WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

[Someone is mourning his buddies-- I mean, bosses death. And yet;]

About time. Could have done with a holiday months ago.

Struggling to decide between another visit to the Bahama's or Hawaii. Suggestions on a postcard, if you would.

[A pause of consideration and then a low addition of:]

Oh, and to the little shit responsible, I know who you are. One can only hope you're out of the country by now.

Has anyone tried to meet their creator?

And no, I'm not talking about 'God'.

Although I suppose, to an extent, that's exactly who they are.

[Mr. Monotone is back, sounding as flat as humanly possible.]

I don't think I'm in the minority here when I say a summer vacation tends to paint pictures of sun, sea and sand, not--

Oh, shut up. You love it! [Another voice is quick to interject and after a brief jostle for the communicator it switches to video mode, straight to a close up of Zatanna shoving her face into the camera.] He's just in a mood because they were out of the pink cotton candy.

[And then a pan out of the two, sitting at an outdoor table with the backdrop of what looks suspiciously like a theme park of some variety. Bond's in his aviators, linefacing like a boss and pointedly not looking at the comm, though he's somehow been forced into a typical Disneyworld tourist t-shirt, matching so marvellously with Zee's own, who's also wearing a totally fetching Minnie Mouse hat. With those ears, the resemblance is uncanny. Even the numerous Mickey Mouse balloons attached to the back of James' chair can't seem to persuade him into a smile as he reaches to snatch the communicator back from the grinning thief :|]

I'll be out of action for the next few days. And possibly several weeks following due to counselling. Try to behave yourselves in my absence. And hers. [A jerk of his head towards Zee, a roll of his eyes and then the feed cuts out.]

(PRIVATE TEXT TO SELINA)
Favour to ask.

[The scene flickers onto a night time landscape of the city from high above, the wind whistling sharply around as Bond comes into focus on the camera, holding it at arms length as he looks off camera and into the distance.

He's on top of an apartment complex, shoulders hunched against the biting wind as he pulls his coat collar up against his neck while puffing idly at a cigarette.]

It's been exactly a year since I showed up here. Doesn't sound like so long in the grand scale of it all but it's enough to have one being truly fed up of it all.

I've witnessed numerous attempts to escape since I've been here, almost all unsuccessful in getting us out of this place and yet… death seems to be the most successful. A lucky few out there have managed to be sent back after their public displays of demise and not return so, in my infinite wisdom, I've decided it might be worth a go.

[A long inhale has him finishing off his cigarette and flicking the glowing butt over the edge of the apartment block, while he and the comm lean over the edge to watch it flicker a path downwards.]

Perhaps we'll meet again, city. If not… It's been fun.

[A few casual footsteps and then the whole world is soaring upwards as he and the comm plummet, a barely recognisable blur of the view. The sound transmitted is only the rustle of fabric and the battering wind and then… static.]

For all those heroes to the rescue:

Location is at [warehouse address].

Hurry the hell up.

[The video feed switches on to a half dressed Bond, jeans and topless as he slumps into a sleek, modern looking couch while the comm rests on what's likely to be the coffee table in front of him. There's a lingering silence for a moment, only broken by a constant sound of scratching in the background, interrupted by the occasional muffled meow from another room. Eventually Bond speaks, but not before allowing himself a hefty sigh.]

Seems like this place is just full of happy surprises. Can't go a few days without it throwing something else right back in your face.

The Porter certainly seems to have a sense of humour, I'll give her that…

[Except Bond's definitely not laughing. In fact, he's line facing rather epically, his gaze purposefully not looking directly at the camera as he holds up another comm in his hand. Someone elses, clearly. The pause makes that previous background noise come to the forefront once more, a slow crescendo of mewling and scuffling.]

Selina's comm… She's not answering her phone… Haven't seen her either, not since I woke up this morning...

[Something glass smashes in another room and it jerks James' attention over his shoulder for just a moment before he's looking back to the video feed again.]

I'll give the city a search in a bit, see if I can't find her elsewhere. Not holding out any hopes though, it's--- [Another smash, clatter and the muffled noise of a cat hissing from behind a door. Sounds like theres a kitty with some serious attitude problems. James snarls softly to himself, snatches up his comm and moves over to the door in question.]

Oh, and if there's anyone who's any good with cats then… well…

[He opens the door to the bathroom, angling the camera towards it as he attempts to show the batshit crazy demon cat in question, but there's only the view of several smashed bottles and complete silence.

Then suddenly, a flash of black at Bond's leg, a hiss and--]

AAARRGHH! YOU LITTLE SHI--

[And the feed cuts out suddenly.]

Storms coming. Hope you brought a coat.

Oh and police folks, got something that might interest you.

How very ominous.

Come on then, network, tell me your secrets. Entertain a bored 'spy'.

[Someone is sounding rather sullen today.]

Humans are inherently stupid.

Discuss.

Alternatively:

Argue with me on a subject of your choice.

Don't let me down, heroes.

[Encrypted to Desire]

Desire. A word in your ear if I may.

When presented with a character well known to many, is it really fair to judge them entirely upon what you've seen or heard of them in the past? Is there not the very real probability of misrepresentation upon the creators behalf?

I ask this, of course, due to personal experience upon my person. Namely that and the issue of women.

I find it odd that, for a woman, it's perfectly acceptable to spend an evening in the company of a male without repercussion, yet when the roles reverse, the male is immediately labelled a cad for his successes. If anything, such judgment should be considered sexist on the females part.

Nevertheless, dear City, in light of certain accusations upon my character, tonight I offer nothing but a listening ear and present a question that's clearly of high importance to us all:

Ladies. How do you attract those that interest you? What are your methods for wooing the opposite sex? --Or same sex, should that be your choice.

Do tell. I'm keen to hear the workings of the female mind and their valued opinions on men.

[The video feed flicks on from Bond's communicator, but the sight certainly isn't the usual blonde hair, blue eyed individual who tends to use it. It's a simple shot from shoulders up as the comm is laid onto a table while he's sat on a couch, leaning forward onto his knees, apathetic as he lights a cigarette perched between his lips. There's the casual attire of a retro grey wool jacket and a simple shirt and tie, while the male, brunette with dark eyes and looking suspiciously like Sean Connery, seems to be staring rather boredly off to one side. When he speaks, it's with some ridiculous half-arsed mix of Scottisch and Englisch that makesch his voische incredibly dicstinctive, and starts as an idle mumble more to himself than anything...]

Q would have a field day with this technology.

[And then he's there, staring into the camera, or at least he's figured it's a camera anyway. All this tech isn't what he's used to after coming from the 60s but he still manages to use it with some ease.]

The name's Bond.

James Bond.

Interesting set up you've got here. Care to tell me who's in charge of all this? I'd rather like to speak to him.

[ooc: idek, troy seems to want to be tagged too. f u troy.]