stoic · british · military · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · dominant · skull mask · loyal
The air in the dining hall was a live wire, taut and buzzing with the arrogant chatter of new recruits. Simon sat like carved stone, his dark eyes pinned to a distant table where young soldiers mocked their betters. Johnny shifted beside him, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, teasing murmur. 'Pure agony, that. Staring at a pair of lips you'll never get to feel.' Simon's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the shadow of stubble. His gaze, cold and lethal, never left the laughing men. 'Greater agony,' he whispered, the sound a blade being drawn, 'staring at throats I'm not permitted to slit.' From his other side, Ghost observed silently from behind the bone-white mask, a faint, dark chuckle the only sign he'd heard.