'debrief' doesn't mean what you want it to, weiler

[kobacake]

After Weiler and Locke's initial report, it hadn't taken long for the First Circle to verify that, at the very least, the basis for their claims was true. Assessing the true extent of Gladsheim's damage, however, would take much more time. Between sorting out how much of the information they'd been receiving from the Seventh was actually useful, who the traitors within the Seventh were, and forming counter measures against Gladsheim, things around the First were rather hectic. (The reconnaissance members of the First certainly wouldn't be getting a vacation any time soon...)

While they still needed more information before devising a plan against Gladsheim, there were a few variables that the Circle knew exactly how to deal with. Variable 'A' was one Senator Wallabin. With Wallabin as their ally, Gladsheim would have leverage, however little, within the Federation Council. Letting them having any sort of power was a risk the Circle couldn't afford, especially now that the Seventh was compromised. The most logical solution was to put a hit on Wallabin and get rid of the threat he posed, and, of course, the best person for that job was Danny Garamond.

Although it was fairly easy to forget that Danny actually had a job to do around the Circle when he was always strutting around with his brand goods and his little dog, the truth was that he was incredibly skilled as a hitman, and many of the higher priority hits were assigned to him. And so it was that Danny found himself sitting with his arm extended over the back of a black leather couch in a rather swanky bar as he waited to meet with one Heine Haettenschweiler. After all, who better to give him information about his target than the man who planned his daily schedule for the past two years?

Comments

[tactician]

Meetings usually didn't go like this.

Weiler usually worked with more information under his belt, much more like how it had been when he had first met Locke. He usually knew exactly what the person looked like and, if it wasn't a Circle member or even sometimes when it was, he usually had already read a long and arduous records and personal history file prior to actually seeing them face to face. This time, however, he was going in relatively blind, having been told nothing except the time and place of the meeting, accompanied with little more than the reassurance that the person he would be looking for would be waiting for him there.

Or rather, the person looking for him.

I had been almost a month since he had gone anywhere off-ship without Locke as backup or Wallabin dogging his heels, but Locke had been called away for duties elsewhere at Headquarters today and Weiler had the suspicion that this meeting had all the more to do with Wallabin despite the lack of the Senator's physical presence. After all, in a matter of speaking, it was just like politics - a simple cause and effect process where surprises only came if you didn't know all the cards on the table.

Considering Weiler did know about most of the cards in play, coming from the recently compromised Seventh and Gladsheim itself before that, the biggest surprise to him today was the rather...posh and showy nature of the rendezvous point. This bar was...not entirely unfamiliar in nature, if he had to be honest. Perhaps that was why it surprised him - it was very much like the types of places the rich and elite would visit for a good time, and not exactly the typical subtle and tucked-away-in-an-alley Circle fare.

Abandoning his coat at the coat check and pocketing the digital slip that would allow him to pick it up later, Weiler strode into the bar like a natural. He carried himself well in these places, even though there were hardly any patrons at this hour of the day (a grand total of four, not including the idling, bored-looking waiter and one bartender behind the counter fixed with somewhat tacky pulsating LED lights that flashed through every color in the rainbow before repeating the pattern).

It wasn't Patron #1, who was too old and who had began drinking much too early in the day, considering he was all but dozing under his suit jacket in that one booth by the corner. It wasn't Patrons #2 and #3, who seemed much more interested in creeping their hands into each other's pants from the way they were turned towards each other and away from the line of sight of anyone else in the bar. That only left Patron #4, who was sitting with his pointed boots crossed at the ankle and that shirt opened up one button too far to be formal, sprawled back against the couch like the owned the booth, the establishment, and the planet while he was at it.

Heine Haettenschweiler stopped in front of Danny Garamond's table with a small, amused smile. "Would you mind if I sat here, mein Herr?"

[kobacake]

Danny arrived at the bar about ten minutes prior to Weiler and had already settled down with a drink. By the time Weiler finally walked through the door, he was staring boredly off at some other corner of the room, fingers tapping an erratic beat on the back of the couch. With his free hand he brought his drink (something florescent orange-pink in a wide-rimmed cocktail glass and garnished with fruit) to his lips and sipped, and it wasn't until he leaned over to set the glass back down on the table that he saw Weiler stride over.

Unlike Weiler, he'd been given plenty of information beforehand about who he was meeting. Even though he'd only seen a headshot, he was easily able to recognize Weiler. (Weiler did have fairly distinct facial features, after all.) What impressed Danny, however, was what he hadn't been able to see in the photo: Weiler's immaculate style of dress. Sure, the it wasn't Danny's style, but Weiler made it work for him and that was something that Danny could definitely appreciate.

Danny looked up towards Weiler as he stopped in front of the table, the corners of his mouth turning down and a brow raising at Weiler's slip into German. "What about your hair?"

