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Michael sighed. This interview wasn't going as well as he had hoped. In fact, it seemed because Michael had killed with no remorse, no regret while he did it, that he wasn't, in fact, qualified to teach high school because he was a killer with a degree. The long, endless nights while undergoing medical treatment for his wounds said otherwise. They said that Michael was in fact human, unlike what this fellow seemed to believe. Michael hadn't been able to sleep the entire time he was in the hospital; apparently, pulling the charred remains of your friends and comrades-in-arms from a burning transport while getting shot at and shooting back wasn't conducive to getting a good night's sleep.

"Mr. MacKenzie. You say you're uniquely qualified to teach high-school level history? So far, I'm seeing a dog of the military, someone who killed when ordered to. A Congressional Medal of Honor means nothing, to me. You're just a bastard soldier with a degree in teaching earned off government money, which they took from us."

Ah. There it was. The denial, not worded as one. The bitterness because Michael had been brave enough to put on the uniform when few else had. It was nothing new. Half the people Michael ran into recognized him on sight, and half of those were the sensitive young liberals with nothing better to do than follow him to whatever hotel he was living in at the time and throw things at his window. Apparently, the epithet "baby-killer" was popular to throw at servicemen and women, along with "dogs of the military".

Michael shrugged, then stood. "I'm sorry I wasted your time, sir. Obviously, you don't need someone with a permit to carry concealed, and with the skills to use said handgun, around. Read up on this school. Five attempted terrorist attacks, and three hostage situations when they did get in? Combat is nothing new. And you seem to not want someone ready and willing to kill for the abstract idea of a nation? Imagine what I could do if my students were threatened. And give me a call later. I have four more interviews today." Michael left the room, his heart beat slow and steady. Even four years out of the Army, he still walked at the mandatory 120 steps a minute. Being a soldier never left you. You could see it in the eyes of the few World War Two veterans around; they could still march and fight if they had to.

He left the school grounds and made his way to a coffee shop, where he ordered a Coke. It arrived, and he poured a dollop of whiskey into it. At least he was alive. More than he could say for the poor bastards he had pulled out of that burning wreck on the 'highway' in Mexico.

OOC: In case you hadn't noticed, there's a FullMetal Alchemist reference in there. If you find it, rockin'.

Also, Mexico? You're asking yourself. "But there are no American soldiers in Mexico!" There are in 2013-2020, the year currently being 2024. Almost like a new Afghanistan. Due to the threat posed to America by illegal drugs and drug cartels, the President of the USA declared that they constituted a clear and present danger to the United States. This means that his military people had open bags in the hunting season for drug cartels and drug workers. However, because they were so pervasive in Mexican society, Congress declared war. And we invaded. And the rest, as they say, is history. Also, elves and vampires and stuff like that are citizens, but few, if any, are in the military, due to there being certain....limits on their freedoms. Congress is looking at changing that. Basically, the only thing they can't do is serve in the military, as teachers, or be elected to public office.

(OOC: Dog of the military being the FMA reference. Heh. I would join this RP but I don't think any of my characters would be suitable. It holds some potential however. I like the intro post.)

(OOC: heck with it. Let's see what happens.)

He sat there quietly across the coffee shop in a corner with his back to the wall so he could see everyone else in the place. His fighters background had made him a bit wary of having his back to anyone as he was trained under to have the knowledge of 'you never know who, when or where an attack could come from. He sat there quietly sipping on his coffee, observant eyes not staying on one person for too long. His quiet gaze quickly switched to Michael as he entered and he watched in silence. He observed everything. How he was dressed. How he walked. His posture. After a moment he smirked a bit and stood up taking his coffee with him and went and took a seat beside him.

"I've only met one type of man who walks and holds himself as you do. The dogs...the baby killers...whatever people call military types nowadays..."

As he spoke he kept his voice a bit low as though he didn't want anyone else to hear the mentionings of military in the place. He then raised it to a normal level as he spoke again quickly changing the subject before he could even respond.

"Dressed nice...spiking your drink. That's a couple of signs of a man down on his luck. Am I right and that's the case with you?"

