Kristatos wrote:Just me, then, or does anyone else want to have a go?
by Kristatos[spoiler]CHAPTER THREE: VIOLENCE IN THE LIBRARY
The assailant's name was Dave Henchman. He was a low-level operative in an as-yet unidentified organisation, by which I mean SPECTRE, obviously. Bournd had been sent to track him down to Tangier and terminate him with extreme prejudice. "Extreme prejudice?", Bond had asked M. "Maybe you should send 005 for that - I hear he's a member of UKIP".
This pun so annoyed M that he started to yell "Adava Kadav...' before stopping himself and remembering that he had got his franchises mixed up.
Upon further enquiry from Bournd about his mission objectives, M had clammed up, muttering something about how they had thought that it would make a good pre-credits sequence. And so, here he was in a library in Tangier, being charged the huge, bald-headed man who Bournd guessed was probably a former wrestler of some sort. He did a nifty sidestep and Henchman slammed into Mr White, sending them both crashing into a rack of bookshelves, which collapsed on top of them.
"Well, they just had a whole load of books fall on top of them" smirked Bournd, before realising that he really wasn't very good at these sorts of quips. "Oh bollocks", he snorted. "Cut to main title".
by dirtybennySpectre, Spectre, we’re cutting a big check there,
Our money would be better spent if we just gave to the poor
Spectre, $300 million not a penny more.
Spectre, Spectre, we just don’t give a fleck there,
You’ll be asleep before the second lion’s roar
Spectre, you’ll snore!
Spectre, Spectre, a pain in the neck there,
Political Correctness has cut to the core
Spectre, my jaws on the floor!
Spectre, Spectre, you’ll wish a bird your eyes will peck there,
The script should be trashed right after its tore,
Spectre, your nerves will be sore.
by KristatosFrom the looks of the latest information, it appears that the scene in the graveyard comes later, and that all I really need to do is replace the Minister of Defence with C. Here is the original version of chapter 11, preserved for posterity:
CHAPTER 11: WHAT SONY MAY SOON BE FILING
Bond stood in M's wood-paneled office. With him were M, Q and the Minister of Defence, Sir Jewemy Upperclass-Twytte. Without further ado, M began the introductions. "Sir Jewemy, this is Commander Bond, one of our best field agents on the rare occasions that he actually works for us. And I think we both know our quartermaster, Captain Ronald Obvious. Now, 007, I'll get straight to the point. You remember that hard drive we had you chasing during the last kerfuffle, and then sort of forgot about? Well, apparently, it contained the script of this movie. We're worried that those bas***ds at DCINB will get hold of it and use it to create some sort of parody novelisation thingy. We'd like you to retrieve it for us."
"And on the way, we expect you to get a life", chimed in Q. "Because that's the theme of this movie, getting a life. You see that lifeless stuffed animal over there", he added, pointing to a stuffed bear in the corner. "That's you, that is".
"Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious" snapped M. "Now, if we're all...."
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Bill Tanner with some teas and coffees. "Ah, Sir Jewemy" beamed M. "Allow me to introduce my trusty chief of staff, Bill Tanner. I don't think there's another fellow in the service as trustworthy as him. Trusty trusty trust".
Tanner blushed and set the drinks down on the table. "Why thank you sir. Now, have we finished with the foreshadowing? I have work to do".
"Yes, yes, of course. Run along". M dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "You too, 007".
As Bond left the office, he pulled the note from M's predecessor out of his pocket and looked at it once again.
by BlowfeldPrelude to a thriller
‘So, 007, lots to be done. Are you ready to get back to work?’
‘With pleasure, M, with pleasure.’
The dignified man behind the desk wearing a dark Savile Row (tm) suit sporting a matching sling cradling his left arm sat down unceremoniously, using his good arm he opened the top secret drawer secreted in his desk carefully shifting through the contents trying to find the Strangway file.
M halted his search looking up at the dower 007.
‘Is there a problem 007?’
‘Well sir. Seeing as I was reinstated with all back salary and benefits restored. I’d very much like to take all of my accrued leave now.’
“What?” The question popped loudly inside M’s balding head.
‘Sorry 007, I don’t believe I find your attempts at humour as amusing as you do.’
