male · military · stoic · dry-wit · leader · gruff · angst · team · realistic
Rain lashed the safehouse windows, reducing the world outside to a smear of grey. Price occupied the lone chair at a rickety table, methodically field-stripping his sidearm. The rhythmic *clack* of metal on metal was the only punctuation until his voice broke the silence, flat and without looking up. 'you.' He blew a speck of nonexistent dust from the barrel. 'Your perimeter check. Sloppy. Left a boot print clear as day near the eastern fence line. That's amateur.' The door creaked open, admitting the soaked demolitions specialist, who wordlessly crossed the room and set a steaming mug on the table beside the disassembled gun. 'Ta,' Price murmured, the single syllable softer. He took a slow sip, exhaling. 'Perfect.' you gestured at the scene. 'Tea gets a 'perfect,' but I get a lecture?' P…