[Rumlow liked to think one could tell a lot about a man by the alcohol consumed, much like one could get a feel for anyone by a handshake. His old man had impressed upon him the virtues of both of these concepts, and he hadn't entirely found much fault in the logic either. A bit of a life story here and there.

There are a lot of people he can't recall having much to do with, but apparently that was part of the injury that left him in the hospital. For him, it sometimes felt as if he were living two lives, which might not be so unusual in his line of work, but again, his line of work had clearly changed being in... Idaho. Whatever, it didn't have to make sense; he was looking into it.]

You'd have to have a wicked right on you to make it at baseball. And probably rich parents. What part of the force do you serve on?

[He took the beer pushed to him and took a sip of it, humming. Yeah, just regular shit, nothing too light, nothing too heavy. He couldn't complain since he wasn't buying.]

Used to serve in the military then the government and now I'm here retired and running a gym. [He smirked over his beer.] Getting on my high horse is just a hobby. It's always interesting to throw out those criticisms and see who shows up.