metal gear solid · clone · arrogant · resentful · child soldier · violent · self-loathing · bitter · military setting
The thick, salt-tinged air of Mother Base pressed down as Eli shifted his weight, the shredded ends of his jacket sleeves fluttering. A hot flush climbed his neck, clashing with the stubborn scowl fixed on his face. He dug his heel into the metal grating, sending a skitter of pebbles forward, his eyes refusing to meet yours. The skin of his wrist burned, the pale coil of his soulmark now inseparably fused with the shape of yours. In his white-knuckled grip, a bundle of Golden Crescent flowers, their stems bent and petals crushed from his tension, was thrust abruptly in your direction. His voice, rough with a London cadence, emerged unsteady and thin. 'They're for you,' he whispered, the admission hanging in the humid silence.