Who Doesn't Like Bond?

The world around Plisken began to shift. That strange familiar smell of old books filled his nose as she felt the ground give way under her for a split second and the Time Drive clawed her through history. Years of travelling through the time vortex had left Plisken olfactory sense slightly… bemused. But as she saw the comfortable surroundings of the lounge room of the big English mansion wibble away, it became replaced with a smoky red room filled with people milling about dressed in reasonably fashionable clothes. As this new time zone made itself real, it was thankful that Plisken happened to materialised on a stout bar stool over looking a large hall filled with green tables. The soft and almost drowsy sound of ‘Ain’t That a Kick in the Head’, a favourite of Plisken’s, lilted over the scene.
“Can I help you miss?” asked the barman. Plisken spun round on her bar stool to face the young barman, dressed in a tight waistcoat with a towel over his right shoulder. For a moment she thought he might be infected and reached for her rifle. But he showed no signs of trying to attack her so she rested her hand away from her gun. The barman had clearly not noticed that there was a high calibre rifle resting on the side of the bar and, thought Plisken as she glanced around at the rather heavily built guards that patrolled the gambling hall below, it was probably best to keep it that way.
She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to choose a drink that might not fit in with the time. She considered ordering a Pan Galactic Garble Blaster but that might have been pushing it. “I’ll take a vodka martini,” said Plisken when her mind settled on something that had never really gone out of fashion. “Shaken, not stirred,” she added, a smile breaking her face. The barman nodded and turned to make her drink.
“You’re certainly decked to the nines,” said the barman as he eyed Plisken’s rather outlandish garb. Plisken hurriedly looked down at herself: still dressed in her dress.
“Yes,” said Plisken, taking the martini from the barman’s hand, “Would you be able to point me in the direction of a tailor?” She took a sip of the martini, the cold and burning liquid a pleasant familiarity in the alien world.
“A tailor? You would be better looking in the clothes shops rather than the tailors.”
Plisken’s face slightly twisted in confusion but as she remembered that she was in fact a woman, it made sense. “Of course,” she said as she sipped her martini.
“Well, there is one just out side the Strip –“
The Strip? thought Plisken. Surely this wasn’t the Vega system. No this must be the actually Las Vegas. Not the New Las Vegas either.
“Excuse me,” interrupted Plisken, “But what year is it?”
“Why, miss, it’s 2013,” said the barman with a laugh.
“No!” cried Plisken as she began to think back to all her previous escapades through time, “What is the exact date?”
“23rd of March,” said the barman in alarm as Plisken reached over the bar and violently shook him.
With a wide eyed realisation that she was again somewhere were she probably shouldn’t be, she downed the martini, much to the barman’s surprise, and dashed off her seat.
“Hey!” cried the barman- rather annoyed that he hadn’t received a tip, or indeed payment for the drink.
Plisken slung the rifle over her shoulder, the man’s complaints quickly dying down. Still in her incredibly impractical dress, she put a hand on the railing of the balcony and heaved herself over, the air rushing through her short hair as the ground rushed up to meet her. She landed with a thud on the carpeted floors, most of the gamblers breaking away from their various games to look at her in bewilderment. The guards paused a moment, allowing Plisken to gain a little time to dash to the door. But the pause didn’t last long as one rather brave man reached into his suit jacket, pulled tightly over a large frame, and produced a 9mm pistol. Plisken considered taking him out but thought it was probably not the best idea to draw attention to herself. Any more attention, that is. Instead Plisken ducked as a warning shot flew overhead and continued for the exit.
The doors burst open to reveal a bright sunlight day. No, a dark and moonless night. Various signs and flashing lights pulsed in the dark of night, names of casinos and clubs burning in the black blanket of the sky. But Plisken had little time to take in the view and quickly ran down the steps leading up to the large casino. She chanced a glanced behind her to check the name of the building: The Tops. She smirked a little but kept running. As she turned into an alley, a dirty little back street leading to a maintenance door of one of the lesser casinos, the guards gave up the search. They had better and less physically exerting things to do. Plisken gave a little sigh: the run hadn’t been very easy in a large dress. She looked around her, trying to get her bearings. A clothes shop must be near by.
Plisken walked out the clothes shop, the name of which was Ponsonby’s, and down the steps onto the street. Nobody gave her a second glance except some suspicious looking men dressed in black suits but they quickly turned away when Plisken met their gaze. A strong gust leapt down the street and caught the tails of her new coat: a large greatcoat, always a favourite of Plisken’s, in a dark brown shade. Underneath was a brown leather waistcoat over a blue shirt <Like Gina Torres in Firefly>. She wore a pair of tight blue jeans and a pair of glossy black leather boots. This had all cost a pretty dollar, which was most inconsiderate of the shop considering that she had no money. Instead she had been forced to rob them at gunpoint – which was no easy task considering that she was trying to get changed at the same time.
The sound of sirens blared across the street and Plisken took the opportunity to run, her new outfit proving to be much easier to run in than her last. Plisken ducked into bar while the police cars raced past, chasing some poor innocent woman. The bar was nice enough, not too shabby for Las Vegas. But it was best not to stay for too long and Plisken ducked out again when the coast was clear enough.
In a quiet corner, Plisken unslung her rifle. The old and battered thing had taken a lot of damage over the years, decades even, and it had been a long time companion of hers. But it was drawing a little too much attention. She gave the gun one last kiss and slide the weapon under a dumpster, hoping that it could be retrieved later. Of course now the long and troublesome task of tracking down his friends began. As she began to walk the streets, trying to burn the image of the alleyway that the dumpster was in, she thought back to her last visit to Las Vegas. That last visit was now; in fact he was probably only fair few miles away in the Groom Lake Facility. That was a few months that she wasn’t likely to forget. Locked in a cold dark cell while the FBI argued on who should cut him up. Hopefully nobody none of the others arrived there in the cell, which in this increasingly coincidental universe was surprisingly likely. Well, of course they didn’t because she didn’t remember them doing so. But she did remember having his car stolen when he escaped which pissed him of. It was a classic Mustang, parked somewhere near a canyon. But he did have two cars. The other of which Plisken, breaking a smile and thanking the universe, saw as he rounded the corner. It was a ridiculous car for the time: an Aston Martin DB5. It was sitting there, in its silver colour, on the side of the street. Plisken ran over to it, a serious skip in her step Yes, this was her car. She dug through her pockets which contained various pieces of junk and odd bits. Laying them out on the bonnet of her car, she counted them out. There was the key to her locker back on the big Blue; a couple of pennies that she’d won after spending twenty pounds on a penny fall machine; her watch; the key to her old gun case; various pieces of paper with numbers which had lost their meaning; a lollipop (apple flavour); a single bullet for a 12.5mm pistol; the keys to her Mustang; and the keys to her type DB5.
“I knew I’d need these,” she said with a smile as she inserted the key into the door, stuffing the remaining pieces of junk into her pockets - except the lollipop, which she kept out. As she climbed into the driver’s seat, the familiarity of it all seemed like a safe haven against all the craziness that had been going on lately.
Life used to be simple. Plisken laughed: It had never been simple.
The engine roared into life, ripping through the night. Plisken tapped the play button on the cassette player, praying that she’d left the right tape in all those years ago. She broke a smile as the amazing sounds of the Abbey Road album filled the small interior of the car. Did it matter if she found the others? Not now it didn’t.

