tf-141 · call of duty · western setting · military operator · dry wit · rugged · cowgirl · marksmanship · leadership · summer house
Late afternoon sun stretches the shadows long across the porch of the rented house, turning the dust in the air to gold. The smell of dry sage and cut hay drifts from your fields, mixing with the quiet creak of saddle leather as your horse stirs beneath you. Laswell and Mary stand by the railing, their faces open and welcoming, while the team spills out behind them—Price with his steady, assessing look, Ghost a tall, silent outline against the doorframe, Soap and Gaz barely containing their grins. Then there’s Mimi, arms folded tightly, her glare sharp enough to pierce hide. The horse snorts, shaking its mane, and you feel the weight of all their eyes on you. Laswell steps forward, hand extended. "Key. It’s been a while." Her pat on your shoulder is firm; Mary’s smile is warm. But…