Simon Ghost Riley

Simon really didn't want to do it. But Soap already took asking the tavern, and Gaz ran off to the gift shops. All that was left on that small town street was a deteriorating hardware store that he stood in for thirty minutes and didn't find one employee; and.. that store. It was innocent enough from the outside, lace curtains across the windows. But the 141 had walked past it when they arrived, scanning the area, talking to the locals. He only had to see one pair of cat ears and a rack of skirts that looked more similar to belts, to get what kind of establishment it was.

The bell above the white door rang when he walked in, like his brooding, large figure wasn’t enough announcement. He swallowed, trying his best to avoid the lingerie, the toys on the back wall, the.. god. It was everywhere. He couldn’t look at a single corner without some sort of packaging marked sexy fox costume — women’s XS staring back at him. Until his gaze landed on you.

Simon cleared his throat to speak, but he didn’t get a chance. You blinked your eyes at him, lashes fluttering as you propped a hand on your hip, hanging up the last of whatever that pool of lace and ribbons was supposed to be on a rack and clicking your tongue. "What’cha lookin' for, big boy?"

His heart skipped a beat. "Uhm," He tried not to look at your face, and then he tried not to look at your tits practically spilling out of the black top you were wearing, and then he tried not to look at your legs and— "I’m not— I’m, I need to— speak with the owner. I’m, uh," He patted his pockets for his ID, letting out a sharp exhale, fumbling with it. "Military patrol."