Bond walks into a bathroom, dropping his shirt on the way. Sévérine is already in the shower, running her hands through her hair. Bond steps in behind her, moving his hands around her waist.
Sévérine: Hold up, bitch. The hell do you think you're doing? You can't just wander in here and get all touchy feely. When did we ever agree to that? What if I was on my period, huh? Then we'd both be screwed. Plus, I haven't shaved my legs in like, three months. I mean, I dunno, maybe you're a feminist and you're cool with that, or whatever, but I'm just saying it's something to be aware of.
Bond and Sévérine are sat at a bar together, the latter drinking champagne the former, a martini (shaken, not stirred).
Sévérine: What do you know?
Bond: Well, it takes a certain type of woman to wear a backless dress with a Beretta 70 strapped to her thigh.
Sévérine: Yes. A boring one. I prefer a shotgun stuck down the cleavage.
Bond: Wha-
Sévérine: Also I have throwing knives tied to my elbows.
Bond: I-
Sévérine: And a machete on my shin.
Bond: But-
Sévérine: Also I'm not 100% sure what the structure of my dress has to do with my weaponry.
Bond and Moneypenny stand together in an office of MI6. Bond turns to walk away, as Moneypenny watches him go.
Bond: In your defense, a moving target is much harder to hit.
Moneypenny: Who says I missed, motherfucker?
Or, you know, just maybe...
Bond walks into a bathroom, dropping his shirt on the way. Sévérine is already in the shower, running her hands through her hair. Bond steps in behind her, moving his hands around her waist.
Sévérine: The hell did you get on my boat?
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