bakerstreet | A Picture is Worth... Meme.

A Picture is Worth.... Meme
This ain't your mama's meme. Forget your RNG, forget your tired old prompts.
A picture is worth a thousand words.
It's easy. Comment with your character. Then go comment around.
But instead of pre-filled prompts with words or numbers, you find a gif or image (any gif/image from any canon or scenario you please) that sets the scene.
The picture is the prompt.

WARNING: THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY. AND POSSIBLY NSFW AND THERE MAY BE TRIGGERS.
Some images will not be able to be hidden behind cuts, so please be aware that triggery material may be found within.

If you post an image that is violent or sexual in nature please LINK it, do not embed it into the comment.

Feel free to use this template to stick your image in there.

Good resources for images/gifs are weheartit or tumblr. For not so safe for work gifs/images go here and here.

Original Meme here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( the odds are 11 million to 1 when it comes to dying because of a commercial aircraft crash. q knows this. q understands this so very well - he runs the numbers through his head like a cadence, a steady stream like the binary on his computer screens. everything is so much neater when encapsulated in neat schematics and blueprints. he knows how planes work ( he's designed a few of them in the past for mi6 ) but that comes with the flipside of knowing exactly what might break in excruciating, minute detail.

it isn't a rational thing. he doesn't claim it to be a rational fear. he doesn't talk about it much, actually. what q does instead is cope in the very best ways that he can. he slides the window shade down the moment he gets seated. he keeps his seat-belt on and pressing tight against his chest. he grips the armrests tight enough for his fingers to turn white and begin to ache. every slight amount of turbulence, every bump and rattle of the plane is met with an internal shudder.

this is the closest bond is going to come to seeing him without his proud, soft-spoken composure. and he can just tell that there's a smirk on the agent's face, that smug bastard. he's far too senior to be doing this. the plane rattles again, precariously - the pilot's voice is heard dimly on the intercom, to tell them that it's fine, just a little bit of routine turbulence. his message is met with deaf ears, as half of the people on this plane were asleep.

q doesn't know how anyone could sleep under these conditions. the plane rumbles again-- )

Shit.

( q's grip on the armrests tighten - sorry, bond. he's taken yours as well. the muscles in his neck are as taut as any bowstring, so tense that it's painful. )

[ james is used to private charters, small luxury planes with every convenience of a hotel right there and personally catered to him and whatever other members of mi6 he happens to be travelling with. these expenses are rarely spared when operations are important enough to have them on a mission that doesn't require immersion; this is routine exchange, practically security detail for bond as he accompanies Q to a rendezvous of sorts. so bond has taken to blaming the quartermaster for their being in first class on their way to istanbul. eve mentioned something about it possibly subduing his phobia, 'small charters crash much more often than commercial planes,' she said, as it that would make the whole thing any less ridiculous.

of course, seeing Q squirm has more than made up for the inconvenience. ]

Don't over do it, there will be no armrest left for the landing.

[ he speaks softly, all the other overhead lights around them off, as not to disturb the others. Q is entirely right in assuming there's a smirk on his face and he doesn't bother hiding his amusement in his comment.

the flight attendant steps over a few moments later with a tray and hands off two drinks to him. he smiles at her, dripping with charm and a lingering gaze (shared, of course) before she walks away to help another guest. bond places one of the glasses, a martini naturally, in front of Q before taking a sip of his own. Q had been mid-freakout when she came around the first time taking orders so bond took the liberty. ]

You need this much more than I do.

( as much as he appreciates the extra leg room, q would be at the very back of the plane if he'd had a choice about it. he's done the math. he knows that the probability of survival is on average twenty percent higher for passengers sitting near the rear. if flying was the absolute last resort, then he would have chosen their seats strategically. but m's orders are orders, and q has no doubt that bond played a role in getting them in the seats that they had now.

so here they are, both with hidden resentments about this whole affair that don't quite bubble to the surface. q, for his part, is finding it rather hard to equip himself with witty retorts to bond's patronizing remarks. it's a regular thing for a man who conflates youth with incompetence, and q is a young man with too much to prove - and even in these subtle ways, he tries to show bond up. tries to assert that he's someone to be taken seriously, because nobody does. )

Let's hope the rest of this contraption is sturdier than its armrests.

( he ends up muttering it within a stream of steady swear words under his breath, words that should sound odd coming from his posh british accent. q has ended up looking at his knees for the most part, anything to keep from reminding him that he is currently at 30,000 feet above the ground.

perhaps the martini that bond places in front of him is a necessary distraction as well, even if he isn't much of a drinker. q is proud of how steady his hands are when he reaches for the glass - there's only a mild tremor that runs through them as he raises the glass to his lips. such a bitter drink, dry and cool. such a classic, pretentious drink, and maybe it is indeed true what they say about being able to judge a man by the drink he orders.

frankly, he wouldn't know. )

Shaken, not stirred. I've read your file.

Edited 2012-11-22 04:20 (UTC)

[ bond doesn't bloody care where the optimum location for plane crash is or how much Q grips at the chair and tosses in his seat; if he's flying to turkey on a red eye flight playing security guard to an aviophobic he is going to be comfortable. M didn't need to know about the upgrade being processed and he's sure moneypenny will keep that detail hush-hush when it pops up on the expense report.

but the resentment is much easier to imbibe with a dry martini so Q should could his blessings there at least. ]

So much for passing that eval.

[ it's an off-handed remark stated more for his own sake than Q's but ripe with that same bemusement from earlier. something tells him an espionage career, even as a genius computer scientist, would require an excess of ravel by air. he respects Q enough not to water him reach for his drink or comment on the shake to his hand despite seeing it perfectly out of his periph. if he drinks then maybe the tenseness will pass, sleep will follow and they wont both be zombies tomorrow morning when they touch down in turkey. ]

It's a little more complicated. [ substitutions, mixing vodka and gin, adding a twist; why he had taken to liking the drink was a distant memory but it stuck. ] What don't they put in the files these days.

You forget: I can be virtually everywhere and anywhere at once without stepping foot on a plane. But by all means, add sitting in a chair to your list of skills as a field agent.

( q will defend his reluctance to fly to whatever extent it takes to convince people that it isn't a detriment to his job. after all, that's the beauty of technology, isn't it? he can do everything he needs to do in his pajamas as long as he has access to a half-decent laptop. he comes into the office to oversee his department, and sometimes for the access he has to technology that isn't at home. either way, nothing he does should ever entail him needing to travel beyond a simple tube ride here and there.

in fact, he's not even sure why he's here at all, and not some lower-ranked member of q division. what's the point of being the bloody quartermaster if he can't assign these things to his subordinates? it's that thought, and the newest bit of turbulence that causes to drain the rest of the martini glass without really dwelling on the taste. it's this high level of mental stress that is causing him to be a bit pricklier with his retorts than he usually is. he's usually able to be a bit more subtle about it. unless there's boasting involved. )

They're very thorough about it all. Meticulous. You'd be surprised.

( and bond's file is the thickest of all of them, barring those that he doesn't have the clearance to read, and they are few and far between. )

A Picture is Worth... Meme.

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