James Bond (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doubleohblonde) wrote2010-03-06 09:32 pm
doubleohblonde) wrote2010-03-06 09:32 pm
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18 Apocalypse Ave, Saturday Morning
The first thing James noticed when he woke up was that he hadn't been woken by a maid. The next thing was that his bed was uncharacteristically comfortable. Brushing a stray lock of thick black hair out of his eyes as he sat up, he looked in confusion. The room was spacious, warm, and airy, the complete opposite of the cramped, dark, school dormitories he'd gotten used to in the last few years.
His confusion grew as he explored the room. For every book on the shelf that he recognised, there were several he didn't, there was something that might possibly have been a typewriter if he could figure out where to put the paper, the clothing in the closets was mostly good quality but far too large, and while he found a British passport in his name, it was an obvious fake, given its issue date seventy-odd years in the future and the photo of an unfamiliar man at least twice his age who was a blonde of all things.
Still, James was not one to be easily daunted, and after checking the doorknob and finding it unlocked, he pulled on on a pair of trousers that were baggy enough to make his lanky frame look even skinnier and ventured out to investigate the house proper.
[Open to the housemates. Bond is now the version of Bond from the Young Bond YA novels.]
His confusion grew as he explored the room. For every book on the shelf that he recognised, there were several he didn't, there was something that might possibly have been a typewriter if he could figure out where to put the paper, the clothing in the closets was mostly good quality but far too large, and while he found a British passport in his name, it was an obvious fake, given its issue date seventy-odd years in the future and the photo of an unfamiliar man at least twice his age who was a blonde of all things.
Still, James was not one to be easily daunted, and after checking the doorknob and finding it unlocked, he pulled on on a pair of trousers that were baggy enough to make his lanky frame look even skinnier and ventured out to investigate the house proper.
[Open to the housemates. Bond is now the version of Bond from the Young Bond YA novels.]
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When he saw the younger, skinnier guy, he smiled cruelly. "You! Make me a sandwich."
Intimidating people was what he did best. Just ask that wimp McFly.
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Still the kitchen would most likely have coffee in it, so James headed in that direction, tossing a "Why? Do your parents think butter knives are too sharp?" over his shoulder.
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He didn't know where she'd gone and really wasn't all that worried. Old people were annoying.
"But she's not here and I'm hungry, so get me a sandwich, pipsqueak."
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"And my Aunt Charmain always insists on basic table manners," he said, warily poking what looked like a power switch. "So I'm afraid you're out of luck."
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Look, in 1955 he was a badass.
He cracked his knuckles. "Table manners are for other people."
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"In that case so are sandwiches."
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Biff thought he was very, very clever.
Biff was wrong.
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"Only if you intend on making them yourself."
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And then he tried, stupidly, to punch James.
It was entirely possible that Biff would be spending the rest of the weekend unconscious, yes.
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Stepping out of the way of Biff's punch, James attempted to use Biff's momentum to flip him over his shoulder.
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dorkily. "You were saying something about knuckle sandwiches?"Yes, taunt the bully some more James, that will defuse the situation.
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Bitterly.
Oh yeah.