June 14, afternoon : for James

Erik didn't think of himself as a particularly materialistic person. Living poor through his childhood, and the constant deprivation and hunger in the camps, had given him a propensity toward a Spartan lifestyle. Even once hunting Nazis proved to be incredibly lucrative, he had preferred to live frugally-- especially since he'd never known when he might have to pack up and run in a hurry.

But Erik had lived in the same place, the same room, for over a year now, and in spite of himself he'd become accustomed to it. Liked it, as much as he could be said to like somewhere he'd been brought to against his will and had no opportunity to leave. Everything he owned except one change of clothes and his helmet had been in this room when it flooded, and unlike Raven he hadn't been mad enough to go diving for any of his belongings.

Now, he stood in the waterlogged ruin that had once been his bedroom, wondering if it was even worth it to try and salvage anything, or if he should give it up for lost and colonize a rec room like Lwaxana. The carpet appeared to have dried out just fine; he could only hope the same would go for the mattress in time.

A bottle of vodka lay on the floor, unbroken and with its cap still screwed on. He picked it up and straightened just in time to hear a step behind him.

"Your room's not a total loss, then." Bond's voice was wry and dry as ever, and Erik found he didn't mind the interruption.

"Not completely," he agreed, leaning back against the dresser with the bottle still in his hand, giving James a wry little smile of his own. "But now I've got this, I think I might quit while I'm ahead. Maybe if I leave it alone for a few days I'll come back and everything will have been put to rights again."