social link GO?!!!

[aphelionix]

Wallabin's frankly boring visits were starting to become commonplace at the Gladsheim base; to the point where even Locke was getting dirty looks from the fellow soldiers. When he slanted his glance their way, they usually shut up their gossiping and returned to what they were doing, though. One would think they'd be used to it by now, but they didn't cease to find amusement in Locke running the duo around. (They always silenced themselves when Gearhorn turned up, though.)

Luckily for Weiler and Locke, they were allowed a break from Wallabin while he met with Gearhorn and several other officers. (More demands to be met, more money to be donated and the like, Locke was sure.) There weren't many safe places to talk on base, unfortunately. He didn't even trust his own quarters.

There was only one place that he knew would be safe, due to the sheer loud volume of it; the cantina. It was less than glamorous, and the drinks they had to offer were definitely not as exquisite as the bar they had gone to. The company even less so. It was with a little reluctance that Locke suggested it.

"We could kill some time at the cantina," he had said, "but I don't think you'll like it."

Comments

OF THE DEVIL ARCANA

[tactician]

Weiler, fingers folded behind his back, slid a look over to his side. "Why not?" he asked innocently.

[aphelionix]

"Are loud, rambunctious soldiers your thing?" He nodded his head to a door on the right that they had approached. From it was the muffled noise of off-duty soldiers yelling, and quite possibly throwing things. "It's that or my quarters." Locke threw in a small smirk for good measure.

[tactician]

"Anything can be my 'thing'," he answered flippantly. Keeping his hands to himself, Weiler leaned to his side, into Locke's space, grin devilish. "But I don't think we're at that stage in our relationship yet, Nick. Let's go to the canteen."

[aphelionix]

Locke chuckled and leaned back, holding the door open for Weiler.

"After you, then."

[tactician]

On the contrary, Weiler liked it, but not for all the reasons one might have thought.

Collected here were the loudest, hungriest men Gladsheim had to offer, which were, in turn, some of the most cut-throat, brutal soldiers the galaxy had to offer. They were the type to pull no punches, to play no games other than the ones where Specimen A, their fist, collided with Specimen B, someone else's face. It was surprisingly honest, and unsurprisingly hostile to anyone not of their kind.

Weiler was a far cry from the type to be found in the canteen, from the way he dressed to the way he carried himself. It was obvious that it wasn't difficult to notice either, given the way more than a few men glared daggers at him as he sauntered down the aisles, looking for a seat. 'Dirty looks' was putting it kindly, but that, too, was refreshing. How nice it must be, to be free to openly show such disdain!

"Ah~, don't think they like me," he said to Locke.

[aphelionix]

Locke looked impressed by Weiler. He didn't seem to falter at all in the presence of this type of crowd. In fact, if he didn't know better, Weiler seemed amused. Regardless, Locke's step fell a bit closer next to the other man's.

"They don't like anyone but themselves," he answered, and stopped him at an empty table closer to the back of the canteen. "This group's especially rowdy, though. They just got back from a mission. Looks like they were promised drinks."

[tactician]

"The last thing this bunch needs is a drink and lowered inhibitions," Weiler commented quietly, smiling politely despite the glowers he was being given. He was used to handling people, all types of them, and though this particular kind was of relatively short supply, he knew enough to know that the best way to proceed here was not to draw attention, to remain humbled and quiet and never haughty. A rowdy canteen fight was the last thing he wanted - he barely knew how to throw an effective punch.

It wasn't unexpected in the least, this antagonism. He would have hated it too, if he were a man from a planet who was used to a policy where power was rewarded to the strong. That a weak-statured man made of largely hot air like Wallabin, throwing around his title like it was a mace, could pull rank here was probably infuriating, even if Wallabin kept to his posh accommodations most of the time. As his personal assistant, Weiler was guilty by association and much, much easier to get to, considering he hardly held as much clout. The only reason he hadn't had his throat slit yet might have been because of Locke's presence alone.

Sitting down on the far end of the table bench, Weiler swept his eyes up to Locke. "I feel like I'm in grade school recess again," he laughed, though the sound was cut short when a loud clatter came from the other end of the table.

A small group of men had set their dismal-looking trays, carrying even more dismal-looking food that was decidedly not the drink they had been promised, loudly upon the table, turning up their noses at the other occupants. The band couldn't all fit given the limited seating and they eyed Weiler and Locke like they were pieces of trash, about to be kicked out of the way any given moment.

Since the last thing he wanted was to get kicked, Weiler stood up.

[aphelionix]

Locke had kept a conscious eye on the people in the canteen, knowing full well that drink and lowered inhibitions were indeed a dangerous thing. There were rules on base, of course, about fights and how you shouldn't start them else a higher rank will discipline you as they see suitable, but it largely went ignored. The men and women alike of the military were aggressive, and most officials couldn't be bothered to keep them in control.

Technically, Locke was of higher rank, but often he was teased for it. 'The General's lapdog', 'Gearhorn's bitch,' and other such fond nicknames made their way into his reputation. Implications about how he got the position were often made as well. Fortunately, they usually shut up with him in their presence, as he also had a reputation for being ruthless. (The truth about that rumor, though, was that it was spread by another undercover Circle member to keep trouble from nosing about his business. It worked well, and so far, he hadn't had to prove the rumor true.)

