circle7 | The Waiting Room

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The Waiting Room

Being led to the waiting room was more akin to being brought on a full-scale tour of the floor than any beeline route. The layout of the Senator's office was linear in nature, with one winding passage through the space that passed by nearly every single room in succession, designed probably with the mindset that a person could follow only one path and turn off into their desired destination sooner or later. It was aesthetically and theoretically sound, but architecturally and practically wasteful, making it perfect for a politician.

At the very end, two large polished doors, painted to look like archaic mahogany (if that species still existed in this day and age). They glistened with the evidence of a very good cleaning crew and swung inwards to reveal a square, stately room, lit in the center by a low-hanging crystal chandelier. An ornamental rug lay on the ground, covering most of the floor space, and upon it rested two plush couches and a low coffee table, adorned with a contemporary vase of some sort. The couches, made of black leather, shone dully in the warm light, and atop one of them was the Senator's secretary, sitting cross-legged with a cigarette hanging from two of his fingers.

Weiler looked up as the doors opened, raising a brow minutely when he saw who entered. He then put out his light on the nearby ashtray and swept himself to his feet in one fluid motion. "General," he greeted, voice smooth despite the vice. When addressing military personnel, it was best to be militant - being to-the-point would suffice. "The Senator is waiting for you in his personal office space. He assured me that you would appreciate the privacy."

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"Isn't 'herr' a little formal, considering?" Locke stared up. "And aren't there more important matters to discuss?"

Weiler fell.

His hands flew out from behind him and grabbed onto the top edge of the back of the seat before he could collapse on Locke, however. The motion was just in time to catch him a few inches short of literally smacking face with the other man, his legs bracketing Locke's knees. "That's right," he said off-handedly despite the proximity. "We're very well acquainted, supposedly."

He leaned down until his mouth was level with Locke's ear. More quietly: "The other room is bugged, but this one is clean. You can do your own sweep if you'd like."

The soldier was certainly caught off guard, his hands flying up to catch him - only to land on his waist when Weiler caught himself. After the initial shock, Locke sighed, begrudgingly letting his cheek rest against Weiler's.

"Do you do this with all your coworkers?" he asked.

Weiler chuckled, body shaking with amusement. "Usually only with the ones that ask."

Then, in a move that once again had no precursor or gave any warning, Weiler lifted up one leg and then the other, lifting his knees onto the seat of the couch before unceremoniously plopping down on Locke's lap. He then began to rifle through his inner suit pockets as if nothing was amiss.

"I don't..." Locke paused as Weiler situated himself, his brow growing tighter by the second. "...recall asking."

He watched Weiler rummage through his pockets. A bit of concern crossed his face, and Locke cleared his throat.

"Weiler, I know we now have a sudden image to uphold here, but if you pull out a..." He didn't finish the statement.

Stopping mid-rummage with a hand inside the left breast pocket, Weiler looked up at Locke. His face remained perfectly blank for all of two seconds before a wide and toothy smile spread over his face, smeared right over his mouth like butter on bread. "If I pull out a...?"

He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed into it, muffling the sound. With the other, he pulled out two separated earbuds, fashioned to fit comfortably and camouflage in the ear - fashioned by the Circle, from the looks of it, and held them up cradled in the palm of his hands. "What did you think I was going to pull out there, Herr Locke?"

"Nothing." Locke narrowed his eyes at Weiler, sliding one of the buds from his palm. If he felt embarrassed at all, it didn't show. (Despite only knowing this man a few hours, he really wasn't sure what to expect out of him.) He leaned back, easing the earpiece into his ear.

Pulling one leg over, Weiler dropped onto the couch beside Locke, fitting his own earpiece in. He didn't seem particularly concerned with what bits of information they could possibly be missing with this small talk, but then again, he had on good authority that politicians took at least ten minutes to get to the point anyway, even if they were headed directly for it. Wallabin, in particular, ran an average if about fifteen minutes - maybe fourteen, if under pressure.

Immediately upon equipping the earpiece, sound began filtering through. The Commander and Senator's voice came clearly through the transmission, only the slightest of electronic noise marring the sound. The bug had been hidden in the innermost spot of the underside of the Senator's desk, in a small hole that had been drilled into the wood itself and then covered with a thin layer of sheen. It was near impossible to pick it out, even if one knew where to look. The Circle, after all, did their job properly, no matter how flightly some members seemed.

