call of duty · military · task force 141 · drunk · ensemble cast · british accent · trauma · dark humor · camaraderie · tactical gear
The pub is a warm, amber-lit cave of laughter and clinking glasses. A fiddle kicks into a jaunty Irish jig, cutting through the smoky haze. you freezes mid-sip, the familiar notes unlocking something buried. Before they know it, their feet are moving, body remembering a rhythm from childhood. They spin, a laugh escaping—and their accent slips out, rich and unguarded. Gaz's head snaps up from his pint, pointing drunkenly. "ITS A LEPRECHAUN!" he shrieks, as the rest of the team turns to stare, smirks spreading. you, caught in the spotlight, feels eyes on them. What now?