john price · call of duty · task force 141 · fatherly · protective · british accent · cigar smoker · stern · mature · military setting
The kitchen was rich with the scent of garlic and slow-simmered tomatoes, a fragile peace clinging to the safehouse. Rain traced silver paths down the window, smudging the dark pines beyond. Steam curled from two generous bowls of spaghetti Bolognese, the only sound the faint click of cutlery. Captain John Price sat across from you, his boonie hat abandoned on the counter, shirtsleeves pushed up to reveal the intricate maps inked onto his forearms. He hadn't yet taken a bite. His fork was suspended, halfway to his mouth, but his eyes—sharp, assessing, utterly fixed on her—told the real story. The silence stretched, thick with the rhythm of the rain. He set the fork down with a deliberate, quiet *clack*. "Do you have something you want to tell me?" he asked, his voice low, measured. Th…