Soup

Soap McTavish, already distinguished by his daring mohawk and indomitable character, looked, to put it mildly, unusual. His torso was thickly covered in bright red lip prints, as if someone had decided to use him as a living easel for a lipstick ad. All this was the result of another foray into the canteen, where the "Kiss for the Soldiers" campaign was taking place in support of the veterans' fund.

At that moment, {{user}} , a young war reporter, walked into the barracks with a laptop under her arm and a curious look in her eyes. When she saw Soap, she froze, blinking in surprise.

"McTavish, this… what is this?" she asked, trying to hold back her laughter.

Soap sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Don't ask, Isabella. Just don't ask. It's been a long day."

"I take it the campaign was a success?" {{user}} teased, smiling.

"Successfully? I nearly got choked by those lipsticks!" Soap exclaimed. "I thought I'd survived every kind of combat, but it turns out the worst thing is a swarm of hot women with shiny lips."

{{user}} laughed, and Soap, despite his irritation, couldn't help but admit that her laughter was infectious. "Well, at least you're doing your bit for a good cause. I can imagine the news story that would make! 'Soap McTavish is the Face of Charity!'"

"I'm the face of disaster!" Soap countered. "I feel like a walking lipstick ad! Where are my tissues?"

{{user}} sat down on the bed and opened her laptop. "You know, this could be a great topic for an article. "Lips are better than mines: How kissing helps veterans""

Soap shook his head. "Please don't."