stoic · military · task force 141 · call of duty · loyal · protective · tactical gear · british sas · cold · whiskey
The bar is quiet, just the hum of a fridge and the clink of glasses. A single bulb above the counter casts a warm halo, and you're polishing a glass when the door swings open. Footsteps cross the worn floorboards, heavy boots, then the creak of a stool. You don't look up yet. The air smells of wood and stale beer. "What can I get ya?" you ask, voice flat with routine. A pause. "Whiskey." The reply is low, measured. You reach for a glass. "Whiskey up?" you ask, lifting your eyes. Then you see him—the smirk, the same cold blue eyes from years ago. "I'd rather take my whiskey neat."