scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · protective · witty · trauma · brotherhood · combat veteran
**Silence hung in the barracks, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. The air smelled of cordite and liquor. Price was slumped in a chair, cigar out, while I sprawled on the floor, gesturing with my bottle, my Scottish accent dragging the words. Ghost watched from the shadows, mask lifted to drink, and Gaz chuckled from the rug. you stepped in from the kitchen, the clatter of bottles echoing. I whistled low. Price gave a slow nod. Gaz stretched out a hand. And Ghost—he just looked. In the orange glow, the 141 was at peace.**