game? Don't tell me... Russian Roulette?

[Laughing.]

Ah good one...good one.

No I was thinking...hide and seek.

Edited 2013-10-28 23:39 (UTC)

Am I supposed to count to one hundred and scour the castle looking for you?

That's an idea...but a little impractical.

We're both such busy men, we have schedules to keep after all.

If I was to tell you the silk bed sheets are a little tacky...that might save us a little time mightn't it?

[Oh bloody hell]

You know I generally buy someone a drink before inviting them to my bedroom.

[He downs the last of his drink and picks up his journal, heading out the door of the Death Match and heading towards the stairs]

I know...but I'm sure you can make an exception for little old me.

I'll put the kettle on whilst I wait...and make us a nice celebratory tea.

Always the exception, not the rule, hmm?

[Can't you hear his footsteps on the stairs?]

[Chuckling.]

You know...if they were to ever publish my memoirs I think I shall use that as the title.

See you soon dear.

[He certainly can...from where he is at least.]

Only if you give me credit for giving you the idea.

[He exits the stairwell to the lobby and heads straight for the tower stairs]

[He closes the journal and waits in his little hiding spot. Can't you sense him yet James?]

[Well FINE, then, be a dick. He snaps his own journal shut and slips it into his pocket. He's taking his time moving up the stairs. He's not going to give Silva the pleasure of hearing his footsteps pounding up the tower stairs as he races towards whatever trap the man's set for him. Oh yes. He's fully aware this is likely a trap. This is Silva, he'd be more surprised if it WASN'T a trap. The man just oozes suspicious intents from every pore.

He creeps up the stairs, pausing a few steps below his floor to listen. Nothing? That's not entirely unexpected, however, the game is hide and seek and it wouldn't be much of a game if he could hear him, after all. He walks slowly up the steps, careful not to make a noise as he approaches his door. His eyes flick to the empty room across the hall, narrowing slightly. It would be all too easy for Silva to hide in there and wait for him... although he would expect Bond would be suspicious and is just as likely to be in his room as promised. Either way he was going to be careful. He crossed to his own door, looking over the doorknob for any tampering.]

[As Bond enters his room, the lift doors at the other end of the corridor slide open to reveal Silva standing there. Dressed in the same clothes he wore on the Moors of Scotland. A scowl flashes across his face

He didn't want to do this...he wasn't joking when he told Bond there was almost a brotherly connection between them. They had both been fucked over by the same woman hadn't they?

However he'd been humiliated back in September. His failure and weakness had been laid bare for the world to see and that annoyed him. He couldn't let that stand without any kind of retribution towards somebody M cared for.

After three minutes he pushes the button on the detonator he was carrying in his hand.It wasn't a massive explosion but enough to blow Bonds room door off its hinges and fuck up the contents inside.

Guess the "Make a nice celebratory tea" wasn't a big enough clue what was in the kettle then?]

Edited 2013-10-29 01:40 (UTC)

[Apparently it wasn't a big enough clue at all.

Bond idly registers the sound of the lift arriving as he draws his gun and steps through the door. However, if given the choice between looking down the hallway at some other resident and possibly putting his back to Silva in his room or continuing the survey of his residence the obvious choice is the latter. He knows there's a chance Silva could be lying in wait in the hall but he can wait the couple of minutes it would take him to properly search his room.

His eyes scan the primary living space, looking for anything out of place or that may have been added in his absence. Seeing nothing amiss he moves on to the bathroom, pushing the door flush against the wall and quickly clearing the room. Nothing. He quickly moves to his bedroom, pushing the door open in the same fashion. Nothing. He gives a passing thought to looking in his closet but he doubts even Silva would be that obvious. Leaving his bedroom he frowns. Nothing. And nothing to indicate anything had been tampered with or booby trapped

Unless.

His eyes dart to the kettle, widening as the realization hits him a moment too late. He turns to run out of the room when it explodes.]

[The blast takes him off his feet, throwing him into the wall. He hears a sickening CRACK and it takes him a moment to realize that it came from him, not the wall.

He grunts as he slides down to hit the floor, his legs crumpling uselessly under him. No. NO. He can't let that bloody man win, not like this. How the hell had he been so stupid? Silva had given him all the clues and he'd missed it?! The bloody kettle. It figures. He could give Silva credit for originality, at least?

The darkness starts to creep in on the edges of his vision. Bond has a feeling he's about to die for the second time since he'd come to this godawful place. But he can't. Not by Silva's hand. He can't give the bastard the satisfaction. But he also can't move his legs. FUCK. He struggles to sit up, eyes searching for his gun.]

[As Bond is fighting off the darkness Silva casually strolls in. Glass and broken shards crunching under his boots.

He looks around at the mess giving a disaproving tut before making his way to Bond's crumpled form.

He kicks the gun to one side before kneeling down to meet Bond in the eye. His face is serious. There is no joking, no humour in what he says next...it is merely fact.]

I win.

Edited 2013-10-29 02:21 (UTC)

[Bond's breathing is already labored as he stares disdainfully up at Silva.

He tries to speak but finds himself unable, coughing and sliding sideways to the floor. Oh hell. He tries to lift himself up but only succeeds in slipping in something wet on the floor. Blood. His blood.

His gaze lifts one final time to Silva, glaring at the man for a moment before the life slips out of his eyes. His body goes limp on the floor as James Bond dies.]

Edited 2013-10-29 02:40 (UTC)

[Tess may not have noticed the entry in the journal, but when she's coming down from the roof, she certainly notices the blown-out door and the wreckage of a small explosive. She also notices the blood pooling across the floor, tracked around by someone else's feet, the broken glass, and most importantly, the body.

Tess unholsters her gun and approaches the doorway. She moves through it slowly, sweeping the area with her gun aimed. Only when she's sure the coast is clear does she lower it.

Her eyes drift down to the body again. Someone certainly got his shit wrecked. She kneels just to pick up the gun dropped on the ground, and she pockets it instinctively. (You never walked away from a chance to get a free gun.) For a moment, she stays crouched, just to get a better look at the dead guy.]

Tough day, bud.

[That was one way of putting it, anyway.]

[ooc: if this is alright? har har.]

7 -(Voice)

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

James Bond

Raoul Silva

Action

1/2

no subject

Action

no subject

15th Floor