"-Admit, I am somewhat surprised they got along so quickly after the one party. He is usually not a man to partake in such things," said the general calmly, caught mid-sentence in what was obviously a short bout if greetings and small talk.

The Senator chuckled. "Milo can be very convincing when he wants to be."

'Milo' made a small sound of amusement and waggled his brow at Locke.

Despite throwing Weiler a look of exasperation, he threw his arm over the back of the couch, behind the man's shoulders. He could handle more casual displays like this better.

"Must be if he got to Locke," the General continued. "He's incredibly uptight. It might be good for him, though."

Locke's mouth tightened into a frustrated line.

Weiler made another aborted sound of laughter into his hand, though his effort to hide it was minimal at best. The tremor in his frame was most likely obvious against Locke's inner arm, which he had leaned back against without hesitation to continue the charade. It didn't take the General's own commentary to confirm the man's rigidness, though. Locke clearly took everything too seriously, which was why it was just that much easier for Weiler to dig out his pack of cigarettes and hold it out in offer while he fished for the expensive silver lighter he carried around as well.

"But let's get down to business, as I'm sure you have other pressing matters to attend to, Senator," continued the General, the muffled sound of sure footsteps punctuating her words. She was slowly pacing around the carpeted interior of the room from the sound of it, drawing nearer to the desk and therefore to the planted bug. When she next spoke, her voice was louder. "No thank you, sir."

A clink of ice in glass and the 'thump' of a cork stopper being put back in place - the Senator paused and took a sip of his own expensive brandy before answering. "Very well, then. Regarding the terms of representation..."

A hand fell on Locke's knee and crept up to a few inches from the junction of leg to hip - just in time for the door leading to the outside hall to open a crack after a curt two-beat knock. The woman who had led the Gladsheim personnel in half-stepped into the room, not even batting an eye at the two occupants' position. "Will the guests be requiring some refreshments, Milo?"

It was beyond Locke how Weiler timed these things so well. He had been distracted with taking a cigarette on top of that, without the time to react as the woman walked in. When he saw her lack of reaction, though, he responded likewise. The unlit cigarette hung from his lips, his attention on 'Milo' rather than the woman.

"Yes, we have a few proposals about that," the general said. Over the earpiece, there was a shuffling of papers. It was incredibly old-fashioned, this politics business. They really liked holding onto their roots. Digital information wasn't as safe as it seemed, though; he couldn't quite blame them.

"We're fine, Mandy. I'll get you when the Senator is done discussing matters with Gladsheim," Weiler answered, positively chipper. He listened to the click-click-click of her two-and-a-half-inch heels as she walked away, well acquainted with that pattern - the very same that had clued him into her approach in the first place, before letting go of Locke. This time, he found his lighter within a matter of seconds, dropping the cigarette box onto the coffee table with a small thump as he flicked the flame on. Tobacco was a form of human indulgence that had persisted throughout the ages - it, like paperwork, remained true to its roots.

"You weren't thirsty, hopefully," Weiler said, balancing the smoke between his teeth as he spoke the words through his teeth. He held the flickering flame up - high enough for Locke to use, but close enough that Locke would have to lean forward to do so.

And lean forward he did, stabling the cigarette between his fingers. It was an indulgence he didn't take often, if only because he lacked the time. He found it made the buzz more pleasant, though.

"I think I had enough champagne earlier," he said before inhaling slowly, puffs of smoke leaving his mouth before he leaned back again, the ember of his cigarette brightening as he took a longer inhale. He propped one foot on his knee, giving a small nod. "Danke."

Weiler brightened, looking thoroughly pleased at the sound of the word in a native tongue. He clapped a hand against his knee and chuckled. "Ah, schon gut."

The lighter clicked shut after he lit his own cigarette, leaving the two of them to listen in on the conversation in peace once again. Weiler kicked his polished black shoes up onto the equally polished coffee table, no doubt scuffing the surface - but that was a menial issue that some anal-retentive cleaning employee would see to and not a matter of importance right now. What was important was Senator Wallabin's proposal to bring up the concerns of the Gladsheim planet at the next inter-Federation council meeting. Right now, he was running down what seemed to be a list of affairs that either party deemed necessary to bring up. They were currently on number three - the issue of administrative chaperoning officials being present on the planet or not.

"It's absolutely not necessary," the General pressed, voice strict.

