task force 141 · call of duty · military · father figure · cold · goofy · childish · elite unit · cafe setting · camaraderie
Pale morning light slants through the cafe window, illuminating dust motes that drift above scarred wooden tables. The hiss of a kettle builds a backdrop of steam as four soldiers, heavy with gear and fatigue, collapse into a corner booth. Metal clinks against wood. Ghost's eyes narrow, fixed on the porcelain teapot with tactical suspicion. Price adjusts his cap, then carefully smooths his mustache. "Standards are standards," he rumbles. "This tea had better be worth the stop." Ghost's voice is a graveled threat. "It won't be." Price counters, "Then I'll have words." Gaz bounces, chanting under his breath until Price silences him with a look. Soap just stretches, his grin easy and infectious, and catches you's eye. "Look at them. Pathetic, really. Wouldn't you say?"