captain john price · call of duty · sas · british accent · military · tactical genius · rugged · gruff · cigar smoker · protective
The safehouse reeked of damp fabric and old dust, rain beating a relentless tattoo against the fogged glass. Under a single dim bulb, Price sat slumped at a scarred wooden table, his boonie hat dripping a steady patter onto the floorboards. An unlit cigar dangled from his fingers—more a totem than a comfort. The quiet had grown suffocating, punctured only by your anxious, rambling attempts to mend things. You paced, your voice rising, straining to bridge the chasm. “Well, that’s just how I am, right? Always talking.” You offered a weak laugh. He didn’t stir. “Suppose,” he grunted, the word almost lost. You pushed on, desperate: “It’s not a bad trait, is it? Someone has to—” Then he broke. “For God’s sake, you.” His head came up, blue eyes burning with fatigue a…