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]

"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."

[aphelionix]

Despite his hesitation, he followed the logic. Locke relented, patting the hand on his elbow.

"All right."

[tactician]

Weiler let go immediately, reaching into his pocket instead for his transmitter device. Politely, he stepped a few feet away to call up the driver in what seemed to be a short, to-the-point and unexciting conversation. It seemed to be a ritual both parties were familiar with. It was over in a matter of seconds, upon which he turned back to Locke with a clear-headed smile, unfazed at all throughout the entirety of the night by any of the drinks he had ingested.

"It'll be here in a few minutes. My deepest apologies for the wait."

[aphelionix]

Locke stared and laughed. How many faces of Weiler's had he seen in just one day?

"Apology accepted."

[tactician]

For once, Weiler looked slightly perplexed.

"What's so funny?"

[aphelionix]

"You're always switching between casual and formal."

[tactician]

A chuckle. "Is that strange? I would have thought you, of all people, would understand."

[aphelionix]

"I do," he agreed. "But there's no need in either scenario."

[tactician]

"Force of habit," Weiler dismissed, shrugging one shoulder as he looked toward the street. "When you do this long enough, it sticks."

[aphelionix]

With a shrug, he let the topic rest. The night air was cold and dry. On particularly windy days, it often left people with windburn across their cheeks. Locke had grown in the habit of wearing a scarf around, even when the days were calm.

"You sure you don't want my jacket while we wait?" He was buzzed enough to feel warm without it, anyway.

[tactician]

Weiler grinned.

"Here, open it like this," he said, taking Locke's hand and maneuvering it to clasp the open flap of his own coat, since it hadn't been buttoned yet anyway, until the soldier was standing holding both sides of his jacket open. He looked a little ridiculous until Weiler's reasoning became clear not even a few seconds later - without asking permission or uttering a word of warning, Weiler stepped right into Locke's personal space, pressing against his front and into the circle of warmth formed by coat and man.

"Now when the car comes, it can find us like this," Weiler said softly, winding arms around Locke's waist, unsurprisingly strategic with his unconventional tactics.

[aphelionix]

Perhaps ironically, Locke might've been less surprised had he been sober. Drunk, though, he stared down for a good moment before seeming to register the gesture. When he did, he leaned his head against Weiler's, his arms circling around him. His hands clasped were at the small of the man's back.

"Nice touch."

[tactician]

A hand slipped a little lower, very much on purpose.

"I thought so too."

were clasped* up there whoops

[aphelionix]

Locke was silent for a few seconds, glancing down.

"That for show too?"

[tactician]

Weiler peeked around Locke's shoulder.

"Hm. You're right. They could probably see this too."

So he slipped his other hand down to join it, filling both of Locke's back trouser pockets.

[aphelionix]

The implication made Locke laugh. Weiler could certainly be bold when he wanted, and cover it up so smoothly, too. He was definitely versed in these things.

"Warm?"

[tactician]

An easy shrug. "Could be better, but not bad."

[aphelionix]

Locke's smiled lazily, the combination of warmth, cold, and drink making him rather drowsy. He was sagging comfortably against Weiler.

"Slow driver, is he?"

[tactician]

"It's barely been a minute," Weiler reminded, taking Locke's weight easily despite his slighter statue. He was keeping a steady lookout for the telltale lights of an approaching vehicle, but the night was quiet and dark for now, save for the light leaking out of the bar and the other establishments on the street. The immediate environment was empty, the neighborhood apparently as downkey as the waterhole Locke had chosen.

"I could call and tell him to hurry up, but I'd rather have a little more time before going back to Wallabin. Stay alert now, soldier."