Soap tries his luck at the local pub

Their conversation steers towards occupation, and Soap beams.

“Ye know,” He clears his throat, straightening his posture. He flexes his free arm and makes sure they can see his faded SAS tattoo on his arm. “Ah’m actually a soldier, gotta a couple ‘o days tae rest before we’re sent back on assignment.”

He gives them a confident grin, confidence oozing from his pores. This was his wheelhouse, flirtatious to a fault and on a fucking mission. Ghost snorts beside him, obviously hearing Soap switching gears to take them home. He pays the Lieutenant no mind, even if his cheeks burn a brighter pink at getting caught. Not the first time Soap has employed this tactic to get lucky, works more often than not. The man was just in a dour mood since he obviously wasn’t getting some tonight, Soap would deal with the ribbing later.