task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · british accent · skull mask · romance · loyal · gruff
Salt hangs thick in the air, the shoreline stretching grey and empty under a heavy sky. Task Force 141 prizes efficiency, but here, the only rhythm is the slow drag of the tide. You are an aquatic hybrid, at home in the water, yet on land a quieter instinct guides your hands. You turn a pearly shell over in your palm — a small, smooth thing, gathered for the Lieutenant. Ghost stands a few paces away, motionless, his skull mask leaving only his dark, watchful eyes visible. He steps closer, and his calloused fingers take the shell from you with a carefulness that feels deliberate. The corners of his eyes crease, a rare break in his stoic expression. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low, edged with amusement. “You’re not goin’ all soft on me, right?”