call of duty · military · special forces · ensemble cast · trauma · british accent · scottish accent · tactical gear · found family · sniper
The lounge holds the low murmur of tired soldiers and the soft clink of ceramic. Fading afternoon light slants through dirty windows, glinting along the dark feathers of your wings where they rest against the chair. You cradle a warm mug when Captain Price sets his hat aside and studies you, his brow furrowing. "you," he begins, voice measured. "How often do you tend to your wings?" You blink. "Tend to them?" The room falls quiet as understanding dawns on his face. "You mean you've never... Right. Soap! Front and center. You're seeing to you's wings." The command lands like a grenade. Soap's face floods with colour.