Beer and Cigars [Steven]

[Andrew J. Ryan]

Sergeant Major Andrew Ryan sat alone in the dark interior of the local pub. Usually, the man was strongly against alcoholic beverages and rarely stepped foot in or near a pub. However, after he had been dragged into the local pub to break up a fight between some of the Junior NCOs, he had practically been forced to stay to keep an eye on some of the grunts. Whatever the reason for the drunken brawl, its trivial reason had sparked interest in a lot of the other soldiers and the MP had its hands tied at the military prison. Apparently, a lot of the men were screwing up and making the MP's lives a living hell. He could see why, what with all this alcohol clouding their judgment. Perhaps, he would take something up on the matter with his CO, Captain Patterson.

For the time being, he was slowly enjoying some beer to pass the time. He knew it couldn't hurt with his self control and experience with beer. A man who could hold his own in a drinking contest with an Irish man, it was strange that the SGM rarely ever drank. And when he did, it was usually a simple one or two mugs to celebrate something or another. Not since he had been a rebellious teenager with the wrong outlook on life did he allow alcohol to control his actions. Ryan had been a fool, but the army had set him straight. He wondered how it had not had the same life-changing effect on the drunkards in the army. It was disappointing and shameful that Ryan had to be down in the pub keeping an eye on the men drowning down glass after glass of whiskey or ale.

There was one terrible habit that Ryan was better at than drinking. That was smoking. Of course, he didn't realize the effects cigars had on him... but it was hard to ever find the SGM without a supply of the finest cigars on him. Most of the other men smoked crappy cigarettes, but Ryan was almost a professional at the art of smoking. And only the best cigars could fulfill the man's love for cigars. The bitter taste of alcohol almost burned the man's mouth, memories flooding back of his past. He finished the beverage with sour memories in his mind and set it down with a clash on the counter top. Glancing over his shoulder on the stool, he assessed the situation.

His fingers dug around in his uniform in a search for his cigars. Pleased with his find, he wrapped his fingers around the pack and slid them out. Grabbing the finest looking cigar left, he returned the rest to their previous home in his pocket. Digging around a little more, he found his lucky lighter and set flame to the front of his cigar. Relieved, he snatched the cigar out from his mouth and exhaled some smoke that drifted away until it vanished into the air. Andrew Ryan was possibly one of the fiercest smokers in the 3rd Infantry Division, but he had the common courtesy to be polite about it.

[MSG. Steven J. McMillan]

Master Sergeant McMillan briskly walked down the dim-lit street, the clunking of his strapped boots clacking against the sidewalk as his legs furrowed back and forth with a firm pace. Knitting his hands tightly into the pocket compartments upon his mud/earth coloured tunic, the Master Sergeant quietly looked about himself, cautiously wandering his eyes from each street corner to every narrow passageway he strode-by. Crime was becoming ripe as rations began to dwindle, the allowance of a few Cumberland sausages or few ounces of tobacco didn’t begin to satisfy the average needs of the public; So obviously, their attention turned to the next best thing. Taking what they wanted.

Reaching the end of the road, Steven’s body shifted sideways to walk around the back of a parked military transport truck on the side of the road, when; “Give us ya’ wallet grandpa!”[/b] a young voice voiced out from no-where, causing Steven to stiffen up and twist upon his hind-heels, barely catching a glimpse of someone, but soon found himself being shoved at full pelt against the side of the truck. Lurching out a winded breath, Steven felt his back thump against the hard metal frame of the military truck, but before he could do anything, the assailant was already throttling a punch into his abdomen, causing the Master Sergeant to lean forwards and cough hardily as the mugger took prime of the moment in patting down Steven’s pockets in a quick search for his belongings.

However, the man didn’t realise the legacy of being a McMillan and the Master Sergeant wasn’t about to be crippled by a lucky and unsuspecting throttle to the gut. “Arggh!” Steven fiercely bellowed out, wrapping his arms tightly around the culprit’s waist the moment the male lowered his arms towards waist length, successfully locking the man’s arms down against his sides. Steven’s arms were bulky and muscular and most likely made the man feel like he was bound by tough-steel, particularly when the Master Sergeant locked his hands together behind the man’s back, crushing his biceps into the man’s body as he angrily charged forwards with the male’s body stumbling backwards in the process; Completely being unable to stable himself or even cushion his own fall with the use of his hands.

The two men fell into the roadway, with Steven loosening his grip the moment they were cascading towards the concrete. “Holy mackerel!”[/b] the mugger shrieked out, as he realised the fight he’d picked, quickly scuttling to his feet from being launched into the road beside the man he thought would be an easy pick - an officer perhaps? As the man attempted to stumbled to his feet, Steven had already anticipated his moves and yanked his hand up between the man’s moving legs, grabbing at his right ankle to yank from off the ground, causing the mugger to land quite roughly against his front back into the road. “Think you can get away do you!?” Steven angrily bellowed out, shifting his knees up beneath himself as he moved over to the man who was struggling to get away on the ground before himself.

