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]

The bar Locke brought Weiler to was much nicer than Space Burger Joe's. It wasn't as exquisite as the man was used to, he was sure, but it was many steps above the average grungy club. Its patrons ranged from well dressed business folk to soldiers like Locke himself. (They were the loud ones towards the back of the bar, watching some kind of sport on the television.)

The bar counter was a large circle in the center of the room, illuminated by floor lights in blues and greens. Circular shelves in the middle displayed their alcohols, almost glowing in the back lighting. The bartenders were well dressed (pinstripe vests; both classy and classic), and just provocative enough with their button-ups not completely fastened (men and women alike) to draw in extra tips.

Locke stepped right up to the bar, leaning against the counter. "So what will you have, Milo?"

[tactician]

As opposed to the fast food establishment (if it could even be called something as kind as 'establishment'), Weiler took to the bar like a fish to water, slipping into the dimly-lit quietness of the bar seamlessly. He cast a speculative glance around the room - at both the people and the decorations - with a small smile before turning back to Locke upon prompting.

"Whatever you're having," he answered, the words of a person who was used to seeing traits in a man through their choice of drink. There was no need to speak louder than normal - the bar seemed easy-going and private, which was much preferred to the chaos of a club or after-dinner hangout.

[aphelionix]

Locke nodded to a bartender, who swayed her way over with a smile.

"Two gin and tonics," he said, and with a nod she set to making the drinks. Despite the technology that came with restaurants these days, bars were the most likely to stay old fashioned, voicing orders rather than placing them digitally. Locke was rather fond of it.

[tactician]

"So you're a highball kind of man," Weiler said, watching with a small smile as the bartender swayed away with a pleasant cant to her hips. That was the purpose of having good-looking staff, after all, so it never really quite hurt to look. "How very much like a soldier."

[aphelionix]

"Have to keep up appearances, don't I?" he responded with a smile of his own. "What's your usual?"

[tactician]

"Whatever the client is having," Weiler said and it wasn't technically a lie - it was his usual. His preferred, on the other hand, was a whole other matter completely, but 'German' Lager was rare. Most bars in the galaxy didn't even know what it was and half of the ones that did only handed over the thick, regular malted stuff as if that was a suitable substitute. Then, it was an additional matter of having the freedom to enjoy his drink as opposed to being obligated to cater to the politician-of-the-day's tastes. The opportunity was rare and far in-between.

Weiler seated himself down on one of the bar stools lining the bar and tapped his fingers against the enamel surface as he waited for the bartender to return with the orders. He made a gesture at the adjacent seat with his other hand, expression business-like and amiable. "Sit."

[aphelionix]

"Yes sir," Locke answered, sitting down next to him. He propped his elbows on the counter, his fingers interlocking. His boots rested on the rung at the bottom of the stool, looking comfortable in this setting. It was a little easier to be oneself here, just loud enough to where no one could listen in. "How long have you been working with the Circle?"

[tactician]

Weiler blinked back, having not expected a question like that, though his eyes rolled toward the ceiling shortly after. Usually, people in their field didn't ask so much about pasts - the members of Circle 7 came from all walks of life, some less savory than others. Weiler had grown used to not asking simply out of isolation and respect for others' privacy, but he had no qualms about his own path to where he was now. "Since I was a teenager. I was looking for an internship."

He dropped his attention back down and smiled. "I found one."

[aphelionix]

Locke looked impressed, his brow heightened. The bartender came back and set two glasses in front of them, practically polished to invisibility. Locke slid across some cash, and with a playful wink she took it and made her way to another group of patrons.

"Hell of an internship to run into," he said, glass in hand. "I take you didn't realize what they were until after you took it."

[tactician]

Drawing his own glass close to him with a few fingers on the rim, Weiler laughed. "Who knows? As a teenager, I might've realized and gone through with it anyway. Sure beats doing politics the normal way, I'll tell you that."

He held up his gin and tonic for a toast, and when the glasses clinked together, asked, "And you?"

[aphelionix]

Locke's glass met Weiler's lightly, and he took a considerable drink from it.

