'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?"