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(I got no problem with it. Michael?)

[Sybil is a bit of a work in progress, but I'm no noob ]

[[Nah, no problem. Sorry I took so long to reply. I was at school all day.}}

"Bah. The kilt is comfortable. And as for the crawling..... I think ye would too, after Mexico. I know I am." Michael finished the bottle of whiskey and began eating, not really tasting the food. It was food. Better than most of the things he had cooked himself. It sucks being single. I can't call the girlfriend and ask her to bring me a bottle of whiskey with a sandwich. Not that I could do that in the Army, but at least we could find goats and cows no one wanted every so often and eat real, free-range meat. Mmmmm.... It's a shame Billy the Goat lost his head that way. He was a delicious little goat. Michael was startled from his musings as he fell off the stool, landing on his back and cracking his head a good thump. "Jesus. You'd think I'd be able to not fall off a bar stool, even if I am drunk, if I can manage to swing through trees in the middle of the night."

He watched him fall off the stool and stifled outright laughing then stopped as he heard something about swinging through trees in the middle of the night.

"Dad...did you give him the "Be ready for an ambush" test?"

He chuckled a bit then nodded at his sons question.

"Yep. That I did. And unlike others I actually went out to hunt him. He's good at evasion tactics too. All I found was his sword. In a tree of all places."

He then ate his own food.

(No problem. I've gotten used to it.)

Sighed as she ready the directions scribbled on a piece of paper under the light of a flash light, "That god damned pink haired woman best not have lead me on a wild goose chase." she grumbled as she looked through the trees, it looked like they were beginning to thin, but it was hard to tell in the middle of the night.

"Blasted," she grumbled and stuffed the piece of paper into her pocket then picked her pack back up, she walked for a few more moments then the trees stopped giving way to a building, "Thank god she grumbled." walking up to the door she beat heavily on it for a moment before entering, "Best to announce my presence. . .She said they're an interesting bunch here."

Pushing the door open the smell of food hit her nose, "something smells god dammed good." she muttered as she dropped her pack on the floor near a chair in the waiting room. "Hello!?" She called loudly, with the scent of food hanging so heavily in the air it meant someone was awake. "Hello?" she called again walking around the Lobby.

"Bloody right he did. If I wasn't being given a place to sleep, I might very well quit." Michael got back onto the stool and began eating again, adding butter to his steak, and pepper to his eggs. He ignored the voice floating in; it was probably a hallucination. He hated it when he got those. They were the most uselessly annoying things out there.

He grinned a bit at the thought then quirked a brow when he heard the voice.

"Umm...dad...I think we got company."

He nodded a bit at his sons words as he walked from behind the counter and out of the tavern.

"I'll go deal with it."

He then headed downstairs and sat down on them about halfway down and looked at the woman who was present.

"Kinda late to be coming into a place of business. And my home. That means double self defense cause I'm defending two of my properties. I'd advise explaining quick like before I explain how you'll be going out the door."

He then smiled softly but in a way showing he did indeed possess evil intentions.

"Once you're done, do some push-ups. You know why? I don't give a damn. Do them. They're good for you. After you do seventy-five, we'll go for a run. I'm fairly certain the only way you'll beat me in PT is if I'm completely trashed. Which I am approaching. Enjoy it while it lasts, boy. I know I won't." Michael finished eating, then stumbled to a window and puked it all back up, whiskey, food, everything. He continued dry heaving for a moment, then swore. "All right. Now I feel better. And not so trashed. I hope you like running."

Snapped her violet gaze to the man on the stairs. "Hi. . .uhh. ..yes I'm sorry I would have been here hours ago if I hadn't gotten lost following these damned chicken scrawled directions." she sighed pulling the crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of her jeans.

"My name's Billy." she said as she crouched down digging in her pack, but not taking her eyes from him. "I was at a club last night talking to the bar tender. . .god damned I can't remember her name I was drunk. . .it was something happy, she had bright pink hair." pulled out a sketch book, "When I mentioned I was looking for work she told me you might be looking for fresh blood at your shop."

Cautiously she stepped forward, "I'm an Artist. . ." she paused, "I have other talents. . .but first and foremost I'm an artist." she really didn't want to mention those other talents just yet. She was looking for a position in a tattoo parlor, not looking to get hired out as an informant again.

He looked at the man and chuckled a bit.

"75 push-ups? I don't think I need the fitness routine. My dad included that bit in my martial arts training. How bout the run? How far? Don't hold back either. I'm more fit then I appear."

He looked at her in silence for a moment before standing and finished going down the stairs and walking right up to her. He glanced at her with a stern look in his eye.

"Happy could perhaps be a synonym for her name. Bliss Joy."

He then quirked a brow and chuckled.

"All this time I've known her...and I never realized that Bliss is also another word that can mean happy."

He then smacked himself in the forehead.

"Geez I am an idiot. But yes...anyways...so Bliss sent you my way huh?"

