The Interrogation Meme

[snaketrap]

 The Interrogation Meme

 

 Your crimes were unspeakable, your lies were outnumbered, but finally you've been caught.
They bring you in, sit you down, and chain you up. No matter what power you have, no matter
how strong you are, you're not going anywhere so get comfy.
It's going to be a long night.
 

 

Rules
1. Post with your character, canon, and any prefs - You're the captive
2. Tag around to other characters. You're the interrogator.
3. Roll. Or, you know, don't.
3. Horribles.


RNG OPTIONS
1. Truth serum
You know this person isn't going to speak easy but you've got a surprise for them. This serum aught to loosen their lips a little.

2. Torture
The old fashion way might work best for this particular fellow. How about those nail screws?

3. Bargain
You've got something they really want, or really need. If they fess up, if they tell the truth of the matter, they'll get it.

4. Black mail
So, remember that night about ten years ago...? You know something they don't want the rest of the world to know and you're going to use it.

5. Seduction
Just because they're in chains on a chair doesn't mean you two can't have a little fun, right? Might be even more fun, come to think about it.

6. Leverage
Whether it's love, drugs, or something else -- it's hanging above your head. You're craving, aren't you? Or maybe that someone special is in danger if you don't spill.

7. WILDCARD
BECAUSE GIRAFFE. 

Comments

tiago rodriguez ☠ pre-skyfall

[malware]

7 because this is some time traveling shit + whatever it ends up lbr.

[discretionary]

[ it's not typically bond himself to do interrogations and even less so for him to be interrogated himself; to be fair, nothing about this day had been typical period. what he had hoped would be a simple check in with mallory and q had turned into either an amazing prank or-- well, if they had just wanted him gone, they could've sicked eve on him again, couldn't they. despite his protests, his demands to see m, he was detained and locked somewhere dark and deep-- the kind of place that those who end up there disappear entirely until mi6 decides they deserve to exist again.

he's pale as a ghost when m appears-- not his m, not the m now, but the dame who set him up, the m who gave him reason after his parents passing and who had trained him to be what he is through this program. and she stands, scrutinizing him.

you're far too old, she says, circling, not bothering to keep her distance, he's still a boy, james bond. he's still learning-- double oh? he's not that. you're doing an awful job of impersonating a child.

i'm obviously not a child, he wants to spit back, you're dead, you're dead but he grits back the words and eventually they disappear, no one with anything to say, nothing gained. more would come though, he's sure.

handcuffed to that metal table and stripped of his weapons, he waits. ]

BRING IT

[malware]

[ the brief was irritatingly, vaguely unspecific, but tiago knows how to swallow information and do the best he can with it. that's the job, all the time. m had said, there's a man i'd like you to speak to, which tiago had (correctly) taken to assume: get in there and interrogate him. it's only until he's handed the file that he knows the full extent of the details; the name, the face, the circumstances, the... oddity.

james bond. the name rings familiar, somehow. give him five minutes and a computer and tiago could find out everything there is to know about this 'james bond'. everything that isn't in this file. but he isn't allowed the time to do so—not before m points him toward the door of the room and tells him to do whatever it takes—whatever it takes—to make sure bond is telling the truth. or, at least, to prove who he says he is.

the room is bright. clinical. one window faces them both: tinted, reflective. there had been nobody behind it last tiago checked, but he knows how fond m is of peeking in on her little projects; she could be watching even now, as tiago enters the room silently, dressed sharply in a dark suit (no tie, unbuttoned collar). his face is blank, and he lingers against the wall, arms folded; no need to sit just yet, just to stare and appraise and evaluate. best to keep bond on his toes. ]

James Bond, [ he says, lilting and smooth. his accent is thick—a little thicker now—adapting the british vowels, the consonants. orphans make the best agents, even spanish immigrants.

start simple. work your way up. he can already tell bond's a trained killer, just in the way he holds himself. maybe there is some merit to his double-oh claim. ] Why are you here?

[discretionary]

I work here.