"You must understand, the Council will not see eye-to-eye with you regarding no overseeing whatsoever. You'll have to propose a compromise," said the Senator, sounding sympathetic.

"A compromise, sir?"

"Hm," said the Senator. Weiler frowned, knowing that sound anywhere. It was the self-satisfied hum of a man who knew that he was going to get his way somehow, the sort a spider would give after ensnaring a fly in its web. The Senator was a haughty man; he probably thought he had some kind of imaginary upper hand, but he was vastly underestimating the Gladsheim resolve. "Yes, say - perhaps we can argue for a limited presence, say, with a particular figure that Gladsheim itself approves of. A familiar face, perhaps, one that it won't mind having around."

A pause. "A face like yours, you mean, sir."

"Ah, yes, maybe even a face like mine."

Locke glanced sideways at the other man, noticing the following frown. If this part of the deal when through, it meant Weiler being dragged around more. While he was probably used to it, Locke couldn't help but wonder himself if he could tolerate having Weiler around on his planet. It would be advantageous to their true work, though, so that trumped any complaints he might have had immediately.

Just as Weiler understood his tail's subtle shows of emotion, Locke knew his. The general sat back down heavily, with a quiet swishing sound that he recognized as her palms rubbing together in thought.

"And what compensation are you proposing, with putting you there rather than an unwanted face?"

"If you ask me, it's a win-win situation for everybody," said the Senator, trying to sound amiable while clapping his fat hands together with a light smack. Weiler could hear the oil in his voice, the slick in his words, and he sat up straighter, pushing back against Locke's arm without remembering that it was even there. Focused and working, Weiler was not at all like the persona he displayed in any social gathering, big or small. This was the Circle member, underneath all those clothes, all that polish and grease.

"Ah, I don't much like your planet~," he commented idly, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as the Senator began to discuss trivial details such as accommodation, what say he had, what he wouldn't disclose, what he could. They were greedy but not overly-ambitious demands - it would not be difficult for one disadvantaged planet to see to the needs of only one selfish man. It was techincally a win-win situation. Gladsheim would gain someone to lobby for them, and the lobbyist would gain one more grounding point in his inter-system bid for power.

"What's your weather like?" Weiler asked.

Locke listened until it became small details, thinking about how his own agenda would be changed. Not just on the military base, but as part of the Circle. Once the council and military board approved everything, things were definitely going to get busy.

He leaned back with a low hum.

"Dry. Cold."

Weiler closed his eyes with a deep sigh, blowing out a thin wisp of smoke from his lips. "I hate the cold. What a pain."

"Then it sounds like we may have an agreement, sir," said the General, with slow, measured steps that brought her at least two paces away from the Senator's desk. "As soon as I report this back to my superiors and receive their informed approval of the terms, I will send word to arrange for your transport immediately."

"Take as much time as you need to get things ready on your end," said the Senator with a deep chuckle. "I will be lobbying to the rest of the Council for their support in this endeavor, and you do know that they're a bunch of old, senile fools. It may take a week or more at the rate they move. For now, let us discuss the particulars of those aforementioned accommodations. First of all, as I've mentioned, I'll require-"

"What a ham," commented Weiler on the Senator. "He sure likes to toot his own horn. Yours like that?"

"Only when drunk," he answered, putting his own cigarette back to his lips and sucking in. Locke exhaled heavily, smoke clouding out much less gracefully than the wisps Weiler expelled. He at least had the decency to direct it away from him. "You should see her angry."

Weiler smiled wryly, glancing at Locke out of the corner of his eye. "Don't tell me - she ties you up and makes you call her 'daddy?'"

Locke actually smiled under his mustache.

"I wish it was that mild."

Turning in his seat, Weiler fixed Locke with his full attention, deceptively wide-eyed. "Mommy?" he asked with mock-shock, before he dropped the pretense and with lidded eyes, prompted, "And then she rides you, cowboy?"

Locke rolled his eyes, wondering if Weiler even knew what a cowboy was.

"No."

Most likely not - it was an archaic term, one that had long since lost its true meaning and was now simply a small part of a turn of phrase, though Weiler seemed to take great pleasure in reciting it. He did, however, then look disappointed at Locke's answer. "Oh," he said, brow knitting together. "Sometimes that's what politicians do."

Turning his eyes back up to Locke, Weiler pressed on. "Corporeal punishment isn't illegal on Gladsheim, I hear."

"You can thank our lobbyists for that," he said.

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