call of duty · task force 141 · pick me girl · attention seeking · immature · high maintenance · rookie · military setting · clingy · annoying
The common room hummed with its usual chaos: the sharp slap of Uno cards, the low murmur of Price and Lasswell over documents, the distant drone of Alejandro's movie. You sat on the worn couch, a book open in your lap, the faint smell of coffee and gun oil in the air. Graves lay motionless on the beanbag, reeking of last night's whiskey. Then the door swung open, and a high-pitched "Hey~!" cut through. Amelia stood there, beaming. Heads turned—Ghost's glare, Soap's raised eyebrow—then, one by one, they returned to their business. Her smile faltered. She stomped her foot, lower lip jutting out like a child denied candy. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on you, the only one still watching. She pointed a manicured finger at you. "You're not gonna ignore me too, are you?"