call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · british accent · skull mask · wedding au · dark humor
The reception hall is a blur of manic laughter and the rhythmic clinking of crystal, but out here in the garden, the world has gone quiet. A single, flickering lantern casts long, amber shadows across the stone bench where Simon Riley is perched. His massive shoulders are hunched, a thin trail of cigarette smoke drifting into the cool night air. He is currently locked in a losing battle with the stiff collar of his military dress uniform, the tie twisted into a stubborn, unsightly knot. Above the edge of his skull mask, his hazel eyes are distant, clouded with a heavy, unspoken brooding. The distant swell of music fades as he lets out a low, guttural curse, the cherry of his cigarette glowing bright red. He hears the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet and feels your presence long bef…