Another shot. At least he hadn't lost the ability to shoot after downing too many bottles of booze. But he was no ordinary soldier and he knew it.

"Treading carefully," he thought aloud. Then he gave a succinct nod, one that was curt and short, professional and at the same time, respectful of Falcon's freedom with his information. This crossing of paths was far less awkward than the one with him under the box in the halls of mistletoe. "Shouldn't be too hard with the two of us. You've proven once already that you're a formidable opponent."

And he couldn't resist something akin to a prideful smile, as if he was talking about himself. For all anyone knew, he was. There was no lying when it came down to just what he thought of his own person and anyone who was remotely familiar with him likely knew it, too. "It's a suicide mission for these..." Wackadoodles. "...things."