[ A huff of a laugh. It's a quiet one this time round, a week's worth of tracking down a satellite that crashed in the Atacama desert. Certainly not an event worthy of a senior agent of MI6, let alone a double oh, but there's a fair bit on the line when it's a data packet attached to it that the Chinese are also after. Well— were.
The desert air is acrid and dry. There's a thin film of dust and sand over the side-mirror of his rental jeep, but Bond can't bring himself to care — everything is connected and plugged up to the laptop in the passenger seat, the road stretches out, and it's finally bloody cool enough to feel like he's not about to shrivel up and suffocate in the heat. ]
All the better to burn, Q. [ Over the line, Bond inhales. A hand out the window, one on the steering wheel, and the light of his cigarette trails cherry-red sparks alongside the centre-line of road. He ignores the blood on the end of his cuff. ]
no subject
The desert air is acrid and dry. There's a thin film of dust and sand over the side-mirror of his rental jeep, but Bond can't bring himself to care — everything is connected and plugged up to the laptop in the passenger seat, the road stretches out, and it's finally bloody cool enough to feel like he's not about to shrivel up and suffocate in the heat. ]
All the better to burn, Q. [ Over the line, Bond inhales. A hand out the window, one on the steering wheel, and the light of his cigarette trails cherry-red sparks alongside the centre-line of road. He ignores the blood on the end of his cuff. ]
Picking up the signal yet?