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]

"Exactly what I said."

[aphelionix]

A pause. "And you call us kinky."

[tactician]

He waved a hand with a laugh. "Surely it's not as risque as you're thinking."

[aphelionix]

"Oh?" he asked, before quietly adding, "That's too bad."

[tactician]

A brief pause.

Weiler looked almost incredulous as he leaned forward, peering into Locke's face with clear amusement. "Are you curious? Would you like to find out?" He laughed, glancing quickly down at their empty glasses. "Are you really that drunk? You don't have a ruse to keep up when it's just us, Herr Lightweight."

[aphelionix]

He peered right back, and while it certainly wasn't a sober face, it was a conscious one. The surprise on Weiler's face drew a grin on his own.

"I'm not 'that drunk'," Locke assured, leaning back. "Just enough so to perhaps be curious."

[tactician]

There was a pat on Locke's shoulder as he turned away. Weiler seemed to not have lost the least bit of amusement despite the other man's slurred reassurance. "Well, no need to worry," he said flippantly, "If you're ever curious enough, you know where to find me."

[aphelionix]

After a quiet moment where Locke's brow wrinkled in the center, he gave a shrug and smiled.

"So tell me what you actually meant, Herr Weiler."

[tactician]

"Which time?"

[aphelionix]

"What sort of things do you pull off, I mean."

[tactician]

"You're interested in my resume? It's hardly more interesting than yours."

[aphelionix]

"Probably," he agreed. "But nonetheless. I like to know who and what I'm working with."

[tactician]

"Then whatever I say will hardly do it justice. You can see for yourself the measure of a man. I suppose you will just have to wait, Herr Locke."

[aphelionix]

Locke laughed. "Fair enough. I'm a patient man."

[tactician]

"Then I look forward to testing that patience," Weiler said and, with one last clink of glass rim hitting glass, he downed the last of the free drinks, leaving none left except for the one in Locke's hand.

[aphelionix]

"One of your skills?" he asked, and joined in finishing off the last of their drinks.

[tactician]

"A hobby."

[aphelionix]

A grin. "See? It's not so hard to talk about yourself a little."

[tactician]

Weiler's grin was slow in answering, like a gradually dawning realization. He inclined his head at Locke, eyes closing in pseudo-recognition of a small, if barely significant, point. "You're much more friendly with a little drink in you," he said, but that was a meaningless comment - most people were. "Keep that up, and maybe you'll get somewhere yet."

[aphelionix]

Locke shook his head at that, but he seemed amused. "I can't afford friendliness. And I certainly can't afford to get drunk all the time."

[tactician]

"That's too bad, because you're going to have to spare some on me," Weiler commented, pushing his empty cup away and settling back in his seat. With conversation, the two of them had since drifted away from each other - only their knees bumped once in a while when one or the other shifted. "As neither of us can afford not being 'friendly' with each other given our new positions."

[aphelionix]

With a hum, he leaned an elbow on the table, tapping a digital display against the wall. It blinked to life, revealing the time, weather, and temperature outside. It was late and getting cold - at least, by the average human's standards.

"Mm. Don't worry. I will."

[tactician]

Reading the cue for what it was, Weiler swept himself up, clearing the booth seat for Locke to scoot out. He slid a hand into his pocket with a customary friendly smile. The last thing a politician should do was impose (all jokes intended). "It seems like we should conclude this meeting and part ways, then, Mr. Avery."

[aphelionix]

"Nick," Locke reminded as he followed Weiler out of the booth, less steady on his feet than the other man. "Y'even have a jacket? It's cold out."

[tactician]

A coy smile. "You won't walk me home?"