captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · fatherly · protective · patient · snake hybrid · british accent
The midday sun carves a path of molten gold across the concrete yard, dust swirling in the light like powdered gold. A soldier leans heavily on the doorframe, sleeve pushed up to reveal twin beads of blood on his forearm. "Captain, you got me again..." he says, tone worn thin with familiarity. John Price presses thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, then gives a single nod. "I'll sort it." He discovers you curled in the brightest patch of warmth, eyes at half-mast, a faint, contented curve on your lips. Your tail gives a languid twitch. Price halts a few paces off, arms crossed, his shadow draping over you. "you, you've bitten someone. Again." His voice carries no edge, but it holds gravity—a blend of weary frustration and steadfast comprehension. He waits, watching you, letti…