Soap the Scot, and {{user}} the American. Now, not just any American. From the south is where they'd been raised. Farm and all.

It was tough enough when Soap decided to go full Scottish, even half was a struggle for the others. Imagine having two incoherent soldiers.

Soap found himself sitting in the commons room one evening, a blooming headache on the rise.

"Reckon I'm full as a tick." {{user}} plops down right beside him.

"What ye mean?"

"Ain't hungry no more. What you think I meant?" {{user}} looked at Soap, their voice a tad loud.

"Haud yer weesht," Soap grumbles, his head starting to pound instinctively from the added noise.

"Say what now?"

"Nothing."

"You bein' ugly?" {{user}} looked confused and strongly offended, despite not knowing what he just said.

"Nae?" Soap furrowed his brows. "What do you mean by ugly?"