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

[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."

[tactician]

"Oh, I've got to keep something in my head in place of all those war strategies."

Twist of the knives - politicians were good at those, too.

[aphelionix]

Locke rolled his eyes.

"You're missing out."

[tactician]

"It's serving me pretty well right now," Weiler said, punctuated by the clink of glasses as the bartender set down the order drink by drink. The whole process took just under a moment, during which neither of them spoke, perhaps out of habit, a conditioned wariness that pervaded regardless of how loose their tongues felt under the influence of alcohol. Weiler did spend the time playfully knocking his ankles against Locke's, however, drawing glass after glass to him as the employee set them down.

[aphelionix]

While watching the drinks being doled out, Locke idly ran fingers over his mustache, nudging Weiler back with the side of his boot. Since Weiler got the last, Locke covered this round, slipping a few substantial notes right into the bartender's pants pocket. (Sheesh, they were going to be known as the mysterious flirty pair at this rate.)

"I'm not sure I even know what some of these are," he admitted as the bartender walked away - not without a quick wink at Locke - leaning forward to examine a three-layered drink, with some sort of fruit floating on the top.

[tactician]

He eyed the money as it was handed over, though he didn't make a move to intercept it, almost like he was running an unwritten ledger in his head. Considering his position, it wouldn't be surprising if he did - there was a lot to be said about how a man spent his money, too.

"They're not poisoned, but have too much and you might feel like they are anyway, soldier," Weiler answered, grabbing the very drink Locke was expecting and tipping the first sip into his mouth. He seemed to let it settle in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, and then proceeded to lick his lips while handing it to the other man with a 'Go on,' sort of expression. "Tastes like orange. Let it loosen up your tongue a little for a coworker, hmm?"

[aphelionix]

Maybe it was just one more thing to have up on Weiler - or maybe he simply paid since this was supposed to be him taking the man on a 'date', after all. Either way, he didn't clarify any curiosity he might have noticed in Weiler's expression.

Locke took the drink with a smile, giving it a quick smell first. Definitely orange, along with something less sweet. The aroma was pleasantly balanced, and as Locke let the drink wash over his tongue, the taste lived up to it. He raised the still half-full glass against the light, looking impressed.

"Not as sweet as it looks. I like it."

[tactician]

"Good enough for you to trade some information for?" pressed Weiler, relentless, though his smile was easy.

[aphelionix]

Locke took another sip before setting it down. He leaned in.

"So you want to know about General Gearhorn?"

[tactician]

Weiler nodded, keeping his eyes intent on Locke. He didn't look the slightest bit inebriated, despite the drinks he had, was, and probably would be knocking down.