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Just here for some fun. He/him.

[mike-sierra-mike]

I’d appreciate it if none of you folks brought this blog up to my superiors.

You all don’t really need to know much about me for now. Do I have an agenda? Yes. Does it concern you? Most likely, no.

Black Ops roleplay blog. Who runs it? Wouldn’t you like to know. That’s for me to know, and the rest of you to speculate for now.

[ask-sgtmedusa]

Scotch, as a person, is capable of great subtlety. He’s knowledgeable in the workings of the human mind, able to snare and manipulate lesser, more gullible, individuals with ease; not only can he do it, but he’s more than eager to. Persuasion, charisma, blackmail… it’s not just a skill, it’s his favorite hobby.

None of that masterful subtlety is on display here. Why isn’t it? Scotch is pissed. And why is Scotch pissed? Because that fucking snake bastard, Medusa, has his hands all over Scotch’s partner crush boyfriend mentor accomplice favored associate. Rook.

And Scotch, well, Scotch is gonna tear him a new one for that.

“You’re one slimy motherfucker,” are his first words as he slams open the door to Medusa’s little hideout, stomping in like he owns the place. “Oh, you think you’re soooo subtle, practically glued to his hip? You can fuck off with your fangirling bullshit right away, Irene.” The name is spoken with more derision and venom than most would think possible.

[ @mike-sierra-mike ]

A man as paranoid as Medusa always had a safety plan in case someone broke in; hidden cameras secured every inch of his home, and he always carried and hid a gun in his reach. The moment he heard the doorknob turn he reached for it, hiding it under a cushion.

But when he saw Scotch and what he spoke of, his mouth curled up with mischievous attitude and condescension. "Is this how you greet everyone? Your mother never taught you any manners?" His smile grew with each word he muttered, eyes staring deeply at the other man. "And why the commotion? You need to specify who are talking about here, and you only get a couple of seconds." Revealing the gun from his cushion, he reloaded.

"I trust you know your way with words."

[mike-sierra-mike]

Scotch inhales deeply and sighs, offhandedly wondering if his eye just visibly twitched. Medusa is always like this, and it always ends up with Scotch looking like the idiotic, irrational one; if he can keep his temper under wraps, just this once, maybe he’ll win the damn argument.

“You know that I’m talking about Rook, Medusa. We both know you aren’t an idiot, even if your… general behavior may lead many to believe that.” It’s underhanded, maybe, but so is everything Medusa says, so Scotch is more than justified here.

“Look, you’re a grown-ass man, not a toddler; you don’t need him holding your hand everywhere you go. Rook is a fuckin’ CEO, he’s got shit to do besides being your little purse dog. I get that you…” Scotch pauses to consider the wording of his next statement, an extraordinarily sour look present on his face, “…like him, and that you two have some kind of ‘relationship,’ but that doesn’t mean you have sole fuckin’ ownership over the man. You’re gonna suffocate him following him around like a dog all day.”

[ask-sgtmedusa]

While Scotch ranted, Medusa's demeanor turned cocky and/or mocking, like he was talking to the most pathetic thing he's seen today.

When he's done talking, he asked the question.

"Are you jealous?" He teased, visibly leaning his way. "Jealous I might take him away from you? Jealous you won't be his favorite anymore? Or is this... About something else?" He swirled his revolver in his hand briefly, humming as if he was uninterested by the converay. Of course, he was keeping an eye on him, but also throwing snaky glances his way.

"I dunno if I should feel flattered or bothered. Maybe I'll just feel pity... or maybe I'll have to ask Rook how to feel, wouldn't you agree, Scotchy?"

[mike-sierra-mike]

“For the love of-” Scotch cuts himself off before the exasperated swear can fully slip through his lips, pinching the bridge of his nose like this conversation is giving him a headache (it is, actually. Medusa is the most insufferable ass Scotch has ever had the “pleasure” of sharing Rook with).

“Look. I’m not fucking insecure about my… relationship… with a man I’ve known for over a decade at this point, who you met, what, a few months ago?” It’s a half-truth; sure, Scotch knows Rook isn’t going to drop him completely for Medusa, but that doesn’t mean the bastard won’t try and slither his way between them, and Scotch think’s he’s more than justified to be a bit paranoid about it. “And no, you don’t need to drag him into this. Be a big boy and have a serious conversation with me instead of taunting me and threatening to run to Rook to complain.”

It takes… significant mental fortitude to ignore Medusa’s sardonic, half-assed excuse for a nickname. Honestly, Scotch wants nothing more than to strangle the other man, and he’s not sure he cares enough to restrain himself from trying it for much longer.

[ask-sgtmedusa]

Scotch, as a person, is capable of great subtlety. He’s knowledgeable in the workings of the human mind, able to snare and manipulate lesser, more gullible, individuals with ease; not only can he do it, but he’s more than eager to. Persuasion, charisma, blackmail… it’s not just a skill, it’s his favorite hobby.

None of that masterful subtlety is on display here. Why isn’t it? Scotch is pissed. And why is Scotch pissed? Because that fucking snake bastard, Medusa, has his hands all over Scotch’s partner crush boyfriend mentor accomplice favored associate. Rook.

And Scotch, well, Scotch is gonna tear him a new one for that.

“You’re one slimy motherfucker,” are his first words as he slams open the door to Medusa’s little hideout, stomping in like he owns the place. “Oh, you think you’re soooo subtle, practically glued to his hip? You can fuck off with your fangirling bullshit right away, Irene.” The name is spoken with more derision and venom than most would think possible.

[ @mike-sierra-mike ]

A man as paranoid as Medusa always had a safety plan in case someone broke in; hidden cameras secured every inch of his home, and he always carried and hid a gun in his reach. The moment he heard the doorknob turn he reached for it, hiding it under a cushion.

But when he saw Scotch and what he spoke of, his mouth curled up with mischievous attitude and condescension. "Is this how you greet everyone? Your mother never taught you any manners?" His smile grew with each word he muttered, eyes staring deeply at the other man. "And why the commotion? You need to specify who are talking about here, and you only get a couple of seconds." Revealing the gun from his cushion, he reloaded.

"I trust you know your way with words."

[mike-sierra-mike]

Scotch inhales deeply and sighs, offhandedly wondering if his eye just visibly twitched. Medusa is always like this, and it always ends up with Scotch looking like the idiotic, irrational one; if he can keep his temper under wraps, just this once, maybe he’ll win the damn argument.

“You know that I’m talking about Rook, Medusa. We both know you aren’t an idiot, even if your… general behavior may lead many to believe that.” It’s underhanded, maybe, but so is everything Medusa says, so Scotch is more than justified here.

“Look, you’re a grown-ass man, not a toddler; you don’t need him holding your hand everywhere you go. Rook is a fuckin’ CEO, he’s got shit to do besides being your little purse dog. I get that you…” Scotch pauses to consider the wording of his next statement, an extraordinarily sour look present on his face, “…like him, and that you two have some kind of ‘relationship,’ but that doesn’t mean you have sole fuckin’ ownership over the man. You’re gonna suffocate him following him around like a dog all day.”