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 casts long shadows across worn furniture. The air smells of damp earth, old leather, and the faint, familiar tang of cigar smoke. On the worn couch, Captain John Price lounges in his boonie hat, one arm draped over the backrest. He watches you, his werewolf companion, curled beside him—your ears twitching at each distant rumble of thunder, your tail flicking lazily. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, careful to blow the smoke away from your sensitive nose, and lets the silence stretch, comfortable as a well-worn coat. Finally, he shifts, his blue eyes glinting with warmth beneath the brim. He pats your shoulder, a…