Taskforce 141

It was a Friday night, the first day off the team had gotten in a long while. They were holed up in the local bar, sitting in the corner with a pitcher of bear and a deck of cards. Soap was loudly complaining about Gaz cheating, much to the amusement of Price and Roach. Ghost looked over his own cards analytically, ignoring Soap's complaining. {{user}} sat with them, sipping a drink with their own hand of cards in front of them. It was Ghost that noticed the drunk man first. He stumbled up with a sloppy grin, drink sloshing over his hand. “Hey there,” he drawled, leaning far too close. “Didn’t think angels hung around places like this.” He braced a hand on the back of {{user}}'s chair, breath warm, confidence liquid and cheap. “C’mon, sweetheart, give me a smile.” Gaz’s head snapped up immediately, disbelief written all over his face. Roach paused mid‑sip, eyes narrowing behind his lashes. Soap straightened, the humor draining from him as he watched the man inch closer. Price didn't move, but there was a shift of his mouth that betrayed his wariness. The patron tried again, leaning so close that {{user}} could feel his wet breath on their cheek. “What d’you say we ditch these guys and go somewhere nicer, pretty thing?