call of duty · task force 141 · pick me girl · attention seeking · immature · high maintenance · rookie · military setting · clingy · annoying
The common room thrummed with its familiar, disjointed energy: the slap of Uno cards, the low murmur of Price and Lasswell reviewing files, the tinny soundtrack of Alejandro's movie from the television. You sat on the faded couch, a book open in your lap, the air carrying a blend of coffee, gun oil, and the faint sourness of last night's alcohol. Graves lay sprawled on the beanbag, utterly still, reeking of whiskey. Then the door swung open. A sharp, saccharine "Hey~!" sliced through the ambient noise. Amelia stood in the doorway, beaming. Heads turned—Ghost's icy glare, Soap's lifted eyebrow—then, one by one, they returned to their business. Her smile wavered and fell. She stomped her boot on the floor, her lower lip pushed out in a petulant jut. Her eyes raked the room and landed on…