⊰ @viewtokill ⊱

he’s on another assignment entirely·–·mainly,·shut the hell up, sit the fuck down, and let that arm heal,·according to his boss. M’s practically·banned·him from re-entering the country until he’s been away at least a·MONTH,·and a fortnight in & bond’s already·restless.·never a good sign. but he’s hacked into the hotel’s system (wasn’t·too·difficult, considering he’s a·LOYAL PATRON·here & they’ve learned to accept his eccentric nature) and to his surprise, a·miss SANSA STARK·checked in two days ago, into a room three floors above his own.·

    “ time to greet the neighbors, ”·he murmurs to himself, snapping shut the laptop with a faint grin. & with a sort of·awkward grace,·one arm in a sling, he dresses himself (casual, no need for his usual suit & tie) before exiting the room (double-checking that it’s·locked,·as he slips the key into the pocket of his trousers.)·

    it’s a short walk to the lift, which takes him down to the·kitchens;·a few words with the·head chef·& he strolls out with a·gin & tonic·in one hand and a large cup of·sherbet ice-cream·in the other. then it’s up to her floor, her room number memorized & shortly before him.·

    the agent knocks thrice upon the painted door, stepping back in clear view of the hole through which he reckons she’ll check prior to answering. carefully, he sips his drink, and waits.·“ room service, ”·he deadpans,·not·without a cheeky grin. three doors down the corridor, another patron exits, and bond turns to spare the departing figure a measuring glance. he’s not sure·why·she’s here, but with her status (personal & otherwise) he hopes she’s well-protected.·

    It was simple, really, traveling under her name — Joff caused too much trouble, hotels mysteriously booked and family friends conveniently absent whenever one sought their hospitality. Once at the front desk, however, it stood all but impossible to refuse a booking; bravery died quickly when bereft of a phone’s comforting buffer. At best he managed a day, possibly two, before fleeing their accommodations, the lists of sites and shops bestowed ·by Mrs. Baratheon, to seek out instead those entertainments more suited to his disposition.·

       Sansa entertained herself with television, a hot cup of tea enjoyed from balcony’s shelter. She might have ventured out, were it not for the blue-grey clouds hanging ominously over the streets. Such abandonment had long since lost its shock. Indeed, the girl quite enjoyed her solitude, a rare respite from watchful eyes, whispers unheard but not unnoticed, surveillance carried out in anticipation of one misstep.

      Knuckles rapping against wood startled her, the girl expecting no guests or callers during such a lonesome sojourn. Though she knew it would cast a shadow — hardly covert — Sansa peered through her peephole to find a rather unexpected visitor.·“For me?” Sansa beamed, pointedly sweeping away both gin and sherbet.·“Why, Mr. Bond, you shouldn’t have.” Stepping aside, she allowed him entry; as the door latched, one hand extended with the sweating glass, beverage unsampled.·

      “Nothing’s the matter is it?” Though she knew little and less of the man’s actual duties, trouble invariably seemed to follow, were his sketchy anecdotes any indication.·“And you’ve hurt your arm! Dear lord, I do hope you’re not expected to do anything in such a state.”