ᴏᴍғɢ → (an open action-style post)

[designates]

✶ leave a picture/quote/lyrics/blank comment
✶ i'll write you a chase/fight/something scene. something to get the adrenaline going.
✶ be prepared to wait a while

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[unstirred]

this became far less serious than i intended it to be

[designates]

[ remember that joke about the international super spy and the misplaced American tourist who just happened to be a Special Agent for the FBI speeding away from the Yakuza on stolen motorcycles all in the attempts of hiding a thumb drive full of confidential information relevant to the fate of the world?

yeah, me either. but if there was a punchline, it'd probably have something to do with the fact neither of them actually had the thumb drive in question. the USB device currently in their possession happened to carry a most delicious crawfish and Andouille sausage gumbo recipe in addition to the Doobie Brother's greatest hits, but nothing that compromised international security. (unless you think heart disease counted as a potential act of terrorism. then there might be some merit to the high-speed chase they currently found themselves on.)

turn a corner, skid, don't turn over, follow Bond and keep your head down. the shadows dance like the dying embers of a campfire as the dawn settles in; don't pay attention to them. pay attention to the road. the bump bump of cobblestone and gunshots hailing down on either side of them. Will's been involved in some high-profile, high-pressure situations in his life, but he can honestly say this is a new one for him. he's four steps into a panic attack and the adrenaline rush isn't helping, but he prevents himself from lapsing into a full-scale breakdown by observing his companion. for Will, each spontaneous turn felt like the click click of an empty shot during a game of Russian Roulette, but for Bond? apparently this was a Tuesday. a sort of menial, irritating, exasperating Tuesday, but no worse than the daily grind of a taxing nine-to-five.

MI-6 his ass. seriously. there's a sharp turn to the right and oh, oh good, they're driving the wrong way down the street. (actually it's the right way, but it's the wrong right way because in England they drive on the wrong side of the street rightly.) dodge a Volkswagen, and a cab, and a Ford, and somehow Will keeps his eyes focused on the road instead of whipping his head back to mumble an apology they'll never hear. for a moment, despite all other distractions, Will thinks they've lost the gang. then a bullet whizzes over his shoulder and lodges itself in the windshield of a BMW in front of him, which swerves and narrowly avoids slamming into Will. his eyes flit to Bond, who leans his weight into a turn and screeches down an alleyway definitely not meant for cruising in.

cool. Will's gonna die. not the way he pictured himself dying either, admittedly in a much more interesting fashion than he'd pictured, but it doesn't make the fact any better. he winces and jerks to the left, continuing his game of follow the leader, and hisses as the handlebar of his bike catches and scrapes along the wall of the walkway. the motorcycle wobbles, slams him against the wall, which catches his shoulder and tears through his jacket and shirt, scraping away the skin of his deltoid. he looks ahead, frantically searching for Bond, for some guidance, for some way out of this situation, prepares for the swing of a pendulum, something, anything to help him control his bike. but there's no time for recreations of other people's mental palaces. just instinct.

and somehow, Will seizes control of the bike. lets it hurl him back against the other wall, but this time just enough to scrape the material of his jacket before he rights the vehicle and slows it to a stop when he sees Bond's bike ahead, and a propped door with the man leaning out of it. he's off the bike as soon as it's under ten miles per hour, leaping off to stumble towards the other man, into the building, where he yanks the door shut. slams the bar to lock it shut, allows himself the luxury of a single second to consider why it wasn't locked in the first place, then spins to face Bond. rips the USB out of his pocket and gestures at him with it, snarling: ] Do I have to jump through at least three flaming hoops and over a pool filled with hungry sharks before you tell me what they think is on this?