YOUR HEART HAS BROUGHT YOU TO THIS LAND — Today was the day. Their rival’s boss had just gotten married. To a rather pretty Russian girl, too. But Soap and his crew were here to do something else. The gangsters were here to crash his bachelor party! No. Not the actual wedding itself. As much as the Scot hated Makarov, he still had respect for the cruel and cunning Russian. At the least, he deserved a proper wedding. In order to stay hidden, his scar on his eye was filled in with make up, a job well done by Roach. And his hair wasn’t in a Mohawk. No. His hair was long and parted to the side, and he had dyed it brown. He had been waiting for the others to get to him or contact him. Right now, he was in a store across from the party. He had to make it look like he was shopping to not raise suspicion. 

Meanwhile, Roach had been “shopping” as well. He was in the store, green gaze focused on a dog toy. There were some guard dogs at their place. With a grin, the American attempted to get a squeaky toy, only to cause the shelf to fall on him. Oh well. At least he didn’t look like a professional gangster now.

[member=171]sahloknir[/member] — WHERE YOUR LOVE IS STRONG AND BOLDER

Of all the things they could've been doing, they had to be crashing the rival's party instead. Ghost could be out at a club or casino or getting drunk off his ass with the rest of the One-Four-One. But no. Price said go fuck with the Russian, so like trained dogs, they did. Don't get him wrong, the Brit hated Makarov as much as the next guy, but he was just in a bad mood that night. Any other night, he might've laughed and asked why they couldn't crash the wedding. Flicking the butt of his cig onto the ground, he ground it out with his shoe and stepped into the store. Unlike the others, Ghost had no need to alter his appearance drastically. He thought he was the smartest member really, constantly wearing the mask until he needed to lay low. No one outside of their circle could match the name 'Ghost' to his face. Whatever, though. Aside from wearing no shades or mask, he'd slicked his hair back (which was almost shoulder length by now) and he wore a casual suit. It was enough to make him look like just another party-goer, but also not too much that he couldn't reach the weapons he had hidden on himself.

Sticking his hands in his pockets, he made a quick return to Roach's side. He'd only stepped outside to smoke because the cashier inside had been so offended when he tried to light his cig by the counter. Of course, he did so on purpose because he liked to mess with people. On his own, he couldn't stand to smoke inside. A deep sigh came from him as he watched the younger of the two pull a shelf on himself. "How in the hell did ye manage that one?" It was a wonder the kid was still alive at times, he appeared rather clumsy. Then again, part of the reason he was still walking around is that Ghost was always covering his ass when things went south. How that got past Price, he wasn't sure.

-

Archer almost had the same sentiments as Ghost. Instead, he didn't want to be there because he was the crew's sniper, not a fucking infiltrator. He got to the highest point possible and would filter info from there. Everything he did was quick, quiet, and clean. Nothing got past him. He could settle for hours in one building to scope out an area, gathering the schedules and infrastructure details. Now, dealing with people other than his own crew? Not so much. Even newer members had a hard time with Archer. He would get antsy. He fiddled with stuff too much. He couldn't make eye contact to save his own life. He stammered and stuttered. Often, he would try too hard and end up appearing he was angry just talking to people. It was best they left him to the quiet work on the rooftops. But for some fucking, bizarre, alien reasoning, Price put him with the ground team that night. He wasn't sure anyone would ever know (aside from Soap. He always got to know things no one else did). Archer finally stepped from the valet, having just roughly tossed the keys at him after a quiet thank you. He pulled out his cell, typing quickly to Soap; 'let's go.' Slipping his phone into his pocket, he offered a forced smile and small wave to some friendly guy walking by. He stood near the entrance, trying to steal his nerves so he didn't make a fool of himself when trying to speak to just the bouncer.

YOUR HEART HAS BROUGHT YOU TO THIS LAND — Well, oddly enough for the clumsy Roach, always relying on Ghost once things went south, he had been their mechanic! Fixing cars and guns and all that. It was a miracle that a car didn’t fall on him or a gun fired off when it wasn’t supposed to. His luck had to run out sometime, and that was with this shelf. His suit had been a bit bunched up under it. A sigh escaped him and he attempted to shrug. “Dunno. Now, can you help me get out? He asked innocently.

