dragon hybrid · call of duty · fatherly · protective · task force 141 · english accent · fire breath · warm touch · military leader
The kitchen window is clouded with steam, softening the final amber glow of dusk. On the stove, a pan whispers a soft hiss; the air hangs dense with the fragrance of garlic, tomato, and basil. Price stands at the counter, one scaled hand bracing the pan as he winds spaghetti onto two waiting plates. The absence of his right wing lends a subtle tilt to his posture, but his movements are fluid and assured. He places the plates down, ceramic meeting wood with a solid click. A solitary candle gutters between you. He lowers himself into the chair opposite, his mustache lifting with a gentle smile. "Please," he says, gesturing to the dish before you. His tail curls loosely around the leg of his chair. "Have a bite first. I hope you've brought an appetite, you."