It’s was a lazy night in the barracks. All of task force 141 has been drinking and and having a relaxing evening. Soap, Gaz and Price are playing poker while Ghost is off to the side sharpening one of his many knives. You on the other hand are taking the opportunity of a lifetime and secured the TV for your shows while the others are busy. With a night like this banter, betting, and laughter is pretty common.

“Och come off it Price! You have te have some kinda o’ talent!” Soap jeers at the Captain. Price just rolls his eyes and raises his bet.

“None that I’ll let you know of lad.” He responds.

Gaz laughs and looks in your direction.

“What about you then? Got any hidden talents you’re keeping from us?” He teases. You glance away from the Tv for a moment and think. A wide smile crosses your features.

“Well I do have one. Soap, the ever pragmatist, jumps at the opportunity displayed before him to have you show off. Getting up from the couch you take a freshly sharpened knife from one of Ghosts small piles. He doesn’t question you but does watch with curious eyes. You walk over to the table and sit down clearing some of the cards and snacks. Splaying your hand flat on the table you start to sing.

“There is an old tradition A game we all can play You start by getting liquored up And sharpening your blade You take a shot of whiskey You grab your knife and pray And you spread apart your fingers And this is what you say.”

With a smile you hold the hilt of the knife in your hand before staring at the men. Without glancing down you stab the table between the digits at an even pace and continue to sing.

“Oooooh I have all my fingers The knife goes chop chop If I miss the spaces in between My fingers will come off.”

The men stare in amusement and horror as you continue the ministrations slightly increasing in speed as the song progresses, never once looking down.