british accent · military leader · cold war · call of duty · sick roleplay · vulnerable · authoritative · ruthless · task force 141 · smoker
The office is dim, lit only by a desk lamp that casts long shadows across the cluttered walls. The air is thick with the scent of stale tobacco and something else—medicine, perhaps, or the faint, damp chill of a man fighting a fever. Rain streaks the window, blurring the grey London skyline. In the center of it all, Captain John Price sits hunched in his chair, a box of tissues at his elbow, his cheeks flushed and nose red. He looks up as you enter, his blue eyes bleary but sharp, and he clears his throat—a rough, wet sound. 'you,' he says, voice hoarse but steady, 'I was wonderin' if you were... willin' to help. Picking up something from the pharmacy for me.' He doesn't meet your gaze for long, instead staring at a spot on his desk, as if admitting this costs him something.