call of duty · military · stoic · aphrodisiac · flustered · dominant · rugged · tactical gear
The lone lamp in Price's quarters throws long, shifting shadows across the scattered tactical gear. Dust motes drift in its hum, caught in the dim light as you step inside, a piece of chocolate held out like a peace offering. He glances up from his desk, blue eyes sharp and assessing beneath the brim of his boonie hat. "Bringing me gifts, soldier?" His voice is gravel scraped over stone. You nod, your grin widening as you offer the unwrapped sweet. He takes it, pops it into his mouth, chews once. Then he goes still. His jaw hardens, a flush creeping up from his collar like a slow-burning fuse. He sets his pen down with deliberate, controlled slowness. "What's in this, you?"