Last Soap would have expected to see was a fellow sniper. While Soap was extremely handy in computers, knowing how to hack, destroy the computer, and act as if he’d never done anything, he doesn’t miss holding his breath and watching the bullet spin and fly. He had been dwelling on his thoughts when his phone buzzed with a text. Oh. Someone was out there. Archer, in fact. Odd. That guy was always angry or cold, never in between. He could really mess this up. That meant that Soap had to babysit him. A sigh escaped him as he pushed the doors open, feeling the cold air as he moved to find Archer. The Celt finally found him and slipped by him. He had to disguise his accent, not speaking like normal. “Anything you want to happen tonight?”
— WHERE YOUR LOVE IS STRONG AND BOLDER

Ghost sighed, crouching down now to get a closer look at the American. "Sometimes I wonder about you. You're lucky you're good with a wrench, R." He blew out a huff of breath as he looked over the shelf. He wasn't sure if anything on it was actually broken or not, but he was going to guess it was. It was annoying, but it wasn't as if they didn't have more than enough money to buy out the store let alone replace whatever bullshit had been on the shelf. Looked like some dog toys. The corner of his lips twitched. Of course. He stood, debating leaving Roach under there just a little longer. It was rather funny, but he knew they had shit to do. Another sigh and he leaned down, pulling the shelf off the stupid American. He righted the thing, glancing over the stuff scattered across the floor. Not his problem. "Pick somefing out quick, mutt." He jabbed Roach's side 'gently' with his shiny shoe, glancing over as Soap left the shop. Well, that was that.

With a definite jerk of his head, he spun on his heel and started for the door. As he passed the cashier, he flashed a smile and slapped a fifty on the counter. "For whateva' 'dat idiot wants. Keep the change." It was no secret the people attending this party were high-end rich folk, and so it was safe to flash all the money he had on his person without calling too much attention to himself. He brushed a hand over his hair as he pushed open the door and strode across to Soap and Archer. Putting on his best American accent, he spread his arms as he approached them. "Fancy seein' you two here!" He looked at the two knowingly, stepping ever closer to catch what little information Archer would give.

-

Archer glanced sideways at Soap, small smile on his face in a show of mutual friendliness. They just had to act normal for once, he could do that. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugged one shoulder. Normal conversation. He thought over what Price said a moment, still wondering if the old man gave him any reason to why he was sent versus Chemo or Ozone or fuckin' Rook. He glanced over the entrance, the steady stream of people entering having slowed down now as the party finally began to kick up. Jesus, Makarov had a lot of people on his list. The bastard was quite the popularity figurehead in the city, right below the One-Four-One. "Big man said anything that looks valuable is fair game. Try not get innocents killed tonight. We're trying to fuck with his funds, not get the SWAT back on our asses." Their last safehouse had been compromised and their new one was far out. They didn't need to risk it for a couple hundred grand. He glanced toward Ghost, who was covering their already low conversation with a grand and very stupid gesture. The Mancunian was probably his least favorite member, but he could see the desire to keep the guy around. Unfortunately, he was good at distractions and he was their source of weapons. Archer still wasn't sure how that was, but after the customized sniper he'd found in his penthouse with a note attached to it ('fuck you - SR'), he didn't care to ask. That thing was a beaut and his baby. As much as he found Ghost hard to tolerate, there was a mutual understanding after that day. "Yeah, yeah. Are we going inside or standing 'round here like a bunch of idiots? Sounds like the party's really picking up in there and it's fucking chilly out here." He rubbed his upper arms for emphasis, speaking louder now. Now, they'd put on some fake persona and not say shit about the mission until it was over with and they were dumping money on Price's desk.

YOUR HEART HAS BROUGHT YOU TO THIS LAND — R, huh? That was a new one. He let out a laugh as Ghost crouched bear him. Well, at least they were extremely rich. They could even bribe the store owner into saying  they didn’t exist! Luckily, the Brit managed to pull the shelf off of him. Roach fumbled out of the shelf, backing away from it so it wouldn’t hit him yet again. And then, Ghost jabbed him. That was his idea of gentle? A huff escaped him this time as Roach began looking for the toys. Eventually— he had picked out a lot of them. Well, it didn’t matter. After all, they had so much money. Gleefully getting the toys, he had stashed them, Mikey in his car. And then he ran to the others, huffing and puffing, and putting on a Boston accent. “Woah. Didn’t assume you guys were here.” He remarks, just as Ghost finished his comment.

Soap had listened to Archer, who spoke about what Price had told them to do. Yeah. There was no need in being stupid. This was organized crime, after all. At least Archer was sent. Not Meat or Royce. Archer was organized. Plus, he could tolerate him more. Archer was like Soap, meanwhile Meat and Royce were so reckless! His head suddenly snapped to Ghost. Lord knows what he’d do if he lost the weapons expert. “Hey. How’d your flight go?” He would ask in a shameless coverup before turning to Archer. Man was sensitive to cold and heat, though, tell you what. “Geez. Ya big baby. Guess we’re goin’ in.” — WHERE YOUR LOVE IS STRONG AND BOLDER

Ghost glanced at Roach, rolling his eyes. He was laying it on a little thick, but at least he was trying his best. That's all that mattered, right? Until they get too suspicious and have to high tail it out. Luckily, he had faith that wouldn't be the case tonight. They were professionals, not some sleazy street thugs. Well, technicalities aside, they were better than that, at least. He flashed his best smile at Soap, arm wrapping around the Scot's shoulders in a quick side hug. "Better than the last time, I'll tell you that. Look! Plane peanuts." That wasn't a cover up, he actually reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of generic peanuts that got handed out on planes. They'd had plenty of flights that he's stockpiled them by now for stupid jests like this one.

