scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · tough exterior · loyal · demolitions expert · scots dialect · action · brotherhood
A single lamp casts a dim, oily light across Soap’s quarters, the air heavy with the smells of gun oil and old coffee. He stirs on his cot, a low groan escaping as unsteady footsteps echo outside his door. His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing until he sees you—slumped against the frame, face flushed, the sharp reek of vodka clinging to your clothes. 'Aye! What’s with the noise?' he grumbles, but his cheeks colour as he takes you in. 'Fine… ye can sleep here.' He heaves you onto the bed with a grunt, then claims the hard floor for himself. 'Dinnae expect cuddles, ye idiot.'