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[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

Fun nights lead into fun mornings, and you can bet your bottom dollar that James had a fun morning indeed. This may explain why he is slouched in a booth, pointedly avoiding happy hour. He's entertaining himself with a game of solitaire, very glad that his head doesn't hurt half as much as it did in the morning. Otherwise, he might just be building a house of cards.

[ ooc: speaking of fun, mun has just been struck with a bout of sleepy/dizzy and has to take a break from rping. possibly needs to go to sleep. slowtime pls. ]

Comments

[evryinchbut1.livejournal.com]

When Valerie spots him, she comes over and leans against the other side of the booth, sipping tea.

"How's your head?"

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

"Fine," he replies, glancing up.

[evryinchbut1.livejournal.com]

Her eyebrows go up, mildly amused.

"You must have more of a tolerance than I thought."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

He shrugs. "By 'fine' I meant I'm no longer paralyzed by the aches. I barely remember what happened last night."

[evryinchbut1.livejournal.com]

A sympathetic wince. "I'd imagine. You were definitely three sheets to the wind."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

He laughs. It's a little lower than his normal laugh--as he said, he's no longer paralyzed by the aches. Doesn't mean the aches aren't still there. "All I remember is you and the bartender who was Indiana Jones and, um, wood. Lots of it. I think that was a memory of staring at the bar."

[evryinchbut1.livejournal.com]

"Do you remember why you were so intent on drinking yourself into oblivion? I'd have guessed relationship problems, but you were very enthusiastic about your Vesper on the way back to your room."

[alorn-bear.livejournal.com]

Headaches are generally for other people when you're Belar, but that doesn't mean he hasn't seen plenty of them in his day. He is, after all, intimately familiar with the people who invented beer. Thus, he makes a point of sitting down extra carefully at the table nearby before he starts watching the cards.

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

And he immediately gets eyed. "Evening," says the man with the cards.

[alorn-bear.livejournal.com]

"Hey there," says Belar cheerfully in response. "Looks like you've got a decent game going there. I know there's this sorta universal rule that the kibitzer's supposed to point out a move you never saw before, but I gotta say- you've pretty much covered all your bases from what little I've seen."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

Oooh, Belar is stroking Bond's ego! Bond likes him already.

"I do play a mean game of solitaire."

[alorn-bear.livejournal.com]

Well, that and Belar despises the cliche of introducing yourself by going 'red five on the black six' smugly.

"So it would appear. Me, I'm okay with cards in general, but if I'm gonna be playing games of chance I like to stick to dice."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

"Dice," he scoffs. "Not nearly as interesting."

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"Well, you look cheerful," come a soft, lilting voice. British, of course, but unplacably so. A dead voice, icy with snow and steel, but the tone is more sardonic then doom-laden.

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

He raises an eyebrow and does not (perceptibly) look up. "Do I?" he asks dryly.

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

If he should, then Mordred looks a) young and b) dead. As in very. As in skin pale from blood-loss and eyes just a little too flat and lifeless.

He's also smoking.

"Oh, yes."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

"Good to know," he replies, moving a card. He considers his next move.

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"New?"

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

"Relatively."

[hatchingviper.livejournal.com]

Something happened.

Wesker is here because Millitime demanded to be utilized but he hasn't bothered to think over the past few days. He's more. . . really confused. And he's trying to figure out what happened, in his newly excitable, completely illogical way.

Bond looks like he knows what he's doing. And he's putting pieces of paper on the table. To the part of Wesker that's still managed to hold onto its Weskerness, this means Something is Happening.

So felt fingers grasp the edge of the table, and the top of his head rises slooowly over the side so he can see.

o.o?

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

Bond looks.

And impulsively moves further into the booth.

What. The. Fuck.

[hatchingviper.livejournal.com]

Wesker's puppet feet are swinging.

He looks up and waves! This means, of course, the obligatory comic "woah!" and thump as one fuzzy hand proves an inadequate hold against the booth table's varnished top.

The top of his head returns to sight a moment later, and rocks from side to side a bit as he studies the cards.

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

Uh.

Uh.


Just.

Bond's brain. Not computing.

[hatchingviper.livejournal.com]

"Can I have this one?"

Wesker points!

Thump.

". . . ow."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

Bond recognizes this voice.








Why.