"Caught up in a bad crowd. Decided to go with it."

[tactician]

In a clear show of propriety, Weiler put his feet on the bottom ring of Locke's chair instead of his one. It would afford them the appearances and privacy to carry out his type of conversation. "The same sort you're with now, isn't it?"

[aphelionix]

"Who, Gladsheim? They're worse. It's worth joining a cause against them."

[tactician]

"Hear hear," Weiler responded, hitting the edge of Locke's cup with another clink. When they drank this time, he finished off his glass, forcibly encouraging Locke to do the same by pushing up his elbow again when it threatened to lower.

Once it was only ice left, he set it down with a quiet smack of lips, gesturing to the bartender at the far end of the counter for another round. "Good luck to us both with that."

[aphelionix]

When Locke set his empty glass down, he looked amused, remembering that challenge to drink him under the table. Given all the political events and people he had to entertain on behalf of that silly Wallabin, he supposed he wouldn't be too surprised that Weiler could hold his alcohol.

"Indeed. Foul bunch. Though I guess we're not really in a place to talk."

[tactician]

More promptly than the first time, the second round of gin and tonics were set in front of the two men with a customary smile. Weiler beamed back, seemingly taking great pleasure in slipping a neatly-folded bill five times the normal tip amount into the breast pocket of the bartender's uniform vest, and turned back to Locke.

"Oh, but we're as foul as the rest of them," he mused, although he waited until the bartender had walked off to do so. With one finger on the condensation-slick glass, he pushed the second cup to Locke's side of the table. "We just go about it another way. There's nothing worse than a traitor."

[aphelionix]

"I'll say," he agreed, lifting his glass to his mouth, a small smirk on his mouth at Weiler's flirting. He was quickly beciming notorious for it in Locke's book. "Can't stand most the blokes I'm stationed with. It's absolute hell when the upper commander comes around. Having to pretend a complete jerk is amazing." Locke's voice was lower, even in the privacy of their slight huddle - and his speech was becoming notably more... accented.

[tactician]

"Sounds like politics," Weiler commented brightly, not at all impeded in any way by the gin and tonic previously imbibed. He knocked his glass against Locke's, although this time he didn't force the other man to take a drink when he did, either out of mercy or negligence. Turned toward each other as they were, they were close enough to knock knees, which did occur on occasion whenever one or the other of them shifted.

He hadn't noticed any faces here familiar from the military base. Locke had probably been highly aware of that advantage when bringing them there, but it never hurt to be a little more on guard when your supposed partner in crime was already beginning to loosen his lips. "But surely, your boss lady can't be that bad? She seems very...to the point."

[aphelionix]

The bar was a little formal for most soldiers, and a bit outside of convenient range for the base. The occasional upper officer had shown up before, but it wasn't as fun, they usually found, without a bunch of drunken lower ranks trying to praise and impress you. They liked the attention, and this wasn't the loud sports type bar for it.

Locke shrugged in answer to Weiler's question, leaning an elbow on the counter after a sip from his glass. "If you want to sound nice about it."

[tactician]

Weiler smiled a toothy grin. "And if I wanted to sound mean about it?"

[aphelionix]

Locke smiled back.

"Going to need more drink if you want me to talk that dirty, Weiler."

[tactician]

And toothier still.

"So you talk dirty when drunk?" He leaned back, beckoning the bartender with a wave of two fingers. "In that case."

[aphelionix]

Locke chuckled, throwing back the rest of his current drink.

"Subtle."

[tactician]

"I didn't think 'subtle' worked for you," Weiler responded, turned toward the counter to smile at the bartender as he (an attractive young man, this time) approached with a hand towel tucked over one shoulder. The order Weiler listed off was varied but not long - probably just enough for two grown men to have had their share with just the right amount of experimentation - and the bartender, who took a moment to absorb it, finally nodded with a smile and set off to complete it.

Weiler turned back to Locke. "I'd just like to know what you know, if we're going to be working together."

[aphelionix]

Locke watched with one eyebrow peaked. When the bartender walked away, he directed an impressed look at Weiler.

"You sure know your drinks."