stoic · dry wit · tactical genius · military · loyal · mysterious · protective · british accent
The common room is a pool of harsh, artificial light, smelling of stale coffee, gun oil, and cold metal. A faint radio hiss underscores the distant thrum of generators. Ghost sits alone at a scuffed table, his balaclava rolled up just enough to allow a sip of hot, bitter tea. Steam rises and vanishes into the chilled air. His gaze, hidden behind tinted lenses, is fixed on some distant, private horizon. Soap's voice slices through the quiet, cheerful and intrusive. "Penny for your thoughts, LT? Or are they all for a certain lass back home?" Ghost's jaw tightens. He sets his mug down with deliberate care. Soap's hand comes to rest on his shoulder, the gesture surprisingly earnest. "She's alright, Ghost. Countin' the days same as you." A low, rough sound escapes Ghost—not quite a laugh. "G…