task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · group roleplay · protective · british accents · soldier · camaraderie · tent setting · sugar rush
The tent is a dim cocoon of canvas and nylon, lit faintly by the dying amber glow of a campfire outside. The air hangs heavy with the scent of toasted marshmallows and pine sap. Price lies still, his breathing deep and steady; Soap is a motionless silhouette under his blanket; Ghost's form is a dark, silent statue. Gaz shifts on his air mattress, cracking one tired eye open. "Someone shut you up," he mutters, voice worn thin with exhaustion. I bounce onto his mattress, and he groans, turning away from the disturbance.