Michael was slightly surprised when the man took a seat beside him. He listened to the man, then snarled almost wolf like, but below his breath, so only the man could hear. Then the man changed the subject. Michael didn't particularly care. "It's none of your business if I was a soldier or not. This nation needed me, and I answered the call. I'm not proud of what some of my fellow soldiers did, but I am proud that I managed to save lives by putting a stop to the drugs coming into this country. And as to spiking my Coke, for all you know it could be apple juice. But you're right. It's whiskey. I am down on my luck; not many high schools willing to hire an infantryman with a degree in teaching history. I specialize in Middle Early American, from the Revolution to the Civil War." Michael finished his Coke, then ordered another. More whiskey went into it. He looked at the flask, then downed the rest of it.

He chuckled lightly before he took a sip of his coffee.

"I didn't ask if you were a soldier or not. I simply said I recognize your type. I believe in their being a such thing as good soldiers and bad. The good ones actually have conflicts about how honorable it really is to do some of the things they do. Such as taking lives...regardless of it the lives are good or bad...though they have less conflict with the bad lives."

He then rubbed his chin in thought for a moment.

"Infantryman...bullet cushion as some call em. The ol tip of the spear. History teacher specializing in the time frame between two of Americas biggest wars. I must say...that's interesting...I can help you out. Obviously there's not many jobs out there that require a diverse assortment of skills...but I know of one place who can make use of all your talents in one go...not just bits and pieces of it...and I can assure you the pay would be worth the effort...and just like the military there also exists hazardous duty pay. Because some pieces of the job are...well...hazardous...if you choose to accept that bit. Like I said they can make use off all your talents but you don't have to push yourself that far if you don't want to."

Michael scoffed grimly. He still wished he could go back and save those lives, instead of pulling charred remains out of the transport. "Honorable? What's honorable about killing some poor son of a bitch that picked up a gun, whose livelihood depends on the drugs you're stopping? What's honorable about watching your best friend step on an IED because of that poor son of a bitch actually having gone to high school and paying attention in chemistry?"

Michael downed his second Coke, then ordered a coffee himself. "Not so much the biggest. Those were the World Wars. Simply the most formative of this nation. In college, I had a professor. Liberal type, as most are. Seemed to delight in making fun of the military in front of me. I had enough one day and told the old bastard to do some very highly improbable things to himself, and that the reason half his students weren't drugged out idiots was because my mates and I had the balls to put on the uniform while he stayed safe, taught that we were evil, and infected another generation. He pulled a gun on me. I threw my knife into his hand before he could shoot. If getting nearly shot by your college professor isn't a hazard, I don't know what is, sir." Michael added the sir on instinct. The man seemed like a sir to him, and the Army had taught that when in doubt, salute and say sir.

He glanced at him out the corner of his eye and listened then smiled a bit.

"Good and honorable are two different things to me. Killing anyone is never honorable. It's the inner thoughts of the one doing the killing that dictates the difference in between good and evil."

He then chuckled softly.

"Knife to the teachers hand. You sound like my type of guy. The bark when threatened then bite when barking ain't enough. I like that. Back to the subject though. Think the job I mentioned sounds like something you might be interested in?"

"It's better than drinking myself into oblivion and never getting a job. What kind of teaching would I be doing? Infantry tactics, history, or infantry tactics throughout history?" Michael felt himself being drawn in. Some job was better than drinking himself into oblivion.

"The main part will just be basic history stuff. The optional stuff will be CQC training and strategy and Melee weapon use."

He then rubbed his chin a bit then sipped on his coffee a bit more.

"The building where it will be done is...well it's not a school...but it's got dining facilities...a library...and you can stay on site. It has a inn with 4 rooms so it'll have basically everything you need. Including a gym so you can stay in shape. Your students...2 teens...the building owners kids."

"When can I start? And where is it? I don't care about the pay; as long as I'm fed and I have a roof to sleep under. What are the teens like?" Michael had finally found a job. Granted, not the precise one he was looking for, but a job. And if it let him get back into fencing, all the better. Fencing was his one passion in life. Although most fencing involves foils and protective covering, after Michael's third tournament, his teacher had insisted on real blades and no protective covering at all. Michael had learned to be quick, not just with sabers or rapiers, but with broadswords like heavy cavalry had used during the Napoleonic Wars. To Michael, it was fun, not dangerous.

