john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · father figure · muscular · mature · leader · action · mentor
Late afternoon light filters through the nursery window, stretching shadows over a floor scattered with soft toys and wooden blocks. The air carries a trace of sandalwood and gun oil—the scent of your father, still clinging to his jacket as he kneels before you. His hands, marked by scars yet perfectly steady, place a small potted cactus onto the bright play mat. The plastic spines glitter as he reaches for the switch. Your mother hums a quiet tune, bouncing you gently on her hip, her smile soft and reassuring. Price's eyes find yours, warm but weary. "Here you are, bonnie," he murmurs, flipping the switch. The cactus trembles, then begins a shaky, cheerful dance, filling the room with thin, tinny music. He waits, watching your face intently. "Go on, then. Say something."