But truly, as a Circle member, one had to have a little street smarts. Locke would hardly call himself ruthless, but when push came to shove, he certainly wouldn't call himself nice. It was unfortunate for the loud band of soldiers that they had never seen Private Nicholas Avery.

He gave the ruffians a disinterested glance before nodding at Weiler.

"Milo, sit down."

[tactician]

Weiler looked unconvinced, glancing over his shoulder at the group. "I don't really want to start anything here."

"You really don't," one of the men agreed, muttering under his breath, quietly enough so that everyone in the vicinity could hear, but it seemed as though Locke's reputation was good after all - no one actually made a move to push them away.

[aphelionix]

Locke's back straightened, and he looked at the group. About six of them total, no one particularly daunting, but their expressions could certainly scare. All bark, no bite, he figured.

"You're not," he said, only seeming loud because the immediate area around them had quieted, clearly waiting for a fight to break out. "So sit."

[tactician]

"Bow-wow, yes master," Weiler said quietly and, with a resigned sigh, he sat back down at the end of the bench, hands sliding into his pockets as he leaned back against the table.

All bark and no bite was right, though. Other than the occasional muttered allusion or dirty look, none of them actually had the gall to start anything. They didn't even manage to talk directly to Weiler, keeping largely to themselves as they huddled into their own exclusive little group at the other end of the table.

Weiler beckoned to Locke, motioning for him to bend down so that he could speak.

[aphelionix]

Locke's elbows planted on the table, and he leaned forward.

"What is it?"

[tactician]

"Thanks for standing up for my honor, weißer ritter. I'd kiss you if it didn't net me a black eye, but for now, I'll give you the honor of serving as my shield," he said laughingly, patting the space next to him.

[tactician]

'Later' came much later in the week and the day when most soldiers had retired to the privacy and relative quiet of their bunkers.

Wallabin hadn't made an appearance once in the base within that half a week, which was both unsurprising but unusual for him. The meeting he had last attended had sounded like a serious one, given the dour expression and the set in the senator's jaw the entire ride back to his residence. He had spent nearly the entirety of his next seventy-two hours holed up in his study, leaving only to sleep. He had ordered his meals brought up to him, and only gave Weiler a passing glance when the tray was set down. This wasn't entirely unheard of - despite his penchant for indulgence, the man did have certain bouts during which he actually did work, but considering how he had made it a point to visit the base at least once every two days (to 'touch base,' he said), some might have found it odd.

Weiler had been rather preoccupied too. He had spent the first day and a half carefully observing Wallabin in case this bout of seclusion wasn't ordinary, but none of the bugs and none of his instincts could pinpoint what was wrong, although the niggling feeling he had in his chest never quite left. Then, before he could really come to any conclusion on that, his bi-monthly report to the Circle had come and gone, which left him with an empty sensation that only intensified as the next day wore on. Weiler had all but forgotten the phone call until that last day, and even then, only as he was about to turn in did he recall it.

Locke's phone rang at eleven-forty-three PM, at the end of three days.

[aphelionix]

Locke was becoming reasonably worried about both the lack of appearance and lack of call. If something went wrong, Circle members naturally had to react quickly, but he hadn't heard anything suspicious from Gearhorn. As far as she had let on, everything was still normal. She was cursing the Circle more than normal, and how troublesome it was dealing with that 'god damn organization', but that was about it. Granted, he was in the middle of getting her drunk. That was the best time to catch her slip-ups.

It was a stroke of luck, really, that Locke hadn't been in his bunk when Weiler called. He had to be wary in his screening of calls, knowing he was always being watched or listened in on. Gladsheim was incredibly thorough. His Circle meetings always took place off base, and with another member to guard him.

When his cell vibrated in his pocket, he pushed off the bar and excused himself from Gearhorn, who was well past tipsy at this point. She simply waved him off. Locke stepped outside before finally picking up after four rings.

"Hallo, mein Liebling," he answered. He definitely wasn't sober himself, but upon seeing the number, Locke mustered himself up (a bit of Circle instinct as well). Unfortunately, he was drunk enough to think his German was good.

[tactician]

A sharp bark of laughter came from the other end, followed by a teasing, "And what are you wearing tonight, darling?"

[aphelionix]

"Still in uniform, actually."

[tactician]

"I don't suppose I can ask you to take it off and think of me, then," Weiler sighed.

[aphelionix]

"Maybe next time. I'm not sure this bar appreciates naked patrons of the male variety."

[tactician]

"You're at a bar?"

[aphelionix]

"Gearhorn and I," he clarified. Locke checked over his shoulder for anyone. "I'm outside, though."

[tactician]

"All by yourself?" Weiler cooed sympathetically.

Is this line safe?

[aphelionix]

"I am," he said.

[tactician]

"Poor thing," Weiler responded, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear as he turned to face his door, watching for any shadows that might pass under the crack at the bottom. He systematically checked for bugs in his room, but one could never be too sure.

"Well, I just wanted to check up on you and tell you that things over here are hectic, but that I'm all right," he said vaguely, drumming his feet against the floor. "All's clear on the work front, though Wallabin's been in a straight fit these days over something or other."

[aphelionix]

"Gearhorn's been in a fuss over something herself," he admitted, his back flat against the bar's outer wall to have a good view of any possible eavesdroppers. Even if there was, the cars of the tall highways and roads were loud. Despite that and the lack of company, he was still careful in how he worded things. "So I brought her here to loosen her up."