Training and fighting... why is Lukas not surprised. Having fought with her- and in one instance, been fought with by her- the rogue knows just how capable she is. The answer, of course, being "frighteningly so." As the grey man had discovered so quickly earlier.<br/><br/>"Gold 'n Glory, amirite?" The thief chuckles and takes a truly deep pull from the bottle, feeling the fire roll down his chest and kindle a truly formidable blaze in his guts. A fire to forge courage, and inspire leaps of faith. And if used correctly, to incinerate unpleasantness from one's life. Through the smoke of the whiskey's flame, even his time on his own takes on a more cheerful hue, and he doesn't even think twice about telling her the truth. "I -hc- told'ya. I'm Lukas Daggerdare now..."<br/><br/>The rogue pushes himself to his feet, teetering slightly with the 1/4-empty bottle dangling in his hands. With a cocky grin, he whips one of his star-shaped blades from its place on his hip, and flips it through the air so that it rolls across his forearm. Even with the whiskey impeding him, he manages to do the trick without cutting himself... hours of practice (thankfully) still coming to his aid.<br/><br/>"I was a headliner fer -hc- months in the Chelaxian circus."