Deep within the Groom Lake Facility, a man tied to a chair was being questioned by a tall and lean man dress in a black suit with dark shades. The suited man’s jaw was angular and rigid, his hair greased back.
“I won’t ask you again Mr. Evergreen,” said the suited man, “Do you know anything about the intruder that stole the helicopter?” The man spoke with a thick American accent, clearly from the country. Yet something was… alien about him.
“I’d I’ll not say it again Jimmy,” said ‘Mr. Evergreen’, “I don’t know. I’m locked in a cell under 60 feet of earth.” ‘Evergreen’ smirked as ‘Jimmy’s’ anger came to its limit.
“Danforth Evergreen, we are searching your apartment building as we speak. If we find the weapon you used to assassinate the Pres-“
“Sir,” whispered another man, dressed in the uniform of the US Air-Force, into ‘Jimmy’s’ ear, “We’ve got a Code Nine. Some of our men spotted her coming out of a clothes shop on Goodsprings Avenue.”
‘Jimmy’ hesitated as he looked at the smirking man in the chair- he’d spent months tracking him down and now he wanted to ‘talk’ to him. But a Code Nine, that could mean a promotion to the top.
“Corporal, take Mr. Evergreen back to his cell,” said ‘Jimmy’ as he left the room, taking a black attaché case with him.


Plisken was driving down the street, enjoying the music of the Beatles but something caught his eye. From an alley way a bright blue light was spilling onto the cold pavement. She pulled up the car next to the road and got out. Chances were that anything strange and/or out of the ordinary would be related to the Dwarfers.

Plisken slowly approached the Alley, carefully taking in the surroundings. She chanced a peek round the corner, expecting to see some alien monster intent on taking over the earth for some bizarre and probably incomprehensible reason. But it was only Miss. Jones and Miss. Dr. Black.
"Hey children!" called Plisken down the alley. Cass and Jade turned and looked less than impressed with being called children, although few people weren't compared to Plisken, but seemed to be grateful to she her all the same.
"Plisken... you... eh... look nice...?" said Jade, slightly unsure on what to say to a woman that was a man only a few days ago. And a very old man at that.
"Oh thank you," said Plisken, strangely pleased that she'd received a compliment, "But just what indeed is that?"

<OOC - Sorry if the date's wrong but not being familiar with Las Vegas Steampunk conventions, I wasn't sure what to put>

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