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]

Locke reached up and flicked his nose, but didn't otherwise address the use of his name.

"You want me to call you Heine?"

[tactician]

"No," said Weiler nasally, rubbing his offended nose. "But you asked and I delivered."

[aphelionix]

He looked at him oddly, leaning back and swishing the liquid in his glass.

"Heine," Locke repeated, turning the name over on his tongue. "I'm probably saying it all wrong, anyway."

[tactician]

"Saying it the right way makes me sound like an ass anyway," Weiler chuckled, apparently finding the sound of his own name amusing enough - maybe it was the alcohol? Maybe it had been that long since he had heard his name from another person's mouth. He tipped his glass in Locke's direction with a wink. "Anyway, it isn't as interesting as yours, but there you go."

"Past that, the most interesting thing about us is our jobs, I think you will have to agree. And that we are already well acquainted with," he added, leaning back in his seat. It put him, now, a good few inches away from Locke - intimate enough to be friendly, but hardly in each other's space anymore. Ironically enough, Weiler was most friendly when he was most business-like. "And it hardly matters."

[aphelionix]

Locke looked more interested now. Without his business concerns, he couldn't help but wonder if this was a truer version of Weiler, so to speak. No one could really be that smiley.

"It does," he said, downing the last of his drink and pushing the glass aside. "Just not to anyone else."

[tactician]

"It does, ja?" said Weiler with a huff of amusement, his smile almost sneer-like. He couldn't help it - it sounded like a poor pick-up line. "And why would it matter to you?"

[aphelionix]

"Well it's mean I have an ally, doesn't it?"

[tactician]

"Herr Locke, you are part of the Circle. You have many allies where you don't expect."

[aphelionix]

"Oh, I know," Locke said with a nod. "But it's suffocating, being on that military base. I'm surrounded by enemies. I can't speak with anyone outside my quadrant too much, or I'll be reprimanded. It's a bit of luck, really, that you and I wound up like this."

[tactician]

Weiler smiled wryly. "Now it's luck. You didn't seem too happy about it when we first met."

[aphelionix]

"Well, you were a bit clingy." He returned the smile, despite Weiler's wryness.

[tactician]

"Only as required by the job."

[aphelionix]

"So when the Circle informed you about me, they told you to kiss me in the middle of a public event?"

[tactician]

Weiler grinned.

"They told me to do what was necessary."

[aphelionix]

"So the tongue was necessary, was it?" Locke asked lightly, clearly amused.

[tactician]

"Shock value," was the easy answer. "Couldn't have you punching me in the face and ruining my ruse."

[aphelionix]

Locke chuckled. "Happened before, I take?"

[tactician]

"My face is a selling point, you know. As I don't have many, I can't afford to put it out of commission."

[aphelionix]

"Hmm." He looked Weiler up and down. "I see what you mean."

[tactician]

He sighed dramatically. "We aren't all possessed with the natural disposition for facial hair."

[aphelionix]

Locke stroked the edge of his mustache confidently, not bothering to hide his slightly lopsided smirk.

"I don't think a mustache would suit you, anyway."

[tactician]

"I could do a mustache well," Weiler argued, contemplatively touching his upper lip. "But it is a hassle and it's not entirely comfortable kissing someone with one. I would not do that to you, Herr Locke."

[aphelionix]

"It's not uncomfortable," he said , almost indignantly. "Once you're used to it anyway. It's stubble that hurts."

[tactician]

"On the contrary, I rather enjoy a bit of stubble," said Weiler with a smirk, running a hand over his chin now.

[aphelionix]

He raised a brow at him. "Are you a masochist, by any chance?"