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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."
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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Weiler slanted his eyes away in resigned acceptance, a perfect mix of obedience and disappointment. "Of course, sir. Didn't you say you wanted to see the war room instead?"
He hadn't, in fact, said that (at least not during his time in Locke's company), but Wallabin did light up at the mention. It was a topic that had apparently been discussed before. The Senator clapped his hands together once at chest level and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, that's right. Mister Avery, you do, in fact, have one of those? I have heard it's quite an important location for superiors to gather and discuss strategy."
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"You did mention that," Weiler said, humoring his boss. "You see it in the movies all the time, right?"
"Yes, exactly!" said Wallabin, sounding excited now. "It's like being on a spacecraft and wanting to see the bridge. We're certainly not tourists here on Gladsheim, Milo, but it would be a shame to have lived her and not see what little it has to offer. It isn't as if there's much else in this place even vaguely interesting."
Weiler made an amused sound, glancing at the straight line of Locke's back. When politicians were not watching their words, it was startlingly astounding how purely offensive they could be without even trying. "I wonder."
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Locke stopped in front of an elevator, pressing the down button. It opened right up, and he stepped on. He pulled a card from his pocket, flashing it against a black pad on the right side of the door, as well as pressing his thumb to a fingerprint reader to the side of it. After a green light flashed in approval, the doors shut behind them, and he manually typed their floor into the black pad. The elevator moved sideways, and then started descending.
"It's several stories down, beneath ground level."
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A series of metal doors awaited them as the elevator slid open - added layers of security considering the identification required at each step, but they did find themselves in the supposed War Room after a brief moment. Wallabin was instantly taken with a bout of wonder that lasted for all of half a minute, followed soon after by the sort of disappointment that followed only when one's disillusioned idea was harshly compromised by reality.
The War Room, unlike the glamorous meeting rooms that were often portrayed in media, was extremely modest. One wall was a digital corkboard of sorts, strewn with the occasional handwritten note and image. At the current moment, it was unsurprisingly sparse. (Gladsheim was much too careful to leave its dirty laundry hanging everywhere.) The other wall was a digital map that beeped every few seconds as a radar swept its parameters. All fronts, at the moment, were quiet.
"Oh," said the Senator. "It's very dark in here."
Weiler's eyes were drawn to the noteboard, however, undoubtedly scanning and gleaning any piece of information he could gather during this short visit, in case anything was possibly useful. "Are you here for meetings as well, Nick?" he asked distractedly, attention flitting about. "Or is only the General allowed into them?"
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"Assistants generally aren't allowed, but occasionally I will be brought in when my particular skills are needed for a strategy," he answered. "Sometimes I am even given the honor of compiling a team for missions."
*steady, not steadied
"Have you come up here by yourself just to play around? It is pretty interesting, wouldn't you say, Senator?" Weiler asked. Including the Senator was an afterthought - Wallabin only hummed distractedly in reply. The real question was: Have you bugged this room yet?
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Translation: Nope.
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It seemed as though Gladsheim, in general, was going to be a grand hassle. It was too risky here to do anything other than falling back to the age-old techniques of observation and eavesdropping. He would have to wait until he was off-planet on some of Wallabin's errands to even report.
"What a tough job you have," he cooed, for good measure
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"It's not so bad. We get days off. Sometimes."
Locke strode back over to the door, waiting to the left of it.
"Are there any other areas you'd be interested in, senator?"
AND A MISSING PERIOD THERE
"Oh, no, I think you've just about covered it. I suppose it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to arrange transportation for me to retire to my accommodations again?" he asked, slowly getting to his feet. After standing, he brushed himself off as if the impeccable leather seat had left something unsavory on his overly-expensive suit.
"You must be tired, Senator. I'm sure something can be arranged," Weiler echoed, glancing at Locke. "Why don't you rest a little in the canteen while I see about arranging vehicle service? Nick, would you mind showing me where I could do that?"
LOL i never notice these things until you point 'em out
"The canteen is straight ahead, senator. And take this," Locke said, handing the senator a different plastic card, shaped much like an old-fashioned, paper bookmark. A chip was at the bottom, where one slid it into a slot to make an order. "It will cover any refreshments you may like."
OMG MY PHONE DELETED THIS TWICE
Though Weiler had been taking careful stock of the surveillance in every area they passed, it was impossible to tell without proper researched blueprints where every lens was. There might have been a few hidden in the most inane of hiding spots. He had no way of saying where the walls had eyes, and even now, in the privacy of Locke's sole apparent company, Weiler cast wary glances around the hall with his eyes.
"It must have been hard for you," Weiler said sympathetically, sauntering up to Locke with a scheming smile. "Putting up with the Senator's whims all day."
EVIL PHONE
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"That woman there will help you with arrangements," he said, gesturing to a circular desk in the middle of the lobby. "Also, as it so happens, Milo, I don't have any engagements for the next two days. If you'd like to get together sometime." Locke had enough foresight to appear modest and hopeful as he suggested it.
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Would they be suspicious if we met that often?
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Once a month should be fine. But really, the food is terrible.
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Withdrawing his hand, Weiler crossed his arms over his chest, raising a brow. "So that's it? You're going to make me come to you otherwise? What a hard catch you're turning out to be, Mister Avery."
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"I'd offer to compensate you, but I'm sure your senator is missing his Pinot Grigio about now. Perhaps another time."
but first a tag
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