This is from my current WIP for the @mi6-cafe #occult October challenge.  Because my story takes place over a year, this scene actually occurs on Christmas Eve and isn’t very sp00qy at all.   Bond has just returned from a mission and is at loose ends, and Q has decided against his original plans.

“It’s raining cats and dogs, Q.  Let me drive you home.”

Q hesitates, perhaps torn between letting James know his address and the thought of getting soaked.  “Actually, there’s a pub quiz near my house that I might go to since I’ve begged off Shakespeare.  If you don’t have plans, you’d be welcome to join me.  Though you look a bit posh for the venue.”

“I have a sweater in the car.  It’s not as… festive as yours.”

Q quirks a smile.  “I’ll lend you my scarf.  It’s a tartan with snowmen.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It really is.  You’ll feel out of place looking too drab.”

Q’s right as it turns out.  The pub looks to be about 500 years old, but the decorations are bright and garish, and the people moreso.  Q’s sweater is positively sedate compared with the tinsel and flashing lights adorning most of the patrons.  If Bond had worn his blue cashmere without the brash tartan-and-snowman scarf, he would have felt a million years old.  

More interesting than all that, though, is the ease with which Q carries himself as he enters to waves as cries of “Tom” and “Thomas my lad” greet him.  A ginger-haired woman in an elf costume calls, “Tom’s on my team!” from behind the bar.  Q weaves his way over, James just behind.

“Thought you weren’t comin’, love,” she says, hoisting herself onto the bar so she can peck him on the cheek.

“Changed my mind.  Lulu, this is James, James, Lulu.  We’re on her team, it would seem.”

“I only called for you.  What’s he got?” James bristles a bit under her scrutiny as Q laughs.  

“He’s passing good with geography,” Q sniggers.

“Passing?” James asks incredulously.

“Absolute shite at maths, but you’ll have me for that,” Q continues.

“Passing.  I’ve been to more countries—”

“He’s good with military history, too.  Oh, and posh stuff… tailors and wines and whatnot.”

“Ooh, we always miss those ones,” Lulu cries.  “Alright, then.  He’s on our team.  James, is it?  What’ll ye’ have?  Tom?  Your regular?”

“Ta, Lulu.  Make it two.   James can have the same.”

She nods and heads to the back.

“Passing?” James asks pointedly.

Q snickers like a bloody schoolboy.  “Well, best to surprise them with your brilliance after they’ve underestimated you.”

That’s probably true, actually.  But… “Ordering my drinks for me?”

Q waves a hand.  “You’ll like it.  And I can’t have you embarrassing me with one of your posh martini orders.”

Lulu’s back with two tumblers of amber liquid.  “Drink up lads.  Only not too much: I want to wipe that smug smile off Giles’ face this year.  We’re at table four.”