‘Oh no sir. There is nothing funny about unused leave.’
M studied 007’s constipated face searching in vain for any sign of humour. “d**n it!” he thought this daft ape is serious.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong.’ M spoke calm and rationally. ‘I seem to recall you telling everyone you were ready to get back to work?’
‘Indeed sir. With pleasure.’
‘Then what is all this rubbish about taking a vacation?’
‘It’s not rubbish sir, it is my right as an employee of Her Majesties’ Secret Service.’
‘How the hell is it you have any leave left? Didn’t you fake your own death to hang out in a seedy bar that only served Heineken. Having sex with wanton abandon with whatever low hanging bar fruit you could find!?'
‘They’re called “Skanks” sir. Slightly below low hanging fruit, a tad above forced sex worker.’ Bond paused before continuing. ‘Just barely.’
‘You abandoned your post to go on tour of Europe’s low rent brothels, yet you expect me to approve this?’ M’s voice managed to conceal his growing contempt.
‘No. Not if I have anything to say about it. Consider your request denied.’
007 showed no emotion only looking at M with his dull lifeless eyes. M had expected some sort of reaction.
Thinking the matter closed M continued.
‘Now that matter is out of the way I have a case that should be just your speed.’
007’s dull eyes blinked.
‘Oh. Sorry sir. It rather isn’t up to you.’
‘What!?’ this time the words escaped M’s mouth.
A blinking yellow light on M’s caught his attention. Mashing the button down he spoke harshly.
In the back of his mind M cursed himself for using such a low rent word so quickly in succession. His mind couldn’t grasp how that damned Bond managed to drag him, a well-educated, cultured man, down to his (Bond’s) level.
Moneypenny’s husky yet feminine voice spilled like honey over the speaker.
‘Sorry to interrupt. It is an urgent call.’
‘Take a bloody message! I’m in meeting!’ M’s voice rattled the room.
‘Sir. It’s about Bond.’ Moneypenny whispered.
‘Bond? What about him?’
‘I wouldn’t know sir. However it’s Human Resources, they would like to speak with you about him.’
‘Do they? I’ll take the call. Maybe they can clear this mess up.’
‘Very well sir. Line one.’
M turned his glare on Bond.
‘Don’t happen to know anything about this do you?’
Bond's hollow voice responded he did.
‘Yes sir. I had a call in this morning to them.’
M sneered as he pick up the phone punching line one with a vengeance.
‘We will bloody see about this!’ he snapped at Bond.
‘M here’ he spoke into the phone regaining much of his lost composure.
‘Ah, HR, how are you. Good. Good. What brings you to call me? 007? Yes. Yes. I am aware of that. Well, no I was not informed of this. Not at all. I don’t see how that is applicable.’
He swivelled the chair away from Bond until the back of the chair presented itself.
‘He bloody faked his death.’ M’s voice hissed quietly ‘He is damned lucky not to be facing charges. Well, no, he is not facing charges. But.. Yes. I reinstated him.. No. That never came up. Well then I will just fire him.. What do you mean I can’t!’
In stunned disbelief Gareth Mallory swivelled back around to face Bond once more. He had just learned a disturbing piece of information, in fact it was what ultimately caused his predecessor (Olivia Mansfield) to go stark raving mad. As his mind raced absorbing the new facts he felt he now knew why the previous M had Bond shot off a moving train in a country with no workers rights.
The fact that shook the new M so profoundly was as a government employee Bond simply could not be fired.
M continues his conversation as he looks upon Bond in utter disbelief.
‘So tell me how much leave as he accrued?’
A pregnant pause fills the room.
‘thirty-six months!!!’ M’s bellow was heard through the sound proof door.
The matter was settled, so Bond gave M a nod indicating his respect, then walked out the room in his short mincing strides without a another word.
The beleaguered graveyard shift deck clerk at the Fonab Castle Hotel (tm). He was a thin wiry young man with dark hair, working his way through university he avails himself of an opportunity to study as he struggles to stay awake. Pushing his books away he picks up the phone.
‘Hullo, front desk’ he answers crisply.
‘Er. What? Could you please say that again. You voice was a bit mumbled.’
A jolt of shock causes the young man to sit up straight.
