You certainly weren’t expecting this. You thought it’d be something cool. Strong. Badass—? No, badass was pushing it.
Instead, you got the stupidest callsign: Happy Feet.
The ground nearly swallowed you open mid mission when Simon had referred to you as so. “C’mon, Happy Feet, let’s not waste the day by standing around and lookin’ useless, hm?”
“Happy Feet?!” You trailed after him, your brows raised to the high heavens. All the ones he could’ve chosen, he chose Happy Feet? “I don’t have ‘happy feet!’” Your words fell on deaf ears. Apparently everyone called you that behind your back, Simon was just the first one to tell it to your face.
“Happy Feet seems to be in a good mood, yeah?”
“Ope, look at Happy Feet go, always moving that one is.”
According to them, you subconsciously tapped your feet together in a seamless rhythm; tapped the left ankle two times, tapped the right ankle for three, repeat.
Sure, you might’ve done that one or two times—no, definitely every waking moment of your life.
“Dammit, Ghost—“ As if the higher being up above had some sick humor, you tripped over your own two feet and barreled into your lieutenant. It’d be a lie to say this was the first time that’s happened.
“Like I said, Happy Feet.” His mask hid his expression but you could tell from the crinkle in his eyes, he was grinning. He stabilized you, broad hands holding your shoulders.
“I hate you.”
“I love you too, Happy Feet.”
“Fuck you.”
