"The name is Bond, James Bond," the smug man says, while grabbing his winnings from the Baccarat table. The world's most non-secret secret agent, MI6's best agent, Mr. Licence to Kill. How he's still alive baffles me. He has personally been destabilising my well-oiled operation in the past 5 days, so I decided it was time to deal with this myself. Mr. Bond thinks my organisation is as incompetent as those buffoons at SPECTRE with their numbers and silly names.
So in honour of Mr. Bond, I decide to use my real name in this venture. Using my most trusted ally, The Lady, I set a trap for the surprisingly competent Mr. Bond. The Lady, an actual Norwegian noblewoman I met in my youth. We grew bored of our privileged upbringing, instead we built a rather efficient criminal organisation in our shared youth at Cambridge. It would seem that MI6 would prefer my demise, why else would they send their deadliest agent? It would appear that Her Majesty's Service frowns upon stealing from her corrupt subjects.
"James, you're English. I do adore the English, my name is Darcy." I smile shyly at him. I see the wheels turning in his head, he's putting things together, I must be the American whose genteel nature has made her the perfect weak link - she's been asking too much questions.
"Darcy? Does this make me your Lizzy?"
It takes everything in my power not to roll my eyes at him. I smile at him, while I look nervously at The Lady, who's seated a few tables behind him, she smiles seductively at me. I shiver and continue to look nervously at her, while I squirm. Of course, Mr. Bond doesn't know that my perceived nervousness is an act, the wheels in his head turns again. He looks behind him and sees one of my henchmen, seated next to the Lady, looking as menacing as ever. He looks back at me with a knowing smile.
"Let's discuss more about our shared love of Jane Austen somewhere more private."
I follow him and he ensures me about my safety, says he works for British Intelligence and he will help me. He unlocks his hotel room, I nervously point out about propriety, he smiles and says, "I won't bite, unless you want me to."
I enter his room and wonder if Mr. Bond will try the only method of interrogation that he reserves for women - the Honey Pot. Of course, he does, I say "no James" so many times, I could write a symphony with it, then I finally acquiesce. He smiles, he goes in for the kill, then he gasps, he has a look of shock on his face. He lies paralysed on the floor, I take his Walter PPK from his dinner jacket and the custom made silencer from my clutch. I screw it on his service weapon.
"Cautionary tale Mr. Bond, 50 nos and a yes, is still a no." I can see it in his eyes, he knows it's the end.
"Goodbye Mr. Bond." I shoot him twice in the chest and twice in the head. "It was nice meeting you."
A/N: I recently had a rather extended Bond marathon, I kept thinking what would Darcy be like as the perfect villain.