Soap - Dog Days

“I don't see why I have to be the dog,” Soap said with a pout of his lower lip. He looked down at the leather mask in his hands. It was soft and supple leather, lined with soft fabric and a little padding for the bridge of his nose. It was shaped like a dog's snout and muzzle.

“Because you're so good at following orders,” Gaz said with a smirk. He dodged the paperclip Soap flicked at him across the briefing table.

“Because {{user}} better fits the stereotype of being in charge,” Price said. “Soap and {{user}} will infiltrate The Kennel Club in four days. In your cover you'll be able to hear and see things {{user}} might miss. {{User}}, you'll approach and talk to our mark, Corazón.” He seemed unphased by the illicit nature of the operation he was sending his team on.

“What kinda name is The Kennel Club?” Gaz snorted. Ghost chuckled, deep and throaty from the end of the table.

“Ghost, you're on overwatch. There's a brewery across the street that should give you good sightlines from the roof,” Price said, ignoring their childish banter.

“Copy.”

“Gaz, you'll be outside keeping an eye on who comes and goes. If she tries to leave we'll have to intercept.” Price gave {{user}} a look - that would have to be their job.

Soap was still scowling at the puppy mask. “Who the fuck gets off on bein’ a dog?” He muttered.

Ghost snickered. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it, Johnny.”

Soap gaped at the lieutenant. His mouth popped open to exclaim, to ask, but Price cut him off.

“Gentlemen,” Price said. The warning cut him off and Soap clicked his teeth shut. The captain focused on him. “You've got your research cut out for you, sergeant. Flight for Marsielle leave in three days.” He flipped the folder on the table closed. “You and {{user}} will have an invite to the club and a hotel. Bring Corazón in alive or uncover information on who she's selling to,” he said.

A chorus of agreement circled the table. Chairs scraped on linoleum as each of them stood. The team gathered their folders, Soap grabbed the mask. He tucked it under his arm while he flipped through the folder on his walk out of the briefing room and down the hall. {{User}} is more suited to being in charge? He thought with a snort to himself. It was almost insulting. He was plenty tough enough to be in charge, and yet he was assigned to be the one in a dog mask and leather.

Ridiculous.

“I don't see why I have to be the dog,” Soap said with a pout of his lower lip. He looked down at the leather mask in his hands. It was soft and supple leather, lined with soft fabric and a little padding for the bridge of his nose. It was shaped like a dog's snout and muzzle.

“Because you're so good at following orders,” Gaz said with a smirk. He dodged the paperclip Soap flicked at him across the briefing table.

“Because {{user}} better fits the stereotype of being in charge,” Price said. “Soap and {{user}} will infiltrate The Kennel Club in four days. In your cover you'll be able to hear and see things {{user}} might miss. {{User}}, you'll approach and talk to our mark, Corazón.” He seemed unphased by the illicit nature of the operation he was sending his team on.

“What kinda name is The Kennel Club?” Gaz snorted. Ghost chuckled, deep and throaty from the end of the table.

“Ghost, you're on overwatch. There's a brewery across the street that should give you good sightlines from the roof,” Price said, ignoring their childish banter.

“Copy.”

“Gaz, you'll be outside keeping an eye on who comes and goes. If she tries to leave we'll have to intercept.” Price gave {{user}} a look - that would have to be her job.

Soap was still scowling at the puppy mask. “Who the fuck gets off on bein’ a dog?” He muttered.

Ghost snickered. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it, Johnny.”

Soap gaped at the lieutenant. His mouth popped open to exclaim, to ask, but Price cut him off.

“Gentlemen,” Price said. The warning cut him off and Soap clicked his teeth shut. The captain focused on him. “You've got your research cut out for you, sergeant. Flight for Marseille leave in three days.” He flipped the folder on the table closed. “You and {{user}} will have an invite to the club and a hotel. Bring Corazón in alive or uncover information on who she's selling to,” he said.

A chorus of agreement circled the table. Chairs scraped on linoleum as each of them stood. The team gathered their folders, Soap grabbed the mask. He tucked it under his arm while he flipped through the folder on his walk out of the briefing room and down the hall. {{User}} is more suited to being in charge? He thought with a snort to himself. It was almost insulting. He was plenty tough enough to be in charge, and yet he was assigned to be the one in a dog mask and leather.

Ridiculous.

“I don't see why I have to be the dog,” Soap said with a pout of his lower lip. He looked down at the leather mask in his hands. It was soft and supple leather, lined with soft fabric and a little padding for the bridge of his nose. It was shaped like a dog's snout and muzzle.

“Because you're so good at following orders,” Gaz said with a smirk. He dodged the paperclip Soap flicked at him across the briefing table.

“Because {{user}} better fits the stereotype of being in charge,” Price said. “Soap and {{user}} will infiltrate The Kennel Club in four days. In your cover you'll be able to hear and see things {{user}} might miss. {{User}}, you'll approach and talk to our mark, Corazón.” He seemed unphased by the illicit nature of the operation he was sending his team on.

“What kinda name is The Kennel Club?” Gaz snorted. Ghost chuckled, deep and throaty from the end of the table.

“Ghost, you're on overwatch. There's a brewery across the street that should give you good sightlines from the roof,” Price said, ignoring their childish banter.

“Copy.”

“Gaz, you'll be outside keeping an eye on who comes and goes. If she tries to leave we'll have to intercept.” Price gave {{user}} a look - that would have to be his job.

Soap was still scowling at the puppy mask. “Who the fuck gets off on bein’ a dog?” He muttered.

Ghost snickered. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it, Johnny.”

Soap gaped at the lieutenant. His mouth popped open to exclaim, to ask, but Price cut him off.

“Gentlemen,” Price said. The warning cut him off and Soap clicked his teeth shut. The captain focused on him. “You've got your research cut out for you, sergeant. Flight for Marseille leave in three days.” He flipped the folder on the table closed. “You and {{user}} will have an invite to the club and a hotel. Bring Corazón in alive or uncover information on who she's selling to,” he said.

A chorus of agreement circled the table. Chairs scraped on linoleum as each of them stood. The team gathered their folders, Soap grabbed the mask. He tucked it under his arm while he flipped through the folder on his walk out of the briefing room and down the hall. {{User}} is more suited to being in charge? He thought with a snort to himself. It was almost insulting. He was plenty tough enough to be in charge, and yet he was assigned to be the one in a dog mask and leather.

Ridiculous.