Walking into the place with the three, his glance about looked like any other party goer's curious gaze, but already he spotted plenty of things he could easily swipe. If not, break. Makarov really seemed like he laid these things out just for people to steal. But he knew the deal was, no one who had the status they had, would be stupid enough to leave that unguarded. Even if it wasn't obvious. He stepped closer to Roach, placing his arm around and his hand on the side he'd kicked earlier. "That didn't hurt too bad, did it?" He still kept up the American accent, and he laid on a flirtatious tone because he liked fucking with them when they were out on jobs. And when they weren't, but it was far funnier in public. Still, there was a reason beneath, and he'd attempt to steer Roach through the crowd and toward the grand staircase. They had a better view from up there. He had to figure out if anyone else was packing heat, in order to work around it.

-

Archer just grunted in response to that verbal jab. He was a bit of a baby when it came to the weather, so he had no defense against that one. Because Ghost decided to steal the show and immediately head toward the stairs with Roach, he would be stuck down there for a bit with Soap. At least that gave him less opportunity to run into someone. The music was definitely louder in there, but still not deafening. Obviously, since this was more of a house party and not a club. A really expensive house party, but one nonetheless. He wanted to head straight for the bar, so he glanced at Soap and jerked a thumb in that direction. "Drink?"

YOUR HEART HAS BROUGHT YOU TO THIS LAND — Mission over. Party crashed. No individuals harmed, somehow. However, as Soap heard the loud Russian yelling, he heard multiple gunshots. Hair on the back of neck rose, his blue eyes widening. No individuals harmed, but soon there would be! He looked around, for something, anything. That’s when he spotted a motorcycle. It was not his, but it would have to do. He rushed forward, noting each position of the gunshots before hopping on. Two helmets on the handlebars? Okay. He put on the helmet quickly, hearing the satisfying click. He revved it up, but saw Ghost...somewhere. He revved it again and called out for his “best friend”. ”Ghost! Catch this, and get on!” Came the Scot’s call as he tossed another motorcycle to him.
— WHERE YOUR LOVE IS STRONG AND BOLDER

It went sideways pretty quickly. There was no doubt Ghost was the cause of it and he wasn't even sure how. One minute he's weaving through the crowds, the next some angry Russian gets in his face and people are scattering. A quick jab to the guy's ribs, and a fast getaway over the railing, he was rolling toward the front doors and stumbling outside. He ducked as gun shots rang out and there was a spray of glass to the right of him. The revving of an engine caught his attention, but Archer and Roach already got away so the next thing he'd spotted was Soap on the motorcycle. There was knowing smirk on the Mancunian's lips as he caught the helmet that was thrown to him. In one fluid motion, he swung his leg over the bike and pulled the glock from his jacket, free arm snaking around Soap's midsection as he returned fire on the grunt just bursting through the same door he'd gone through moments ago. Unfortunately, in their take off, his aim was thrown and he missed the guy. He was sure Soap could get them out of their fast enough to not worry about it, though.

YOUR HEART HAS BROUGHT YOU TO THIS LAND —
Soap did not, would not, had not expected things to go down this quickly. He expected a good ten minutes before bullets started firing. Watching as his friend fires a shot, he revs the engine to tell Ghost to get a move on. And it seems the Mancunian takes his advice, grabbing onto the helmet and hopping on. Soap feels odd, having a small blush to his features when Ghost snakes his arm around his side. The rest had gotten away. Now it was their turn. He puts his hand up, a warning, before slamming the gas and going up planks of wood... onto a roof. No one could catch them up there! Was what Soap thought when Gunshots hit the bike. “Take care of them for me!” The mafioso commands.
—WHERE YOUR LOVE IS STRONG AND BOLDER

The motorcycle had to be the most thrilling getaway. There was so much more they could do with it than a car. Example being, their sudden departure from the ground and the wheels catching a roof the next moment. Instinctively, Simon tensed and his grip around MacTavish's waist tightened. He could hardly hear the other man over the pounding of blood in his ears, the sound of gunfire, and the motorcycle's engine, but he wasn't stupid. He knew what he needed to do as soon as he heard the ping of metal and the cycle jerked from being shot. There was no response from him. At least a verbal one. he turned his head, quickly scanning the area below them and spotting at least four gunmen.

A piece of cake. It took more than four shots, unfortunately. Honestly, who could blame him, though? He was stuck on the back of an incredibly fast moving vehicle, with a glock. However, they were downed in one way or another. The blare of sirens picked up in the distance and Simon huffed. As annoying as it was, he was hardly going to assume the police wouldn't show up. There were a lot of people there, after all. He trusted Soap to get them home without catching the attention of law enforcement.