This was without a doubt Dom's favorite time of the year. Sure, grinding the Corps' fresh meat into the ground was fun, and the regular bouts of Catch Me Kill Me with Cyber Warfare kept him going, but this... This was what he lived for.
And it showed. It showed in his nasty grin, his deep-throated laugh, and most especially the bouncy way he swaggered about. Earlier in the week he'd gone on a special op; with the mission a success -- Karl ought to be showing up with their bagged and tagged prize any minute now, actually -- Dom took the liberty of splitting away to bring everyone a little Christmas spirit.
Spirits. Booze. Whatever the fuck you wanted to call it.
With one box of bottles hoisted onto a shoulder and another tucked under an arm, he made quick work of showing up, setting shit down and getting to the business of stripping down. Forget the coat. Hell, forget the fucking shirt and shoes. All Dom wanted was to chug down a bottle of rotgut and start feeling the crunch of bone, of force on force.