[ he says simply, bored almost and it's one-two-three seconds before he recognizes the man there before him. he doesn't look so different and yet he does, the way he holds himself, even in his face, though he has the same nose, same eyes, same mouth (the inside, however, is quite different he's sure) and despite looking far more put together than he'd expect after the last time they met, he immediately draws conclusions. ]

I could ask you the same, Silva.

[ he hasn't moved abruptly, hasn't moved at all really except to focus his eyes and that's all it takes to change everything, to turn from lazy and bored to completely and totally predatory. the handcuffs rattle idly as he sits forward, scrutinizing him, ]

Is this your new game?

[malware]

[ tiago just looks at him, eyebrow slightly raised, the corner of his mouth curling in incredulous interest. ]

I think you've mistaken me for somebody else. Either that, or you're behind on your psychological evaluations.

[ still, the name intrigues him; if the report was true (it has to be, at least a grain of it, it's too outlandish to be anything else, especially coming from m) then perhaps bond knows him as someone else, someone older. it's not a tough conclusion to come to; this entire situation is fucked.

he unfolds his arms, spreads his hands. the smile should be familiar to bond—not quite right, not quite wrong, but far younger, youthful, less damaged. but his eyes remain cold. the eyes of a predator, just like bond, eternally on guard. snarling teeth held back by a leash—no, not even that. ]

Game? No. Do I look like I'm playing a game with you?

[ tiago walks forward, the smile ceasing to exist. he stops, hands still and at his sides, sizing bond up. ] I could, if you really wanted. We don't have to make this civil.

Tell me who you think I am.

[discretionary]

[ his first inclination is to tell him to stop peacocking but there's something just so perfectly amiss about this. like those old twilight zone episodes where everything looks the same but is so very wrong and it settles in then that that might not be too far from reality. he exhales heavy through his nose, brows creasing, considering his option.

either the m before him is somehow alive or a very good imposter.
either silva before him is somehow alive or-- what? younger? deaged?

for a few very silent, very still moments bond considers if he's somehow compromised. if this is the first step into insanity. how awful, to dream of these two. he'd consider the opt out in his tooth but he'd rather it be done more cleanly if that's the case. ]

You go by Silva. You used to work for MI6 until you didn't. You terrorized M and London and I killed you.

[ it's all very matter of fact and when the handcuffs rattle this time, it's so he can fold his hands pleasantly on top of the table. ]

Frankly, this is all shite.

[malware]

[ he laughs. it's a lovely, ringing noise, all rich and whole, if abrupt. of course it's shite, it's been like that from day one. and this? mierda. ]

A good effort. A whole third of that was correct. [ he makes a familiar, flyaway gesture, to the room—the walls, as if to mimic bond: i work here. ] But I don't know you. I could, of course. All it would take is— [ his hands mime typing. ] The real you.

[ tiago is no stranger to the strange, but even this is tough to assess. he would never, never betray m, nor would he compromise her safety and the safety of this organisation; it doesn't show, not on his face, but the very idea sparks something like anger in him, a simmering, protective flame. bond's not lying, as far as he can tell, but when an agent lies it's hard for anyone to tell. even another agent.

remarkably, tiago is getting far more out of him with idle conversation rather than violence. (but he's not opposed to the idea.) the part about dying at this man's hands... mmm. maybe. anything is possible. but not without proof. ]

If I go by Silva, what then is my real name?

[discretionary]

[ he damns his disinterest now and the fact that that was the one thing he wouldn't know now. bond nods to the mirror, answering honestly, which all of it, really, feels strange considering his life exists on deflections and little lies. to think, when it mattered, it did absolutely nothing for him. there was some sort of irony to that, he's sure q would have something to say about it, too. ]

She said your name was on a wall. With others.

[ he stares at it now, knowing that she'd be there, watching. her and the others, baffled, suspicious, ]

She said when you died, it would be stricken and no one would ever remember you.

[ a sidelong glance back to tiago, ]

I didn't ask.

[ or more obviously, by his tone, i didn't care. ]