The Waiting Room

[tactician]

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."

Comments

[aphelionix]

If she felt obligated to say anything polite, she didn't anymore, giving a disgusted roll of her eyes and heading out before the two. Locke glanced at Weiler, stepping out of the elevator with a gentle pat on the man's lower back. Not quite inappropriate, not quite unfamiliar.

Locke's hands clasped behind his back, and he admired the upstairs almost as much as the downstairs. The mini chandeliers lining the hall, ornate sconces and rich colored carpets... Upscale things like this weren't common on the military base at all, even with his upper position as the general's confidant and bodyguard. Different sort of indulgences came with that job; such as nicer, solo quarters away from the rest of the soldiers, and premium English-style tea that he fancied. That was about as sophisticated as his accomodations got.

[tactician]

The penthouse suite was as spacious as the office floor below it, except its ceiling spanned high above their heads. Large portions of the walls were covered with reinforced glass, giving all inhabitants a breathtaking view of the posh landscape at sunset, which lasted for at least an hour on this planet, meaning there was still a good cut of time before the proposed dinner the Senator had invited his guests to. Weiler led them to two identical-looking doors a little ways into the suite and waved a hand at them in turn.

"The Senator invites you to retire in these rooms for your stay, however brief. The kitchens are down the hall, should you find yourself hungry before the meal. I'll come fetch you when it's time. Do you need anything else?"

[aphelionix]

General Gearhorn, while still in a sour mood, had seemed to calm down enough to not let it show at easily. The suite was impressive, after all, and despite her militant attitude, she knew her manners as a guest. Gearhorn bowed her head slightly to Milo.

"No, thank you. We'll see you at dinner, Mr. Eberstark," she said curtly before turning on her heel. "Avery, see me in ten." She disappeared into her room. His nod was customary, even if it went unseen.

Locke turned to Weiler, offering a polite smile.

"You like to upset her, don't you?"

[tactician]

"I don't know what you mean, I was just fulfilling my duties as Senator Wallabin's personal assistant," said Weiler, but his grin was toothy. He leaned in, tip-toeing to speak quietly into Locke's ear. "Besides, you're the one who has to deal with her in ten."

[aphelionix]

"Yes, thank you for that," he whispered back sarcastically. Locke settled a hand on Weiler's arm. "I'm lucky she left her whip behind."

[tactician]

He looked mildly contemplative at that.

"Kinky Gladsheim bastards, the lot of you."

[aphelionix]

"Never disagreed with you there. By the way, you can call me Nicholas."

[tactician]

Weiler's mouth curved into a slow smile.

"You can call me 'Sweetie-pie Darling,'" he answered, without blinking an eye.

[aphelionix]

Locke leaned back, to make sure his frown was seen.

"No."

[tactician]

Impassively, Weiler tilted his head. "Why not?"

[aphelionix]

"It's absolutely ridiculous."

[tactician]

"Pumpkin Schnitzel."

[aphelionix]

"What."

[tactician]

"I thought that one was rather creative."

[aphelionix]

"If by 'creative' you mean 'out of the question', then yes."

[tactician]

"You have no imagination," Weiler rued, leaning back on his heels with a sigh. He thumped Locke on the chest with the back of his hand and finally surrendered with a disappointed, "Fine, just use 'Milo' then."

[aphelionix]

"Better," he said, satisfied. "Well, Milo. I better get ready for my verbal beating." Locke leaned in, giving him a peck on the cheek.

[tactician]

Though Weiler hardly jerked back, he didn't move to reciprocate either. Instead, that same mildly-surprised look he had worn earlier in the waiting room reappeared on his face. "There's no surveillance or bugs here. No one's watching," he said quietly, only for Locke to hear.

[aphelionix]

Locke smiled and returned to his military posture.

"See you at dinner."