bitteraftertaste: (and a bargain must be made)
slightly backdated spam for bond )

[Public]

[She's realizing the second she opens her mouth that she probably should have made this a text post, because her throat feels constricted and awful, and she's never been one for letting other people see her weakness, or wearing it on her sleeve like a badge of honor.]

James Bond appears to have left the Barge.

[And her voice - controlled and composed as it is, as she tries to force it to be - does wobble, and it's embarrassing, because it's not like she can take it back or pretend like this isn't affecting her the way it is.

There's a long moment where she considers saying something else, opens her mouth and gets ready to phrase it, even, but there's just a soft rush of air which is definitely not leading up to a sob before she clicks off the feed.]
bitteraftertaste: (be the overflow)

[The feed clicks on to show a few seconds of the ceiling in Vesper's cabin. All the lights are off, so it's pretty dark, but the faint shapes of objects, fingers and hands come into view with the glow of the screen as she fumbles to get the camera pointed at her face.

It's too close to see anything much at first - an eye, a cheekbone - before she pulls it back to a good angle and the image comes into focus. She's sitting on the floor in a nightgown, and she looks awful. There are dark bags under her eyes, and her already pale skin looks corpse white in the glow of the communicator's screen. Her dark hair, which is usually incredibly neat and pulled back from her face in a perfect bun is hanging loose, and looks wild and messy. She's obviously been crying, and the first word she manages is on the tail end of a sob.]


Please, [Her voice is hoarse and emotional, eyes glazed with fever, but still focused, almost manic in her desperation and very apparent fear.]

Please stop hurting him. Please. You have to let us go. I'll do anything, just please, please stop- [She cuts herself off, choking, dropping the communicator again to draw her knees up to her chest and press both her palms against her ears, rocking nervously back and forth, almost childlike, in an attempt to block noise out.] I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It has to- it has to-

[Her attention suddenly snaps back to the communicator, and while she doesn't pick it up again, she glares at it, almost snarling, now more like an animal than a child, although the fear and the tears streaking her face are still just as present as ever.]

How did you find us? I thought we were- You promised! We were supposed to be safe!

[Her voice breaks for what seems like for good on the last word and a defeated sob bubbles up from her chest. She folds in on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and pressing her face against her knees, seemingly forgetting about the communicator and going back to rocking slowly back and forth, like the gesture might provide some amount of comfort, her continued speech muffled and quiet.]

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

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