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]

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."

[aphelionix]

"Long minute," he mumbled. Locke's hand subconsciously smoothed up and down Weiler's back. "Can't blame you. I'm not looking forward to seeing Gearhorn myself."

we can wrap this one up soon?

[tactician]

But not long enough.

"Shhh," said Weiler as the tell-tale four-beam light of Wallabin's secondary car (the primary used only for the Senator himself) made its way down the street, pulling in with unerring accuracy into the little space provided for parking near the bar. The driver, perhaps used to discreetness, simply kept his eyes ahead once he unlocked the vehicle's doors, though he had no doubt seen what state upon pulling in anyway.

Weiler smiled and pulled away, guiding Locke to the back seat. "All right, Nick, let's get you home now."