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The lights came on, finally. Bond squinted, rapidly trying to readjust. It didn’t help that it wasn’t just ONE lone bulb, but that multiple lights in multiple colors bounced around the circular room, reflecting off of multiple mirror balls, throwing the room into a riotous chaos. “Well, this is a new kind of torture,” he murmured.
A headache was growing behind his eyes. Evidence of the concussion he must have sustained during the car crash that brought him and Miss L’averdeen to a complete stop. Said Miss L’averdeen was currently tied up next to him, her eyes wide with fear, mascara and eyeliner coating the skin around her eyes, giving her the look of a racoon. He almost laughed, but she wouldn’t have appreciated it.
Miss L’averdeen finally found her voice. She whispered her question to him. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know, but the seventies called and they want their disco back,” Bond muttered, his caustic humor in dire situations popping up and out. Miss L’averdeen shushed him as the sound of something hard, rolled across the floor towards them. They both craned their necks around to see what it was. Miss L’averdeen cringed and moved closer to him, trying to find some quantum of solace from their would be killer.
The villain of their story, Bond’s initial target, rolled into view. He was tall, lanky and gawky, which on land, isn’t very impressive. Here though, in his natural habitat, his villains lair, in motion, he was sinister to behold. He was wearing gold hot pants, a white vest, gold wrist guards, gold chains, white knee high socks and gold roller skates.
A quick turn of his body and he skated backwards towards them. His bleach blond hair flapping around him as he swung around, held in place by a gold sequined headband. Miss L’averdeen, pulled in her appendages as far as they could go as he rolled to a stop in front of them.
“And you are?” Bond asked. He knew that the human trafficking organization MUST have a leader, but he hadn’t discovered who it was and he hadn’t expected that this...person would be who he was looking for.
Music filled the rink and the villain began to skate and speak, although it was more like singing. “They call me Mr. Gravedigger.”
Bond snorted into the air. “Original. Very original.”
Mr. Gravedigger squatted down on one leg, he brushed the top of Bond’s head gently as he rolled past singing.
“You're face to face, with the man who sold the world.
I staggered through this criminal reign.
I've got a handful of songs to sing.
To sting your soul.
To fuck you over.
This furious reign”
Bond sighed. “Well this is new.”
“Stop antagonizing him,” Miss L’averdeen hissed out. She kicked Bond with her bound feet.
Mr. Gravedigger smiled, his teeth uneven and white, glaringly so. He glanced down at his nails, that were painted gold and began an intricate set of pirouettes and jumps as he spoke...or sang to them.
“One boy breaks a rule
Silly Boy Blue, silly Boy Blue
You wish and wish, and wish again
You've tried so hard to fly
You'll never leave your body now
You've got to wait to die
Silly Boy Blue, silly Boy Blue
You've got a very heavy reputation
But no one knows about your low-life
I know a way
to find a situation
And hold a candle
to your high life disguise.”
Mr. Gravedigger laughed and pointed at Miss L’averdeen, skating past her swiftly and brutally, catching her hair under his skate. She gave a scream of pain as the strand was caught and pulled out.
“This girl is made of lipstick
Powder and paint
Sees the picture of herself
Every magazine on every shelf
This girl is maid of bond street
Hailing cabs, lunches with executives
Gleaming teeth sip aperitifs
This girl is a lonely girl
Takes the train from Paddington to Oxford Circus
Buys the Daily News
But passengers don't smile at her, don't smile at her
This girl is made of loneliness
A broken heart
For the boy she once knew
Doesn't want to know her any more
And this girl is a lonely girl
Everything she wants is hers
But she can't make it with the boy she really wants to be with
Watch that man! Oh honey, watch that man
He talks like a jerk but he could eat you with a fork and
spoon
Watch that man! Oh honey, watch that man
He walks like a jerk
But he's only taking care of the room
Must be in tune.”
Mr. Gravedigger spun and danced with great fervor, throwing his head back. The lights caught his hair and his outfit, they became spinning glowing streaks of motion.
“Is he…” Miss L’averdeen swallowed hard, but she bravely continued. “Is he actually singing to us?”
Bond rolled his eyes. “Yes. David Bowie to be exact.” He raised his voice. “An imitator. What a poor excuse for a villain. Bowie would be ashamed.”
“Actually…” Miss L’averdeen began.
Mr. Gravedigger brought himself to a halt and rolled his feet back and forth, staying in place. He moved himself forwards and sideways towards the duo in the middle of his rink. He began to dance and sing again.
“Time - He flexes like a whore
Falls wanking to the floor
His trick is you and me, boy
With your long blonde hair
and your eyes of blue
The only thing I ever got from you
was sorrow
Let's dance
Put on your red shoes
And dance the blues
Let's dance
To the song they're playin' on the radio
Tell the others
It's the Heart's filthy lesson
Paddy,
What a fantastic death abyss
Tell the others
It's the Heart's filthy lesson
Paddy,
what a fantasic death abyss
It's the Heart's filthy lesson
Tell the others
It's only forever
It's not long at all
The lost and lonely
That's underground
Underground!”
Mr. Gravedigger made his move and charged towards them, murderous intent in his eyes. Unfortunately, his lengthy sing-along monologue had given Bond time to use the new watch Q had made him. He had cut through his bonds. As soon as Mr. Gravedigger got close enough, he threw his wrist bindings in front of him, Mr. Gravedigger’s skates caught on them and as Newton’s third law tells us, an object in motion will stay in motion, until acted upon by equal and opposite force. Mr. Gravedigger’s mistake cost him his life.