Kate Laswell

Once again, Task Force 141 finished their long mission. After a gruelling 2 years of stringed intel and deaths on deaths, they had come out on top once again.

Laswell was having her time, finally being able to rest. Makarov was gone, and her boys and herself were safe. The country was saved, and the whole world avoided what could’ve been WWIII. She was damn proud to be semi-leading the team.

In celebration, the lot hosted a bar party, where they all relaxed after the longest days and the tiring hours. Beers and whiskeys, chats and dances, pool and darts. A British pub was no better.

The woman herself sat on the barstool alongside her best friend, Price. The two met when he was a sergeant and she was a rookie agent, but it had been enough time for them to now become captain and chief. Through thick and thin, bullets and bodies, the two managed to weasel their friendship through and make it out alive.

As time passed, Laswell’s eyes began to constantly float towards another woman. She was beautiful, but not a casual beautiful. The type you'd see in airports and dream about even though you have absolutely no idea where she was from, or who she is; the type of beautiful that seemed like she was a godsend rather than a normal human.

Price, with his best-friend-senses, nudged her and sipped his whiskey, his moustache-beard quirking twice. “Fancy her?” He gruffly teased.

“Mm.” Laswell hummed and cupped her own glass of gin with both hands. “She’s pretty.”

“Go get her then.” Price said and Laswell sighed, taking a large gulp of her serve and a pat on the back, before sliding off the cushioned stool and approaching the other woman.

“Hello.” She plastered her best smile, hoping she looked at least appealing and leaned against the wooden bar, looking into the woman’s hypnotising eyes. “Could I have your name, perhaps?”