He chuckled a bit at his sudden interest.

"You can start after you meet your boss. Proper face to face formal introductions are usually best."

Kyle then stood up and finished off his coffee then leaned on the table and grabbed a napkin and began writing on it then slid it to him when he was done.

"The place is kind of in the middle of nowhere. In a clearing in the woods. Here's directions to get there. It's still early in the day so you got time to relax or whatever and still get there before nightfall if you want to stay there tonight and see the building and maybe meet the kids. Dunno when he'll want you to start. But I'll head there now to let him know to expect you between tonight and by noon tommorow. Oh...and dress how ya want but the suit ain't needed...and don't call him sir...he's not fond of formalities. And be on guard when you get there. Keep your eyes skybound especially. It'll pique his interest that a military man is coming and he may wanna test your combat skills. He's always looking for new sparring partners. And he likes to get the upper hand by ambushing from above if he can."

He then chuckled as he turned and walked up to the bar And paid for his coffee as well as the mans drinks.

"Take care and remember...eyes skyward. There are plenty of trees for him to hide in."

Michael nodded his thanks, then took the napkin and followed the man out the door. He took a different turn, then evasion tactics learned the hard way in Mexico took over. After a set number of random turns, Michael turned right three times, making a left turn. He turned left three times, coming full circle, and then he retraced his steps. He had taken off his suit jacket, undone his tie and put it in his jacket's inside pocket, and un-tucked his shirt. He was now effectively a business man on his way home early, one of thousands in this city. He checked the directions, then walked back to his hotel room, where he changed into hunting kilt, brown dress shirt, and sword. Michael pinned the extra kilt material to his shoulder, then put on a pair of combat boots. He packed his rucksack, then checked out of the hotel.

"Not staying another night, Mr. MacKenzie?"

"I'm afraid not. I got a call from a friend; he needs help moving into his new apartment. After we finish, he demanded we play some GameSphere, so we'll be doing that. I might check in again tomorrow, though. Have a good night, Ms. Fraser." Michael left the hotel, then hailed a cab. His instructions were precise; within twenty minutes of the location he had been given. Michael would bury his rucksack outside the perimeter, then work his way inside. It was an hour drive; time for a nap. He'd likely be up all night.

Sometime later Kyle had arrived at the building himself and was inside sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing his chin in thought.

"Infantry man...This will he interesting."

He looked back at the window and smirked a bit as he stood up and walked out of his bedroom grabbing one of his swords that leaned against the wall beside the door as he passed them. He walked down the hall and cut through the tavern and went to it's outside dining area where hencrouched down so henwas barely watching over the edge of the wall.

"If he's smart he won't just stare at the trees despite my telling him there were lots of them."

Stealth and evasion weren't skills necessary to hunt fellow men in the urban cities of Mexico. They were, however, necessary in the arid desert surround Mexico's cities, when the other fellow had the same opportunity to hunt you. Michael had learned fast, and when he was pulled from the line after earning the knife scar, he was sent to Sniper and Ranger schools. He kept those badges locked even further below his Medal of Honor. But the two schools had expanded upon his improvisational knowledge of stealth and evasion, and taken it further. They hadn't taught him how to use decoys; he taught them. That was how he had passed the evasion and stealth portion of sniper school. He had made a decoy, covered it with his gillie suit, and then continued on to the objective, silently laughing as the instructors grew ever more angry at the decoy. When he showed up at the objective, in his normal ACUs and patrol cap, the instructors were understandably displeased. However, Michael had passed. He had shown extreme skill in stealth and evasion, without even a gillie suit, and had arrived at the objective before everyone else. That was a passing grade, and the instructors couldn't deny it.

Michael slipped out of his nap as the cab arrived at the location. He paid the cabby, then waited till he was gone. Michael began digging, and buried his rucksack. He slipped into the trees, and then began climbing one, sword pushed to the back of the belt momentarily. No decoy, no creosote bush to disappear into, just trees and the unknown capabilities of the other man. He would use all night to get to the building; patience was important when using stealth to move.

