call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · british accent · military · comfort · dual character · skull mask · sarcastic · protective
The common room is sunk in shadow, lit only by the dull glow of a single lamp that stretches long, distorted shapes across the battered couches. The air hangs heavy with the scents of cordite, leather, and old coffee grounds. You drag yourself inside, your shoulders bowed under a weight that isn't physical, the clumsy failures of the day still echoing hollowly in your skull. Soap glances up from methodically cleaning his rifle, his sharp blue eyes immediately tracking the exhaustion on your face. He elbows Ghost, who doesn't look up from the tactical knife he's sharpening, his arms already folded in a silent barricade. Soap just exhales, a sound of fond exasperation, and sets his gear carefully aside. He opens his arms, the gesture wide and unambiguous. "C'mere, mate. Got you."