I glanced up just in time to see someone else glance at me. It was a waiter from the hotel restaurant, dressed in the typical uniform of an immaculate tuxedo. Come to think of it, he looked a little familiar. I followed him, not well and with not a lot of secrecy, so I was surprised when he didn?t call me on it.
Finally, I caught a glimpse of him in profile and I was sure. "Horatio!" I exclaimed as I caught him by the cuff. "Or I do forget myself."
He spun around and smiled; it was the same smile I remembered, handsome with just a touch of mystery. I got the feeling he?d been waiting for me. "Delivery for you," he said.
"Delivery?"
"From your father." He held out a small envelope. In the amount of time it took for me to turn it over in my hands, realise it was a mini-CD, and determine that it was unmarked, Horatio was gone.
Only then did I remember that my father was dead.
[Boring part where 007!Hamlet finds encrypted message from his ded!spy!father indicating that 'If you're watching this, son, I must be dead. Here's who killed me.' Zara hasn't actually written this because it doesnt have bondgirl!Horatio in it.]
"Vodka martini," I told the bartender as I tried not to think about what I had just watched. Of course, I'd often found vodka was the best way to keep from thinking.
"Shaken or stirred?" For a moment, that was the question. It came to that, didn?t it? Doing something out of habit, or trying something new for a change. I didn?t realize it then, but it wasn?t a choice I could make on my own.
"Shaken." I glanced over to see who had answered for me and I can?t say I was surprised. Horatio merely smiled, took a sip of the drink the bartender put down, and disappeared.
The martini glass was empty and I was halfway through a bourbon when I noticed the matchbook tucked under the ashtray. Standard hotel fare, something normal for the waitstaff to keep in their pockets, only this one had a room number scrawled on the side in a handwriting I couldn?t help but recognise.
The matchbook had no time, so I'd hoped he'd at least waited for me to finish my drink.
I found the room easily enough. Number 007, the Honeymoon Suite? -- Horatio always did have a rather dry sense of humour. The door was open, so I walked in, and found my mysterious waiter sitting on the bed in a dress shirt and boxers.
I did what anyone would do in the situation; I locked the door and loosened my tie.
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Date: 2006-01-19 04:05 am (UTC)Finally, I caught a glimpse of him in profile and I was sure. "Horatio!" I exclaimed as I caught him by the cuff. "Or I do forget myself."
He spun around and smiled; it was the same smile I remembered, handsome with just a touch of mystery. I got the feeling he?d been waiting for me. "Delivery for you," he said.
"Delivery?"
"From your father." He held out a small envelope. In the amount of time it took for me to turn it over in my hands, realise it was a mini-CD, and determine that it was unmarked, Horatio was gone.
Only then did I remember that my father was dead.
[Boring part where 007!Hamlet finds encrypted message from his ded!spy!father indicating that 'If you're watching this, son, I must be dead. Here's who killed me.' Zara hasn't actually written this because it doesnt have bondgirl!Horatio in it.]
"Vodka martini," I told the bartender as I tried not to think about what I had just watched. Of course, I'd often found vodka was the best way to keep from thinking.
"Shaken or stirred?" For a moment, that was the question. It came to that, didn?t it? Doing something out of habit, or trying something new for a change. I didn?t realize it then, but it wasn?t a choice I could make on my own.
"Shaken." I glanced over to see who had answered for me and I can?t say I was surprised. Horatio merely smiled, took a sip of the drink the bartender put down, and disappeared.
The martini glass was empty and I was halfway through a bourbon when I noticed the matchbook tucked under the ashtray. Standard hotel fare, something normal for the waitstaff to keep in their pockets, only this one had a room number scrawled on the side in a handwriting I couldn?t help but recognise.
The matchbook had no time, so I'd hoped he'd at least waited for me to finish my drink.
I found the room easily enough. Number 007, the Honeymoon Suite? -- Horatio always did have a rather dry sense of humour. The door was open, so I walked in, and found my mysterious waiter sitting on the bed in a dress shirt and boxers.
I did what anyone would do in the situation; I locked the door and loosened my tie.