He crouched there in silence for a bit then smiled a bit as heard a car pull up and a door close before the car pulled off.

"He's here...now the fun begins."

He then chuckled softly as he kept his eyes to the trees watching for any sign of movement that would give him away. As he watched he began to mutter to himself.

"Military man...he'll probally use military tactics. I told him he could dress casually so it wouldn't surprise me if he wore cammies...possibly crawling on the ground...wonder if he has any weapons with him...might also have been better if I didn't warn him... Military men aren't used to having warning of potential immediate attack..."

Little did Kyle know that he was quite wrong as his opponent of choice wasn't wearing cammies nor was he crawling.

Michael settled into a routine long suppressed. Move so slowly, that you look like you're not moving at all. It would literally take all night instead of twenty minutes, but Michael had had a nap, caffeine, and experience in stealth. This would be much easier than Mexico. Granted, the other man knew he was coming, but Michael knew the other man knew he was coming, and that meant Michael was forewarned against any ambushes. He kept his breathing controlled, and because he moved so slow, he didn't startle any birds or animals, also something he had learned in Mexico. If there are animals around, let them get used to you, and they'll be more effective sentries than another soldier would be.

Michael fully expected to be caught at any moment, but he kept his heart rate as steady as possible. He didn't know if the other man had technology that could track in on a heartbeat, but if he kept it at the right pace, he'd be just a very large bird asleep. Sweet merciful Christ, why am I doing this? This is insane. And with a sword! I should have purchased a pistol and three hours in a machinist's shop. Oh God, I'm sorry I killed that fellow in Mexico. I still don't know if he was armed or not, but he acted like it very well. Shit! That last was nearly said out loud, as a foot slipped from a branch. Michael scrabbled for purchase with the boot, then breathed a sigh of relief. That must have been heard in DC.

He smirked a bit as he sat there crouched in wait and finally stood up.

"A good host goes and greets his guest...not make them come to him...let's make this more interesting."

He then placed his sword in his belt and got a running start before lifting a foot onto the wall and launching from it propelling himself into some nearby trees where he grabbed ahold of a branch and spun about it before flipping himself to another one.

"This will make things fun. Time to make my inner monkey show itself."

He then began leapinng from branch to branch and tree to tree taking a wide arc course with all do intent of getting behind his opponent. Unlike his opponent though, he wasn't being stealthy though as he startled several birds and rustled lots of leaves during his movements. He instead was just aiming to meet his opponent who, unknown to him, was also in the trees.

The flight of the birds startled Michael. He couldn't have caused that, could he? No. That wasn't him. That was someone else, making lots of noise. Michael took note of where the birds had flown from, then angled himself to be in an ambush position, judging from where the birds kept flying from. He silently prayed, then drew his sword and held onto the tree with his other hand. Now it was hurry up and wait, something Michael had gotten all too familiar with in the Army.

As he bounded and flipped from tree to tree he began singing a bit as though it was his complete intent to be discovered. Almost like he was trying to make his opponent slip up by making him get lax as Kyle was easily trackable right now by sound alone. When he got near the edge of his property line he doubled back and stopped for a moment before whistling a bit as he climbed higher in the tree he stood in.

"Come out come out where ever you are! If you ain't careful I'll make like the cheshire cat on ya."

The sound of the voice nearly knocked Michael out of his tree again. Idiot. That just lets me know where to avoid. I don't like fighting. Just because I'm good at it, doesn't mean I have to like it. I only enjoy fencing. Idiot. Michael crawled onto the next tree silently, hoping the hilt from his sword wouldn't glint too much. Damn. Now I'm the idiot. Should have used camo paint on myself and soot on the sword. Damn. How could I forget such a basic lesson?! Probably lack of proper time to plan. Shit. On my second go around in Mexico the Rangers and I usually had at least twenty four hours' notice before an op was laid on us. Damn you, whoever you are, my new employer. I'm getting too old for this shit.