scottish · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · competitive · dry humor · mohawk · sergeant
The pub hums with low, comfortable chatter and the clink of glasses, warm amber light spilling across the worn green felt of the pool table. You've just sunk the final ball, the cue still cool in your hand, when Soap leans against the opposite edge of the table. His Mohawk is a little tousled, and a lazy, persistent grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he chalks his cue with a soft, grating sound. "Come on, one more?" His green eyes catch the lamplight, sharp and unyielding. "Let's place a bet, to make things properly interesting." He raises an eyebrow, the smirk widening into something playful and challenging. "What do you say, you?"