He then looked her up and down a bit.

"Primarily an artist...with other talents... I know the kind of people Bliss keeps company with so I can probally give a fair guess as to what some of these 'other talents' of yours are. Billy...interesting name for a woman. It short for anything?"

He then turned and motioned for her to follow her as he started heading back upstairs.

"I hope so cause no offense to you but it's gonna feel damn weird for me to call a woman 'Billy' so I'm gonna need to figure out something else to call ya. Geez just got here and your already being a pain in my backside."

He then chuckled a bit.

"Until I say stop, I fall down, or you fall down. If that's twenty five miles, great. If it's fifty, hot damn. But I usually run fifteen. Martial arts, huh? I'm not a big fan of those. Most of them only work if you're fighting someone else using the same style. Bare knuckle boxing, however, is a different story. That and fencing. I won four Western Martial Arts tournaments when I was a teenager. Irish stick fighting, fencing, bare knuckle boxing, and archery. I probably suck at all of them but boxing, but damn if I wasn't a little fighter when I was your age." Michael grinned. He was silently kicking himself for taking this job. They were both nuts. Twin hook swords? Michael hadn't seen one hook sword since his high school days and a field trip to a museum. Granted, Michael was admiring something else other than the exhibits, namely his girlfriend, but he probably should have been paying at least a little attention.

"Yeah!" she said as he name, "Bliss, and yes it is a synonym for happy." she said as she picked up her pack and followed him up the stairs, "Billy, is short for Sybil. But please. . .don't call me that if you don't like Billy, another name I go by is Copper my last name." she looked at the surroundings, this was obviously much more than a tattoo parlor.

"Well. . I actually don't know her that well. After meeting her the other night we shot the shit for a bit." she shrugged, she had found the woman odd, but not unfriendly, "So if you know the type of company she keeps what's that say about me?" she asked with an arched brow.

She was a little taken back by the the sudden change in his demeanor, "So if you know Bliss, I take it your the guy I'm looking for then, you're Kyle?"

He glanced towards the ceiling for a moment then shrugged.

"Not sure how far I run...I just...well...run. I think I average at about 10 miles before I stop. Maybe you can help me in that department."

He then listened quietly as he rambled off his achievements.

"Nice resume. Can't say i'd do good at archery. I'm more of a in your face type of guy. Like boxing."

He then chuckled a bit.

"The archery helped when I went to Basic. I shot Sharpshooter my first qualification, then qualified Expert my next one. As for in your face, I ran the Shoothouse by myself in four minutes. Most lone runners can only do it in five or six. Is that in your face enough? As for the running, you find a rythm. You stick with it. You pace yourself at the opening, then turn loose about half way. All there is to it." Michael sat back down and cradled his head in his hands. "And now comes the after puking headache. Damn it."

He glanced back at her as he got to the top of the stairs.

"Yep. Kyle is the name. Fighting, training and inking is the game."

He then grinned a bit as he started heading towards the tavern.

"As for what's said about you being in her company. Your 'other talents' could be a variety of things. You could be a spy...informant...mercenary...assassin...wait...bliss didn't send you here to off me did she?" he said with a chuckle obviously joking.

He then entered the tavern.

"Minato...shirt off. Room 1. When your finished eating of course. We got company and I aim to test her out."

He then realized he had caught bits of conversation involving exercise and such.

"Scratch that. I'll be the test subject. I know I can fix something if she messes up. And guys. I present to you...perhaps soon to be the new tattoo artist here...err...Billy..."

He was clearly still getting over the odd feeling of calling her that as he turned to face her.

"You hungry? Your here in time for a midnight snack."

"Well than I'm happy I've found you." she said, "I suppose I could formerly introduce myself. My name's Sybil Copper. . .but like I said. . .Billy or Copper please." She had quite the obvious aversion to her real name, "You train people as well?" she seemed slightly interested in this.

"Well. . .Spy is the best way to put it." she flinched waiting for some sort of scoff or reprimand which she usually received when she said she was a spy, "Mind you I'm not the action spy. . .I'm more of a mole." she replied as she followed him into the Tavern. She offered a smile to the other two in the tavern.

Then she looked back to Kyle, "Right now. . .?" she asked, "You want me to ink you now?" she asked as she set her pack down, and plopped down in a chair happy for the distraction of food, "Whatcha got?"

"Damn right scratch that. Kiddo here and I are going for a damned run, sir. Fifteen miles. I'm gonna have him running twenty in two hours three Fridays by now. Western fencing? He'll be grand master material. Irish stick fighting? He'll crown himself grand master. If he can knock me down in boxing within three rounds, I'll take him drinking. If you two want to tag a long, I don't care. After PT, we'll be discussing infantry leading tactics from before the Spartans, to where Saddam screwed up in Iraq in '03. Man. He screwed the pooch on that one." Michael shook his head, found a last sip of the whiskey bottle, and grinned.