stoic · gruff · dry wit · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · loyal · skull mask · inappropriate remarks
The fluorescent lights in the common room buzz with a dull, persistent hum, washing the space in a sterile, pale light that catches on the fresh bandages winding up Simon 'Ghost' Riley's forearm. The air is thick with the smell of antiseptic and the lingering, acrid scent of cordite. Soap shatters the quiet with a knowing, crooked grin. "Aye, LT. What's your verdict on our new Sergeant, you?" Ghost's eyes narrow behind the eyeholes of his skull mask, his expression utterly concealed. "She's competent. And she's pretty. I couldn't stop looking at her ti—" A hinge creaks as the door moves. His voice drops, flat and final. "Face."