Without waiting for a reply he gestured to an empty place on the couch, not bothering to move from his relaxed position. "So you're..." He'd intended to address Weiler by name, but soon realized, "Okay, sorry, I have no idea how to say your name."

[tactician]

"Just go with, 'Weiler,'" he said, sweeping down into a seat at the end of the curved booth. Danny was sitting in the center and the cushioned seat was wound around a smal, elevated surface paved with imitation marble, with only enough room for a handful of drinks and an ashtray. Currently, there was only one glass, a quarter empty and half full of ice, on it and not a speck of ash to be seen in the tray. Weiler's hands were in his pockets and his left bumped up against the corner of a half-empty cigarette pack. He wondered if Danny would mind (or if he'd be concerned about the smoke ruining the delicate affect of his name-brand cologne).

"They didn't give me your name," Weiler said with a hint of modest apology, crossing his ankles under the table, a prompt and explanation in one.

[kobacake]

"Weiler, huh? Yeah, that's a lot easier to manage." Danny nodded, expression easing back into something neutral rather half-offended. He leaned forward and took another sip of his drink before turning back towards Weiler to answer his question. "It's Danny."

[tactician]

Weiler canted his head with a small half-smile. "Just 'Danny'?"

[kobacake]

"Danny Garamond," he clarified, though neither his expression nor tone of voice indicated that he thought this information would have any profound effect on their exchange. Weiler, on the other hand, might have been a bit more surprised.

[tactician]

He was, in fact, more surprised, but nothing in his demeanor showed it. In fact, the tilt of his head to his other side was slow and thoughtful, nothing abrupt or jerky like something out of shock. His eyes lowered to the table - the drink Danny had been nursing was colored a bright, bubbly pink. It was a cocktail usually more favored by the...fairer gender, a sweet and expensive concoction garnished with wedges of fresh imported lime that didn't grow in this part of the System. Hm.

"Of relation to Victor Garamond?" he asked benignly, smiling amiably as he looked up.

[kobacake]

"Yeah, Boss is my dad," he answered in a matter-of-fact manner with the slight shrug of his shoulders.

It was at this time that the waiter wandered over to their table (probably glad to finally have something to do during such slow business hours) and turned to Weiler. "May I get you anything to drink, sir?"

[tactician]

From what Locke had told him about the other Garamond son, the Garamond brothers were very much unlike each other.

Weiler turned up to smile at the waiter, glancing back over his shoulder at Danny's drink. Usually, his policy was to have whatever the client was having - it put them at ease, gave them a sense of validation in their tastes and expressed the false idea that Weiler was similar to them in some small, trivial way - but this time, he was quite sure he wouldn't enjoy that fruity mixture at all.

Maybe since he didn't have to pretend to be somebody else (still a strange, new notion), Weiler could try something else?

"Whatever lager you have you draft, please," he said, after a second of hesitation. He hadn't had the opportunity to order something like that in years, but though there was significance in the choice to him, the waiter merely nodded politely and went off to fetch the drink in question, leaving Weiler to turn back to Danny.

"Yours any good?" he asked, nodding at the cocktail.

[kobacake]

On the contrary, Danny probably would have found it strange if Weiler had chosen the same kind of drink as himself. After all, his favorite cocktails weren't particularly popular with men (and it wasn't like he needed any recognition from Weiler to affirm his good taste; he already knew it was good). He glanced at the drink and then back to Weiler. "If you like sweet and fruity and hardly any burn then it's great."

[tactician]

Was he drinking juice?

Since there weren't many patrons in the bar at this time of day, the waiter was back shortly with the drink in question - a dark golden brown beer in a small mug with a dusting of foam on the top, which Weiler accepted graciously. With one last questioning look at Danny's glass, Weiler turned back to the young man (younger than his brother, from the looks of it).

"They didn't tell me why I was supposed to meet you, either, so do you mind filling me in?" Weiler said, smiling as he scooted down the seat a little further. He wasn't close enough to be touching Danny, but it was closer than he needed to be. Old habits died hard - even if they were in safe territory, Weiler was used to not giving outside ears the luxury of a conversation not meant for them.

[kobacake]

Of course it wasn't juice! Even if Danny wasn't technically old enough to legally drink on this planet, his fake ID was virtually indistinguishable from a real one. He just preferred drinks that went down a little more pleasantly.

Danny didn't question Weiler's movement. Their's was a sensitive business, after all, and Weiler was probably trying to keep things quiet. He reached into a small leather satchel (murse?) on the seat beside him and pulled out a handheld tablet so he could take a few notes. He then turned back to Weiler with a slight frown.

