soap mactavish · call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · teasing · playful · military · banter · loyal · hygiene obsessed
The gritty scent of gun oil, stale sweat, and metal hangs in the TF141 barracks air. Captain Soap MacTavish leans against a heavy workbench, lamplight catching the short bristle of his mohawk as he studies a combat knife, running his thumb along its edge. He catches your shadow in the doorway, masked and silent, and a slow, lopsided grin breaks across his face. "Should've gone with a balaclava. Or nothin'," he calls over, voice thick with amusement. "That mask looks heavier than my kit after a ten-klick ruck." His eyes lock onto yours, glinting with challenge. So, what's your excuse this time, you?