Bond, James Bond (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} orbisnonsuficit) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} utr_logs,@ 2008-12-03 13:41:00 |
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What: Mixing business with pleasure.
Where: The Vienna Opera Ball, Vienna, Austria.
When: About now (bendy-time for the event itself).
Warnings: None at the moment, but you never know.
Status: In progress.
Bond gave himself one final glance in the mirror, brushing back the single heavy comma of hair that was falling over his left eye. One never would have suspected that James Bond had been seated on a C-130J Super Hercules transport plane just a few hours ago, something close to nervousness marking his usually calm demeanour as he glanced at his watch again and again. The Omega Seamaster told him the same tale each time: he would be just in time for the ball.
Laughing quietly to himself as he exited the limousine that had brought him from his hotel to the State Opera House, Bond wondered if he would also find himself running down the steps of the building at midnight and losing a shoe. The first was always possible when one lived a life that so often entailed being chased by people with intent to do harm to him. The second was not as likely-- his patent leather Pradas didn't contain any particular nasty surprises apart from their price tag.
He smoothed out the shoulders of his evening jacket, part of the absolutely de rigeur white-tie-and-tails formalwear for the ball, this one having just been tailored for him by Brioni. Bond was, he was certain, the best dressed male CIA agent in the Agency's history. At the very least, he was ringing up an historical expense account charge for clothing.
Scaling the front steps, Bond thought on his twin objectives for the evening: firstly, there was a gentleman inside those doors by the name of Yusuf Hammani, with whom Bond had been ordered to have a very specific and possibly spirited conversation. His other meeting tonight was with a young woman with whom Bond felt he was very close, although he was having to accept the fact that the Shannon with whom he would be rendezvousing was not the same.
In any case, there was nothing for Bond to do but press on. He tugged his shirt cuffs just beyond the hem of his jacket sleeves and pressed on.