Somewhat mercilessly, Steven leant over the man and grabbed at the loose gruff to his shirt upon his chest and pulled him up from off the ground, thumping his rock-shaped knuckles straight down into the man’s jaw. The sound of the man’s teeth chattering and grinding together from smacking his jaw closed was almost toe cringing, but it shut the man up, as the culprit became extremely dazed and wobbly. “Shame you’re not fighting with the rest of us buddy, if you were in the army, I wouldn’t have smacked you one! Demotion isn’t my thing” Steven quite angrily spat at the man, who most probably didn’t know if he was seeing stars or birds for several seconds, but the Master Sergeant couldn’t care less. He respected his comrades, but when it came to small time crooks that made everyone’s life hell, it meant he could get away with the odd ‘hard teaching’ method now and again. Didn’t mean he was going to see the man ever again… He hoped.

Standing straight, Steven stepped over the young man who curled up slightly, cradling his jaw. The Master Sergeant didn’t even look back, as he walked directly straight towards the pub, rubbing his grazed hands together from the rough landing he had when taking the man down. “He won’t be trying that again anytime soon” Steven murmured to himself, pushing the door open to the pub, feeling the presence stiffen for a moment as a few eyes wandered his way. The Master Sergeant had a lot of respect, but sometimes that respect turned into fear and he couldn’t blame them for fearing him sometimes. He was a hard man to get on with and few ever earned the Master Sergeant’s respect; Funny enough, Captain Patterson was the only man the Master Sergeant respected, not just because the man was his commanding officer, but because Captain Patterson knew what he was doing and knew how to fight damn well. Steven was proud to serve alongside him whenever he got the chance.

“You got a towel…?” the Master Sergeant questioned as he approached the bar, rubbing at his hands still. The Barman nodded and reached under the bar to throw Steven a cloth, who merely nodded in thanks and began rubbing the dirt and spatter of blood from off his knuckles. Thankfully, it wasn’t his. A couple of soldiers glared at Steven rubbing the blood from off his knuckles and immediately moved from standing near him, feeling quite insecure. Steven could only chirp a laugh to himself, if only every Jerry had the same common sense, but then the fine pungent smell of tobacco caught the Master Sergeant’s attention and his eyes soon laid upon a Sergeant Major within the room.

OOC: Sorry I haven’t approached/spoken to you, just wanted to make a grand entrance.

[Andrew J. Ryan]

Ryan's perception of reality faded as he took deeper puffs on his Cuban made cigar. They really knew how to make cigars in the Caribbean. It was Ryan's favorite brand, Romeo y Julieta, which he usually reserved for breaks in fighting on the front lines. Sir Winston Churchill was famous for his use of the brand... but Ryan was a much better customer. He was using it more as a treat, to get his mind off recent events. Lately, nightmares of his families death had been resurfacing... but he wasn't certain why. It seemed like his mind liked to torture him when he actually got time to rest. He wasn't in the thick of combat like he normally was... but for some reason, that is where he is at his calmest.

It was as if a cold hand abruptly brought him back into reality, shunning him from his semi-euphoric world. The cigar wasn't nearly as powerful as say cocaine, but it had a magnificent effect on the Sergeant Major. All the attention was at a newcomer, a Master Sergeant who had made quite the grand entrance. He seemed to have an intimating effect, standing there next to the Sergeant Major. Ryan seemed to be the only one who didn't move away from the lower-ranking man, who stood silently wiping dirt and blood off his knuckles. It was upsetting that this man was getting in some kind of bar brawl, maybe he was the champ of these naturally-occurring fights. Could that be why the rest of the men suddenly crapped their pants and backed away?

Knowing he couldn't pin anything on the Master Sergeant, other then bleeding from his knuckles, he dismissed any thoughts of punishment. Although, he probably could make an example of the man before the other drunkards. Glancing away from the center of attention, Ryan placed the small cigar back into his mouth. It had a sweet taste to it, one that Ryan particularly craved. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the Master Sergeant's gaze on him. What would probably be unsettling to the rest, Ryan shrugged off. Perhaps the man was upset that Ryan hadn't backed away like the rest of the men. Perhaps he was trying to start another fight.

Finally, the Sergeant Major turned to his fellow NCO and felt certain that his intentions weren't to fight. Ryan had a knack for being able to make people out just by looking at him. He could read the book by it's cover. Slipping his cigar out from his mouth, he glanced at the tightly rolled dried tobacco in his hand. "Sorry, if I bothered you with my smoking. I was a bit obnoxious with it, I suppose," Ryan confessed. Leaning forward with an outstretched hand, he voiced his name, "Sergeant Major Ryan."