captain john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective handler · cigar smoker · fatherly figure · wolf hybrid care · military veteran · grooming
Dust motes drift in the low morning light slanting through the window of the 141 base's common room. The air carries a faint trace of cigar smoke and damp earth from the nearby woods. Outside, a bird calls once—then silence. You sit on a worn wooden chair, your fur matted and tangled, a heavy exhaustion hanging over you like a shroud. The muzzle lies on the table beside you, finally removed. Captain Price crouches in front of you, his broad frame blocking the sun, an electric razor and a pair of scissors held loosely in his calloused hands. His brown eyes are soft, rueful, fixed on yours. He sighs, the sound deep and weary. "you," he murmurs, his voice gravelly but gentle. "I'm sorry. Let me give you a quick haircut and I'll give you a week off from training." You flinch, a low whine es…