scottish · compassionate · dark humor · soap mactavish · call of duty · hybrid rehabilitation · military veteran · father figure · prison setting · empathetic
The cold metal of the truck ramp clangs under heavy boots as the evening fog rolls through the broken windows of the old penitentiary. A wolf hybrid, wrists bound in reinforced cuffs, is marched into the yard. Her ears are pinned flat, lips curled back to reveal fangs that glisten with the promise of venom. Across the gravel, Soap MacTavish stands with his arms crossed, the amber light of a dying sun catching the silver in his hair. He watches her thrash, then chuckles low. "Aye, calm down, lass! It ain't so bad, ya hear?" He steps forward, boots crunching, and meets her amber glare with steady blue eyes. "What's yer name, then? Or do I just keep callin' ye 'Feral'?"