RP: With Le Chiffre
It’s a dream.
At least, that’s what Villiers thinks it is. A quiet, echoing silence as he walks along the scorched hallway. He trails a hand along a burn mark, tracing its progress until there’s a sound behind him.
He turns to meet the dead, open eyes of Solange, still covered in sand, clumps of it in her hair, her body broken and sprawled on the floor.
Villiers takes a step back, hand coming up to cover his mouth. Oh god, not again, not this dream again, except-
It’s not at the beach, not on the warm, sunny sands. It isn’t the same dream he had during the Casino Royale incident, not by any means. Solange blinks, and opens her mouth.
“You killed me,” she rasps, staring dully.
Villiers backs away, eyes wide. “No I didn’t, I promise, I wasn’t even connected to your case, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I...”
His foot hits something soft, and he turns around to see Solange again, staring up from the floor. Like a broken doll.
In his haste to back away, he falls back, scooting back still more. He can’t look away from those eyes.
“You didn’t save me,” she says, before her head tilts ever so slightly to the left. “Why didn’t you save me?”
Until, at least, another voice calls. Her voice, only younger, as if-
“Why did you kill me?”
He turns as Solange vanishes, staring across towards her voice. His eyes, her hair, his cheekbones. A tattered petticoat of a dress, a doll, a perfect angelic face.
“Why did you tell her to abort me?”
Villiers is lost for words. Their unnamed child, the result of his first day as an employee at MI6. They’d been together for years. Everything was going well. He was ready for a family, they were going to get married, they had thought about it. Except, except...
“You said you were too busy for me!” the child wails, accusing. “You and your new job -- why!”
“I’m sorry,” he manages, scooting away as the girl takes a step forward. Another. “I’m sorry- I didn’t- I-”
She’s walking forward faster now, blood trickling from her eyes, nose, mouth, ears. Her skin starts rotting. Still, she walks forward.
“Why didn’t you save me? You could have saved me! But you killed me instead...”
A moment, two, and her body disintegrates into a pool of bloodstained dress and the remains of a rotted doll.
His hand returns to cover his mouth, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Oh god.
“...he’s your lover, isn’t he? The man who killed me. Tortured me.”
He opens his eyes.
Solange, staring at him, standing in the blood, where his almost-daughter once was. He can only stare back, frozen to the spot.
“He is.” Her face twists into one of disgust, anger. “Traitor.”
She pulls out a gun, points it at his chest. “Traitor,” she repeats, louder.
It snaps Villiers out of his shock, and he turns, runs.
“TRAITOR!” she shrieks.
The sound of a shot.
Pain, blossoming on his thigh.
He wakes with a scream.
At least, that’s what Villiers thinks it is. A quiet, echoing silence as he walks along the scorched hallway. He trails a hand along a burn mark, tracing its progress until there’s a sound behind him.
He turns to meet the dead, open eyes of Solange, still covered in sand, clumps of it in her hair, her body broken and sprawled on the floor.
Villiers takes a step back, hand coming up to cover his mouth. Oh god, not again, not this dream again, except-
It’s not at the beach, not on the warm, sunny sands. It isn’t the same dream he had during the Casino Royale incident, not by any means. Solange blinks, and opens her mouth.
“You killed me,” she rasps, staring dully.
Villiers backs away, eyes wide. “No I didn’t, I promise, I wasn’t even connected to your case, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I...”
His foot hits something soft, and he turns around to see Solange again, staring up from the floor. Like a broken doll.
In his haste to back away, he falls back, scooting back still more. He can’t look away from those eyes.
“You didn’t save me,” she says, before her head tilts ever so slightly to the left. “Why didn’t you save me?”
Until, at least, another voice calls. Her voice, only younger, as if-
“Why did you kill me?”
He turns as Solange vanishes, staring across towards her voice. His eyes, her hair, his cheekbones. A tattered petticoat of a dress, a doll, a perfect angelic face.
“Why did you tell her to abort me?”
Villiers is lost for words. Their unnamed child, the result of his first day as an employee at MI6. They’d been together for years. Everything was going well. He was ready for a family, they were going to get married, they had thought about it. Except, except...
“You said you were too busy for me!” the child wails, accusing. “You and your new job -- why!”
“I’m sorry,” he manages, scooting away as the girl takes a step forward. Another. “I’m sorry- I didn’t- I-”
She’s walking forward faster now, blood trickling from her eyes, nose, mouth, ears. Her skin starts rotting. Still, she walks forward.
“Why didn’t you save me? You could have saved me! But you killed me instead...”
A moment, two, and her body disintegrates into a pool of bloodstained dress and the remains of a rotted doll.
His hand returns to cover his mouth, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Oh god.
“...he’s your lover, isn’t he? The man who killed me. Tortured me.”
He opens his eyes.
Solange, staring at him, standing in the blood, where his almost-daughter once was. He can only stare back, frozen to the spot.
“He is.” Her face twists into one of disgust, anger. “Traitor.”
She pulls out a gun, points it at his chest. “Traitor,” she repeats, louder.
It snaps Villiers out of his shock, and he turns, runs.
“TRAITOR!” she shrieks.
The sound of a shot.
Pain, blossoming on his thigh.
He wakes with a scream.