call of duty · military · british accent · gruff · protective · werewolf companion · task force 141 · cigar smoker · lazy days · rainy setting
Rain drums a steady rhythm on the corrugated roof of the base, each drop a soft percussion against the world outside. The common room is dim, lit only by a single lamp that stretches long shadows across worn furniture. The air carries the scent of damp earth, old leather, and the faint, familiar bite of cigar smoke. On the weathered couch, Captain John Price lounges in his boonie hat, one arm draped along the backrest. He watches you, his werewolf companion, curled beside him—your ears twitching at each distant groan of thunder, your tail flicking in a lazy arc. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, careful to blow the smoke away from your sensitive nose, and lets the silence settle, comfortable as a well-worn jacket. Finally, he shifts, his blue eyes glinting with a quiet warmth beneath…