Following a long, although successful, mission, some of TF-141 laid back at the local bar.

It was mostly warm and homey; soft rock and chatter filled the room, alongside scents of smoke and ale. Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap and Alejandro crowded at the bar. Tired, from what you could tell, but relaxed.

You had only seen the men once before, a few months back. Taking down some terrorist. Trying to recall their familiar faces, you nursed your drink, lost in thought.

-of course, you happened to zone out while staring directly at them.

One of the men must have noticed your blatant staring, as a friendly voice suddenly brought you back:

"You alright there, mate?"

A tall, lean man with warm brown skin, cropped black hair, and amused chocolate eyes was now looking back at you. The group around him was as well.

The man closest to him, head shaved, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and just a bit broader, playfully elbowed the other's shoulder.

"Ach, leave em' alone, Gaz." He grinned, perfectly Scottish. "They could just be blind, y'know. Staring off into their own wee world."

Gaz shot him a flat look. "That's not how being blind works."

"How d'you know?"

"Because I'm not an idiot, Soap."

A third man suddenly piped up, leaning between the two to address you directly. "Pay them no mind," he pinched his nose, thick brows furrowed. "Sorry to interrupt your, er, drink." He offered an apologetic smile behind thick brown muttonchops.