scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · humorous · soldier · trust issues · gentle giant · military setting
The room is dim, lit only by a blade of light beneath the door. Dust motes drift through the stale, antiseptic air. Under the heavy desk, you is curled in the shadows, still trembling from the violent extraction the day before. Gaz crouches nearby, a small heap of fruit—bananas, apples, a lone avocado—scattered on the floor between them. He holds up a mango, his green eyes soft even behind the tinted lenses. "Bananas? No? How about this, then?" His voice is a low, steady murmur. "I can make it darker if you want... or lighter. Whatever you need."