[ 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?
BRING IT
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?