‘No, Sir our maids do not do that sort of thing I can assure you. ‘
The mumble monotone voice retorts in the form of a string of profanity.
‘Sir if that is you attitude I suggest you leave. I will have you’re total ready for you!’
The young man hung up indignant; deftly turning to the computer screen he quickly tallying the total for room seven. For a moment he could not believe the amount of Heinekens consumed form the mini bar, thinking back to the mumbly voice he heard creating a mental picture of the man who belong with that voice he knew the total was no mistake.
The phone sounded again a moment of fear gripped his heart. He cautiously picks up the phone.
‘hulllo, front desk.’
‘huh, room 007? No sir. We do not number our suits in this manner.’
The tired young man caught on a little slow but he caught on just the same. There was only one idiot who call room 7, room double oh seven
‘Changing your voice will not help. I have you total ready! Please leave! ‘
Slamming the phone in to the cradle he ended the conversation....................................................................
It was not Bond calling it was M calling after Bond call him to refuse to work until he was "sexed".
Knowing the young man would not listen over the phone M tries another method. Face time call with M
M begs the young man to find a "hooker" for Bond. He is in the middle of a case and refuses to work.
M promises the young clerk all sort of things like a scholarship and maybe a job.
Chapter 28b : Make 7, UP Yours
Back in his hotel room Bond was looking at the mirror becoming more irate. That damned Jeremy Renner was staring back at him again. The Bas***d had the nerve to not only ape Bond’s look but to be a better actor, in better franchises. And, Bond wondered, where the f**k does he get off having a personality?! Bond had struggled his entire adult life to cultivate a personality to no avail.
But what really pissed Bond off was Renner ruined the Bourne series, the series Bond had modelled his life on. Bond also had the sneaking suspicion Renner was sleeping with his wife. He just knew they both were somewhere nice laughing about him right now.
Enraged Bond threw his half empty Heineken™ bottle smashing the mirror showering glass shards everywhere. Bond wobbled drunkenly for a moment shocked by the sudden death of the mirror, then went to the mini fridge to snag another bottle. He snatched a replacement taking quick swig from green bottle, like poor Smeagol it choked and burned in the back of his throat, he spat it out disgusted. Poison! Was his only thought.
Carefully tuning the bottle around from the always facing the camera stance which came so naturally to him he read the label, 7up™. What the f**k was this? What did 7up™ have to do with him? And why was it in his fridge? Was this some sort of overly complicated plot to get him? After all Bond was sure the world revolved around him, thus his family motto, Orbis non sufficit. Bond could neither read nor write one lick of Latin, still he was sure it was something about the world being in orbit around him.
Bond disposed of the dangerous content by pouring the remains of the bottle into the toilet, tossing the bottle into the shower stall with the rest of his empties which were becoming quite numerous by this point.
f**k it! He thought, it’s the maid’s problem now. It didn’t bother Bond his drinking habit had rendered his hotel shower stall unusable, for he almost never took showers while on mission. Too many bad memories.
Returning to the scene of the crime, Bond carefully grabbed a Heineken™ this time, reading the label before facing it outwards towards the camera. ‘Sweet nectar of life’ Bond thought as be popped the top taking a king sized gulp of his favourite brand.
For Christ’s sake! It fizzled in mouth, he struggled to swallow the brackish beer taste in his mouth. What the f**k was this! Was he drinking piss water?
Bond studied the label again his ape like eyes trying to comprehend the letters, sounding them out to be sure. What the s**t! Had the 7up™ polluted his pallet so violently it ruined his appreciation of Heineken™? A scary though encroached from the shadows of his mind, what if the 7up™ had merely cleansed his pallet and he was only truly tasting Heineken™ now?
For the first time in his life Bond truly knew fear. He didn’t know who he’d be if he couldn’t drink Heineken(tm). The turmoil in his soul was so great, so enormous, it threatened to swallow his very being like a ship caught in the tempest of the stormy sea in the darkest of night. Waves and torrents of emotion splintering the planks of his life. Soon he would be adrift, shipwrecked, marooned in the barren existence called “life”.
‘Screw this!’ Bond screamed angrily at the ceiling. He then left his room and the stench of lousy beer, going down to lobby to locate the hotel bar to get a good stiff drink.
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