Mary Death v James Bond was written for a friend who kept asking for a showdown between the two. She is Meredith’s number one fan and wanted to see his low-key, fancy gadget free, anticlimactic style against James’. I delivered it to her at work and she said it was one of the best tips she ever got. (Which is saying a lot because I know she got a $250 tip on a $7 ticket once.) She still has the first draft. She also wants a Two Dozen and One Ninjas shirt.
Sometimes people mistake the obnoxious over the top Andre in the Adventures for the one in FLESH, a zombie story at PanHistoria. I don’t think this Andre would make it a day in that universe. They’re very different, but both fun to write.
Mary Death v. James Bond
The rivalry between Britain’s greatest secret agent and France’s greatest secret agent [who is British] is the subject of much speculation. Some say James lobbied to expel Meredith from the Secret Intelligence Service which is how Meredith joined the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure. [Although he claims to not be involved in any way with the DGSE, we know better.] Others say the animosity began when the two found themselves facing the same target and were unable to compromise on who would claim the capture. Another story harkens back to military days and a dark secret during war time.
None of this is true of course.
It all began no more than 5 years ago in Ibiza. In those days, André was wild and free and loved the clubs. Of course, when one is young, attractive and has a smile so contagious and so angelic it tempts the Devil himself to convert, one is obligated to go out among the masses and share their joie de vivre. André was doing just this on the dance floor when James saw him the first time.
Instantly the man was mesmerized. He made his way through the packed dance floor until he was next to André who paid him little attention. He tried to dance with him and André disappeared among the crowd.
He searched the club until he found André at the end of the bar chatting up his friends. “My name is Bond, James Bond.”
“Bond Bond? Your maman not like you?” André sniffed and focused his attention on a friend hoping the older man would take the hint.
“No. James Bond. And you are?”
“Thirsty.” He rapped on the bar. “Where are our drinks?”
James ordered a martini, vodka, shaken not stirred.
André sniffed. “Is not a martini with vodka. Martini with gin.”
James continued his attempts to engage André in conversation.
Finally André had his drinks. “You I am not interested in. Go away now.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
André looked him up and down. “You are British. Au revoir.”
Later James saw André go to the restroom. He entered at the same time. “You know I’m quite a famous spy.”
“If you are famous you are sucky spy then. I go to stall now. You stay out here. Am not to be your trick. Bye bye.”
As André stood outside waiting for a cab to the hotel James appeared at his side again. “Please tell me what you have against me?”
“You are not my type.”
“What is your type?” James was so desperate to have André he was willing to change anything.
“Tallish, blondish, blue-eyes, swanky British accent. None of it my type. Good night to you.”
Heart-broken and rejected James swore off men forever and found himself in a series of one unsatisfying hetero-relationship after another.
Let us now fast forward