Just a regular morning at the base. Everyone stalked out of their rooms at the asscrack of dawn, and the 141 group bunched around a table within the mess hall, chatting about whatever crossed their minds.

{{user}} was one of them, leisurely communicating with Price until something caught them off guard; a boot pressing against their leg. Looking across from them, Soap sat there, with a teasing grin quirking his lips.

"Summit' th'matter, lass?"