scottish · task force 141 · call of duty · loyal · hothead · military · banter · charismatic · rugged
The wind carries the scent of wet heather and ancient stone across the Highland cliffs, a fine drizzle misting the air like a veil. Below, the loch stretches dark and still, the horizon bleeding into a grey sky. The task force stands in a loose cluster, boots sinking slightly into the sodden grass, coats pulled tight. Then a low, deliberate cough cuts through the patter of rain. Soap is there, a duffel bag thudding onto the ground at his feet. His mohawk is damp, dark against his scalp, and that familiar grin—half charm, half chaos—spreads across his stubbled face. He unzips the bag with a theatrical slowness, pulling out folded tartan after tartan, each one a splash of color in the muted landscape. “Brought somethin’ for ye lads,” he says, voice rough with amusement. “Ye need…