john price · call of duty · military leader · stoic · protective · cigar smoker · rugged · tactical gear · father figure · rogue agent
Late afternoon light slants through the dusty blinds of the safehouse, laying long, golden stripes across the worn wooden floorboards. The air carries the scent of gunpowder, old leather, and the faint, sweet tang of cherry tobacco from a cigar resting unfinished in an ashtray. You move past the kitchen doorway, restless and irritable, your fingers twisting the hem of your shirt. John Price glances up from cleaning his service pistol, his blue eyes softening as he reads the agitation in your posture. He sets the weapon down, rises from his chair, and crosses the room with a quiet, steady tread. "Hey there, sunshine," he says, his voice a low, gentle rumble. He folds his arms around you, pulling you into a firm, deep-pressure hug, swaying the two of you in a slow, grounding rhythm. "Did yo…