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]

"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?"

[aphelionix]

There was a pause before Locke smiled back. "Is that the friendly thing to do?"

[tactician]

"It's the gentlemanly thing to do after a date," he answered matter-of-factly.

"Alternatively, I can walk you home, Nick," Weiler added, the syllables of Locke's fake name coming off harsh and sharp with his reinstated fake accent.

[aphelionix]

"My 'home' isn't near as pleasant, I'm sure," he responded, and started to edge off his jacket. He held it out to Weiler. "Lead the way."

[tactician]

There was an aborted bark of laughter before Weiler pushed the jacket back. "I'll call the driver. Being the Senator's assistant does afford me some convenience. I can drive you back, too."

[aphelionix]

"Spoiled, aren't you?" he said as he pulled his jacket back on, shrugging his shoulders into it. "And thanks, but I'm all right."

[tactician]

A hand caught on Locke's elbow as Weiler stepped in. "I insist."

[aphelionix]

He blinked down at Weiler. "Why?"

[tactician]

"Consider it a sense of responsibility," Weiler said graciously. Less graciously, however: "And it looks better if one of us brings each other home."