[ bond doesn't respond, deciding to let Q squirm some instead as he approaches the bar and gets a decent enough vantage point to scan the place. he takes off his suit coat off and slings it over his forearm, tie already discarded back at the office and top button undone on his shirt. if you're going to come to a pub you might as well look the part.

he waits a moment or two before heading over, greeting the clearly drunk and jovial group of MI6 paper pushers and computer extraordinaires with appropriate greets and a few handshakes. he's well known enough though not so much on an interpersonal level, and he has a report with a few of the female members. in the office it's all business as usual but here he puts on quite the show. ]

You'll have to excuse us.

[ everyone knows what that means; a high ranking member of the organization being pulled away by another means info being exchanged or a drop being done. little do they know when james leads Q to the bar it's just to get him away from his own pain and social suffering. ]

Scotch on the rocks. [ bond gestures about two fingers worth to the bartender, leaning against the polished wooden counter. ] You know I was told by your subordinate that cell was strictly for business purposes.