"I heard from the Boss about how you guys came from the Seventh. You were Senator Wallabin's assistant or whatever before, right?" This was less of a question than it was a statement, and he didn't wait for an answer before continuing. Considering how close Weiler was to the heart of this matter, he didn't think there was a reason to hide anything. "Since we know Wallabin was tangled up with all the shit that Gladsheim was doing, we figured it'd be better to end that 'relationship' before they do any more damage. Basically, I'm gonna snipe his ass, and I need you to tell me about his habits and stuff so I can make that happen."

[tactician]

So he was right after all - it had all to do with Wallabin.

"You're going to snipe his ass by yourself?" Weiler questioned, spinning the remaining lager (about half) around in his glass mug with a small, amused smile. For how neat and kept he looked, he didn't have any problem rolling the less-than-sophisticated words off his tongue, but then again, he had always taken well to languages (even coarse ones).

[kobacake]

Danny frowned towards the question, he's glance flattening out into something that showed he thought the answer was obvious. "You only need one bullet to kill someone."

[tactician]

Weiler looked up guilelessly, keeping his eyes trained on Danny as he brought his cup to his lips, taking a polite sip.

"I didn't mean it that way," he said. He would have normally chuckled at Danny's defensiveness, but he was well aware that there weren't many people who would appreciate the humor quite as much as he did. "I meant, I would need to know if you were going with a party or not in order to tell you the best way to get close to the Senator."

[kobacake]

"I don't need to get close to him," Danny responded, reaching over to take a sip from his own glass. On the contrary he preferred to stay as far away from his targets as possible. The less evidence there was that he was involved, the better. "I just need him in my line of sight. Preferably an open area that's secluded, but I know that's probably a long shot."

Tilting his head back he drained the last of his drink, plucking the lime from the side of his glass to eat the fruit (not without making a bit of a face) before placing it back on the counter. "What kind of places does he frequent? Is he alone a lot?"

[tactician]

"That's what I mean," Weiler said, inclining his head to Danny. "Wallabin's a rat of a man. He's incredibly paranoid, doubly so after finding out about me. He won't be making any public appearances for a while yet; he's likely holding off all campaigning until he really needs to do it, and right now, with Gladsheim at his back, he doesn't even need to appeal to any masses in order to get a shoe-in to the Council. When he does make public appearances, he's flanked by a goon squad that tower over him like a human fortress. I don't know if you'll have much luck there."

Weiler turned his glass around in his hand, smearing cold condensation on the insides of his palms. Settling back in his seat, he made a thoughtful sound, idle fingers turning around an unlit cigarette in his free hand. "He'll be keeping mostly to his manor now, but assuming you can get into Gladsheim in its current state, you'd find that he's always holed up in his study. His desk isn't in line with any corner, either. The military built the house, you see. It seems as though Gladsheim had that in mind, too."

[kobacake]

"Ugh..." Danny let out a groan and slumped down a little in his seat, leaning his head back against the couch. "That fucking figures.."

He wasn't surprised really. If he was Wallabin, he would have been doing the same thing. Wallabin had to assume that the Circle would be coming after him, after all. Even so, that didn't help Danny feel any less frustrated. He frowned up at the ceiling, staring at the comfortably dim lights as if trying to think of a solution. He was only quiet for a moment, however, before he asked, "Well? Any suggestions?"

[tactician]

Weiler leaned in a little, smile a little sly. "You can always dress yourself up and get to him through traditional means," he suggested. "And unless you can cook, that really only leaves one option."

[kobacake]

"Oh, hell no." The corner of Danny's mouth pulled back in disgust at just the thought of being in Wallabin's proximity in that sort of scenario. It was highly unlikely he'd even be able to keep up the act for more than 30 seconds even if he did agree to it. "I've seen that guy's picture and there is no fucking way I'd touch that shit with a ten foot pole."

[tactician]

Weiler grinned and sat back, tapping one foot softly against the tiled floor. It seemed as though the Young Master Garamond had quite a set of standards for himself and the things he surrounded himself with, if his way of speaking and dress were any indication, which was not necessarily a bad thing. "That's too bad," he mused, swinging the end of his cigarette back and forth from between two fingers. "He's a sucker for a pretty face and you would have been just his type."

[kobacake]

Danny raised a brow towards the comment, glancing back towards Weiler as he straightened up in his seat again. "Yeah well I work way too hard to waste this--" he made a small sweeping gesture towards himself-- "on that." 'That,' of course, being someone of Wallabin's caliber.

[tactician]

Weiler's brows rose in unspoken amusement. "Oh? What would you 'waste' it on, then?"

weiler are you trying to figure out danny's type

[kobacake]

"Well they'd definitely have to be way younger and cuter."

he tries to figure out everyone's type

[tactician]

A slow, measuring glance slid down Danny from head to toe before Weiler settled back further against the cushions with a playful sigh. "That's too bad," he said, eyes rolling to the ceiling. "You wouldn't even be able to close your eyes and pretend it's someone else once Wallabin put his wrinkly hands on you then."